by Joan Smith
Parker and I exchanged an angry, knowing look. “It is not worth my while,” I said grandly, “but I shall warn my friends to avoid this establishment."
"I can do without your friends, thankee. Maybe the ring fell on the floor. I'll have a look,” Parker said, and began to make a show of looking around the floor.
Hennie and I ducked out to the waiting carriage. “Where to, madam?” Topby called.
"Hyde Park,” I replied.
Chapter Two
We took a moment to recover our breaths. “What did you do with the ring, Eve? I made sure they would find it in your pocket, and we would end up in Bridewell,” Hennie said, when she could speak.
"I got rid of it when I saw the constable coming."
"You threw it away?"
"Certainly not. I slid it in that gentleman's pocket, the man I bumped into. He was handsome, was he not? That is why we are going to Hyde Park."
Hennie smirked. She has the idea that I am interested in nothing but finding a husband. She is quite mistaken; I want a circle of female friends, too. I am tired of being an Ishmael. “To recover the ring, Hennie. He directed his groom to Hyde Park. Keep an eye out for him when we get there."
"I am sure you will spot him, Eve,” she said snidely.
"His carriage was plain black. Not a coroneted door. I rather hoped he might be a lord."
Overcome by a belated seizure, Hennie dissolved into a fit of giggles. “You are up to all the rigs. You even noticed his carriage lacked a lozenge. I made sure you would go straight home and dose yourself with hartshorn, as I feel like doing."
"Why, there is no need to go home to do that. I have a bottle right here. What an excellent idea. I am feeling shaken myself.” I drew a small cut-glass bottle from my reticule and unscrewed the lid to inhale the spirits of ammonia. When my eyes were watering and my lungs felt as if they were being pricked with pins, I gave Hennie the bottle to have a whiff.
"I wonder who he can be,” she said. Her breaths were shallow from the ammonia.
"I have no idea. Unfortunately, we do not know his sort.” I meant the sort who inhabited the charmed circle. “I hope he is still at the park, or we have lost our ring."
"How shall we approach him, if he is there?” she asked. “He must have seen the constable coming after us."
"Would he believe the truth, do you think, or should we invent some tale to appeal to his chivalry?"
"Much better to avoid the truth,” she replied, sinking ever deeper into sin. Her late husband adhered to the credo that no motive was strong enough to excuse a lie. I knew this apropos my unchanging age over the years. Indeed, the phrase “mutton dressed as lamb” had been used on one occasion.
"You are right. He might take into his head to go calling the constable. I shall, hopefully, bump into him ‘by accident’ at the park, and tell him I lost my ring. I shall say I had it in my hand when I met him, and ask him if he would just mind having a look in his pocket, in case it fell in there. He can hardly refuse such a simple request."
"He'll have a look if he knows what is good for him,” she said—another little dig at my temper.
A memory of his harsh face lingered at the back of my mind. He did not seem a man to be led by a shrew. The face's undeniable harshness had not been softened by the concern in his eyes. I remembered every feature of his face in peculiarly vivid detail. No doubt my perceptions had been heightened at the time due to the piquant circumstances.
How else to account for the vivid memory of his crisp black hair, those strong black brows, that slightly hawkish nose? He had been tall; he towered a good six inches above me, and I am five and a half feet. Either his blue jacket had wadding, or his shoulders were very broad and straight. As his stomach was as flat as an ironing board, I gave him the benefit of the doubt.
"How can we explain about the constable?” Hennie said, interrupting my reveries.
"Dalton cannot know the man was after us. We shall say someone had a purse snatched.” She turned pious on me. “David always said—” I rudely cut off her repetition of the late vicar's ideas about lying. “Yes, Hennie. I know what David always said. I hope Dalton descends from his carriage. Would you recognize it again? Plain black, with a pair of matched bays, was it not?"
"I did not notice the team,” she replied vaguely. I assumed she was warring with her conscience over the projected tissue of lies, and left her to it.
As we drove through Hyde Park, Hennie exclaimed, “There! That is him!” She pointed out the window to Mr. Dalton, who stood in conversation with a fashionable blond lady, dressed in the first style of elegance. I had seen, admired, and envied the lady before; she was a certified member of the ton. She was often seen on the strut on Bond Street, at the barrier at Hyde Park, on the grand tier at the theaters, and no doubt at fashionable parties from which I was excluded. What roused my curiosity was that I had not seen her with Mr. Dalton before.
"He is not alone,” I said, disappointed. “The blonde could be his sweetheart. You do the talking, Hennie. His girlfriend will resent having another lady chasing after her beau."
"I would not know what to say!” Hennie exclaimed.
As she would certainly make a botch of it, I relented and agreed to do the lying myself. I pulled the check string and we descended. The clement weather made a walk unexceptionable. The sun shone brightly, fuzzing the greenery of grass and trees with a tinge of gold. Bird song filled the air, and a warm zephyr caressed our cheeks. The pathways were full of strolling fashionables as we wended our way toward Dalton.
When he espied us, he gave a sudden start of recognition, just before his eyes widened, revealing rampant curiosity. He recognized us, certainly. I only hoped he had not discovered the ring, and begun suspecting our integrity. Our eyes met, and I drew to a stop. “It is you!” I exclaimed, as if in surprise.
"I am happy to see you escaped from your—difficulties,” he said, hesitating over what to call our former predicament.
"Yes, I understand some poor lady had her purse snatched, and the constable was running after the fellow."
"Did they catch him?"
"We did not linger in such a horrid location,” I said demurely, and immediately turned to smile at the lady, to divert his conversation and her wrath at my knowing Dalton while not knowing her.
"Allow me to present my sister, Lady Filmore,” he said. “Linda, this is—I do not have your names, ladies.” He smiled.
I introduced first myself, then Hennie. You may be sure I took careful note that his companion was his sister. She had all the accoutrements of an Incomparable—blond curls, blue eyes, rose petal skin, teeth of pearl, French gown, etc.
Lady Filmore told us that her brother—she called him Richard—had mentioned the little fracas in Shepherd's Market, and chided us for going to such a verminous place. We stayed chatting a moment, working around to asking for the ring. Lady Filmore was an inestimable help. She was a regular chatterbox.
Over the next few moments, we learned that Lady Filmore (Linda) was not only married but widowed, at nineteen years of age. I wondered if her husband had left her unprovided for, since she made her home with Mr. Dalton. Soon it came out that she already had another beau in her eye.
"Let us sit and rest our legs,” she suggested. “I want to talk about Brighton, Richard. Let us go there this week. The Season ends tomorrow. Everyone will be running off to Brighton. You have that handsome house on Marine Parade, sitting idle."
"Lord Harelson, I assume, will be going to Brighton?” he replied with a quizzing smile that spoke of romance.
"He mentioned going today,” she laughed.
Much as I enjoyed having someone other than Hennie to talk with in the park, I sensed we had outstayed our welcome. “We will leave you to it, Lady Filmore,” I said. “We must be running along now, but before we go—foolish me!” I turned a fluttering gaze on Dalton. “I was carrying an emerald ring I had just redeemed from the pawnbroker when I bumped into you at Shepherd's Market, Mr. Da
lton. I know I had it in my hand when I bumped into you, and a moment later, it was gone. We went back and scoured the street with a fine-tooth comb. It is extremely unlikely, I know, but do you think it might just possibly have fallen into your pocket?” We walked on a little way.
Dalton slid his hand into his pocket, and brought it out empty. “It seems not,” he said.
His expression was perfectly bland, yet I was morally certain the man was lying. So much for the ton! “Try the other pocket. It must be there,” I said. He tried the other pocket, with the same result.
"Would you happen to have a hole in your pocket?” I asked, my voice becoming thin with annoyance. He turned his pockets out, so that I could see they were empty, but in good repair. I could only stare in disbelief. It was impossible! I soon concluded that he had found the ring, and was concealing it from me. Stealing it, in other words.
"You must be mistaken, Eve,” Auntie said.
"Mistaken, is it?” I asked, eyes fulminating.
"Perhaps it fell out into my carriage,” Dalton suggested. He certainly knew the way my mind was veering. I should not have been a bit surprised if he also suspected I had hidden the ring to avoid detection.
"Where is your carriage?” I demanded.
"Unfortunately I had it taken to the stable when I called on my sister. She wished to take her own carriage. I shall have mine searched and take the ring to you if it is found, if you will give me your address, Miss Denver."
I told him, but I had very little hope of ever seeing the ring again, and wished to learn where this new thief resided.
"We are practically neighbors, ma'am. I live on Grosvenor Square,” he said, without my even asking.
"Then you will not have to go far out of your way to return the ring. I am sure you will find it in your carriage. Where else could it be?” I added, in a rhetorical spirit.
"Where else indeed? Will you be home this evening?"
"You may be very sure of it, sir. If it is not in your carriage, I must take other steps,” I said, flashing a menacing glance at him. Of course, it was hopeless. Who was to say he even lived in Grosvenor Square?
"Yes indeed. You will want to speak to Bow Street,” he replied, unfazed. “Good afternoon, Miss Denver.” He turned to Hennie. “And Mrs. Henderson.” Did I imagine a lurking ray of mischief in that cold gray eye?
His sister got tired of waiting and arose from the bench. She beckoned Dalton to her, waved to us, and we left.
"She is not his wife,” Hennie said, smiling.
"If I had not seen her in Lady Jersey's carriage last week, I would think she was his lightskirt, and he a common thief. He must have found that ring in his pocket. It could not have jumped out and run away by itself."
"You think Mr. Dalton stole it from you?"
"Of course he did. We'll not see him at South Audley Street if I know anything. I'll be demmed if I know what to do next, Hennie. I fear we have been bested in this affair."
"David always said it is hard for a rich man to get into heaven. Something about a camel and the eye of a needle."
"The ton are no better than they should be. We shall go home and have a glass of wine to settle our nerves.” We went to the carriage and were driven home.
"I think he will come,” Hennie said. She is not really a simpleton, but her lack of experience sometimes makes her appear one. I snorted my disagreement.
Chapter Three
"You had best run up and tidy your hair, Hennie,” I suggested that evening after dinner. “We leave for the theater in five minutes.” I had ceased my oft-dropped hint that she stick a plume in her coiffure for fashion's sake. I knew what she would say. “If the Lord wanted me to wear feathers, he would have given me wings."
"Leave!” she exclaimed in dismay. “You forget Mr. Dalton is to call this evening, Eve."
I had made an especially fine toilette in his honor, (bronze crepe with gold ribbons), but it was not in my saloon I expected to see him. A new play was opening at Drury Lane. I had often seen Lady Filmore there. As Lord Harelson had removed to Brighton, I thought she might make Dalton take her.
My chestnut hair was scooped up in dainty curls in an effort to remove half a decade from my five and twenty years. Mr. Dalton looked about thirty. I have often noticed that the older a gentleman is, the younger his lady friends. It is only younger gentlemen who are impressed by “older” ladies.
I said to Hennie, “I doubt he will come. And if he does, what is to prevent him from leaving the ring with the butler? I shall ask Tumble to be on the lookout for him."
"You told him we would be here,” she pointed out.
"Good gracious, he would not expect us to sit home all evening waiting for him. You may be sure a swell like Dalton is on the town himself. He would have dropped it off before going out to dinner, if he had any intention of returning it."
"I daresay you are right,” she said, with a sad look. “Unfortunately, your poor view of people has frequently proven right in the past. But if he does bring the ring while we are out, we must call on him and thank him properly."
"I will be only too happy to do it."
As the words left my mouth, the front door knocker sounded. We exchanged a surprised look. Soon Dalton's baritone voice was heard asking for us. I had scarcely time to arrange my bronze skirt artfully about me before Tumble showed him in.
Dalton made his bows. I noticed his sharp eyes glancing off the prismatic sparkle of genuine diamonds at my throat, and around the room at the handsome array of old furnishings I had collected. If he was assessing my worth, I concluded he had also taken an inventory of the house from outside. It is smallish, but in an excellent neighborhood. He must realize there was money here from somewhere.
He turned his bow to Auntie. Before he said a word, Hennie spoke. “Did you find the ring?” she asked with eager vulgarity.
"I am happy to tell you I did,” he replied. He withdrew it from his pocket and handed it to me.
"Well, upon my word!” I exclaimed. “I never thought to see this beauty again.” My joy was doubled in that Mr. Dalton was proven an honest man.
"I trust that is not a slur on my honesty, ma'am,” he said playfully.
"Certainly not. It is merely a comment on my luck. Thank you for bringing the ring. Have you time for a glass of wine?"
"I judge by your elegant toilettes that you ladies are going out,” he replied, using it as an excuse to ogle me. “You must not let me detain you."
"No hurry, sir. One does not arrive on time for a rout, or folks think you have been sitting, waiting for it to begin."
"A rout?” Hennie said, in a questioning tone.
I stared her down and rang for Tumble, who came and poured the wine. Tumble had done service in the stately homes of England, and had been hired for his appearance and his social skills. He looks as a butler should look, which is to say like a gentleman without any sense of humor whatsoever. When he is sober, he is an excellent butler. I trusted his instincts would prevent him from mentioning that my carriage was waiting, and that if I did not hop it, I would be late for the play.
Dalton accepted the wine and sat down for a little chat. “I hope you will not think it presumptuous of me, Miss Denver,” he said, “but I am very curious to hear why you took your ring to Parker.” His eyes slid around the room, finding enough valuable furniture and artwork there to furnish two saloons. “That fellow is not quite the thing, you must know."
"He is as crooked as a dog's hind leg,” I said with some warmth. “I know perfectly well he pried the diamond out of a ring I left with him, and replaced it with glass."
"Ah, you pawned two rings,” he said, nodding wisely.
"Just the one, actually,” Hennie said.
Dalton frowned in forgivable confusion. “I must have misunderstood. You said this afternoon that you had just redeemed this emerald ring."
"Redeemed is one way of putting it,” Hennie said.
Dalton looked so suspicious that I decided to enlighte
n him before he thought me worse than I was. I did not feel my action was stealing, in the normal sense of the word.
In short, I confessed the whole seamy business, holding back only that I had purposely put the emerald ring in his pocket. He did not call me a thief, but I sensed an air of disapproval about him. The Atlantic eyes turned darker and stormier as I spoke. “Strange he should have a paste stone of the proper size to replace your diamond,” he said.
"He had a couple of days to acquire one, Mr. Dalton. Here, this is the ring he removed the diamond from,” I said, drawing it from my reticule, where I had tossed it that afternoon. “Glass, you see. It was a diamond when I left it there two days before.” I explained about the small chip in one corner.
Dalton examined it carefully. “I can see the tool marks on the mounting prongs,” he said. “This was obviously a rushed job.” Then he lilted his head and smiled. “Allow me to congratulate you on your swift thinking, Miss Denver."
"She really ought not to have done it,” Hennie said uncertainly. Her lingering sense of morality expected some condemnation from Mr. Dalton.
"Mrs. Henderson's late husband was a vicar,” I explained.
"At St. Martin's, in Cranbrook,” Hennie added.
"A fine old perpendicular church, if memory serves?"
"Yes, have you seen it?” she asked, brightening.
"Only from the outside."
"You should tour it next time you are in Cranbrook, Mr. Dalton. It has an old baptistry for complete immersion, dating from the eighteenth century. We did not use it, of course."
"I seem to remember hearing something of the sort."
I had the peculiar feeling that Hennie's being a vicar's widow raised us in Dalton's esteem. It is hard to describe, but a new sort of warmth entered his conversation. It was as if he had not quite believed my story, but Hennie's clerical association removed the doubt.
There followed some general conversation peppered throughout by a series of discreet questions that eventually revealed our harmless history. Of course, I did not crop out into an announcement of my fortune, but my circumstances hinted at one. The dread question as to why I had not made my bows arose, to be shuffled aside by a mendacious mention of my lack of interest in society. While we talked, his eyes darted from time to time to the emerald ring, resting on the sofa table.