Regency Masquerade (12 page)

Jonathon assisted him into the inn but let him stagger upstairs by himself. He had more important things to do. He went directly to the kitchen, where a frazzled Maggie was up to her elbows in work.

“I just wanted to compliment you on that excellent dinner,” he said, with a winning smile.

Personal thanks from a guest was a new thing for Maggie Bullion. She had an occasional visit from dissatisfied customers complaining of tough roast beef or sour milk, but never a compliment. After she recovered from her shock, she said, “Why, thankee, sir. That is mighty civil of ye.”

He looked around at the loads of dishes piled by the sink. “What a lot of work this is for you, Mrs. Bullion. Just look at those stacks of dishes.”

“Aye, and every one of them will be clean before this body hits the tick. Sal, get filling that washbasin.”

Wilf came darting in to request a refill of the sweets platter. Jonathon strolled nonchalantly to the tin trays piled with macaroons, tarts, and chantillies to help himself to a macaroon. While the servants worked, he peered out the window into the yard. When his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, he discerned a man moving about, looking into crates and boxes. The man leaned over and lifted up what looked like a large, flat piece of wood roughly three feet square. When the man—it was Hartly—disappeared before his very eyes, Jonathon deduced that the piece of wood was a trapdoor, leading to a storage place for brandy.

He had seen enough. He grabbed up two more macaroons and returned to the Great Hall.

“Hartly is exploring out back,” he told Lady Marchbank. “He has found the trapdoor.”

Lady Marchbank turned pale. “Pest of a man! It will cost a pretty penny to buy his silence.”

She developed a migraine and left very soon after, to report to her husband. “Best give me the sapphires, Moira,” she said, before leaving. Moira handed them over.

After seeing Lady Marchbank off, the Trevithicks remained behind, discussing the matter in low tones.

“There is no doubt in my mind that Hartly is a special agent sent down from London,” Jonathon said. “He will have Cousin Vera and Marchbank carried off in chains if we do not stop him.”

“He cannot know at this juncture that Marchbank is involved. He will do more spying before he returns to London.” And here he let on he was staying only to be with her!

“We must follow him and see what he is up to,” Jonathon declared, not without pleasure.

While they were speaking, Hartly came into the room, looking as innocent as a babe. Seeing the empty seat where Lady Marchbank had been sitting, he joined the Trevithicks at the table.

“I just stepped out to blow a cloud,” he said. “A lovely evening.”

“Yes, I went out for a breath of air myself,” Jonathon said. “I was just telling Lady Crieff that I bumped into Ponsonby, drunk as a Dane. He fell off a ladder.”

Hartly lifted a satirical eyebrow at Lady Crieff. “I blame it on your giving him that glass of champagne at dinner. I notice you did not offer me one.”

“What was he doing on a ladder?” Moira asked, as this was the first she had heard of it.

Jonathon said, “He locked his key in his room. Bullion must have a spare, but he was too disguised to ask for it.”

Hartly felt a quiver of interest. Ponsonby had been playing the drunken fool the evening he arrived but had sobered up in the space of a quarter of an hour.

“Which window was he at?” he asked.

“His own, the end one.”

“But that is not his room!” Moira exclaimed. “He is across the hall from us. Major Stanby has the end suite.”

“By Jove, you are right!” Jonathon said. “But Ponsonby had the key in his pocket. He must have taken Major Stanby’s key. I wonder if he was really foxed or only shamming it.”

“I shall have a word with him,” Hartly said.

“I expect he is in his own room by now,” Jonathon said. “P’raps we should remove that ladder from Stanby’s window first. It is an invitation to thieves.”

“An excellent idea,” Hartly agreed.

Moira remained behind while the gentlemen went out, around to the side of the inn. The ladder was gone. “It was there not five minutes ago!” Jonathon declared.

“I believe you, Sir David.”

“I daresay Bullion had it moved.”

“Very likely.”

Jonathon studied Hartly for a moment, then said, “You don’t really think so, do you, Mr. Hartly?”

“No, I do not, Sir David. I suspect Mr. Ponsonby moved it himself. He was trying to steal your stepmama’s jewelry and got the wrong room.”

“Really!”

“I should warn Lady Crieff that Ponsonby is not always as inebriated as he would have us believe.”

“You mean he is a common thief? But he is the tip of the ton. He knows all the fine lords and ladies.”

“So he says. It is easy to drop famous names when your audience is in no position to challenge you.”

“That is true,” Jonathon said, chewing back a secret smile. “Why, any of us might not be who we say we are. Even you and I.” Jonathon smiled guilelessly, imagining he was being crafty.

Hartly mistrusted that smile. “I?” he asked. “If I were to impersonate someone, it would not be a plain Mr. Hartly. I would make myself a duke.”

“I did not mean you were not Mr. Hartly,” Jonathon said. “I only meant you might be doing something other than what you say you are doing here.”

“Such as?”

Jonathon began to fear he should not have begun this conversation. He shrugged. “How the deuce should I know?”

As there seemed nothing to be gained from this conversation, Hartly said he would go to check up on Ponsonby.

“I shall go with you,” Jonathon said at once.

“I would prefer that you deliver my warning to Lady Crienff, Sir David.”

They went inside, Jonathon sulking and Hartly in an unsettled mood. What was Ponsonby up to?

Jonathon gave Moira the warning, and also an account of the missing ladder.

“It is odd about the ladder disappearing,” Jonathon said. “I shall ask Bullion if he had it removed.”

He darted off and had a word with Bullion. When he returned, his eyes were shining with excitement. “Bullion did not move it! Either Hartly moved it himself before he came in, or Ponsonby did it, which means he was not foxed at all.”

“It was Hartly, I warrant,” Moira said in a hard voice.

She was beginning to see that Hartly cared nothing for her. He was using her relationship with the Marchbanks as an excuse to ferret out information. His insistence that she leave her jewels with them would provide another excuse to visit Cove House. He would offer to accompany her for safety’s sake and try to get into the caves while he was there. He already knew of their existence.

She was just discussing her fears with Jonathon when Hartly returned.

“I could get nothing out of Ponsonby,” he said. “He was either asleep or doing a good job of shamming it. Perhaps he was foxed, as he was entering the wrong room. Yet it is odd the key he got from Stanby’s toilet table fit his own door.” He already knew each key was different. He had tried to get into Stanby’s room with his own key earlier.

“The key he
said
he got from Stanby’s room,” Jonathon said, with a knowing look. “He had his own key all the while. He was after something else in Stanby’s room.”

“It is no secret Stanby is well-to-grass,” Hartly said. “I shall warn Bullion that he may possibly be harboring a thief under his roof.”

The local guests had left the party. The servants were creating a great ruckus in the clearing of the tables.

“We are in the way here. It is time to retire,” Moira said.

Hartly accompanied them abovestairs, urging Moira to take her jewels to her cousin’s house for safekeeping.

“I would be happy to accompany you,” he said.

Moira and Jonathon exchanged a knowing look. “I was sure you would,” Moira said. “So kind of you, but that will not be necessary. If I decide to do as you suggest, I shall ask Cousin John to send his carriage with a couple of armed footmen. It is kind of you to worry about them, but I shan’t have them here long in any case.”

His dark eyes gleamed with curiosity. “It is not the jewelry that concerns me so much as yourself, Lady Crieff. Er ... have you decided when you will be leaving, as you mentioned not being here long?” he asked.

Moira tapped his arm with her fan. “Curiosity killed the cat, Mr. Hartly. I did not say I would be leaving. I said my jewelry would not be here. Now there is a puzzle for you to solve.”

His curiosity turned to a worried frown. “I trust this puzzle does not involve Major Stanby?”

“I am not likely to take any chances with my jewels,” she said vaguely.

“I would not entrust them to—to a stranger,” he said. “As David and I were mentioning earlier, a man is not always what he seems.”

“How very true,” she said, turning to unlock her door, to conceal the involuntary sneer that had seized her lips. Then she turned around, smiling. “Thank you for your escort, Mr. Hartly. Good night.”

She opened the door and went in. Jonathon followed her, leaving Hartly alone in the hallway, frowning.

He, like everyone else at the inn, knew her collection was in Bullion’s safe. The least he could do was make sure that the safe was a good one and perhaps arrange that someone be on guard in the room at night. He had matters to discuss with Bullion, in any case, and went belowstairs. He discussed the matter of smuggling first. He convinced Bullion to assist him in a certain scheme he was hatching. After he had Bullion’s confidence, he mentioned the jewels.

“Did Lady Crieff remember to have her sapphires put away with the rest of her jewels?” he asked. He could not remember whether she had been wearing them when he accompanied her upstairs. He had a vivid memory of her large, silver-gray eyes, which seemed to be laughing at him. He remembered her green gown, and the enticing body in it, but he could not remember seeing the sapphires.

“No, she did not, sir. She’ll bring them down tomorrow, I daresay.”

“I hope that safe is a good, stout one?”

“That it is, sir.”

“May I have a look at it?”

“See for yourself.”

He led Hartly into a cubbyhole of an office whose sole furnishings were a large, battered desk and two chairs. “The gentleman you’re concerned about would never even find the safe, let alone pry her open.”

He pushed the desk aside, lifted the worn carpet, and pointed to a door in the floor, with a sunken handle that allowed the carpet to lie flat. He unlocked the door and lifted it, revealing a box built into the floor. There, along with a tin box containing cash and business papers, sat Lady Crieff’s jewelry case. She had not even bothered to lock it when she got out her “sapphires” for the party. These paste stones had been left under her mattress, while she wore her Cousin Vera’s genuine stones.

“Would you like to see the jewels?” Bullion asked.

“Indeed I would.”

Bullion lifted the lid, revealing a glitter of diamonds, along with colored stones, all arranged in dark blue velvet. At first glance, it looked like a pirate’s treasure chest. Bullion took up the green necklace.

“These are the Crieff emeralds,” he said in a hushed voice.

Hartly reached out his hand and held them up to the light. He knew at a glance that they were paste. They did not have the glow of genuine stones. The weight and the feel of them were wrong. The setting was well done, but the stones were imperfectly fashioned. An occasional rough edge could be discerned when he ran his fingers around the larger stones. He said nothing to Bullion but laid the emeralds aside and took up a diamond necklace. It, too, was of paste. He looked in vain for the small diamond necklace she had worn the evening she arrived. It was not there.

“Very impressive,” he said. “Best put them away.”

They were fakes. The entire Crieff collection was made of paste. Was it a clever stunt to fool a potential thief? Were the genuine jewels safely stowed away at Cove House? That was the logical answer. But what if these were the only “jewels” Lady Crieff possessed? Was she unaware they were not genuine? Or did she know it perfectly well and hope to sell them to some uninformed gentleman as the real thing?

His mind was seething with various intrigues. Was it possible that Lady Crieff was nothing but a wicked adventuress? He felt betrayed. After he had left and gone to his room, he discussed the matter with Mott.

“Would it be Stanby she’s chosen as her victim?” Mott asked. “It seems they are pretty close.”

“She is on dangerous ground if that is her plan. Stanby will not be gulled by a green girl.”

“I doubt she is a green girl, Daniel. There would be a sort of poetic justice in it if she conned him, though. I should like to see someone get the better of that bounder.”

“You are letting your romantic spirit lead you astray, Rudolph,” Hartly said dampingly. “If
she
gets his blunt out of him, where does that leave us?”

“True. We must stop her.”

“Our best bet is to rush our own scheme forward. Stanby is interested. I have had a few discussions with him. Bullion is on board as well. I shall arrange a meeting with all the interested parties tomorrow morning in Bullion’s office.”

“Excellent. Do you know enough about the operation to pull it off?”

“I mean to take another run down to Cove House this evening. You keep an eye on things here. That includes Ponsonby, by the by. He could be trouble. Well, I am off.”

Chapter Eleven

“You are right, Jonathon. We must follow Hartly,” Moira said, tossing her shawl, evening reticule, and fan onto the bed. “I shall change into my riding habit and meet you in ten minutes. Do not wear your good evening clothes. We cannot afford a rent in them.”

“We will be seen leaving the inn,” Jonathon pointed out. “It is well enough for me, but for a lady ...”

“If I had remembered ladies were so restricted in their movements, I would have posed as a young man. Could you bring that ladder around to the window for me?”

“If I can find it. It cannot be far away.”

“Best bring the dark lantern from the carriage as well.”

They both scrambled out of their good evening clothes and into rougher wear. E’er long, Moira heard a scraping at her window, and after her first leap of fear, she realized it was Jonathon. She opened the window and followed him down the ladder.