Louise M Gouge (15 page)

With all proper compliments spoken, he turned to walk the hundred feet to his own front door. Behind him he heard Mrs. Parton’s overloud voice echoing along the silent street. “By the by, Bea, you recall that I gave Lord Winston permission to come calling day after tomorrow.”

No, Lord. Not that dullard for our lovely Lady Beatrice.

But she was not his Lady Beatrice, and thus he had no say in the matter.

Chapter Sixteen

“S
till awake, Mother?” Greystone surrendered his hat and gloves to Crawford and walked across the front entry hall to his parent. But when he tried to kiss her cheek, she stepped back, arms crossed. “What is it?” No doubt the little climbing-boys had broken a vase or swung on a chandelier.

“Your little pets have shown their true nature.” Her eyes blazed, and her cheeks were pinched. “They have stolen my ruby necklace and refuse to return it. In fact the clever little thieves have added to their crime by denying they know anything about it.”

Somehow her accusation rang hollow. Was this the first challenge to his resolve to take charge of his household?
Lord, give me the wisdom of Solomon.
“Where are they?”

“Locked in the nursery, of course.” She glared at him as if he were the thief. “With two of our strongest footmen on duty to keep them there.”

“Good.” He ran a hand through his hair, ruining Gilly’s careful work. “No doubt the boys are asleep, so we will address this in the morning.” He gave her a slight bow. “Good night, Mother.” Suddenly tired, he made his way toward the staircase. The day had been long, and many issues remained unresolved.

“You will not retire until this is dealt with.”

He paused with one hand on the bannister, but did not turn back.

“Greystone!” Her voice echoed throughout the chamber. “I demand that you call a constable to take them away
now.
”

After a silent prayer for help, he slowly turned to her. “Madam.” He injected as much kindness as possible into his tone. “We are never at our best when we are weary. I will speak with you in the morning and will deal with the matter then.”

Despite her angry huff and a sad bit of bluster, he continued his ascent. In his room he found Gilly asleep in a chair. The old man jumped to his feet and rubbed his eyes.

“Begging your pardon, milord. I didn’t expect you for some time. Thought you might go out for supper after the play.”

Greystone grunted at his own folly. Now he had three reasons to regret declining Mrs. Parton’s invitation: Lady Beatrice’s disappointment, Lord Winston’s imminent visit and Mother.

“Gilly, what can you tell me about my little charges?” If anyone would know the truth, it would be his valet.

“My lord, I fear it’s a muddle. One person saying one thing, another something else.” He clicked his tongue. “That Lucy—” His eyes widened briefly. “Not meaning any disrespect to Mr. Crawford, you understand. But Lucy, well, the girl needs a bit more experience before she can handle two wee lads so full of energy.” He helped Greystone remove his jacket and tie.

“Hmm.” Greystone had not considered that when he assigned the job to her. From the look of Lady Beatrice’s hair this evening, the girl might well be a better lady’s maid than a nursemaid. “I shall deal with it all in the morning. In the meantime, please inform Crawford that the boys are not to be removed from this house, no matter what Lady Greystone says.”

“Yes, milord.” An odd smile lifted one corner of Gilly’s lips.

“What do you find so amusing?” Greystone tried to sound severe, but failed. Gilly had been his body servant for four and twenty years. He was more like a favorite uncle than a servant, although he never crossed the lines of propriety.

“I’m just glad it’s Crawford relaying your orders to Lady Greystone, milord.” He grimaced. “Meaning no disrespect, of course.”

“Of course.” Greystone mirrored his grimace, but guilt followed.

Lord, please help me work through these problems and somehow honor Mother all at the same time.

* * *

“Should you not be at Lord Greystone’s, Crawford?” Beatrice had permitted the girl to remove her gown and stays, then put on her dressing gown. Now she sat while Lucy removed pins and ribbons from her hair and brushed out the curls. “Who is watching over the boys?”

For once Lucy would not meet her gaze in the mirror. “I put them to bed, my lady.” Some indecipherable expression crossed her face, and her hands shook as she wound the ribbon back on its spool. “But I wanted you to see I can help with the undressing, too, not just the getting ready.”

Beatrice nodded. Something was wrong, but she must be careful how she questioned the girl. “Is everything all right next door?” She kept her tone light, as if asking about the weather.

Lucy still would not meet her gaze. “No, miss, uh, my lady.” She dug the brush deep into Beatrice’s hair, massaging the scalp as she swept it downward.

Despite the pleasant feeling of having her hair brushed, which always helped to relax her, Beatrice resisted the urge to let her guard down. “What happened?”

“Well, um, it seems the boys got into a bit of trouble while I wasn’t looking.” She blinked. “Mind you, I keep up with them as best I can. But sometimes when they dash away, I have to rest a bit before giving chase.”

Beatrice hid a smile. Surely Lucy was not to blame for their mischief. “And what happened today?”

Lucy dropped the brush, but snatched it up with trembling hands. “They got into Lady Greystone’s bedchamber and stole a necklace.” Her voice wavered.

“Oh, my goodness.” Beatrice swung around and grasped Lucy’s hands, but still the girl would not meet her gaze. “You are not to blame for their mischief.” Crime, actually. Children had been hanged for less, an abhorrent punishment, but the law of the land nonetheless.

Lucy chewed her lip for a moment. “So you don’t think his lordship will dismiss me?”

“Why no, Lucy, not at all.” Despite her words Beatrice was not certain she should console the girl. Something still was not right. But what did Beatrice know of such things? She had never confronted a thief in her home. The servants at Melton Gardens were honest Christians who took pride in their flawless service. “Lord Greystone is the kindest gentleman one could ever know. And I am certain he realizes your talents are better suited to being a lady’s maid.”

Now the girl brightened, and she brushed away tears. “Oh, do you think so, my lady?”

Even as she nodded to confirm her words, Beatrice felt a nudge of uncertainty. Once again she thought,
something is not right about this.

* * *

“What do you mean ‘gone’?” Greystone studied the two footmen who had been charged with confining Kit and Ben. As if to set the stage for a tragedy, a fog lay over the streets of London, and no morning sunlight brightened the nursery. “If the door was locked, how did they get out?” His stomach ached with worry over the two little scamps. Just yesterday Crawford had reported that their former master had been seen in the neighborhood but without the tools of his trade. Had he kidnapped them?

“Oh, they be sly ones, milord.” The younger footman’s wig and livery were askew, as if he had been sleeping, yet his eyes seemed alert enough. “Picked the lock, they did.” Warren nudged the older man. “Ain’t that right, Rob?”

Robert was a longtime employee, and Greystone knew him to be utterly trustworthy. “I don’t know, my lord. They were sound asleep when I went down to fetch breakfast for them—” he nodded toward a tray of porridge and tea “—and I made sure the door was locked behind me. When I returned, the door was wide open, and they were gone.” He shot a cross look at his companion.

“And you were sleeping, too?” Greystone did not care for Warren’s attitude. Although he was a new employee, his failure to understand his duty could not be excused.

He shrugged, adding to the offense. “I worked all day yesterday, milord. A man’s gotta sleep sometime.”

“That is beyond enough.” Crawford entered the room and stood by Greystone, his face aflame, his eyes blazing. “You are dismissed.”

“One moment.” Greystone lifted a hand to stop his tirade. “Crawford, I do not like to override your orders, but I want these men to join the search for the boys.”

Robert appeared relieved, but Warren heaved out a great sigh. “Yes, milord,” they chorused.

“In addition, Crawford, I want the entire staff to search the premises from the basement to the attic to see if anything else is missing.” He put out a hand to stop the older footman. “One moment, Robert.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Fetch me a Bow Street Runner. I shall give you a note.”

“Yes, my lord.” Relief shone in the servant’s eyes. Here was a dependable man. But Greystone could not be certain about the other one.

* * *

“Oh, Frances, we came as soon as we could.” Mrs. Parton bustled into the town house’s front entry with Beatrice on her heels.

“You heard?” Lady Greystone’s face was pinched with anger, but she submitted to Mrs. Parton’s embrace. “Julia, you must support me in this. Greystone has the entire staff searching for the brats, but I am beside myself to think he will permit them to stay here if they are found.”

Lord Greystone hurried down the front staircase, a footman close behind him. He stopped short when he saw Mrs. Parton, and his eyes flared briefly when he glanced at Beatrice. In spite of the distractions of the moment, Beatrice’s heart skipped.

“Ladies, I fear you have come at an inconvenient time—”

“Not at all, Greystone.” Mrs. Parton gripped Lady Greystone’s hand. “We insist upon helping you, do we not, Bea?”

“Yes, of course.” She hesitated to tell them of her unease about Lucy’s story. After thinking about it further, she’d decided that the girl had been nervous last night simply because of the situation, not because she bore any fault for the children’s actions.

“Excuse me, ladies.” Lord Greystone brushed past them on his way to the door and handed the footman a letter. “Make haste, Robert. The longer the boys are missing, the less likely it is that we will find them.” Once the man hurried out, the viscount faced his mother. “Madam, please be at ease. I shall not rest until we have solved this problem.”

“Problem?” Her voice shook. “It is a
crime,
Greystone. They have stolen a valuable heirloom necklace and have no doubt already sold it.” The pathos in her tone rivaled Queen Gertrude’s in last night’s performance. Unfortunately the viscountess was not acting.

Lord Greystone swiped a hand over his eyes. “We will find out soon enough. Every honest jewelry dealer will be alerted to watch for it.”

Beatrice’s heart went out to him and his mother. “Lady Greystone, you have my sympathy for your loss. I recall seeing you wear the necklace at Lord Greystone’s birthday ball.” Never mind that she had not even been presented to the viscountess that evening. “It is an exquisite creation and looked so becoming with your scarlet gown.” She rushed on before the viscountess could respond. “I will pray that it is restored to you very soon.”

The lady stared in her direction, not seeming to see her. At last her eyes focused. “I thank you, Lady Beatrice.”

As if everyone were stunned by her uncharacteristically gracious answer, silence ruled the front entryway for several moments. Beatrice made haste to keep her promise, lifting up a petition that all would soon be solved, that God would be merciful to the boys and to Lord Greystone. And to poor Lady Greystone, whose anger for once seemed justified.

* * *

Lord, I cannot believe You brought Kit and Ben to me only to have them rob us. Did I mistake Your voice in my mind that day? Did the innocence in Kit’s eyes mask his true character? And why am I more concerned about their disappearance than I am about the necklace?

Greystone knelt beside his bed, something he had not done in many years. But the full impact of the theft had brought him to his knees with self-doubt and a longing for God’s wisdom. After all of his talk about wanting to help children who were forced to work as climbing-boys, he began to question every aspect of the project. He would not abandon it outright, but he had certainly lost his enthusiasm. Yet perhaps his peers whom he had regarded as hard-hearted were right. Perhaps the lower classes did not deserve help, for they would take advantage of any perceived weakness on the part of their betters who tried to raise their expectations.

And what of poor Mother? I intended to show her that she must stand aside and permit me to rule my own house from now on. But how can I inflict that pain upon her just when she has lost one of the few material objects she has ever valued?

He leaned his forehead against the mattress, longing for God’s voice to answer him out of the darkness. Instead a vision of Lady Beatrice danced in his mind. This morning the concern in her eyes, her compassion toward Mother, had caused a shift in his determination not to further their acquaintance. Oddly, Mother had received her words of sympathy without a rude response. If any good could come of this situation, perhaps it would be a friendship between them.

Somehow that thought pleased him mightily. If Mother befriended Lady Beatrice, all of Society would have no choice but to do the same. If all of Society accepted her, he would no longer be required to fight his attraction to her. He had never before considered that possibility. But was this not just one more situation in which Mother was making his choices and Society was dictating his happiness? All of his objections seemed to lose their power over him, and a sense of excitement filled him over the prospect of following his heart.

For now, though, another situation loomed larger and more immediate. Every corner of the house had been searched for the boys, every chamber examined for signs of other missing items. Only the ruby necklace was gone. Poor Mrs. Hudson was bereft, as though the jewels were her own. She had been Mother’s lady’s maid for some twenty years and had never lost or misplaced so much as a well-used ribbon. When the usually calm woman had discovered someone had picked the lock on the jewel case and stolen its most valuable object, she had dissolved into hysterics. Greystone had had a difficult time reassuring her of his faith in her loyalty. Mother had even consoled her and insisted she was not at fault—another surprising act on the part of his parent.

Jeremy Slate, the Bow Street Runner, had been apprised of the situation and had viewed the scene of the crime, along with all possible evidence, of which there was little. The boys’ old clothes had been burned days ago, and no one knew where they had lived before coming to Greystone Hall that fateful day. But if anyone could find the children and discover what they’d done with the necklace, or if they’d even stolen it in the first place, Mr. Slate was the man.