The Weary Heart

by Lancaster, Mary

  “Perhaps,” Lord Overton said slowly, “because people will then assume—as we are more than half-doing—that such items are merely displaced. This way, he avoids a hue and cry, and can sell things on at a better price.”

  “Perhaps we should call on Mr. Lacey,” Lady Overton said. Mr. Lacey was the squire and the local magistrate.

  “Let’s be sure, first,” Lord Overton said curtly. “Look everywhere, including the children’s chambers. They may have picked them up without thinking or be playing some jest.”

  “I will do that if you wish?” Helen offered, although from the children’s reactions this morning, she doubted their involvement.

  An hour later, with none of the items found, Lord Overton declared a discreet family outing to Seldon Manor to discuss matters with Mr. Lacey.

  Chapter Ten

  Lord and Lady Overton took the carriage, while their offspring and Helen rode on horseback. They played at being postilions guiding a post chaise, and then outriders, pretending to shoot imaginary highwaymen. Which kept everyone entertained until they reached Seldon Manor—where they were obstructed by the absence of all the Laceys except the eldest son, Matthew.

  “Might we catch them up somewhere?” Lady Overton asked from the carriage when Matthew ran down from the house to speak to them.

  “Well, my mother and the girls went to call on old Miss Blenkinsop,” Matthew said doubtfully. “My father went to the Hart. Something about stolen property. Sometimes the Hart seems really unlucky, despite what Villin says!”

  The Overtons exchanged glances. “Thank you, Matthew,” his lordship said with a pleasant nod. “John! Drive on to the Hart.”

  The children were delighted with their longer ride. While Helen prevented them from galloping too far ahead, she mulled over Matthew’s news that things had been stolen from the Hart, too. It began to look as if Lord Overton’s theory of the opportunistic but wary thief was correct.

  She couldn’t have been more wrong.

  The Hart was in uproar.

  Helen’s first surprise was the presence of Mrs. Marshall, whom she had expected to be still in bed at Audley Park.

  “This is a madhouse,” Phoebe declared, advancing from the parlor door to greet the Overtons’ party. “I’m almost sorry I came, although poor Anne needs me, caught in the middle of it all as she is.”

  “Middle of what, ma’am?” Lord Overton asked, bewildered. “What is the racket upstairs, and where is Mr. Lacey?

  “Overton, is that you?” called a harassed voice from the top of the stairs. Mr. Lacey.

  “What the devil’s afoot?” Overton demanded.

  “I don’t suppose her ladyship is with you?” Mr. Lacey’s head peered over the banister. “She is! Excellent. Ma’am.” He turned to someone behind him. “If you would be so good as to go downstairs to Lady Overton, taking your daughter and your son with you, then this whole matter might be cleared up immediately. I will be able to apologize profusely and get out of your way.”

  “You are a gentleman, sir!” came the agitated voice of Mrs. Robinov. “You must see how insulting this is! I should not have to put up with your louts rifling through my things! And my daughter is ill. I will not have your men disturbing her, and I will not drag her from her sickbed for your convenience.”

  “What?” Lady Overton exclaimed in outrage. Clearly preparing for battle, she charged upstairs, the fascinated children and Richard at her heels. Helen bolted after the children to detain them, but halted, frozen for a crucial moment by the sight of Sir Marcus at Mrs. Robinov’s side.

  “Have you run mad, Mr. Lacey?” Lady Overton demanded.

  “Of course not,” Mr. Lacey replied, dragging one impatient hand through his hair. “I have received a complaint which it is my unpleasant duty to investigate.”

  “What sort of complaint?” Lord Overton asked, coming up behind Helen.

  There seemed to be an awful lot of people on the landing, spilling down the passage. Scowling and fierce, Kenneth stood guard before one of the doors. Mrs. Robinov and Sir Marcus blocked Mr. Lacey and two of his men from entering the passage. It would have been funny to Helen if she hadn’t known everyone concerned.

  “Theft,” Mr. Lacey said heavily. “I have received information that certain stolen items will be found among the possessions of the Robinov family. No, don’t eat me, Dain, I don’t believe it either! But you must see that it’s my duty to look. And then we may all be easy, although I accept, I shall not be invited to dinner in the foreseeable future. Mrs. Robinov, in allowing me to dismiss this, you will actually help in the eventual apprehension of the thief. And you also have reported a missing item.”

  “And I will not find it in our trunks!” Mrs. Robinov said indignantly.

  “Then let us open them, and we may revile my informant afterward,” Lacey pleaded.

  “Oh, the devil,” Sir Marcus said impatiently. “Just let him into Kenneth’s chamber, Dorothea, and be done with it. Kenneth and I will accompany him while you sit with Carla. It’s the only way to resolve this.”

  Slowly, Mrs. Robinov stood aside. “I never thought to find this kind of thing in my own country.” She stalked off toward Kenneth, who opened the door he guarded, clearly his sister’s, to let her in. Then he strode across the passage to the door opposite and threw it wide. With an exaggerated bow, he grimly invited Lacey and his men to enter.

  Sir Marcus pushed through them and led the way in. The children drifted curiously toward the bedchamber, and Helen followed with the main aim of pulling them back. Richard stood beside Kenneth in a show of solidarity.

  Lacey’s men were heaving a trunk onto the bed.

  The magistrate opened it and paused. “Oh, dear.”

  Kenneth frowned but remained where he was. Sir Marcus strode across the room, reached inside, and brought out a small folded carpet. The one that had been on the parlor floor the last time Helen had visited the inn.

  After the carpet came two glinting diamond earrings, instantly recognizable, a handful of silver teaspoons, and an emerald necklace.

  Kenneth had started across the room, his eyes wide and staring, his jaw slack. “But that’s impossible!” he burst out.

  Either he was innocent or the best actor Helen had ever seen, on stage or off.

  He raised his desperate eyes, not to Mr. Lacey but to Sir Marcus. “I didn’t put these things in there! I couldn’t…”

  “Do you recognize these items?” Mr. Lacey interrupted.

  “That’s my mother’s carpet. The rest… I don’t think so.” His frown deepened. “Unless these teaspoons…but that is impossible, too. Look, the last time I saw the carpet was last night on the parlor floor. The spoons, if they’re Lady Overton’s, were in her drawing room on saucers, and I most certainly didn’t leave with them clanking in my pockets!”

  “That’s true,” Sir Marcus observed. “He didn’t clank.”

  “And the earrings?” Mr. Lacey asked, peering at Kenneth.

  “Lord, I don’t know.” Kenneth tugged at his hair. “Were they Lady Overton’s, too? She was wearing something similar last night, but I believe she would have noticed if I’d plucked them off her ears.”

  Mr. Lacey glanced over his shoulder and saw Lady Overton standing, shocked, beside Helen.

  “I took them off,” she blurted. “They pinch. I don’t think it was until the carriages had left, but I don’t actually remember…”

  Neither did Helen. She’d had too many other things on her mind.

  “And the necklace?” Mr. Lacey asked, holding it up.

  “I don’t recall ever seeing that,” Kenneth declared.

  “Why, it’s Cecily’s,” Lady Overton exclaimed, going forward to peer at it.

  “Lady Verne’s,” Helen confirmed. “She lost it at Steynings after the ball. Mr. Robinov was not at Steynings.”

  Mrs. Robinov, who must have left her daughter alone in the chamber opposite, cast Helen a grateful glance as she walked past her into the room.

 
; “That you know of,” Mr. Lacey pointed out.

  “He was here with me from the day before Sir Marcus arrived,” Mrs. Robinov snapped.

  “He could have ridden there and back during the night while you were asleep,” one of Lacey’s men suggested.

  “Why?” Mrs. Robinov demanded. “Why would he bother when several other substantial houses, including Audley Park, were empty and much closer? It’s as ridiculous as the idea that he is a thief in the first place.”

  “He could have accomplices,” Mr. Lacey said tiredly. “The matter is not yet clear, but I’m afraid, young man, you will have to come with me to Finsborough.”

  “He most assuredly will not!” Mrs. Robinov cried.

  “Madam, consider my position,” the magistrate begged. “Stolen goods were discovered in your son’s possession. If they were in Villin’s or the stable lad’s, I would have to arrest them. A foreign young man with no ties to the neighborhood—”

  “Foreign!” Mrs. Robinov interrupted, her eyes spitting with rage. “Is that what has inspired this persecution? It is quite clear those things were put there to incriminate my son, who could not possibly have committed these crimes! But because he’s a so-called foreigner, you’ll arrest him anyway. If it was young Mr. Overton there, or your own son, it would be quite different I apprehend! Well, I have news for you, sir, despite his Russian name, his noble Russian father who died in the war against Bonaparte, he is English through me and through his stepfather!”

  Mr. Lacey blinked. So did everyone else.

  “His stepfather?” Lacey repeated cautiously.

  “Sir Marcus Dain, my affianced husband,” Mrs. Robinov declared. “Therefore, almost his stepfather.”

  Stricken, Helen pressed her hand over her heart, as though that would stop the pain. She lowered her eyes because she couldn’t seem to see anything anyhow.

  “Is this true?” Lacey’s voice seemed to come from very far away.

  There was the slightest pause before Sir Marcus said positively. “Of course it is. We have not announced it because Robinov’s death is so recent, but as the lady says, we are engaged to marry. I consider both Kenneth and Carla under my protection.”

  Mr. Lacey regarded him in some consternation. Helen risked a glance at Sir Marcus and found him glaring at the magistrate.

  “Then you take responsibility for the boy while we look into this matter further?” Lacey snapped “Engaging to bring him before me if and when I ask?”

  “Of course,” Sir Marcus said haughtily.

  Mr. Lacey swept up the stolen items, dropping the spoons and jewels into his pocket and draping the carpet over his arm.

  “I believe that is Mrs. Robinov’s,” Sir Marcus said dryly. “She will not charge her son with putting it in his trunk, and you would be foolish to do so.”

  Irritated, Lacey thrust the carpet at him and walked out with dignity. His men trudged behind, scratching their heads.

  In silence, Kenneth sat on the bed beside his still-open trunk and dropped his face into his hands. “This is a nightmare. Insanity.”

  Sir Marcus gripped his shoulder.

  “Lady Overton,” Mrs. Robinov said in a shaking voice. “I can only hope you do not believe this terrible calumny against my son.”

  “Oh, don’t upset yourself, my dear,” Lady Overton said kindly. “Lacey will get to the bottom of it, you know. He always does. Miss Milsom, take the children downstairs, if you please, and see they are refreshed.”

  Brought back to herself by the hint of displeasure in her ladyship’s tone, Helen hastily shepherded the disappointed children away from the door and downstairs to the empty coffee room.

  “What on earth’s going on?” Mrs. Villin asked her in an agitated kind of way as she bustled in from the kitchen.

  “When I know, I will tell you,” Helen said. “Some misunderstanding, certainly. You have not had things go missing recently, have you?”

  “Not apart from Jem helping himself to an extra slice of pie. You know we don’t hold with thieving here.”

  “Of course, you don’t,” Helen said hastily and asked for something to eat and drink for the children.

  As Mrs. Villin left, the children bombarded Helen with questions she could not answer. She murmured her lack of knowledge and let them speculate among themselves while her own mind wrapped itself around the thefts and the discovery of stolen items in Kenneth’s trunk. It was easier to think about than Mrs. Robinov’s engagement.

  Vaguely, she was aware of the others descending the stairs and going into the parlor, where Mrs. Marshall’s voice was still audible. Probably, Anne was still there, too.

  So hard was she concentrating on the issue of the thefts, that she did not notice someone else had come into the room until his voice said, “May I join you?”

  Her eyes flew upward to find Sir Marcus standing on the other side of the table, between George and Horatio.

  Flustered, she blurted, “We are just finished.”

  “Well, Lady Overton has not,” he said, taking the chair George set for him. “So, it seems we are both doomed to wait. What do you think of this farce?”

  “I think that unless we encountered two thieves in as many weeks, Kenneth Robinov did not do this.”

  He frowned. “That is hardly a ringing endorsement of his innocence.”

  She stared at him. “You sat at my table and asked me a question. If you want someone to echo your own opinions, you are quite at liberty to ask elsewhere.”

  The children’s mouths fell open in shock. Sir Marcus blinked. A scowl threatened, and then, slowly, a twinkle began in his eyes and a smile curved his lips. The effect was devastating, making Helen even angrier.

  “You are, as usual, quite correct,” he allowed. “You barely know the boy or his family and have no reason to share my absolute certainty of his innocence.”

  “The best way to prove that innocence is to discover who did steal these things,” she said stiffly. “And whoever did is probably still in possession of Lord Silford’s candlesticks, among other items. I can’t imagine this only began at Steynings.”

  Sir Marcus nodded, then paused, frowning. “Or did it?”

  Helen opened her mouth to ask what he meant, but his gaze flickered to the children in warning, and she closed it again.

  “Shall we take a turn about the yard?” he said abruptly, rising to his feet once more. “If you have finished,” he added politely to the children, who promptly declared they had and bounced up from their chairs.

  Sir Marcus’s assumption that she would simply obey his suggestion irritated Helen. She almost let him go by himself with her charges, but in fact, she was too eager to know his thoughts on the peculiar thefts. Which was a pity, she told herself, for she would far rather shun him. He was engaged to Mrs. Robinov, and their relationship had to be of long-standing. It explained his determination to go to Russia to save her and proved the utter ridiculousness of her own imaginings of some deeper friendship between herself and Sir Marcus. Well, she would not play the pitiful, lovesick governess. She would behave as though nothing momentous had occurred and guard her pride. She knew from experience that would be all the comfort she could have in such a situation.

  Her mind might tell her that Sir Marcus was a far cry from Philip Marshall, that he had made her no promises, but in her heart, it still felt like rejection and betrayal. Knowing she had no right to these feelings did not ease the pain.

  “I imagine,” she said, as the children wandered ahead in the direction of the stables, “that you have been counting the people who were at Steynings, Audley Park, and the Hart at the time of the various thefts.”

  “I have. And the Marshalls are conspicuous.”

  “Lady Overton wants to question their servants without offending the masters.”

  “I’m sure the servants would have interesting tales to tell,” Sir Marcus said dryly. “But I doubt they are the culprits.”

  “Then who do you suspect?”

  “There
are two of them at the Hart this morning.”

  “Mrs. Marshall and Anne,” she agreed.

  He glanced at her. “In my travels, I have come across a couple of highly unlikely thieves. One was a wealthy woman, the other a man who might not have been rich but certainly had enough. Both of them stole, for no reason that I could see, except that they were unhappy.”

  “I do not think Phoebe Marshall is unhappy,” Helen observed.

  “No. But Anne is.”

  Helen’s gaze flew to his face. “Anne?” she repeated, shocked.

  “She was in an impossible situation, paraded among adults as a marriageable beauty when she is basically a child. A child who is terrified by the prospect of marriage to me.”

  “She is clearly very disturbed,” Helen murmured sweetly.

  He gave a bark of laughter. “I did not mean that, as you very well know! I am older than her stepfather, and I am well aware I tend to scowl and speak abruptly. It was you who told me how unhappy she was and why.”

  “Yes, but that does not make her a thief,” Helen protested, speeding up as the children entered the stables, then slowing again as Jem shooed them out in front of him and a fine black stallion. George was in awe.

  “No, it doesn’t,” Sir Marcus agreed. “But she was certainly present at the right places and the right times.”

  “So were you,” Helen pointed out.

  He cast her a sardonic glance. “You believe I wish such ill on my soon-to-be stepson? I suppose I will find his presence expensive and annoying. Perhaps I poisoned Carla, too.”

  “You must read too many melodramas.” She dragged her gaze free of the spurt of humor in his. “I do not believe Anne capable of such acts.”

  “Only because you have grown fond of her.”

  “I am capable of rational thought,” she snapped.

  “No one is more so,” he observed, regarding her with some curiosity. “Which is why I choose to speak to you on this matter. But I find you very…prickly today. Is something wrong?”

  She stared at him. He had flirted with her, kissed her, and then engaged himself to another woman. Or had they always been engaged? Either way, could he really not see she had cause for more than mere prickles?