A Tall Dark Stranger (13 page)

“You flatter yourself’, sir. I’m not jealous. I’m disappointed that a man I mistook for a gentleman would lie.”

“Disappointment doesn’t cause glares and fulminations, my little goose. Disappointment causes rueful looks and shakes of the head, and in extreme cases a wobbling of the lower lip that can be highly attractive. But not so flattering as jealousy. It is jealousy that lends that angry sparkle to a lady’s eyes. And why should you be jealous if you don’t ... care for me, at least a little. If we were alone, I could convince you ...”

He looked up and down the corridor. I knew what he had in mind, and my heart began palpitating in anticipation. He planned to distract me with another of his magic kisses.

I steeled myself against his insidious charm and said in a voice as cold as ice, “It might be wise for you to leave the neighborhood, Mr. Renshaw. Folks are beginning to wonder why you’re here, arriving so mysteriously at the time of Lord Harry’s death.”

“And Mr. Renshaw is wondering why you have turned into an iceberg only because he knew his hostess in London. There’s nothing mysterious about my coming here. And I arrived the day after Lord Harry’s death, if you recall.”

“An odd coincidence. Did you really drive hell-for-leather all night, only to visit a friend you hadn’t seen in years? Sure you weren’t closer than London? You arrived at seven o’clock in the morning.”

“Good Lord! How did you know when I arrived? Chilton Abbas has an extremely efficient spy network.”

I ignored it. “And you called at Oakbay before ten. I cannot think you dashed straight off to me after driving all night.”

He gave a “Bah!” of disgust, but he didn’t offer any explanation. Then he put two shapely fingers under my chin and tilted my head up, forcing me to look at him. “Can’t you trust me just a little, Amy?” he asked in a wheedling tone.

Renshaw certainly didn’t look like a thief or a murderer. In fact, he looked extremely attractive, with his dark eyes gazing at me and his elegant white cravat standing out in the shadows. His fingers began to move, intimately massaging my chin.

I felt a weakening stab of attraction and twitched my head away. “I’d as soon trust a fox in the chicken coop!” I replied, and flounced away.

Since his arm was barring the way back to the ballroom, I was forced to walk toward the saloon. Renshaw didn’t follow me. I didn’t look back, not even when he called, “Foxes have to eat, too, you know.”

The older guests had begun a card game. I spent the better part of half an hour watching, all the while keeping one eye on the door, wondering if Renshaw would come after me, and devising the clever things I would say if he did.

It wasn’t Renshaw who eventually showed up but Lollie, and he was wearing his government agent’s face: eyes narrowed, lips pursed into an unnatural smirk. He sidled forward, tossing his head toward the door. I left the group and joined him.

“Something’s afoot,” he said out of the side of his mouth.

“What is it?”

“Murray summoned Renshaw into his study.”

“What do you mean, summoned?” I thought perhaps Murray had caught Renshaw and Marie in some compromising situation. I envisaged a duel or at least a degrading bout of fisticuffs.

“I was standing close enough to overhear them. Murray came up behind him and said, ‘A word in my study, Mr. Renshaw, if you please.
’ “
Renshaw nodded and followed, meek as a lamb.”

“Did it have to do with Mrs. Murray?”

“Eh? Of course not. It was nothing to do with her. She’s been throwing herself at Maitland the last half hour. No, it has to do with the missing property, of course. I found out that much at least.”

“How?”

“I listened at the door, and it wasn’t easy, either, with footmen trotting by carrying trays of drinks. They were talking about the missing property. I heard Murray ripping up at Renshaw, something about coming here masquerading as something or other. I couldn’t quite grasp it, but anyhow Murray had a letter from Whitehall about Renshaw. They spoke of Lord Harry and the water meadow. The words ‘government property’ were repeated more than once. I think Murray was putting it to Renshaw that he’s under suspicion.”

“He’d hardly do that if he didn’t have enough evidence to arrest him.” My heart leaped to my throat. “Renshaw hasn’t been arrested!”

“No, just warned, I believe.”

My heart began to sink back to its normal place. “Why tip him the clue he’s suspected?”

“Perhaps he’s trying to rattle Renshaw, stir him up so he goes after the blunt. Planning to run, you know, then Murray will arrest him and recover the property. I’ll certainly keep a sharp eye on Renshaw when he leaves this party tonight.”

“Where are they now?”

“Still at it in Murray’s study. Once Renshaw started doing most of the talking, I couldn’t hear a word. He pitched his voice low. Murray can be heard in the next county, from speaking on the hustings and in the House.”

I knew Renshaw had lied about how long he’d been in England and about knowing Marie Murray. He had displayed a keen interest in Lord Harry and the water meadow. And now this. What else could it mean but that he was guilty?

Being less naive than Lollie, I even found a reason why Murray didn’t just arrest Renshaw on the spot. It must have been from Mrs. Murray that Renshaw discovered the money was being transported. She was never discreet at the best of times, and with a handsome scoundrel flattering her, she’d tell anything except her age. Naturally Murray didn’t want to involve his own wife. I thought perhaps he had arranged a deal with Renshaw: Return the money and no charges would be laid, no questions asked.

Of course it was only supposition, but if true, then Renshaw would indeed go after the money that same night. The question was: Would he return it to Murray or try to sneak away with it, perhaps dart back to India? Surely Murray wouldn’t let Renshaw out of his sight until he had the money safe.

Lollie and I returned to the ballroom, lingering a moment outside the study door en route. I didn’t expect to hear laughter, but Murray was indeed laughing. It was not only the ladies that Renshaw could bring around his thumb. The laughter was drawing closer to the door. Lollie and I walked briskly on to the ballroom and got inside before the study door opened. Lollie strolled on to stand in the corner, spying on the assembly.

When Renshaw returned to the ballroom, he didn’t look like a man who had just been chastised. He was smiling when he came toward me.

“Would it compromise us if we had a second dance?” he asked, taking my hand and inclining his head close to mine. “And do we really care? I should adore to be compromised by you. With so few partners the ladies must either dance with the same man more than once or sit out most of the evening.” He squeezed my fingers. I wrenched my hand away.

“I don’t feel like dancing, thank you,” I said coolly.

“I can think of more interesting things we might do, but as we’re at a polite party it’s the only way I get to hold you in my arms.” He watched closely. I glared. “No, you’re right. We wouldn’t want to freeze all those happy waltzers. We’ll sit out instead. Perhaps Murray will build us up a fire before you turn into an ice block. We’ll grab a glass of wine and find some nice, secluded corner away from the hurly-burly. We have to talk, Amy—about foxes, and chickens, and April and May.”

“And government property,” I added, staring to see if he betrayed himself. He looked conscious, but his ears didn’t turn pink. His eyes slid to Lollie, who stood in the corner, examining him suspiciously.

“Government property, eh?” he said. “What big ears you have for a small chick. Do you know, I’ve just lost my appetite for talking. It’s only a temporary loss. Hardly a loss at all, really. More an aversion to your chosen topic.
Adieu, ma petite poule.”

He grabbed my hand and kissed it before I could stop him. Then he bowed, gave one last charming smile, and walked away.

When he asked Mrs. Murray to waltz, he turned and gave me a saucy grin as if to say, “You’re not the only chicken in the coop, miss.”

I went and joined Lollie. He was on nettles to go home and change into spy clothes. I decided to go with him. We went back to the card parlor and had no trouble convincing Aunt Talbot she was tired. On the short trip home she was full of gossip and regaled us with what all the ladies had said about the party, especially the dinner.

“Mrs. Carruthers was saying Pierre has a better idea how to dress a fowl than to cook it,” she said. “Dress it in men’s clothing, she meant. Fancy putting a jacket on it. I’m surprised he didn’t add a cravat. All its fine raiments didn’t prevent it from being as dry as a lime kiln and tough as white leather. And the way Mrs. Murray hauled the men out of the dining room before they had time to light their cheroots! Ah, it’s a sad house where the hen crows louder than the cock, and it’s Mrs. Murray who rules
that
roost.”

I thought of Renshaw, who had called me his little hen.
Ma petite poule.
One would have to crow loudly, indeed, to outcrow him. He was a regular chatterbox.

Lollie confessed that he meant to spy that evening.

“I think it unwise, but counsel is no command,” Auntie said, which was her indirect way of giving permission.

Auntie didn’t try to keep him on a short rein. She just told him to be careful. As I didn’t tell her I meant to accompany him, she neither counseled nor commanded.

Within half an hour of our arrival at Oakbay, we were heading out the back door, suitably attired in old dark clothing and, in my case, comfortable walking shoes.

There followed three of the most uncomfortable hours of my life. A light mist had already been hovering over the countryside when we left the Murrays’. The night was silver and black—silver sky, black everything else. The trees and buildings loomed menacingly around us.

By the time we got to the water meadow, the mist had deepened to a blanket of fog. If you think finding a needle in a haystack is difficult, you should try looking for two bags of money in the countryside on a foggy night. The search had to be done almost by touch, for we could hardly see past the ends of our noses. By the time we had found our way across the meadow of Oakbay to the hedge that separates us from Beauvert, the hem of my skirt was heavy with mud and my feet were sodden. And we hadn’t really begun to search yet.

Lollie was in charge of the mission. As the night was so uncomfortable, he decided we should look in the outbuildings of Beauvert to get out of the damp and fog. I stood guard while Lollie sneaked into the stable. The shadow of Beauvert loomed in the distance before me, a geometrical arrangement of squares with a polled turret at either end. There wasn’t a single light on in the whole house.

Lollie has an affinity for horses. He managed to keep them quiet while he searched their stalls and the haystack and feed bins and water trough for the money.

When he came out, I could see through the mist that his eyes were narrowed.

“Did you find anything?” I asked.

“Not the money, but something significant, I think. Renshaw’s grays are in their stalls right enough, so he came home from the party shortly after us.” It pleased me to know that he hadn’t remained behind, flirting with Mrs. Murray. “Both of their mounts are missing,” Lollie added.

“Where can he be?” I asked.

“Beau wouldn’t ride to his aunt’s place,” Lollie replied. Beau wasn’t the he I meant, but I didn’t say so. I had a sinking feeling that Renshaw was out rounding up the stolen money.

“No, he’d take his carriage,” I agreed.

“Well, he didn’t. Beau’s carriage and carriage horses are in the stable. He didn’t go to his aunt’s place at all. It looks as if Renshaw and Beau are out on horseback. They’d want horses to carry those bags of money.”

“So Beau is in on it as well!” Perhaps the chief instigator, luring Renshaw into crime ...

“He’s Renshaw’s cohort, providing a place to wait until things cool down and to hide the blunt,” Lollie said.

“They should be easier to spot on horseback at least.”

“Aye, we’ll go back to the meadow and keep our ears open for the sound of horses. The devil of it is, we’ll never keep up with them on foot. I believe I’ll go home and get my mount.”

“Why don’t we just go home and stay?” I suggested. I was cold, wet, and tired. The law hired men to catch criminals. And perhaps I really didn’t want to see Renshaw sneaking around with stolen money.

I fully believed he had stolen it. The knowledge sat like a dark and heavy burden on my heart. I survived by convincing myself that the Renshaw I had come to know and care for didn’t really exist. He was only playing a role the real Renshaw assumed to con people.

“You run along to bed, Amy,” Lollie said in an avuncular way. “I’ll handle this.”

I tried in vain to dissuade him as we went across the meadow. It was just before we reached the hedgerow separating Beauvert from Oakbay that we heard the muffled sounds of hoofbeats on damp ground and the jingle of metal. They were coming from our own meadow.

We leaped into the hedgerow and watched as a mounted rider came through a break in the hedge, heading for Beauvert. All I noticed was that it was a broad-shouldered man with a curled beaver pulled well forward over his eyes. It could have been Renshaw.

“Beau Sommers,” Lollie whispered. We waited a moment to see if anyone was with him, but he was alone. I held my breath, then released a long sigh of relief when Renshaw didn’t appear.

“What was he doing on our property?” I asked in a rhetorical way, but Lollie had an answer.

“He wasn’t carrying any bags of money. That much was clear. I expect he was taking the shortcut home from the cockfighting barn. We already knew he wasn’t visiting his aunt, I thought it a pretty fishy story when I heard it. He only used that as an excuse to miss the Murrays’ dull do. That accounts for his carriage being in the stable, but why is the second mount missing? Obviously Renshaw is using it.”

The tension was back, tightening my throat and chest. Where was he, indeed, and what was he doing? It was no innocent errand that took a man out on such a night as this.