Thick As Thieves (15 page)

"I wonder whose cats they are."

He made no reply to this, except with his eyes, which studied me engrossingly. "You look very lovely tonight, Eve," he said,
in a husky voice.

"You have seen me in this gown before. It must be the fog that dims your view."

"That must be it," he agreed, with a quizzing smile that belied the words. If that was not the smile of a lover, then I had no right to be called a rational person.

I gave him the key; we walked to the door, opened it, and I went inside. When I reached to recover the key, he leaned down and placed a fleeting kiss on my lips, as light and evanescent as the touch of a butterfly.

"You look good in lamplight, too. I shall leave, before you raise the lights and frighten me with your warts and wrinkles."

"A wise precaution. Good night. I had a lovely time."

"A demain."

He turned and walked off into the fog. I went upstairs immediately, in a fog of my own. Strangely, the cats did not bother me that night. They made a frightful racket, but I was able to ignore it. My thoughts were all happy ones. Richard had been charming. After reliving every instant of that fateful drive home, I turned my thoughts to my garden party. I hoped the fog was not a harbinger of bad weather on the morrow.

I only stuck my nose out the door once in the morning, to check the weather. The sun was shining in the halfhearted way it usually shines on the coast, dulled by that perpetual layer of moisture, but with no indication of a storm approaching.

I was busy with the servants and Cook. There was some little uncertainty whether we had sufficient glasses and china. Lady Grieve's house came fully furnished, but furnished with her second-best stuff. Her better things would be in London, or at her country estate. I wished I had brought some of my own superior tableware with me. Lorene had left me a silver table service for twenty-four.

When Linda came over to see if we required anything, I arranged to borrow two dozen wineglasses from her. She did not remain long, as she could see I was busy, but before she left, I asked how it had gone with Harelson last night.

"He left soon after you and Richard. Brockley and Mrs. Henderson brought me home. Did your aunt not tell you?"

"I was in bed when she got home last night, and I have hardly seen her this morning. She went to Madame Drouin's. One of her gowns is ready for the party this afternoon."

"Well, Harelson did not even drive me home," she said crossly, and left.

Tumble had been behaving himself well since coming to Brighton. I had put him in charge of buying wine for the party. He would know what the ton preferred. From the size of the bill he handed me, I assumed he had done me proud. I soon realized he had been sampling rather heavily. It was Hennie who informed me of this disaster when she returned.

"Tumble is weaving about the front hall like a reed in the wind, Eve. He was scarcely able to open the door. You must get him out of the way before the guests arrive."

"Good God! I counted on Tumble to oversee the serving of dinner. He knows better than my servants how to do things."

When I rushed out to see how
bad he was, he fell over in a heap, wearing a beatific smile, and smelling like a winery.

It took two footmen to get him to bed. I searched his room myself, and found three bottles of a very expensive claret under the mattress. I removed them and locked his door, praying that he would be sobered up in time to greet the guests at four.

That was the way the whole day went. Sauces turned thin or lumpy in the pan, cakes fell as flat as pancakes when they were removed from the oven, and the stove began belching smoke.

It was really the outside of enough when Hennie, who had not lifted a finger to help all day, came to complain that Madame Drouin had made her gown a little snug around the waist.

"Very likely you have put on weight since having it measured," I snapped. "God knows the only exercise you have had is walking from the table to Lord Brockley's carriage. Go without lunch. That might help."

She took me at my word, and refused to come to the table. By three-thirty some semblance of order had been achieved. Cook got a gallon or so of coffee into Tumble and assured me he had shaved and was nearly sober, but very cross. I found, to my consternation, that my new gown from Madame Drouin was also a trifle snug. I had not put on an ounce of weight, and could only conclude that the great Madame Drouin had no notion of fitting a gown. I would certainly take both it and Hennie's gown back for alterations at Madame's expense. My gown looked well, however. With my leghorn bonnet in place, I felt Richard might not find me repulsive, even without benefit of the fog.

At a quarter to four I strolled out into the garden to see how things were shaping up, and uttered a howl of dismay. The table looked fine, the weather held up, but the garden was entirely stripped of blooms.

What on earth had happened to the flowers? I rushed about from corner to corner, staring at a plentiful supply of leaves, but no blooms. I dashed to the rose garden. It told the story. Freshly cut stems stood out on every plant. That
fiend
of a Luke had purposely cut the flowers. I soon figured out why. He was selling them to some shop in Brighton, as he had the berries.

I spotted him moving about in the doorway of the garden shed and stalked toward him, hands clenched, steam issuing from my nostrils. "What have you done to my garden?" I demanded.

He gave me a witless, frightened smile. "I trimmed it up fresh first thing this morning, miss, for your party." He had the audacity to lift the shears, to show me what he had used.

I grabbed them from his hands. "Liar! You cut every single bloom, and sold it in Brighton. Don't bother to deny it, you brass-faced thief. I have a good mind to cut off your hand." My voice echoed shrilly in the small wooden shed. I opened the shears and snapped them shut, to frighten him.

He snatched his hand away as if I really meant to sever it from his arm. He cowered against the back of the shed. "Oh no, miss! I only trimmed the dead heads."

"Get out of here, you lying, thieving villain. Get out of this house, and never show your face here again. I shall notify Lady Grieve what you have done. And don't expect to receive your salary either. I have a good mind to call the constable and have you thrown in jail."

Luke looked over my shoulder with terror in his eyes. "She's gone mad!" he said, and ducked out past me. I turned to castigate him some more, and saw Richard's shocked face staring at me. His eyes flew to the shears, then he looked to Luke's fleeing back. He looked as frightened as Luke.

"Have I arrived too early?" he asked, in a hollow voice. "I came to see if I could help, but I see you are managing on your own."

It was the last straw, to be caught at the height of my shrewish behavior by Richard. Things could not possibly get any worse. I knew I was going to either strike him in frustration, or cry. I threw myself on his chest and bawled. "He has
ruined
my garden. Everything is going wrong. Tumble is drunk, and the cake fell, and my gown is too tight."

He removed the shears from my hand and set them on the shelf, then drew me to a bench in a sequestered corner, where there used to be pretty pink and white flowers, with tall purplish ones behind. It was now a desolate waste. I just pointed to it and hiccuped a sob.

"That whelp ought to be whipped," he said angrily. I drew a sigh of relief. Good! He was blaming Luke, and not me.

"I know perfectly well he cut them and sold them. It is not the first time either," I said. "He stole the berries I promised Linda, and he sold them. My servant had to buy my own berries to give you. I recognized the boxes."

His lips moved unsteadily. "There was no need to buy us berries. You should have told me what happened. It is a pity he decimated your garden, Eve, but it is not really the flowers folks are coming to see. It is you. You don't want them to see you like this."

He took out his handkerchief and dabbed at my eyes and cheeks. "It is not just the flowers, Richard. Tumble was drunk as a skunk this morning. He is sobering up now, but he is still cranky, and I have no doubt he will be foxed before an hour is up. I counted on him to keep an eye on things."

"You should never count on Tumble," he said. "He has let down every hostess who ever hired him. I shall send my butler over to give you a hand."

"Would you?"

"Consider it done. My Ruthven is a wizard. Now, what else disturbs you? You mentioned your gown—it looks charming."

"It is not so
very
tight. If I don't eat anything, I daresay it won't split."

"Your bonnet is fetching," he said, flicking a finger against the broad brim.

"Thank you." I smiled wanly.

He squeezed my fingers. "Is everything going to be all right now?" I nodded. "I expect it was just a case of last-minute fidgets. Linda is the same before a party. I keep the butcher knife well out of her way. I shall go and fetch Ruthven. Go and wash your face. Your guests will be here soon."

"Thank you, Richard," I said humbly. I felt a perfect fool, but much better. Especially I was grateful that my awful temper had not disgusted him. He had been very sweet. "I am not usually so horrid," I said apologetically.

"Don't apologize, my dear. It is best for us to know each other in all our moods before—ah, here is Brockley."

"You greet him," I said, and nipped into the house to bathe my eyes, and tell Hennie her beau had arrived.

Chapter Sixteen

I am happy to report the party was a success. Ruthven orchestrated the serving of refreshments and tended to a few minor catastrophes, such as Mrs. Jenkins tripping and spilling a glass of punch down the front of her gown. He did the whole smoothly and with such good humor, he quite put Tumble in the shade. The guests exchanged sly looks, to see Richard's butler taking orders from me. It seemed to suggest a more complete blending of our households in the future. Lady Collifer whispered in my ear it was "plain as the town pump I had nabbed myself a parti." I blushed to my ears and stoutly denied anything of the sort.

"There are no secrets, living in such a gazebo as Brighton." She smiled.

If anyone noticed the lack of flowers, they were too kind to say so. I mentioned Luke's trick to a few people, who just shook their heads and smiled. "Is that not always the way," they would say offhandedly, and rush on to something else.

Brockley said, "Aye, but he is a fine gardener after all. You must take the crust with the crumb. You are flower enough for us, Miss Denver." Pleased with his compliment, he repeated it to Hennie ten minutes later.

I must concede that Linda, in her new bonnet, took the prize for beauty, but I grant myself second place. She was in smiles that day as Harelson was attentive. I did overhear them arguing once, down by the shorn rose bushes. "You
gave
it to me," she said, in a hurt tone.

"Things are different now, Linda."

"I have not changed my feelings. Have you?" she asked.

"Of course not."

"Well then."

Grindley ambled along at that moment. "Jolly fine party, Miss Denver. See the awning is holding up."

"You did a good job, Mr. Grindley. I saw you last night, over the fence of Lord Brockley's place. I don't believe I recognized the gentleman with you. You should have brought him along today."

"Naismith," he
said.

"Which Naismith? I understand there are several of them."

"Clive."

"Ah." Robert, I said to myself. Why was he lying?

"Couldn't have come anyhow—Naismith. Back to Eastbourne—flat races today."

"And what did you do last night?"

He scratched his ear. "Had a few wets with Naismith. How was Brockley's do?"

I took this quick question for an attempt to distract me, but did not pursue the subject further. I had not heard of any robberies by Tom last night. "It was a very nice party."

"Place gives me the megrims. Too red, and too rich for my taste. But then, Brockley measures his blunt in bushels. Ah, there is Ruthven. A glass of wine, if you please. I am dry as a lime basket."

I circulated among my guests, receiving compliments and polite smiles. I have no idea where Tumble spent the afternoon. Hennie told me he had taken a pet when Ruthven was brought in over his head, but I did not care for that. I meant to be rid of Tumble as soon as I could find a replacement. A gentleman might be able to handle a drunken butler; a lady would be a fool to attempt it.

I had thought my party would break up about seven. The last stragglers did not leave till eight o'clock. With no outing planned for that evening, I hoped Richard and I might finally have that quiet evening at home. Brockley and Richard were the only two remaining.

"Let us go in and have a cup of tea," Hennie suggested.

I hoped our quiet evening would not end up a game of whist with her and Brockley.

"I am promised to the pavilion for cards," Brockley said. "Prinny landed in this afternoon and had his press gang shanghai a crew of us into service. Het or wet, snow or blow, he will have his game of cards. Difficult to refuse."

"Of course, you must go, Timothy." Hennie tossed a proud peep at me, as if to say, "See how high my beau flies."

He left, and the three of us went inside for tea. "Should we invite Linda over?" I said to Richard.

"She mentioned attending the play with Lady Collifer. I daresay Harelson will be of the party."

"There is nothing like a nice cup of tea, after the turmoil of a party," Hennie said. "It went pretty well after all, Eve. You worried too much about Luke cutting the flowers."

I looked sheepishly to Richard. "It was my nerves."

Ruthven, who was overseeing the cleanup operation, came to the door with a note for me. "It came by special delivery on the coach from London, madam," he said.

I tore it open and found myself looking at Polke's crabbed letters. "The house was broke into lass nite while I was visiting my fambly in Cheapside, Miss Denver. All the silver is gon, plus the dark old picshure of the man in the nightcap that was hanging over the new chest in the saloon. Should I call in Bow Street at all?"