The Purloined Papers (12 page)

Yet she was immediately sidetracked by Kevin’s folio. So many strange creatures – the African giraffe, whose long neck allowed it to pluck leaves from the tops of trees; the South American sloth that spent its entire life hanging upside down; the Australian beast that could leap the length of a ballroom and carried its young in a pocket attached to its stomach….

Stop wasting time, her conscience ordered. You can look at the pictures later.

Sighing, she laid the folio in her trunk, adding her pearls, Andrew’s condolence letter, a pressed flower he’d plucked for her during a childhood game, the lace gloves she’d saved to wear at her wedding—

Blinking back tears, she cursed her maudlin memories. As a girl, she’d been blinded by dreams – just as Laura was to this day. Despite knowing that he had to leave, she’d entertained fantasies of a home, marriage, family….

What a selfish fool she’d been, hugging her fantasies, ignoring reality, certain that if she dreamed hard enough, her wishes would come true. Her fantasy had destroyed any chance of finding happiness, first by giving Andrew a disgust of her, then by making her find fault with every other man she met. Her dreams had also deprived her of her father’s love. He’d been furious when she spurned every man he suggested. She’d lashed back, criticizing her inadequate dowry. Deep inside, she’d believed that a large dowry would have kept Andrew in Devonshire.

Unfair. Andrew had bought colors out of duty.

Little had changed, she admitted, staring at the mementos of a childish love. He could still send her heart racing with a glance. But reality was also the same. Despite forgiving her for her perfidy in the orchard, he would again follow duty. Continuing to moon over him would mark her as a hen-wit.

Straightening her spine, she folded her winter cloak and better gowns into the trunk, adding the figurine she’d bought in Bath and her few books. It was time to embark on the life that would sustain her from now on.

* * * *

Andrew glanced around the table after the ladies retired to the drawing room for coffee. Dinner had made the need for enlarging Seabrook even more obvious. The dining room already seemed cramped, yet each meal for the next week would include more guests than the night before. The pre-ball dinner on Saturday would seat forty.

Martha might prefer Seabrook to Exeter, but she was no hermit. He suspected that Seabrook would become a center of local society in the years ahead, no matter what William thought now. She would need a large formal dining room as well as an intimate room for dining
en famille
.

He was passing the port to Mr. Sullivan when Fitch returned to murmur into William’s ear. Frowning, William set down his glass.

“Excuse me, gentlemen. There is a small problem I must address.”

Amid murmurs of assent, he signaled Rockhurst to take over as host and Andrew to accompany him.

“What happened?” Andrew asked when they reached the hall.

“Another summons from Fields House. Burglary, from the sound of it.”

“Odd.”

“Very.”  William said no more until he set his curricle in motion. “Someone ransacked several rooms.”

Andrew frowned. “When?”

“The groom didn’t know, but the house was empty during Sir Nigel’s interment.”

“I saw no disturbance afterward. Nor did Chloe.”

“How do you know?”

Andrew scowled at William’s idiocy. “She would have mentioned it. With Sunday night’s rain, it took two hours to reach Moorside. And Peter would certainly have complained.”

“How much of the house did you see?”

“The hall, the drawing room, and the library. I glanced into the dining room in passing. After the burial, Chloe was in her room, her mother’s room, and Kevin’s – she mentioned that they hadn’t changed since her last visit.”

“Perhaps the culprit slipped in during the interment, but waited until later to strike.”

“Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know. Nor can I explain why someone would burgle the place while Peter and the staff were awake. I don’t like it.”

“Nor do I,” conceded Andrew. “Is it possible that this summons is a mistake?  Who would rob Fields House?  Everyone knows Sir Nigel sold everything of value.”

“Which would point toward a vagrant unfamiliar with the area – perhaps a former soldier.”

“Or Peter. He has been searching high and low for something to sell, and he does not strike me as the tidy sort. Perhaps the servants mistook one of his messes.”

“Anything is possible,” said William with a sigh.

“Or this may connect to Sir Nigel’s death. We haven’t had a chance to talk today. Sally sought me out this morning.”

“I hate house parties,” grumbled William. “No time for business.”

“Quite. Anyway, Sally’s room lies above the main staircase. She swears that Sir Nigel shouted for help several times before she heard the bumps that marked his fall.”

“Why did she not say so before?”

“She didn’t realize that Gramling heard only one shout. By the time she did, it was too late to contradict him. You know how servants’ halls work. Precedence is more rigid than in society. No one would dare contradict someone above them.”

“Was he lying, then?”

“I doubt it. Sally claims he is nearly deaf and sleeps like the dead, though he won’t admit it. She was surprised he heard anything at all.”

William swore.

“We spoke for a quarter hour. Sir Nigel’s temper was very erratic in recent months. She does not think it odd that he was up after midnight. Apparently he’d fallen into the habit of checking on Peter – or so she implied. Sally has always been astute.”

William exhaled in frustration. “This becomes more puzzling by the hour. Why would Sir Nigel need help?  I saw no sign of intruders.”

“Not when we arrived, but suppose Sir Nigel found Peter’s room empty and noted a light in the library. He might have assumed that Peter was searching for money. Instead he saw a stranger – that would account for the night candle on the mantel. So he shouts for help and rushes off to fetch Gramling. Unfortunately, he ran into the table.”

“But where is his own candle, then?  He would hardly look for Peter in the dark.”

“If he was secretly checking up on the boy, he would hardly advertise his presence by carrying a candle. Or maybe a servant moved his candle out of the way when Gramling was examining the body – it was Gramling who claimed there was no candle; the other servants didn’t hear the question.”

“Why was there no sign of this supposed burglar, then?”  William sounded disgusted.

“But there was. I noted several drops of blood in the library yesterday morning, and one of the fireplace bricks had been pried loose. Perhaps they grappled before Sir Nigel raced out. Or maybe Sir Nigel’s shout alerted the intruder – people often injure themselves when startled. After Sir Nigel fell to his death, the staff rushed to the hall and stayed there. An intruder would have had two hours to hide signs of his presence and slip away.”

“And then return today, leaving a disturbance the servants spotted?  It doesn’t make sense. He must have realized on Saturday that the house was bare.”

William was right. An intruder could have searched nearly every room while Sir Nigel lay dead. “Maybe the two incidents have no connection. Or maybe he searched the upstairs on Saturday, cleaning up after himself so no one would realize he’d been there, then returned today to search the main rooms.”

“Don’t rush your fences. We don’t know which rooms are disturbed. Nor do we know that anyone was there on Saturday.”

Andrew stifled frustration. Every instinct swore that Sir Nigel had interrupted a burglary. Why else had the library contained blood?  “Ask Gramling if any doors were unlocked Sunday morning. A burglar must have left a door open behind him. And ask every servant privately about candles. They didn’t hear Gramling’s answer, so they would have no reason to parrot it.”

“Excellent idea.”  But William shook his head. “Not that it changes my verdict about Sir Nigel. His death was clearly an accident.”

“True. But if he surprised an intruder who returned to Fields House today, then everyone at Fields House remains in danger until the culprit finds what he seeks.”

The carriage halted at the foot of the steps. Again the servants huddled in the hallway, though this time Peter was with them.

“I can’t explain it,” he slurred. “Someone vandalized the place – holes in the walls, broken fireplace surrounds, ripped mattresses…. Can’t be the dunns. Nothing is overdue.”

“Where?” asked William.

Gramling looked ten years older. “Sir Nigel’s bedchamber, Master Kevin’s bedchamber, the library, and the billiard room, my lord. Also, the drawing room seems disturbed, and I’m convinced that someone moved chairs in the dining room. After Sir Peter discovered the destruction in the library, we searched the house.”

“And that was when?”  William looked at Peter.

“About half past seven. I spent the afternoon in Exeter, then went upstairs to study the estate records.”

Andrew shook his head. Had the boy been gaming again?

Peter bristled. “I wasn’t gaming,” he swore. “I had hoped a barrister could overturn that damnable trust. But the bastard claims the courts can do nothing.”  He drank deeply from the glass clutched in his hand.

William turned to Gramling. “Where was everyone today?”

“After the funeral guests left, Sir Peter went upstairs. The staff met in the servants’ hall for an hour – a bit of the funeral meats, you understand. Once Sir Peter left for Exeter, Sally made up his room and Miss Chloe’s. I started the monthly inventory of the wine cellar. Simms was packing – he left before dinner. Molly cleaned Mrs. Harper’s apartment, under Mrs. Harper’s supervision – she is not fully trained yet. Cook remained in the kitchen.”

So an intruder had needed to avoid only Sally. Once the servants sat down to dinner, even breaking holes in walls would have gone undetected. But only a man familiar with the household would know that. Was Simms the culprit?  If the two incidents were unrelated, Simms might have damaged the house before leaving, either in pique over his paltry inheritance or because he’d had words with Peter.

William nodded. “We will examine the damage in a moment, but while the staff is assembled, did anyone find unlocked doors or windows since Sir Nigel’s death?”

“The conservatory was unlocked yesterday morning, though I’d checked it before retiring,” reported Gramling.

“And the kitchen,” added Mrs. Harper. “Molly steps out with the groom and has slipped out at night more than once.”  She glared at the girl.

“I trust she remembered to lock the kitchen door last night.”  William stared at Molly, who blushed scarlet. “Does anyone know how the conservatory door came to be open?”

Guilt flashed across Peter’s face. “That was me. Father refused to give me a key. Unlocking the conservatory door let me return without waking Gramling.”

Andrew nearly choked. Peter would never consider a servant’s convenience. He left through the conservatory so Sir Nigel would not hear him – the conservatory was under the library. Kevin had done the same as a boy.

But that meant that anyone could have walked into Fields House Saturday night. He could have left the same way or through the kitchen. Either would have offered easy egress once the staff reached the hall.

That did not explain today’s intrusion, however. Either the man had stolen a key on Saturday, or he had entered through the front door. With the interment and general upheaval, Gramling might have forgotten to lock it during the will reading. It had definitely been unlocked when he and Chloe had left.

But they could address today’s entry point later. He could not embarrass Gramling by asking further questions in front of the staff.

As he followed William upstairs, Andrew considered possibilities. The first was simple – Sir Nigel had fallen in a house empty of all save servants. Today’s trouble was a separate problem.

The second was equally straightforward. A chance burglar had found the door open on Saturday. Sir Nigel’s shouts and his subsequent death had frightened the culprit away. Someone else had caused today’s destruction, possibly Simms. Unfortunate, and they would have to find the culprit, but it posed no continuing danger.

The other possibilities were troubling. If the same person had entered twice, then he was either deranged – anyone of sense could see that nothing of value remained – or he was seeking something specific.

Or the culprit was Peter. In which case the fall might not be so accidental. Had Sir Nigel run into the table, or had someone moved it to explain his fall?  The toe could just as easily have smashed on the floor or balusters.

Sir Nigel’s room was a mess. Clothing and bedding littered the floor. The marble fireplace surround was cracked. In the dressing room, the bottom of the wardrobe was torn up. Empty drawers leaned drunkenly against the wall.

Kevin’s room and the library were worse. Every book was on the floor – as if each had been searched, then stacked out of the way. Bricks had been pried from the fireplace. Two walls sported holes.

The billiard room had met a similar fate. Cabinets sat askew. The felt was ripped from the table.

While William interviewed the servants, Andrew returned to the library. The extent of the damage proved that this was no ordinary burglary. Either it was deliberate destruction, such as a disgruntled employee might inflict, or the intruder was seeking something specific. Something hidden. Something small. A paper, perhaps, that could be slipped between the pages of a book. Had Sir Nigel hidden evidence against Simms for some secret misdeed?

It seemed ludicrous.

Finding Peter’s room intact was equally suggestive. Either the man knew Peter did not have the prize, or Peter was the searcher.

Andrew pushed speculation aside. It was too early to assign blame. Instead he skimmed the papers atop the desk. The shares in the
Gray Gull
remained. The burglar must not know their value.

The top drawer yielded the estate ledger. A quick glance confirmed that Fields House was on the verge of bankruptcy. Half the farm workers had been turned off. Crops like timber had been sold years early to cover gaming and investment losses – it would be a decade before another harvest was possible. A hefty mortgage payment was due next week. Had desperation driven Peter to a rapid, destructive search for valuables?