Thick As Thieves (12 page)

"That is nice, dear." She smiled, unimpressed. "I am off to bed now. I would offer to give you a hand with the preparations in the morning, but Lady Filmore is taking me to Madame Drouin's to order those two new gowns you promised me."

How sharper than a serpent's tooth is an ungrateful aunt! I went to bed with a nagging headache, disliking to admit I was jealous of a fifty-year-old lady, but I was. Hennie was enjoying more social success than I, and more romantic success, too. Of course, I was happy for her, in a grudging sort of way, but it seemed to me a young man ought to pursue more urgently than an old crock like Brockley. Then I remembered Richard's arm holding me snugly against him in the clothespress, and that fleeting kiss on the jaw before he left, and had to content myself with that.

Chapter Twelve

I got a leg up on Hennie in the romance department the next day when Richard came calling with Lady Filmore. He brought me a bouquet of roses from his garden, and behaved altogether in a more suitorly fashion than before. The roses were compared to my complexion. How exceedingly trite it sounds, sitting there in black and white. I maintain, however, that when a handsome gentleman is handing a lady a bouquet of roses, she must be critical indeed to find fault with the accompanying speech. He also expressed admiration of my rather plain muslin gown.

"I thought we might take a spin toward Beachy Head in my curricle," he said. "Have a spot of lunch there, as Linda and Mrs. Henderson are busy."

It sounded lovely, but Beachy Head was twenty-five miles away. Even in a curricle, it would take two hours either way. Throw in lunch, and I would have no time to work on my party.

The ladies were in such a fever to get to Madame Drouin's that they left at once, chatting and laughing like schoolgirls. I concluded that Lady Filmore had also made headway with her beau last night.

"Is the Bow Street officer not arriving this morning?" I asked Dalton.

"I have already met with him. We had a good chat. He will be remaining in Brighton to assist the local constabulary."

"I am glad to hear it. You have not told me what it was that Grindley took from his room last night, Richard. Was he at the Rose and Thorn as we thought?"

"Indeed he was. It was a ring that he used for betting. Nothing unusual, just a gentleman's ring with an onyx stone, and a small diamond set into it. I looked over the list of stolen items the Bow Street officer brought with him. The onyx ring was not amongst them."

"I daresay Tom has pulled off a few small jobs that were not reported. Was Grindley losing heavily?"

"Actually he came out ahead and bought his ring back. He spoke of it as being a memento of his papa."

"Why was he not wearing it?"

"Let us discuss it while we drive."

"I should enjoy a short drive, but I cannot go as far as Beachy Head. I shall be busy this afternoon. You have not forgotten my garden party tomorrow?"

We drove toward Beachy Head, but only as far as Rottingdean. It is a pretty little village. We got out to walk along the chalk cliffs, looking at the sea. The wind was brisk, and we went to the White Horse for tea to warm up after.

I was curious to learn how his sister was faring with her beau, and said, "Hennie tells me your sister is taking tea with Lady Collifer this afternoon. I expect Lord Harelson will accompany her?"

"I am not so sure of that. The romance seems to be cooling. The pity of it is that the less he calls, the more convinced she becomes that she is in love with him."

"That is so often the way. If she were the one to beg off a few times, perhaps his love would quicken."

"So I have told her, more than once. I dislike to see her trotting after him in public. That display last evening at the concert, for instance, was embarrassing. I am hoping she will improve, with your friendship. She will not learn any aggressive tricks from you, Eve."

"Are you referring to my still being single at twenty—in my twenties, sir? That is ungallant of you."

"Certainly not! Most ladies marry too young. Linda was hardly out of the schoolroom when she fell head over ears in love with Filmore. A lady of twenty-five would show better judgment." Dalton saw my quick flash of anger and was amused. "Your Foster is no model of discretion," he murmured.

"I have nothing to hide. Nor does my quarter of a century ensure wisdom. Aunt Hennie is close to fifty, and she is behaving like a greenhorn. What is your opinion of Lord Brockley, Richard? One tends to mistrust a sailor. I was nervous as a broody hen last night when she came home so late."

"You have been listening to rumors," he said. "There is nothing in that story."

"What story!" I exclaimed, coming to rigid attention.

"Why, the story that he had something to do with his wife's death. Those foolish rumors often surface when a man comes into so much money at a relative's death. Especially when the heir was alone with the invalid. Lady Brockley had been ailing for years. That she happened to die shortly after Brockley returned from sea was not a coincidence. He gave up his ship to be with her in her declining days."

"You mean the man is a murderer, and Hennie has been running around town alone with him? Good God!"

"I have just been telling you those rumors are untrue."

"That is as may be. Tell me the whole story."

"There is not much to tell. Brockley Hall is deep in the countryside, isolated. Lady Brockley used to be sociable, but when she fell ill, she retired to Brockley Hall and had no visitors except a few local friends, and a doctor, of course."

"What ailed her?"

"I don't know, exactly. A sort of consumption, I believe."

"And she was very rich, you say?"

"She brought a considerable fortune to the match, but Brockley had the use of that while she was still alive, or could have, if he wanted. As he was usually at sea, he had nowhere to spend the blunt. It is a great injustice to tar him only because she died a month after he joined her."

"I must warn Hennie of these rumors."

"Is your aunt wealthy, then?"

"No," I admitted. "Her late husband had two livings, but there is not much money in that."

"Well then, unless Brockley takes to twirling his eyes at
you,
I think you worry for nothing. If that occurs, I promise you I shall take care of him."

That had an interesting proprietary ring to it, but it did not calm my fears for Hennie's safety. We soon finished our tea and returned to Brighton. At the door, Richard said, "I shall be in touch with you later about this evening. I have heard of no parties. Perhaps we shall enjoy a quiet evening at home, for a change."

This sounded promising, and I quickly agreed to it.

Hennie was back from the modiste when I got home. I only half listened to her raptures about her new gowns. She had left off gray, and ordered one in blue, one in mauve. I was eager to warn her about Brockley.

"I know all about that rumor. Brockley told me himself," she said grandly. "That is the sort of gentleman he is."

"Mighty generous of him, when he knew you were bound to hear it anyway."

"He knows I have two hundred pounds a year. He is not likely to murder me for that, when he owns an abbey, and has an income of ten thousand a year."

"That much!" I exclaimed, before I got a guard on my tongue. "I should bear it in mind all the same. Perhaps he has acquired a taste for murder, and enjoys it for its own sake."

She tossed her head angrily. I think I heard the word "jealous," but did not choose to challenge her.

I made a point to be in the saloon when Brockley called for her that afternoon. I looked daggers at the man, but found my nerve left me at the last moment, and did not either taunt him about his late wife, or utter any threats if he tried anything with Hennie.

After about two minutes of my glaring, he said, "Shall we lift anchor, Alma, while the fair wind holds?" It sounded odd. No one ever called Hennie Alma. Even David called her Hennie.

"Are you
sailing
to Lady Collifer's?" I inquired grimly.

As they went to the door, I overheard him say, "That young lady is cranky as a bag of cats. It comes from not having a husband, I daresay. That is no way to get one."

I did not hear Hennie's reply, which is as well for her, as it sounded supportive. It seemed the old tar was hatching a mutiny against me.

I called Cook to discuss the garden party refreshments. Tumble joined us to discuss the arrangement of tables. We decided to have a long table and chairs set up in the backyard, with food that did not require a deal of formal service.

Not to be outdone by Brockley's dinner, I asked for lobster patties and a raised pie of game hen, along with hams and cold roast fowl and a good many side dishes. Tumble thought we needed more servants. He said he would arrange to hire extra footmen for the occasion. Cook would not permit any strangers in her kitchen. She would manage with our own female servants.

When all was settled, there was nothing more to do regarding the meal but hope for good weather. We could retire indoors in a pinch, of course, but what I really wanted was an alfresco party, to show the garden. I went out to speak to Luke. I wanted everything properly trimmed, with no dead flowers on the bushes, and no rough patches of lawn.

I had to admit that he was a capable gardener. The roses, especially, looked lovely. I checked the movement of the sun to determine where it would be around five, when I planned to serve the alfresco dinner. I did not want the guests sitting in the hot sunlight, yet I wanted them protected from the sea breeze by the yew hedge. It would be convenient if I could place the table not too far from the back door. I had found my spot and was about to tell Tumble when a voice called to me from the street. Glancing up, I saw two heads rising above the yews. Lord Harelson and his tenant had come to call.

"I warned you I would pop in one day," Harelson said, and lifted the gate latch to step into the garden. Grindley followed him. We exchanged lukewarm smiles, then I turned a warmer greeting to Lord Harelson.

"How nice to see you. I thought you would be at Lady Collifer's tea party. I was invited myself," I added quite unnecesarily, "but I was too busy to attend."

"I know it well. I was speaking to Dalton a moment ago."

"Ah, you were calling on Lady Filmore," I said, happy for her, and wondering why he had skipped Lady Collifer's tea.

"Met Dalton on the strut," Grindley said. "Is this where you are having your garden party, Miss Denver?"

"Yes, in the garden," I replied, with a smile to Harelson.

"Where did you think Miss Denver would have it, Grindley?" Harelson joked.

"In her garden. Just said so. Where is your aunt today?"

"She is attending Lady Collifer's tea party," I told him.

"Dead bore. Wise to stay away. I say, Harelson—a tent. All the crack."

This curious statement left me quite at sea. Harelson explained. "I have a tent at home that Mama used to use for garden parties, but I think it would crowd this little garden, and hide your lovely flowers."

I had not determined the extent of his backyard during last night's visit. Presumably it was large, and had once been in a condition that his mama could invite guests into it without blushing. "I thought I would place the table here," I said, pointing out the spot.

"Excellent," Harelson said, looking all around.

"The awning" was Grindley's next attempt at conversation.

"There is a red and white awning to go with the tent," Harelson explained. "It might give a festive note to your little do. I would be happy to lend it to you, if you like."

"That sounds interesting. Is it difficult to put up?"

"Not at all. I shall send my groom off to fetch it. Grindley and I shall help the servants set it up." Grindley strolled off to smell the flowers.

"Has your friend lost all his money yet?" I asked.

"He still has his carriage, so I have some hopes he did not plunge too deeply last night."

He sent off for the awning, and while we awaited its arrival, I asked if the gentlemen would like a glass of wine.

"Could we go indoors and be comfortable?" Grindley said.

"Certainly, if you prefer." I looked to Harelson, thinking he might reprimand his friend, but he just rose and offered me his arm, to lead me inside.

Chapter Thirteen

"You have fixed up old Lady Grieve's dungeon," Grindley said, glancing around at the saloon.

"I admire your improvements," Harelson said. He went to stand in front of a painting, studying it in the affected manner of a connoisseur, tilting his head this way and that, and murmuring about chiaroscuro, and composition.

"Are you related to Lady Corning?" he asked, finally saying something I understood.

It was a painting of a lady he was studying so assiduously. It had no title; I had picked it up for an old song in the same secondhand shop where I had found the satinwood commode. The artist had signed the picture Kauffmann, so it could not be the artist he referred to. "You recognize the lady, Lord Harelson?" I parried.

"Lady Corning was much older when I knew her. I last saw this painting in her brother, Lord Hutching's, saloon some years ago. The place has been sold up now, I believe."

"I am no relation to the Cornings. I bought several pictures from an art dealer in London." This was not a complete lie. Surely a man who sells art is an art dealer, whatever else he may be. I noticed that Grindley was picking up objects from the table, and turning them over to read the names on the bottom.

Harelson said, "You have a sharp eye! I congratulate you. Angelica Kauffmann was a marvelous portrait artist. A pity she wasted so much of her talent on mythological works."

"Who the deuce is Angelica Kauffmann?" Grindley asked. For once, I appreciated his intrusion.

It turned out she was a famous artist from the last century who had contributed to the ornamentation of St. Paul's.

"What would the picture be worth?" Grindley inquired, again pleasing me.