Stolen Love (18 page)

"I saw nothing because I was in the sitting room with Mr. Beaufort Latchley for the entire hour before the theft."

"And what were you doing, if I might ask?"

"Discussing a private matter, Mr. Johns."

"Business, then?"

"No. It was a private matter."

"I see." Percy glanced at Elizabeth and Amelia. "You did not leave the room, Mr. Willard?"

"Neither of us did, until Elizabeth came in with Mrs. Lillick."

"Yes." Percy nodded. "That is what Mr. Latchley said as well. And you, Mr. Rutherford?" He turned to Ripton. "What were you doing on that evening?"

"I was in the process of losing twenty pounds to Nicholas in a game of cards."

"Mr. Aston and Mr. Lillick were playing with us," Nicholas said.

"And how long had the game been going on?"

He shrugged and looked at Ripton. "Half an hour, three-quarters of an hour, perhaps?"

"About that," Ripton agreed.

"You were all together when you heard Mrs. Lillick cry out?"

"To tell you the truth, we didn't hear a thing. We found out about it when Mr. Latchley came to fetch Mr. Lillick," Ripton said.

"We had no idea what was going on," Nicholas added. "When we got to the hall, Mr. Benford-Smith was just coming out of Mrs. Lillick's room. He said he'd seen nothing suspicious."

"Did he say whether he found the window open or closed, if you recall?"

Nicholas and Ripton looked at each other. "I don't know," Ripton said.

"If he mentioned it," said Nicholas, "I don't recall what he said."

"If I remember correctly, Mr. Villines, you did not arrive at Greenweald until very late the evening before the theft."

"That's so."

"And why were you so tardy in arriving?"

"Business in London delayed me."

"You, Mr. Rutherford, did not arrive until the very day of the theft. Was there any particular reason for your late arrival?"

"Yes. I did not know the Willards had accepted the invitation until then."

"I see. Well…" He glanced once more at Amelia and Elizabeth. "That is perfectly understandable, Mr. Rutherford." He shifted on his seat until he was looking at Mrs. Willard. "Did you see anything unusual, madam?"

"I retired for the evening at one o'clock, just as I told the constable."

"You heard nothing?"

"Nothing."

He nodded at Amelia. "Miss Willard?"

"I too had retired for the evening."

Mr. Johns sighed and turned to Elizabeth. "Why had you not retired as well, Miss Willard?"

"I was on my way to my room when I heard Mrs. Lillick scream."

"Once or twice?"

"Twice."

"You were coming from…?"

"A sitting room downstairs."

Percy raised his eyebrows. "And were you with someone?"

"No. I'd been there over an hour when I finally decided I ought to go to my room. I was halfway down the hall when I heard Mrs. Lillick. She was distraught, completely distraught, when she came out of her room."

"But you heard nothing before her cries?"

Elizabeth shook her head.

"And saw nothing?"

"Nothing." She leaned forward. "Do you really think it was the Mayfair Thief?" she asked.

"Truthfully, I am inclined to think not."

"But, Mrs. Lillick seemed so certain."

"Forgive me, Miss Willard, but how could she know who or even what she saw? No one has ever seen the Mayfair Thief, as you may know. In my opinion, he would not have been so clumsy as to have been seen. The mark of this man's thefts is timing, the most precise timing imaginable. The Mayfair Thief, you may rely on it, would have discovered a much more dramatic way to steal Mrs. Lillick's necklace."

"You don't consider the theft to have been dramatic?" Havoc demanded. "For, let me assure you, it seemed dramatic to us."

"Mr. Willard, I confess, at first I thought it was. But it was not so mysterious as it may have seemed to you. For example, there were a great many footprints on the ground underneath Mrs. Lillick's window, even a bent rosebush or two."

"Well, then. What more do you need?"

"I have followed the career of the Mayfair Thief for some time, Mr. Willard, and never once has the man left any tangible signs of his presence. The Mayfair Thief would never have been so inelegant as to leave footprints behind." Percy glanced at Nicholas.

"Perhaps he was careless this time, Mr. Johns," Nicholas said.

"While I do not discount the notion, Mr. Villines, I do not accept it, either. That is not the sort of mistake he is likely to make. No, when the Mayfair Thief finally makes a mistake, it will not be through clumsiness or stupidity. It will be serendipity."

"You sound confident, Mr. Johns."

"I am. Time, sir, is on my side. I have only to be patient."

"Perhaps he, too, is patient."

"I'm certain he is. But I, Mr. Villines, intend to be most patient of all."

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"H
ave you bought a gown for Lord Lewesfield's ball?" Havoc suddenly asked Elizabeth during tea the day after Mr. Johns's visit.

"I was going to wear the one Amelia gave me.

"What? Wear a gown you have already worn?" He pretended horror at the thought. "It won't do, Elizabeth. It just won't do. Tomorrow morning," he announced, "I shall take you all shopping for ball gowns."

He was true to his word. When they arrived at the Regent Street shop, he made a show of supervising the choices, but it was only Elizabeth's he watched over. She chose a pattern he approved of, but while she was looking at fabric, he told the shopkeeper exactly what he expected the dress to look like. When she had chosen a bolt of silk, he silently pointed out to the clerk the fabric he had seen Elizabeth lingering over before she chose a less costly one.

Both Amelia's and Mrs. Willard's gowns were delivered the day before Lord Lewesfield's Christmas ball. Elizabeth did not say anything, but she could not help thinking her dress ought to have arrived even before theirs.

By three o'clock the day of the ball, Elizabeth's gown still had not been delivered. It finally came while she was in her bath deciding what to wear instead. She hurried to finish, and when she had toweled herself off, she hastily donned her dressing gown. She unwrapped the box eagerly, anxious because she was afraid there was something wrong with it. She was just lifting off the top when one of the servants came in to tell her Mrs. Willard was asking for her.

When Elizabeth arrived to help her finish dressing, Mrs. Willard was already wearing her blue satin gown. "There you are," she said. "I thought you'd never get here."

"I came as soon as I could, Aunt Mary."

"Help me decide what to do with my hair, Beth."

"Yes, Aunt Mary." She took the brush Mrs. Willard handed her.

"Tonight, Beth," said Mrs. Willard, "Mr. Latchley will propose to Amelia."

"Do you think so?"

"What else could my husband and Mr. Latchley have been talking about at Greenweald?" She waved her hands to punctuate her words.

Elizabeth nodded. "What does Uncle Havoc say?"

"He refuses to tell me. It only convinces me I am right." Mrs. Willard sighed. "If only Mr. Villines were not being so slow to declare himself. Tell me, Beth, do you think he is holding back because Mr. Rutherford is also in love with Amelia?"

"I don't know, Aunt Mary."

"It's the only explanation. Mr. Villines had better get over such niceties, or he will lose her. Perhaps you might say a word or two to him?"

"I couldn't!"

"Of course you could, my dear."

Nearly an hour later Mrs. Willard's hair was done to her satisfaction. Elizabeth glanced nervously at the clock on the mantel. Tonight her aunt was bent on discussing every choice. Should it be this scarf or that one? this pin or that brooch? the tan gloves or the white ones? Should she wear more than one ring? Which necklace should it be, her pearls or her diamonds? The litany seemed endless. When at last Elizabeth was free to return to her room, there was little enough time to take her hair out of its paper curls. She was relieved when Miss Lincoln came in to help her just as she was beginning to pin up her hair.

"There is my dress, Miss Lincoln." Elizabeth pointed to the box still on her bed. "There's hardly time to get it pressed." She prayed there was nothing wrong with the gown; Lord Lewesfield's Christmas ball was the event of the season, and she wanted to look her best.

"Don't you worry." Miss Lincoln tucked the box under her arm and was gone almost before she had finished speaking.

Elizabeth was just putting the finishing touches on her hair when Miss Lincoln came back. She shook her head. "Your hair will never do. Not for this dress."

"Uncle Havoc," Elizabeth said. No wonder the gown had been late in coming. The fabric was much finer than the one she'd actually chosen. It was the shimmering blue-black shot silk she had wanted and tried to match with a less expensive bolt. The dress had the kind of detailing she could not afford, the kind she had dreamed of. The pattern was not at all like the one she had chosen. The flat, pleated collar—if such it could be called, for it was immediately obvious it would come nowhere near her neck—was wide with a small edging of black lace at the bottom edge. The bodice, which came to a sharp V at the waist, was embellished with black beadwork, and the sleeves, with three small puffs of fabric above the elbows, were also trimmed with black lace. The hem of the skirt was decorated with the same black beading that decorated the bodice.

She looked at Miss Lincoln. "We shall have to tighten my corset." A few moments later she stood in the center of the room taking rapid breaths as she struggled to breathe. In another moment the dress was over her head, anchored firmly to her petticoats and being fastened up the back.

"If you don't find yourself a husband tonight, Miss Elizabeth, then there's something wrong with men," Miss Lincoln said when she stood back to examine her.

"What does it matter, if I suffocate before I can be married?" she asked.

Miss Lincoln ignored her sufferings. "Now, we must do something with your hair. Sit down."

"Gladly!"

"A dress such as this does not require anything elaborate." Miss Lincoln began taking down the curls that Elizabeth had spent over half an hour putting up.

"But, Miss Lincoln."

"Understatement will turn the heads of the gentlemen tonight, Miss Elizabeth. You will look beautiful without seeming as though you are trying, and that will make you the most fascinating woman at the ball. Where are your scarves?" She rummaged through the drawer until she found one that suited her needs. "Believe me, Miss Elizabeth, you will not have to try hard at all."

There was a knock on the door, and Mrs. Poyne came in to tell them the carriage was ready and that the rest of the family was waiting for her.

"We are not ready yet," cried Miss Lincoln.

"You'd best hurry. Miss Willard is impatient."

"Mrs. Poyne," said Elizabeth from her seat, "would you be so kind as to get my black shawl from the dresser?"

"A moment yet, Miss Elizabeth." Miss Lincoln secured the scarf by winding it through a plait of hair and tucking the second of the two twisted coils up with a comb and letting the ends of the diaphanous black scarf hang down her back.

"Will you fasten my necklace, please?" Elizabeth held up the two ends of the gold chain with her mother's ring suspended from it.

Miss Lincoln stood back when she was done. "Is she not a vision?" she asked Mrs. Poyne, who was holding the shawl ready.

"She is," she answered as she helped Elizabeth wrap the shawl around shoulders that were as bare as most of her back.

The two women followed Elizabeth as she flew down the stairs, and they stood together after the Willards were gone. "Miss Willard won't like it," said Mrs. Poyne, shaking her head slowly.

"No, she won't. And I should think you'd be glad of it, too."

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W
hen the Willards arrived at Lord Lewesfield's house on Portsmouth Square, there was a line of carriages stretching out past the gates and into the street. It was nearly a quarter of an hour before they were standing next to a footman who bellowed their arrival in order to be heard above the noise. He grinned at them and pocketed the pound note Mr. Willard had slipped him to ensure a proper announcement. Almost as soon as they stepped into the room from the front hall, they were greeted by a group of young men who, though more interested in Amelia by habit, quickly regarded Elizabeth with interest.

"Do you mind, Mr. Willard, if we take your lovely girls away?" one of the young men asked.

"Indeed, no, Mr. Stacey. I shall be glad to have them off my hands," Mr. Willard replied. "Shall we, then?" Mr. Stacey was the first to offer his arm to Amelia, and there was some bustle while the other three offered their arms to Elizabeth.

"I must say," said the gentleman who ended up taking Elizabeth's arm, "it seems this year Lord Lewesfield has invited quite a different sort to his Christmas ball."

"Do you think so, Mr.…?" She could not remember who this thin, overgroomed man was.

"Mr. John Gayle,
à votre service
. "He bent at the waist as he pronounced the words.

"Mr. Gayle."

He nudged her with an elbow. "There is Lord Stepping. He is wearing a coat by that man Poole." He nodded wisely. "We shall have to wait for the next set," he said when they reached the ballroom. He stood stiffly erect, hands clasped behind his back, turning his head to survey the crowd. "There goes Sir Wesely," he said. "I should not have worn that shirt with that waistcoat. Do you not agree?"

"I can't imagine you would, Mr. Gayle."

"And there is Mr. Godling. I should have thought he might dress better."

These words were uttered in such an indignant tone that Elizabeth could only shake her head and hope he understood it to be dismay at Mr. Godling's shocking attire. It took Mr. Gayle only a few moments longer to realize it was the woman standing next to him who was attracting the stares of so many gentlemen, rather than his own exquisitely tailored jacket. He regarded her with a stare something like mingled reproach and surprise. "Who is your father, Miss Willard?"