A Perfect Plan

by Alyssa Drake

  “Wil, I do not want to hear about your nocturnal exploits with my brother.”

  Wilhelmina grinned, but mercifully changed the subject. “We have some tasks that need to be completed prior to the luncheon.”

  Sam groaned.

  “For someone who is engaged, you certainly do not show any interest in planning your wedding,” growled Wilhelmina. “I expect you downstairs in ten minutes.” She turned on her heel and nearly knocked over Nancy who waited patiently at the top of the staircase.

  “Mrs. Hastings,” Nancy bobbed her head as she spoke. “Mr. Franklin Morris has arrived.”

  Wilhelmina glared at Sam peevishly. Sam shrugged and grinned impishly. “A distraction, that is fortunate.”

  Turning back toward Nancy, Wilhelmina addressed her in a clipped tone. “Did he say why he chose to arrive prior to breakfast?”

  “No, he did not,” replied Nancy. “He asked for Miss Hastings and said the matter was of some urgency.”

  “He promised to look at Father’s watch,” explained Sam. “Franklin thought he might be able to repair it.”

  Wilhelmina sighed deeply. “I suppose you must see to Mr. Morris first.” She ignored Sam who happily bounced from one foot to the other. “However, once your business with him is finished, I expect you to assist me with the wedding details.”

  Sam smiled broadly. “Please show Mr. Morris to the study and let him know I will be with him shortly.”

  “Do not spend all morning with him either,” warned Wilhelmina sternly as she followed Nancy down the stairs.

  Sam dashed across the bedroom; the watch that shimmered like a beacon. She snatched it off the bed, where she’d dropped it, and raced for the door. Halfway across the floor, she hesitated for a moment. Fishing the threatening missive from her bodice, she ran back across the room, shoving the folded note under the ink well. A few drops of ink spilled on the desk. Sam grabbed a nearby blank envelope and hastily dabbed at the spots until the stain disappeared from the desk. She stepped back to survey the desk. The corner of the note peeked out from under the bottle. Leaning the stained envelope against the ink bottle, Sam covered the missive. With a final nod, she rushed out the door, closing it behind her.

  Watch in hand, Sam burst into the study. Her sudden appearance startled Franklin. He dropped the book he was holding with a gasp, his hand flying to his chest.

  “Samantha, you nearly frightened me to death,” he panted. His face appeared more pale than usual. “I am not as young as I once was.”

  “Please accept my apologies, dear cousin.” Sam took his hand and led him to a nearby chair where he collapsed with closed eyes.

  Sam waited patiently for several minutes, but Franklin did not speak. She placed the watch on the table next to him and walked over to the book which laid open and face down. Leaning over, Sam plucked the book from the floor, her eyes scanning the open pages for damage. Once satisfied, she replaced the book on the shelf.

  The chair creaked as Franklin moved to reach for the watch. He studied it inquisitively, running his fingers over the edges again as he did the previous evening. He popped open the lid, looking at the face of the watch. Winding the top carefully, Franklin glanced at the watch face again. The little hands, frozen at 2:25, refused to budge. Sam moved closer, kneeling at his feet while he mulled over the antique watch.

  Franklin held the timepiece to his ear, listening for movement. After several minutes of silence, he muttered a handful of indistinguishable words. His unfocused eyes glanced up at Sam.

  “I think we should open up the back,” he said. Reaching into his breast pocket, Franklin withdrew a little cloth pouch. Folded inside was a couple of bizarre tools which Sam had never seen before. Extracting one, Franklin cautiously wedged the tool under the back cover of the watch. It popped open, revealing little wheels and cogs. Absentmindedly, he handed the cover to Sam while he studied the gears closely.

  “Look,” he pointed at one of the gears. “Some of the teeth have been completely sheared off.”

  “Can you replace the gear?” Sam asked, their heads bent so close together, their foreheads touched.

  “Certainly,” replied Franklin, his eyes locked on the watch. “However, I do not have the tools with me. If you would like, I will take it to my house and return it to you once I have repaired it.”

  “Will it take a long time?” asked Sam, glancing up.

  Franklin shook his head. “A few days. If I have a spare part I can use, I should have it back to you by the end of the week.”

  “Thank you.” Sam smiled, handing him back the cover. A scrap of paper, balanced precariously on Franklin’s gleaming black boot, caught her attention.

  “What is that?”

  Franklin glanced up as he snapped the back cover onto the watch.

  “What is what?”

  “That.” Sam pointed at a tiny folded square still resting on the top of his boot.

  “Hmm,” murmured Franklin as he looked over his protruding belly. “I do not know. It must have fallen out of the watch when I removed the cover.

  Leaning over, Sam plucked the piece of paper up and unfolded it carefully. She gasped, a numb feeling spread through her body—she recognized the handwriting instantly.

  “Father wrote it.”

  “What does it say?” Franklin prodded, his eyes gleaming with curiosity, the watch forgotten on his lap.

  Sam cleared her throat and read:

  * * *

  Fortune lays forgotten

  In a house that is not a home.

  Treasure waits for discovery

  In a place that Sammie has outgrown.

  * * *

  Her wide eyes stared up at Franklin, questioning. “What does it mean?”

  “He must be referring to the missing jewels,” Franklin replied. “May I see the note?”

  Sam nodded, allowing Franklin to tug the paper out of her hand. His eyes quickly perused the lines again, his lips moving with the words he read. He glanced up, his face pale.

  “Samantha, how much do you remember about the night before your father died?”

  Sam squeezed her eyes shut tightly, trying to remember the last night she saw her father alive. “Less and less every day.”

  Franklin patted her arm softly and allowed her to compose herself before he spoke. “Are you alright?”

  “Yes, thank you. Please continue.” Sam discreetly wiped a tear from her eye with the back of her hand.

  “That last night, the night of the party, your mother wore a brilliant sapphire and diamond necklace. Do you remember that?”

  “Yes,” Sam replied, her eyes screwed shut again as she pictured the evening. It was the same necklace she described to Marie.

  “That necklace was a family heirloom, part of a collection of jewelry that had been passed to the eldest Hastings on the day of their wedding. The jewelry is quite valuable, worth much more than both estates combined. Your Great-Uncle Ephraim gave it to your father as a wedding gift. It was your mother’s favorite piece although she only wore it on special occasions. That night was the last time anyone ever saw the necklace, it vanished completely. Your mother only wore it for an hour; she removed it because the clasp was loose, and she did not want to lose the necklace. In fact, she asked if I would stop by to repair it after I returned from my trip to China.” Franklin paused, lost in the memory, his eyes clouded with the past.

  “Now that I think about it, the entire collection has been missing since that evening. The authorities assumed the jewelry had been taken at some point during the party. All the guests were questioned, but the pieces were never recovered.”

  His eyes roved over the note again. “I see now that theory is incorrect. Your father must have hidden them somewhere in the townhouse.”

  “But where would Father have hidden an entire collection of jewelry?” Sam rose suddenly and paced the length of the room as she spoke. “How is it possible that no one has found it since then?” She stopped directly in front of Frankl
in. “A place that Sammie has outgrown. What have I outgrown?”

  “I don’t know.” He shook his head. A light tapping on the study door interrupted them.

  “Samantha,” called Wilhelmina. “Please finish up your business with Mr. Morris, we have a full morning.”

  Sam glared at the door and stuck out her tongue. “I will be right there.”

  “No dawdling,” reprimanded Wilhelmina, her footsteps fading away from the door. Quickly, Sam refolded the note and tucked it into her bodice.

  “Franklin,” she whispered with a furtive glance around the room, “please do not tell anyone about the note we found.”

  “You have my word.” He placed his finger over his lips, then gathered his tools, the watch, and his coat, which he had laid carefully over the back of his chair. Shrugging his arms into the heavy coat, he replaced the tool kit in his breast pocket and slid the watch in as well. Sam escorted Franklin to the foyer. He took her hand and kissed it lightly.

  “Do not fret, my dear, we will get your father’s watch working again.”

  “Thank you,” replied Sam, placing a light kiss to his cheek. “You have no idea how much that would mean to me.”

  “Consider it a wedding gift, and if you figure out the rest of the clue, let me know. I am always up for an adventure,” Franklin winked. He had forgiven her for her deception.

  “Certainly,” Sam smiled. “If you have any epiphanies, please let me know.”

  “Samantha!” Wilhelmina yelled from the sitting room, her voice resonating impatiently. Marie and Lucy ran past, knocking into Sam as they scampered by. Cacophony echoed in the hallway.

  Franklin patted her arm, sympathy shining in his eyes. “Try to enjoy yourself today.”

  “I wish you would kidnap me,” muttered Sam.

  Laughing, Franklin opened the door. “Your brother would never forgive me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Benjamin’s town business consisted solely of visiting Aunt Abigail. After their discussion at the previous evening’s ball was cut short and with the subsequent attack on the Hastings’ townhouse, urgency compelled Benjamin to dig into the events leading up to the discovery of Mr. Hastings’ body.

  “Benjamin, it is lovely to see you this morning,” Abigail announced as she entered the dining room. “I did expect you today. However, I am surprised to find you visiting at such an early hour.” She yawned widely and shuffled over to the sideboard which was laid with steaming eggs and fresh scones. She accepted a plate laden with food from Mrs. Grace, her long-time housekeeper and cook.

  “Tell me Benjamin, is your mother not feeding you enough you are now forced to scavenge my table for scraps?”

  Benjamin choked on his eggs. He swallowed the mouthful and grinned mischievously. “Thomas eats all the food.”

  Abigail laughed as she seated herself next to Benjamin at the head of the table. “That, I would believe.”

  She took a sip of tea and studied Benjamin carefully. After a moment, she placed the cup back onto its saucer.

  “Enough niceties. I am curious to know the motive for this early appearance, and it is not for Mrs. Grace’s sumptuous cooking.” Abigail gestured to the empty space the woman occupied a moment earlier. Mrs. Grace had disappeared soundlessly behind a side door situated next to a china cabinet, leaving Abigail and Benjamin in privacy.

  “I do,” replied Benjamin. He set down his fork with a clink. “I wanted to speak with you further about the night of Mr. Hastings’ murder.”

  Abigail raised an eyebrow at her nephew’s candor. “I may not be much help. My memory of that evening is over ten years old.”

  “I am aware,” Benjamin replied. “However, anything you remember would be helpful. Perhaps you could remember the names of some of the guests. That information has been muddied over the past few years.”

  “Yes,” Abigail agreed, her mouth pulling into a wry smile. “It seems as though the whole of society claimed to have attended that night.”

  “I do know neither Father nor Mother was present. Father had business in Greece and Mother decided to drag Thomas and me along with them.”

  Abigail shot him a scathing glare. “Do not pretend you did not enjoy those trips, Benjamin Westwood.”

  Benjamin held up his hands to fend off his aunt. “Of course, I did.”

  “Oh,” A voice squeaked from the doorway.

  Benjamin and Abigail glanced up at the same time, their heads moving in unison.

  “Daphne,” Abigail spoke first, smiling warmly as she beckoned to her niece. “Please, do join us for breakfast.”

  “Miss Clemens.” Benjamin rose and bowed to her. Miss Clemens managed the barest of curtsies. “It is lovely to see you again. Miss Hastings sends her regards.”

  The color returned to Miss Clemens face. “Lord Westwood,” she whispered shyly, staring at the floor as she curtsied. She chose a chair on the other side of her aunt, directly facing Benjamin, and accepted the offered plate from Mrs. Grace who had re-entered the dining room stealthily. While she ate, Miss Clemens stole furtive glances at Benjamin. Considering how smitten she seemed with Thomas last evening, Benjamin figured this breakfast must seem like a dream and a nightmare at the same time–the right face, but the wrong brother.

  “Will you be staying long?” he asked politely, trying to put her at ease.

  “I will be staying indefinitely,” she replied, blushing deeply. Aware she had been caught staring, her eyes dropped to the toast in front of her.

  Benjamin noticed a firm tone in her voice when she spoke the word indefinitely. It seemed out of place for her gentle character.

  “Daphne has become a permanent member of this household.” Abigail placed her hand over her niece’s and gave it a gentle squeeze. A sob tumbled from Miss Clemens’ lips as she flung herself into Abigail’s arms and buried her face in the elderly woman’s neck. Abigail wrapped her arms around the girl and patted her on the head, cooing tenderly.

  Benjamin was surprised by the sudden closeness between them. In his memory, Aunt Abigail never seemed to be the nurturing type, preferring to keep most people at a distance with her vicious cane. Feeling as though he was intruding on their private moment, Benjamin rose quietly. He stood awkwardly for a moment, trying to determine if he should remain in the room during this exceedingly personal exchange. Deciding to hunt down some coffee, he slipped out the slightly ajar side door into the kitchen. In his haste, Benjamin nearly knocked over Mrs. Grace who hesitated near the door as she listened to the breakfast conversation. In her hands was a tray with the absent coffee pot.

  “Is there something I can assist you with, my Lord?” she asked, taking several steps back to avoid spilling the tray. She seemed utterly surprised by his sudden appearance in her kitchen. Benjamin wondered how many people actually had the opportunity to view her domain.

  “I was looking for the coffee,” he replied.

  Mrs. Grace set the tray on a nearby table and poured him a cup. He accepted the offered beverage and glanced around the kitchen, trying to invent another reason to delay his return to the dining room. Mrs. Grace eyed him warily. His hesitation unnerved her.

  “Mrs. Grace, may I ask you a delicate question?”

  “Absolutely, my Lord.” She looked at him curiously, no doubt wondering why he was still standing in the kitchen.

  “What happened to Miss Clemens?” he asked, knowing someone as nosy as Mrs. Grace would be brimming with details and more than willing to part with them.

  “Poor thing,” Mrs. Grace began in a gleeful, hushed tone. “Her mother woke the house at one this morning, banging on the front door with a chunk of Miss Clemens beautiful hair wrapped around her fist. Mrs. Clemens screamed the most dreadful obscenities and threw her shoe at the dining-room window.”

  “Was she intoxicated?” asked Benjamin, the coffee cup hovered near his lips forgotten.

  “I believe so,” nodded Mrs. Grace. “After she threw the shoe, Mrs. Clemens accused your aunt of interfering
and threatened her life.”

  Benjamin’s eyes narrowed. “She probably was interfering; however, Mrs. Clemens reaction seems entirely too extreme. What was the reason behind this horrendous display?”

  “Mrs. Clemens forbade her daughter from encouraging an attachment to Miss Hastings.”

  Benjamin bristled at the mention of Miss Hastings’ name, but he bit his tongue and allowed Mrs. Grace to continue her story uninterrupted.

  “Miss Clemens stated she would rather cut her attachment with the Shirely family. Her mother was livid. Mrs. Shirely is a close friend of hers.”

  “How did they end up here at such an early hour?”

  “Apparently, the argument occurred in the carriage as they were leaving the Leveret’s residence after everyone had stampeded out of the ball due to the fire. Mrs. Clemens told her daughter if that was her choice, she was no longer welcome in the Clemens’ home. Miss Clemens replied she would go live with your aunt instead. I believe Mrs. Clemens was hoping your aunt would reject the new living arrangements.”

  Benjamin snorted. “Not likely.”

  Mrs. Grace smiled. “Miss Clemens was sent upstairs immediately. There was already an armoire stuffed with new clothes waiting in her room.”

  “What was Mrs. Clemens’ reaction?” asked Benjamin.

  “She launched into a tirade. Your aunt stood on the steps in her nightdress, wrapped in a shawl, and watched Mrs. Clemens throw a tantrum in the middle of the street. The neighbors came outside to investigate the ruckus.”

  “That will be interesting to read about this morning,” Benjamin quipped.

  Mrs. Grace shook her head. “The incident has already been hushed. Mrs. Shirely’s name was mentioned. She will make sure the society papers do not repeat anything that occurred that does not paint her in a favorable light.”

  Benjamin was quiet a moment as he processed the information—a closet of clothes, an already prepared chamber... “Aunt Abigail must have been planning this escapade for a while.”

  That comment earned a grin from Mrs. Grace. “I know nothing of your aunt’s plans, except what she would like for supper this evening.”