by Joan Smith
Everything was of the first stare, as she knew it must be. The finest of china, silver, and crystal, a meal obviously prepared by a male chef, with interesting ragouts and other French dishes to offset the plain English fare. Her approval of every detail was given to the host. After two courses and two removes, the company from Swallowcourt was stuffed, for their stomachs had shrunk during their visit, but still there was more to come. Chantillies and cream pastries and fruits were set on the boards, and in spite of their satiety, a little corner had to be found for these unaccustomed treats. Conversation was general and lively. Marcia was seldom silent and hoped by her gaiety to make herself a frequent guest during her stay at Swallowcourt. How stunning if she could wangle an invitation for Mr. Blandings!
“Have you managed a good meal for once?” Sir Hillary asked Miss Milmont, seated on his left.
“Yes, I am gorged.”
“You see how well advised you were to allow me to join your adventure? And you may take home a basket, too, in case you are reduced to crumbs again tomorrow.”
“Is that why you asked us?” she smiled.
“Only partially. I can’t have my conspirators failing away from malnutrition, but I have been trying to get your mama to come to me this age, only she doesn’t bother with me at all in London.”
“What a whisker! She was as pleased as punch to receive the invitation. Oh, by the by, did Loo tell you we must speak to you privately before we leave?”
“No, have there been further developments in the case?”
She nodded. “We must move quickly. Will it be possible for us to talk?”
“Of course, but not here. I’ll show you my—ah, collection? after dinner.”
“Collection of what?”
“What are you interested in that we might use as an excuse?”
“Coins?”
“You are not pure Milmont after all. There is a little something of your mama crept in. Let us make it sermons. That should scare off the others.”
A little later he turned to her again. “You are looking very elegant in the diamonds,” he said.
“Aren’t they ghastly? And with this horrid old gown too.”
“Now you are offending me, Miss Milmont. Do I not rate a better gown? Your mama, you will see, is looking as fine as fivepence.”
“This is my best,” she told him, a little apologetically.
He looked at her gown, then a few moments later at her mama’s. He had always disliked Marcia Milmont excessively. A toadeater, a pusher, and a dead bore. He now despised her. That a young girl should have not one decent gown while her mother was a walking clotheshorse was the outside of enough. The girl was attractive, too, beneath the austerity. Lovely eyes and a well-shaped face. But when he turned to address a remark to Mrs. Milmont, he was smiling blandly and was very polite.
Dinner over, the ladies went to the Blue Saloon and after a short interval, the gentlemen joined them. Sir Hillary carefully avoided taking up a seat beside Mrs. Milmont and went to sit with Miss Bliss, but before they could exchange two words, Marcia came mincing over and joined them.
“I can’t tell you how much I have enjoyed myself this evening,” she began.
“I have noticed, darling, but really you have tried to tell me often enough. I take your word for it that you have had an evening of unsurpassed joy.”
Miss Bliss ‘tch’d, tch’d’ disapprovingly and brought out her knitting.
“Such an elegant home, and all done in the best of taste.”
“Thank you once again, ma'am.”
“Your chef, I am sure, must be French.”
“His name is Gallagher.” He was in fact a Monsieur Beaupré.
“Well, he cooks like a Frenchie. But then, do you keep a different cook in London, for I know your chef there is French. Everyone says so.”
Caught out in his lie, he had now to pretend he had a different chef in each place, which extravagance raised him even higher in her eyes.
“We shall be quite spoiled for the simple little dinners Miss Bliss arranges for us,” she continued in a playful tone.
“Miss Bliss was hired as Sophie’s companion, you recall, and cannot be blamed for the paucity of food at Swallowcourt. Why don’t you take the captain to task for it? I see he is sitting there all alone.”
“Yes, and I told that foolish Claudia she should . . . But that is always the way with daughters. They never know enough to look sharply about them for a good match.”
“They don’t learn a thing from their mamas, do they?” he agreed mildly.
“Oh, naughty! Isn’t he naughty, Miss Bliss?”
“I’d use a stronger term myself,” Miss Bliss said without looking up from her knitting.
“Tell me, Sir Hillary, for it is a matter that has been troubling me, and I am sure you will know just how I should go on—what degree of mourning do you plan to undertake as a result of Sophie’s death?” Marcia asked.
“I plan to wear my armband for a month.”
“But what I really mean is in London, for the Season, you know.”
“I do not plan to go into mourning at all. I have a fairly full calendar planned already.”
“Not at all! Why, how wonderful. I daresay you are right. Not a soul there will know of Sophie’s death, and we might just keep it mum and not even go into half-mourning. It would be a shame to miss all the routs and balls.”
“I don’t plan to miss one, Marcia. They will be but dull affairs with you absent, however.”
“But I shan’t be absent. I shall not say a word about her death and go everywhere, just as you said.”
“I merely said what I should do. I am only a connection of Sophronia, as has so often been pointed out. You are her sister.”
“But you are Gabriel’s guardian!”
“True, and certainly Gab shall not attend any balls for the next six months.”
“That is a very good idea. The young ought to be made to toe the line, and there is no saying, too, that he won’t come into the money, when the will is read next year. You wouldn’t want him to be gallivanting all over, and then get her money. It would look so very disrespectful.”
“Yes, there is nothing gives one so sorry an opinion of people as to see them disregard the proprieties. Had it been my brother who died, I should certainly go into full mourning.”
“Yes, but . . .”
“Miss Bliss,” Hillary turned to her. “I leave you to console Mrs. Milmont on the necessity of missing the routs and balls. I have just recollected I wanted to show Miss Milmont the collection of sermons in the library. She is particularly interested in them.”
“Sermons!” Mrs. Milmont said in wonder. “The girl is a changeling, I swear. It is all the fault of her grandparents, stuffing her head full of nonsense. Mrs. Milmont, you must know, is Quakerish . . .” Sir Hillary heard her spiel as he went across the room to Claudia.
“Sermon time,” he said, holding out his hand.
Claudia arose and went with him. Her mama watched them leave together and was struck by the charming couple they made. If only Claudia could be her right age, she might make a stab at Sir Hillary. This thought was banished as soon as it was born. For years past numbering, she herself had been trying to cajole him into mere friendship and knew him to be a tough nut to crack.
In the library he said directly, “Now, tell me what has happened.”
“We must make an early try for the diamonds—tonight or tomorrow,” she replied eagerly.
“Impossible. What is the reason for the haste?”
“We have discovered that someone else means to steal them.”
“Jonathon will make a try, but I doubt he’ll succeed.”
“No, not Jonathon. Someone else—pray don’t ask me, for I can’t tell you, but . . .”
“Marcia? Your mama is not so foolish. She knows about the steel box and couldn’t possibly . . .” He stopped as he noticed the strange expression on her face.
“Good God! You haven’t b
y any chance had a visit from Mr. Blandings!”
“Oh, you know about him!”
“Everyone knows about him. He’s been laying siege to your mama any time these two years. The wonder of it is that she doesn’t capitulate. Not a bad-looking fellow and loaded with blunt. Is he here then?”
“No, he’s coming.”
“How do you know this?”
“That’s not important. The thing is, we must get them before he arrives, for he is huge, you know, and an ironmonger, so he knows all about metals, mama says.”
“I never knew him to be a felon.”
“A felon! But he would be doing it for mama, and I suppose she is no more a felon than we are, for she only wants to get the diamonds for herself, as Luane does,” Claudia defended.
“My dear girl! Are you really so green as you seem?” Sir Hillary asked. “You must know Luane cannot keep the diamonds, even if she manages to get them out of the grave. Till the year is up, they must be held in trust by Fletcher and myself to see what Sophie had in mind to be done with them. I can understand your craving the adventure of going after them, and in fact it’s not a bad idea to get them put away safely, but I made sure you knew Loo couldn’t keep them.”
“You only meant to hand them over to Fletcher?” Claudia asked, her eyes like saucers. “I can’t believe you to be serious. I took you for our friend.”
“I hope I am.”
“Well, you are not, Lord Turn-about. Like all inhabitants of Fair-speech, you are nothing but a deceiver.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I daresay you never read a Christian book! Well, I have taken up enough of your precious time,” she said, making to push past him to the door.
“One moment, please,” he said, grabbing her wrist. “I had no notion you were serious, but I can at least assure you that no one else, including Mr. Blandings, will get the diamonds. The guard has been hired, and he is not Tim Larriman, but a very reliable fellow, who will patrol with a gun and a pair of ferocious dogs.”
“You beast! How are we to get past a gun and two dogs?”
“You cannot mean to try, just you two girls. I assure you Gabriel will not accompany you another time.”
“Another Lord Turn-about!”
There was a sound at the door, and Luane entered. “Did you tell him?” she asked her cousin.
Claudia cast a fulminating eye on Sir Hillary and said, “He does not mean to help us, but rather hinder us by having set an armed man with two wild beasts to guard the grave.”
“Sir Hillary, you have not done anything so shabby!” Luane declared.
“He did, and furthermore he never intended to let you keep the diamonds if we did get them, but only to hold them till the year is up and then meekly hand them over to whoever was supposed to get them.”
“I can’t believe this is true,” Loo said, staring. “Tell me it’s not true, Sir Hillary.”
“Do you think I want to see you both in Newgate? What do you think would be the penalty for stealing fifty thousand pounds?”
“Stealing from a grave!” Luane retorted.
“Sophie can never have meant for them to remain there permanently. You may be sure she has some other end in mind for them. They may be intended for Miss Milmont, for all we know.”
“I don’t want them,” Claudia said immediately. “I think they are excessively ugly.” She looked down at the set she wore round her neck as she spoke.
“And excessively valuable. If you think for one moment your mother would allow you to disclaim your interest in them, I must believe you to be more foolish than seems possible.”
“She would never have left them to me,” Claudia stated firmly. “I never met her till two minutes before she died. She didn’t even know me.”
“She only meant to make mischief,” Loo snapped.
“And how well she has succeeded,” Hillary remarked, frowning. “We can’t stay here any longer. We’ll discuss this again tomorrow.”
“Before you go,” Luane said, “who is the man hired to guard the grave?”
“His name is Bronfman, an ex-soldier, retired from Wellington’s army because of losing a leg. An excellent shot.”
“He no longer lives in the village.”
“He will, starting tomorrow. Fletcher was in touch with him in Maldon, and he has agreed to take the job. And I cannot think you two can manage the job in one night, with no preparation.” With this speech he turned and left the room, feeling he had in some manner treated them very badly, though he had only done what was right and sensible.
“I was never so deceived in anyone in my life,” Luane said to her cousin. “The man with the dogs comes tomorrow, so tonight it will be only Tim Larriman, or maybe even no one. How are we to do it? We cannot possibly get the coffin out.”
“No, we’d have to open it there, and we have no equipment.”
“I shouldn’t have the least notion how to manage a torch in any case,” Loo fretted.
“Is the blacksmith a possible ally, if we paid him?”
“We have nothing to pay him with, and anyway he is a friend of Sir Hillary’s, and has naturally no imagination. He would report us to the constable the moment we approached him.”
“How then? Could the lock be filed open, I wonder? If it is only one of those bolts that shoots across like the kitchen door at Swallowcourt it could he done. Did Gabriel say how it was sealed?”
“No, he said only that it was a sealed coffin, and if I try to find out from him now, he will go running to Sir Hillary.”
“We must give it a try. We’ll take an axe and file, and see if we can’t get it open.”
“Sir Hillary has all kinds of tools in a workshop off the kitchen. If we could sneak down there we might find just what we need, if only we knew what the thing looked like, that we shall need—the torch thing.”
“It would be justice if we could use his tools. How does one get to this workshop?”
“There’s a little stairway at the far end of the corridor just outside this door. The workshop is right there at the bottom of the stairs,” Loo said.
“Would it be locked?”
“No, why should he lock up a bunch of hammers and saws?”
“Let’s go right now and see if we can find something.”
“Yes, and we can just chuck the things outside the door, for there is a door leading right into the backyard, and we can pick them up on the way to the graveyard later tonight.”
Their discussion was interrupted by Gabriel, come to ask them to play some music for the guests.
“Are you against us too?” Luane asked him, ignoring the mention of music.
“Sir Hillary is right, Loo. He always is, you know. It would be illegal, and . . .”
“And you are afraid of him,” Loo scoffed. “What a coward! You were right, Claudia. How could I have considered marrying this poltroon?”
“Dash it, Loo, you know I’d help you if it would do the least bit of good. But with that Bronfman fellow coming . . .”
“I understand,” Lao said in a frigid voice, her face hard as granite.
“No, you don’t understand! You couldn’t keep the diamonds if we did manage to get them, and anyway I don’t see how we could.”
“The coffin was all sealed up, was it?” Claudia asked, attempting to make it sound nonchalant.
“There was a lock an inch around. I never saw such a one in my life before.”
“A bolt-type lock?” she asked.
“Yes, and welded shut.”
Miss Milmont could not envisage exactly what this meant, but a lock, even an inch in diameter, could be filed through with time and patience.
Annoyed at their prolonged absence, Sir Hillary came to the door. “Everyone would like to hear some music,” he said. Three irate pairs of eyes turned on him. “Are they seducing you, Gaby?” he asked. “It is quite futile, ladies. Gabriel agrees with me on the folly of your scheme. Come along.”
Their compliance with this
request was of so dallying and sullen a nature that the music coming out of it promised to be indifferent at best. They were accompanied to the music room, where Miss Bliss and Mrs. Milmont were already seated. “I’ll slip down to the workshop while you play,” Claudia whispered to Loo. Then turning aside to Thoreau she asked, “Could you direct me again to that chamber we used to wash up in the other evening? I see I have spilt some cream on my skirt and would like to sponge it out.”
He took her to the hall and pointed out the way. “Shall I call a maid?”
This offering a great conflict to her true errand, she immediately recalled the exact location of the room and thanked him. She waited to see him walk off in another direction, wondering why he didn’t return to the music room. No matter, he was gone, and she nipped smartly to the corridor Luane had pointed out. The captain, sitting near the door of the music room saw her turning down the corridor towards the library. He slipped silently from the room and followed her at a little distance.
The main portion of the house was well lit, and Miss Milmont was not prepared for the sudden plunge into nearly total darkness that confronted her when she was half-way down the staircase to the lower floor. She turned and went back to the library to get a candle. Across the hall, a door opened a crack and she fled to the staircase, but no one came out the door.
A servant seeing what’s going on, she thought, for she had made no effort to be silent, thinking herself alone in that part of the house. Glancing back, she saw the door remained closed, and she tiptoed silently now back down the stairs with her lone taper flickering in the breeze. Her heart was in her throat as she pushed open the door at the bottom of the stairs. She thought to find herself immediately in the workshop, but she was not. She stood in a long flagged area, with three doors opening off it, every one closed.
Luane had not explained that other activities than repairs were carried out here. The whole was dark and frightening. Her first inclination was to run back upstairs as fast as her legs would carry her. Surely Swallowcourt must have a file. This was madness to lurk about a cavernous, unknown, extremely dark corridor, hiding unimagined horrors behind every portal. The echo of lurid fiction reeled in her head; the skeleton behind the black veil, the eerie hand, not connected to any human form, the disembodied miasma of evil empowered with magic properties.