The Elusive Flame (9 page)

“I’ll ask Captain Birmingham if he can loan me enough to pay for the shipment. I wouldn’t want any of you to be put out by the expense.”

“’Twould help, mum,” Bridget agreed. “For the most part, we’ve decided ta seek employment elsewhere. Mrs. Winthrop had friends what can vouch for us, an’ all o’ us know we’d be better off workin’ for someone else.”

“But once you leave,” Cerynise said worriedly, “won’t Sybil realize that some of my clothes have been taken and accuse you or some of the other servants of stealing them?”

Bridget tossed her head in flippant disregard for what the trollop might think. “I doubt Miss Sybil’ll even notice they’re missin’, mum. She certainly can’t wear ‘em. The ones we brought were at the bottom o’ a huge pile she left on the bloomin’ floor after riflin’ through yer wardrobes and chest o’ drawers. Most likely she’s already forgot they were even there.”

“You’ve taken an awful chance bringing them to me,” Cerynise surmised, but a glowing smile assured them of her gratitude. “I don’t know how I can thank you enough.”

“Just knowing that they’ve been given to their rightful owner will be our reward, miss,” Jasper assured her. “We wouldn’t have felt right without making some attempt to help you.” He chuckled, displaying a rarely glimpsed humor. “Why, Mrs. Winthrop would have come back to haunt us if we hadn’t tried.”

“You’re both dear, dear friends,” Cerynise averred, taking each by the hand. “I shall miss you terribly.”

“You were the apple of Mrs. Winthrop’s eye, the child she never had,” Jasper murmured gently. “Bridget and I
have come to think of you as her adopted daughter. We’ll grieve in your absence.”

The parlor maid took a deep breath to halt the sadness welling up within her and, blinking away blurring tears, glanced about the cabin to redirect her thoughts to something less emotional. “Have ye e’er seen anythin’ what looked this grand, mum?” she asked in a thick tone and then corrected herself. “I mean, besides Mrs. Winthrop’s home, o’ course. I’ve ne’er been on a ship afore an’ always imagined they’d smell a bit like fish or somethin’. Little did I think that ye’d be able ta find passage home on such a fine ship when ye hadn’t a farthin’ ta yer name.”

“Captain Birmingham is an old acquaintance,” Cerynise stated carefully, preferring not to explain that she wouldn’t be returning to the Carolinas on his ship. “Years ago he was one of my father’s students. The most promising, I might add, despite his reluctance to settle down to his studies. ’Twas truly my good fortune that he was in port.”

“Oh, he’s a real looker, al’right, mum,” Bridget eagerly expounded. “Then, there was the nicest Mr. Oaks what greeted us…”

The delicate clearing of Jasper’s throat was enough to remind the parlor maid that she had forgotten herself. The butler squeezed Cerynise’s hand. “We should be going now, miss. I hope you’ll take care of yourself and write to let us know how you’re getting on.”

“I shall,” Cerynise pledged, her eyes misting. “Just as soon as I reach Charleston.”

“Very good, miss,” the man murmured. “We shall both look forward to receiving your communiqué.”

“Bridget, would you ask Captain Birmingham to come down to his cabin for a moment,” she bade the maid. “I’ll see if I can get enough funds for you to ship my paintings without delay.”

The maid was suddenly a-smile at the idea of seeing the first mate again. “Right away, mum.”

A moment later Beau returned to find Jasper waiting
stoically in the corridor leading to his cabin. He had no time to question the man before Jasper swung the door open for him.

“The lady wishes to speak with you, sir,” the butler announced.

Cerynise turned as she heard Beau enter and, with a hopeful smile, went to meet him. “Jasper and the other servants have hidden my paintings in Mrs. Winthrop’s house and would like to send them to me, but I don’t have a single coin to my name. I was wondering if I could beg a loan…”

“What will they need?” he asked, going to his desk and opening a drawer.

“Ten pounds at the most I would imagine. There’s quite a number of paintings, and since I’ve sold others for a goodly sum, some as high as ten thousand pounds, I think I’ll be able to sell the rest in the Carolinas and repay you double the amount you loan me.”

“You’ve sold them for how much?” Beau questioned incredulously.

Cerynise lifted her shoulders in a hesitant shrug, fearful that he might think her boastful. “Ten thousand pounds.”

“And this Alistair Winthrop, whom you told me about, tried to claim them as his?”

She was confused by his rising ire. “Yes.”

“Then the man’s a first-rate thief,” Beau stated sharply. “The paintings are obviously yours and no one else’s.”

“Mr. Winthrop and his lawyer, Mr. Rudd, refused to consider that possibility since Mrs. Winthrop bought the paints, paid for the art lessons, and arranged for the exhibits.”

He snorted, irritated with such asinine logic. “And what would she have had if you hadn’t painted them?”

“Nothing much beyond canvas and oil paints,” Cerynise answered simply.

“Exactly.”

She smiled, her heart warmed by his conclusion. “I tried to explain that to the two, but they were intent upon
stripping me of my every possession. Truly, I’d have gladly yielded them generous rents for the past five years I lived in the Winthrop house. Even deducting that from what I had already earned from my paintings, I’d have had a tidy sum left over. Unfortunately Alistair has claimed the funds as his own.”

“Perhaps I should find you a lawyer of your own,” Beau suggested. “I’m sure you’d have good cause to attach a lien against the inheritance.”

“I’d rather go home,” she murmured quietly. “I’ve missed it so.”

Beau counted out a pile of coins and dropped them in a pouch, which he then pressed into her hand. “For good measure, I think we should give Jasper fifteen, for the shipment and for their trouble. Is that sufficient?”

“Oh, yes, Beau. Thank you!” She had the greatest desire to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him for his generosity, but that wouldn’t have been at all proper.

“It’s probably better if I don’t meet Alistair Winthrop,” Beau mused aloud, curbing a grin. “I’d be tempted to blacken the man’s eyes.”

Upon leaving his quarters and closing the door behind him, he paused to speak in muted tones with Jasper. At the servant’s eager nod, he withdrew a purse from the pouch on his belt and, after handing it to the man, shook hands with him. They parted, and as Beau crossed to the companionway, Jasper returned to the cabin.

Cerynise handed the butler the small bag of coins that she had been given. “Whatever you do, be careful,” she urged. “I don’t want Mr. Winthrop to get wind of what you’re doing and have you thrown into prison. If you’re caught taking the paintings from his house, he’ll have good cause to set the law nipping at your heels.”

Jasper’s stiff features began to shine with amusement. “He’d have to catch me at it first, miss, but with the late hours he keeps at night and his tardy departures from bed in the morning, I rather suspect that won’t happen. Besides, the way Mr. Winthrop and Miss Sybil snore, we could steal
the house out from under them, and they wouldn’t even know it. I think, miss, you’ll be rather amazed at what we’ll be able to transport to the Carolinas.”

Soon after the two servants’ departure, Billy carried down the easel and several smaller satchels. He was closely followed by a brawny sailor who toted her largest trunk on his shoulder. As the huge tar took his leave, the cabin boy paused at the door. “The cap’n told me ta tell ye, miss, that he’ll be away for the night, so ye’ll be able ta stay in his cabin without bein’ disturbed. He also told me ta make sure ye had everythin’ ye might want or need.”

Cerynise was curious to know what could occupy a captain for a whole evening besides the harlots who roamed the docks. She wasn’t at all pleased by the premise that he might be in some other woman’s arms while he was away, but she could hardly express her disappointment, no matter how much she felt it. Bravely she offered a smile for Billy’s sake. “I suppose I could do with a bit of privacy.”

“Then you’ll be havin’ it right enough, miss,” the lad assured her with a ready grin.

Soon after the cabin boy had taken his leave, Cerynise sorted through the clothes in the trunk and the assortment of satchels just to see what Bridget had managed to bring her. She was thrilled to find her best gowns, evening wear, and several day dresses tightly packed in the trunk. The valises were filled with shoes, nightgowns, chemises, silk stockings, and other accouterments that a well-garbed lady had need of. Indeed, what had been brought was much more than Cerynise could have dared hope for considering the difficulty of trying to sneak her possessions past Alistair. Bridget had managed to supply her with at least half her wardrobe, a feat that nearly boggled her mind. She had no doubt that she’d now be able to garb herself in a manner that hopefully would claim the captain’s attention and perhaps inspire him to let her sail on his ship.

*   *   *

“It has to be here!” Alistair insisted. He was slouched behind the desk in the library. Rudd, however, had slumped to the floor in roweling defeat several hours earlier.

“Isn’t here,” the solicitor sighed in a wearied daze. He shook his head in stunned disbelief as he glanced around at the countless stacks of documents strewn around him. In all of it, there hadn’t even been the tiniest bit of information that could have helped them. “Not here or anyplace else in the house.”

Howard Rudd was pale, bleary-eyed, and thoroughly exhausted. He was still in the grip of the same fierce anxiety that had goaded Alistair, but his tension had become more evident. He had developed a repetitive twitch on one side of his face, and his lips were so thinly drawn they looked bloodless.

“It has to be here,” Alistair repeated almost numbly. “There has to be some record of where the old bitch stashed her money.”

Rudd scrubbed a hand over his face and expelled another laborious breath. “There isn’t. Outsmarted you, she did.” He raised an arm that felt weighted by heavy iron bands and swept it lamely about the room. “You’ve got to face it! There’s nothing here. All of this paper, all of these correspondences and household accounts go back for years, and there’s not a single hint of where she might have put her money. She has hidden it too well.” He hauled himself to his knees and, from there, managed to stand upright, albeit with a great deal of difficulty. “The only thing I have any certainty about right now is the fact that there’s not one farthing left in any of the accounts or investments to which I was privy years ago. Wiped clean, every one of them.”

“Damn the shrew!” Alistair railed. “She can’t get away with this! She just can’t!”

“She has,” Rudd replied bluntly, exhaustion robbing him of any semblance of prudent discretion. “Not a bloody thing you can do about it either. At the very least we’d need several more months to search out all of the
places where she might have kept the funds. Why, we’d be lucky to find even half of them.”

“I can’t wait that long!” Alistair snarled. “The creditors are at my throat now. I’d be in debtor’s prison now if not for the fact that I’m the old hag’s heir.”

“We could tell them that her affairs were left in some disorder,” Rudd suggested wearily. “Won’t that buy you some time?”

“Aye! Time for all and sundry creditors to start wondering if something has gone awry!” He glared at Rudd. “You knew all of this needed to be handled quietly
and
quickly. Why didn’t you tell me that you didn’t know where her money was to be found?”

Rudd’s face darkened at the condemning tone in the other’s voice. “Don’t try blaming me for this!” He reached for the brandy decanter, found it empty, and slammed it down again on the sideboard. “I played straight and told you that I hadn’t handled Lydia’s affairs for some years now. How could I have possibly known what she did in that time?” He bent a dark scowl upon Alistair. “And we both know what that means. She could have done
anything
with her blooming fortune!”

Silence reigned as the men glowered at each other.

Rudd threw up a hand in defeat. “Perhaps we should stop for tonight, begin again with a clear head in the morning.”

“When was the last time you had a clear head?” Alistair derided, but he, too, was ready to call it a day. He fell back in his chair, surveying the mess that their search had produced. It was the same almost throughout the whole house. The whole day long they had rummaged through everything that they could lay hand to and had found nothing. Wardrobes had been turned out, drawers emptied, even mattresses upended. The servants would be returning on the morrow, and after one look at the disaster that had been heaped upon the house, they’d likely guess that something was amiss.

Alistair winced as a sudden, terrifying vision of himself
locked away in prison flashed before his mind’s eye. Filthy, hungry, exhausted, totally at the mercy of guards who had none. It was a scene that had haunted him much too often of late and, with it, had always come a sharp feeling of queasiness.

He forced himself to think of other matters and realized that he hadn’t eaten for the better part of a day. He scowled, fixing his gaze upon Rudd. “Go find Sybil and tell her to cook us something to eat.” As the attorney passed through the door, he called after him, “And it had better be edible or she’ll feel the back of my hand. That bitch is as worthless as the rest of them.”

“I’ll see what I can do to help her,” Rudd mumbled, preferring that option to trying to down anything the wench could come up with. He had tasted her cooking before and had regretted it for days.

Rudd had been gone for several moments when a distant rap of the front door knocker reached Alistair in the library. Immobilized by fretful worry, he made no attempt to answer the summons until it sounded again. Only then did he realize that with the servants gone and Rudd and Sybil in the kitchen, he would have to go to the door himself. Cursing sourly beneath his breath, he rose on stiffened limbs and picked his way through the stacks of papers littering the library. As he entered the entry hall, the mantel clock chimed the ninth hour in the parlor.