The Mastermind Plot (17 page)

Will rushed from the smoky kitchen, and Uncle Bruce and Neil Grogan followed. Grandmother and Beatrice, both coughing from the billows of smoke, leaned against each other and started for the dining room.

“Suzanna, hurry. Come along,” Grandmother called back. I could barely see her, the smoke was so dense. It had to be unbearable in the cellar.

“I have to go help him,” I said, and started for the door. Adele tried to pull me back, but I shrugged out of her grasp.

“Zanna, you can't go down there.” She grabbed my arm once again.

“But he needs help!”

She pulled at me again. “Let's just get the Degas and go!”

I yanked free, but even as Adele left my side, I was squeezing back painful tears. My eyes were starting to burn. My throat felt like it was swelling shut. I had to get outside into fresh, clean air. But I couldn't leave my grandfather behind when he'd gone so far to help
catch Detective Grogan. When he'd gone so far to protect me.

“Zanna!” Adele cried. “I can't find it. I can't find my father's Degas! You've got to help me look.”

“What?” I dropped to the floor where the smoke wasn't as thick, and crawled to where Grogan had crashed to the tiles. The
Little Dancer
hadn't rolled more than two feet away from him. I swept my arms across the floor, connecting with Adele's as she frantically did the same.

“It's gone,” I said, my eyes watering. But I could see the truth well enough.

There was only one kind of person who could have moved stealthily and silently through plumes of smoke in order to snatch it up.

A thief.

I
DIDN'T WANT TO GO TO
M
ISS
D
OUCETTE'S
academy the next morning. Grandmother said I didn't have to, that it had been a long night and I was entitled to a day of rest. I also didn't want to see Adele. She hadn't said much after escaping her smoke-filled kitchen, but I knew she had to be angry. The fierce look she'd given me after I'd admitted Matthew Leighton was my grandfather had proved that guilt by association was nearly as bad as actual guilt. I didn't think I could handle another dose of it today.

But after less than ten minutes of lounging in bed beneath a thick duvet pulled up to my ears, I knew I'd end up driving myself mad if I didn't go to school. At least there I would be able to fill my head with French lessons and embroidery, with long division and elocution. I wouldn't have to think about my thieving grandfather or how gullible I'd been. I wouldn't have to
think about how desperately I'd wanted him to have reformed, or how I'd selfishly believed he might change his ways now that he knew me. As if I had that kind of influence. As if I could change anyone that drastically.

I rang for Bertie and told her I'd need the carriage brought around after all. I then dressed quickly, the scratchy uniform providing a nice distraction. My braids were done hastily and probably looked that way, too, but I didn't care. I nabbed a slice of toast from the griddle in Margaret Mary's kitchen and stuffed it into my mouth before heading to the foyer.

“Is Grandmother doing better?” I asked Bertie as she held the cloak out for me.

Grandmother had been devastated to hear about Dr. Philbrick's involvement with Grogan. His illustrious career as Lawton Square's finest physician was officially at an end.

Bertie shook her head and opened the door for me. “I fear she's more upset about Dr. Philbrick than she is about Detective Grogan.”

I agreed completely. The young doctor brought in by the police officers to check Grandmother's lungs last night had suffered the effects of her outrage. She'd taken in a little smoke, but despite her past breathing attacks, she had not had one after the fiasco at the
Horne house. To distract her and help the vexed doctor holding a stethoscope to her chest, I'd asked why she and Will had been with Uncle Bruce earlier that evening.

It seemed when my uncle got to the bon voyage dinner and realized Adele and I had stayed back at the Horne house, he'd tried to leave right away. My grandmother and Will had stopped him, knowing by the look on his face that something was wrong. He'd confessed to them about his trap for my grandfather, and they'd insisted on going with him to the Horne house. Thank goodness they had.

I said good-bye to Bertie and went outside. Grandmother's carriage was ready to go. The driver smiled at me, but I couldn't muster more than a disheartened hello.

Maybe I should have stayed in bed after all. Surely everyone at the academy would be attempting to cheer up Adele and me. Either that or barraging us with questions. Adele and her father had been able to stay in their home last night, the fire having been extinguished quickly as soon as the firemen had arrived. The kitchen and dining room had received little damage, but Mr. Horne and Adele had not cared one bit about that. It was the Degas they mourned. Not just for the value of it, but because it had been Adele's mother's favorite
piece. Now it was gone, just like her mother. And my grandfather was to blame. How would Adele be able to look past that?

I climbed the short stack of steps into the carriage, and the driver shut the door as I was seating myself. A sharp, brief scream erupted from my throat as I saw a figure seated across from me on the opposite bench.

“Miss Snow?” the driver called through the door.

“I'm fine!” I answered quickly. I pressed a hand against my chest, my heart skipping beneath. “Grandfather, what are you doing here?”

Matthew Leighton leaned forward into the overcast morning light coming in through the street-side window. I noticed the curbside curtains were drawn. He hadn't wanted Grandmother peeking outside and seeing him. I'd ambushed my uncle in much the same fashion. Matthew Leighton certainly would make a fine detective, I thought with a shake of my head. What a shame he'd chosen the path he had.

“I didn't wish to leave things off the way I did last night,” he replied.

I saw the welt on his jaw and the slant of his newly broken nose. Grogan's handiwork. The carriage jerked forward as the horses took a fast clip up Knight Street.

“Why did you even help us?” I asked. “Why did you bother to get involved if all you were going to do was steal something in the end?”

He hooked one ankle over a knee and threaded his fingers together, forming a tight fist. He looked toward his lap, not at me.

“I had my reasons for wanting to stop the person who was burning down those buildings and stealing the Hornes' art collection. They aren't noble, though, if that was what you had hoped to believe.” He met my eyes now, his serious gaze unwavering. “I needed to clear my name, Suzanna. If my associates believed I was dipping into arson and murder, my contacts would fall off drastically. You might think the underground market is filled with thugs and good-for-nothings, but I've dealt with more titled, wealthy, respectable people than you could probably imagine.”

I didn't want to imagine that anyone would be eager to purchase anything that had been stolen. It would never truly belong to them, no matter what price they'd paid.

“So you haven't changed,” I whispered. “You'll never change.”

He pursed his lips and blinked rapidly. I could tell he was uncomfortable.

“I have tried,” he said quietly. The roll of the wheels and the cracking of the horses' hooves nearly overwhelmed his confession. “But I am afraid it's an addiction for me. I think I shall always be tempted.”

Tempted to take what didn't belong to him. “But it's wrong, Grandfather. You have to know it is.”

He continued to look gray and serious. “Suzanna, if you're to grow up to be a detective, you will fast learn that not everyone cares to always be
right
.”

So some people just enjoyed doing bad things? I knew it was true. Why else would the world need police officers and detectives? There would always be crime and people doing things that were wrong. I just didn't want my grandfather to be one of them.

He stared at me, his shoulders rocking with the carriage's motion. A wistful grin lifted the corners of his lips. “I admire you, Suzanna. I wish …” He paused to think the rest of his sentence through. “I wish I could be more like my granddaughter.”

Tears bit at my eyes. I had to look away, embarrassed my emotions had taken me by such surprise. He wanted to be like me? I didn't know if my tears had come because his wish had made me happy, or if it was because it had sounded so sad.

“How did you know I was coming to Boston?” I asked.

My grandfather sat forward on the edge of the bench seat. “Your mother. She wrote to me.”

I sucked in a breath and nearly choked on it. “But … but she —”

“She has known my address for some time,” he jumped in. “She asked me to keep my distance, but she wanted me to see you. I think she is very proud of you, Suzanna.”

He reached into the inside pocket of his coat and took out a small, flat velvet box. “She has every right to be.”

He placed the velvet box on the cushion beside me.

“It belonged to your grandmother. I gave it to her at our wedding,” he said. I brushed the cover of the box with my fingertips before picking it up. “I would like for you to keep it. Your grandmother … well, she was very much like you.”

I opened the box slowly. Inside, an amethyst cameo pendant sat nestled on a well-indented silk cushion. The cameo was of a woman with wild, flowing hair that wrapped around her neck and streamed out toward the edges of the oval pendant. It was beautiful.

I hoped it wasn't stolen.

“Thank you.” I wanted to say more, but I couldn't. I knew what this cameo was. It was a parting gift. My grandfather was telling me good-bye.

The carriage slowed and the academy came into sight outside the window.

“And this …” My grandfather reached into the satchel beside him and brought out an object wrapped in linen. It was bulky and oddly shaped and I knew exactly what it was. In awe, I snapped the cover to the cameo box shut.

“Well, I suppose you know what to do with this,” Grandfather said.

He handed me the object and when my fingers closed around it, I felt the thin leg of the
Little Dancer
pointed out in front of her, the hands she held clasped behind her at the small of her back. I let the linen unravel and fall onto my lap. It was the Degas.

“Why are you giving this back?” I asked.

The carriage had stopped. My grandfather had already opened the door on the street side of the carriage. He grabbed his satchel and leaped down onto the cobbles. He turned and looked inside at me sitting awkwardly with the rare
Little Dancer
statue in my hands.

“I suppose even thieves need to know what it feels like to do the right thing every now and again.”

My grandfather winked at me, flashed a smile, and closed the door just as Grandmother's driver opened the opposite one. I sat immobile, my pulse galloping.

The police had apprehended Hannah Grogan the night before as her bon voyage dinner was ending and her trunks were being loaded into a carriage bound for the Anchor Line terminal. Inside her trunks, wrapped in clothing, had been all sixteen pieces of art thought to have been destroyed and stolen, including the Cézanne taken from Mr. Dashner — who, in the end, hadn't been criminally involved at all. Now, with the Degas, Adele and her father would have their entire collection restored.

“Miss Snow?” the driver said, still holding the door open. “Is everything all right?”

I looked over and spotted Adele passing by on the sidewalk behind him, surrounded by a throng of twittering academy girls.

“Adele!” I shouted. I didn't care how rude it was to shout for someone's attention, though the driver looked aghast.

Adele turned, her brows creased together as she peered inside the carriage. I thought to jump out with the statue, but didn't want to make too big a scene on the sidewalk with so many of the girls watching.

“What is it?” Adele asked.

I held up the statue, still grinning like an idiot. Adele squealed and flew past the stunned girls and
Grandmother's driver and inside the carriage. She landed on the bench beside me. I gave her the statue, her eyes wide with wonder and astonishment.

“Oh, Zanna,” she breathed. “Oh, Zanna, thank you! How did you do it? How did you convince your grandfather to give it back?”

I picked up the ivory jewelry box and opened it so I could see the cameo again. I lifted the pendant from the cushion and felt its smooth backing. Flipping the pendant, I saw elegant cursive letters etched into the silver, rubbed dull in spots from the years the grandmother I had never known had proudly worn it.

 

With love and admiration,
M. L.

 

I ran my fingertips over the small letters. I knew my grandfather had intended the words for his wife, but I couldn't help but feel he now meant them for me as well.

“I didn't need to convince him,” I answered.

Adele ran her hands all along the wax statue, inspecting it for damage. Even after everything it had been through the night before, there was none. Matthew Leighton was not a careless thief.

“Come on,” I said. “Grandmother said she didn't mind my taking the day off from the academy. And I think your father will be just as thrilled to see that statue as you are.”

Now it was Adele who couldn't stop grinning.

I glanced up at Grandmother's driver, who looked perplexed. “To June Street, please.”

Adele and I sat back, side by side, each of us with a treasure in our laps. The carriage kicked forward and Adele grabbed my hand. She closed her palm around mine and squeezed.