Thick As Thieves

by Joan Smith

  "That emerald ring looks familiar,” he said, frowning as if trying to remember. “Now, where have I seen it before?” Hennie handed it to him, to aid his memory. “Ah! I have it now! It belonged to Lady Dormere."

  Hennie nodded. “That satinwood commode belonged to Lord Hutching. Eve bought it from the antique shop next door to Parker's place. That is how she came to know about Parker."

  "Really?” He glanced at the commode, and at a dark old portrait above it, purchased at the same time for its nice gilt frame. Then he looked back at the ring. “I seem to remember some story about this ring,” he said, frowning again. “I think—yes, by God, I have it now. This was stolen by Tom, the famous burglar who is lifting all the ladies’ jewels."

  "You never mean it!” I gasped. Although the name Tom has not occurred formerly in this tale, it was a name frequently read in the journals that year. England was rife with thieves. A highwayman by the name of Black Bart was also on the prowl.

  It was for the vicar's widow to suggest doing the right thing. “You must give it back to her, Eve,” she exclaimed.

  "And who will give me back my diamond, that Parker pried out of my ring?” I demanded.

  "That is not Lady Dormere's fault,” she pointed out.

  "It is not my fault either,” I said sharply. “I don't know what the world is coming to. People snatching what does not belong to them. Tom, the burglar, has been terrorizing society for over a year now, and never a move to stop him."

  "You are mistaken there, Miss Denver,” Dalton said. “I have been Tom's victim, but I am doing something to try to stop him. In fact, that was why I was loitering outside of Parker's place this afternoon. A friend of mine bought a brooch from Parker, then learned it was part of Tom's loot. I have been keeping a watch on the place. If the same fellow went in frequently, then it would suggest he was trafficking in stolen goods. Perhaps you wondered at my sudden departure, just when events had reached such an interesting pitch,” he said, smiling. “I did not wish Parker to see me."

  "Have you had any luck in catching Tom?” Hennie asked him.

  "No, I followed up on one or two fellows who were selling stolen goods to Parker, but they were associated with Stop Hole Abbey. I fancy Tom sells his goods at more than one place."

  "What is Stop Hole Abbey?” she asked.

  "It is a sort of clearing ground for stolen goods. The thieves take their wares there. They are sold for a small fraction of their value to fences, who frequently break the jewelry up and sell the stones. We have not traced Tom to Stop Hole Abbey, however. He works strictly alone. When his goods appear, they are still in one piece, like this emerald ring, and the diamond brooch my friend bought."

  "The best way to catch a mouse is to set a trap,” I said. “Why wait at the hole, when you suspect Tom has more than one hole? Bait some rich lady's house with diamonds, set the word about that she has gone on holiday, and he will soon show up."

  "But where to find this obliging lady?” Dalton asked. “And now, of course, the Season is over. Tom will remove his business to Brighton, where he began his illustrious career last summer. I shall be going there myself."

  I tried to hide my disappointment. “When will you leave, Mr. Dalton?” I inquired, with no more than civil interest.

  "Tomorrow. I have to take my leave of a few people this evening. I really should be getting on with it,” he said. Yet he seemed in no hurry to stand up and go. Indeed, unless I am imagining things, there was a sad smile in his eyes at the thought of leaving.

  Here was the very sort of parti I hoped to find. With my usual luck, he was slipping away the very day I met him. One of Hennie's oft-repeated sayings came to me, viz, “The Lord helps those who help themselves.” What was to prevent me from going to Brighton? It was only a lack of imagination that held me in London, when all the ton would be leaving.

  "We have been speaking of removing to Brighton ourselves,” I said. My eyes flew to Hennie's open mouth, warning her to silence. She closed her mouth, then opened it and closed it a few more times, like a fish out of water.

  "Have you been in touch with an estate agent?” he asked.

  "No, not yet."

  "I fear you will find houses in short supply, having left it so late. What sort of house did you have in mind?"

  "Nothing too large, just a pied-a-terre for two,” I said.

  He nodded and said, “I happen to know of a nice house that is standing empty. It is near the ocean, not too large, but not a tumbledown cottage either.” I emitted sounds of interest, and Hennie sat, struck dumb, thank God. He continued. “The reason I happen to know of the place is that it belongs to my neighbor, Lady Grieve. She will not be using it this season, but unfortunately she does not rent it."

  My surging hopes plunged. Why did he bother telling us of it if it was not for hire? “Foolish of her,” I scoffed. “What harm would a couple of mature ladies like Mrs. Henderson and myself do to it? It is not as though we would be holding wild parties, nor bring a houseful of kiddies to write on the walls and soil the carpets."

  "That is true,” Dalton said. “I could mention it to Lady Grieve, if you like. We have been neighbors there for years, and are good friends. She might do it to please me."

  "That would be most obliging of you,” I said.

  Before he left, it was agreed that he would call on Lady Grieve that same night, and let us know before he left in the morning. In fact, he drove directly to Lady Grieve from South Audley Street, and was back inside half an hour with the good news. Lady Grieve's only stipulation was that I must hire her gardener to keep an eye on the grounds. I quickly acceded to that, as I had no gardener, and thought one servant familiar with the house and the town would be to our advantage.

  "I expect you will want to see the house before signing the contract,” he said. “I suggest you drive to Brighton with me tomorrow to look it over. If you approve, we shall return and sign the contract."

  "That is too much trouble for you, Mr. Dalton,” I objected at once, although I appreciated the offer. “If you say the house is in good repair, then I shall take your word for it."

  "When will you come?” he inquired with obvious eagerness.

  "We shall arrive the day after tomorrow. One or two servants can go down in advance to prepare for our arrival while I take care of my business here."

  "You must dine with Lady Filmore and me the first evening,” he said. “We shall invite a few friends to meet you. Linda will be happy to show you around town the next day."

  "That is very kind of you both,” I said to Dalton.

  "I would be happy to spare you another nuisance, if you like. I shall be taking my leave of Lady Dormere in the morning. Shall I return her ring, and save you the bother?"

  My incipient scowl withered to a smile, when I considered Dalton's many kindnesses that evening. “Thank you,” I said, and took the ring from the table to give him.

  "I trust you have taken precautions against Tom for the safety of your other jewelry, Miss Denver?” he asked.

  "Yes indeed. I have a safe right in my bedroom.” He nodded his approval, we said good night, and he left.

  I went to bed that night with my head in a whirl. In one fell stroke I had cut a path into the charmed circle of the ton. Soon I would be dining with Lady Filmore and Dalton, and I would be hard put to say whether the host or hostess thrilled me more. They were inviting friends to meet me. The unfortunate affair of the stolen diamond had turned out well after all. Hennie had no holy aphorism to offer that evening.

  After an hour's gloating, less pleasant thoughts wafted into my head. What if Dalton did not return the ring to Lady Dormere? I had only his word for it that it belonged to her. Indeed, I had only his word for any of my bright future; that the mysterious Lady Grieve existed, and was willing to rent me her house. But then, he had returned the ring voluntarily. If he meant to steal it, why bother to return it at all?

  There is nothing so enervating as a sleepless night. I heard the church bells r
ing three o'clock. By that time, I was more than half-convinced I was a fool, and Dalton a scoundrel. I consoled myself that all I had really lost was the chipped diamond from Mrs. Minton's ring, and the price of the unused tickets for Drury Lane that evening. With that consolation, I finally slept.

  Chapter Four

  I woke early enough the next morning to witness the miracle of sunrise. That wise old alchemist, Sun, changed the leaden skies to fiery gold before my very eyes. I watched, enchanted, as gray faded to pearly white, tinged with pale saffron, then the rim of fire appeared, gilding the heavens.

  My nightmares had left me, as you may have guessed by that poetic outburst. One ought not to think too much in bed at night. In daylight, I decided that Mr. Dalton was a gentleman, and everything was going to be fine.

  When I joined Hennie at the breakfast table, a hand-delivered letter bearing a crest awaited me. I snatched it up eagerly. “It is from Lady Dormere!” I exclaimed. “She thanks me for returning her emerald, and says she will call on me when I return from Brighton. Is that not marvelous, Hennie?"

  "It is the least she can do. I thought she might be offering a reward. In Cranbrook when Mrs. Forrester lost her watch, she gave Billie Seymore a half crown for finding it."

  "We cannot expect Lady Dormere to achieve such heights of perfection as a doctor's wife."

  My real joy was less for Lady Dormere's condescension than for this tangible proof that Mr. Dalton had returned the ring. Even my suspicious nature could not imagine that he had had time to get stationery bearing the lady's crest made up, and forged a note. Hennie was glancing at the newspaper while I reread the note.

  "Listen to this, Eve!” she said. “Here it is, right in black and white, that we are going to Brighton."

  "Impossible! We have not told a soul except Mr. Dalton."

  "See for yourself.” She passed the journal over, and I read that the many friends of Miss Denver, the Cornwall tin heiress, and her companion, Mrs. Henderson, would be interested to hear that the ladies had taken Lady Grieve's lovely mansion on Marine Parade in Brighton for the summer.

  "How on earth did the papers get hold of this?” I asked. Actually, I was as pleased as punch. “The many friends,” while ludicrious, had a lovely sound to it. I had no objection to the “Cornwall tin heiress” either. This would make the ton sit up and take notice. I ought to have inserted such an advertisement when I first came to London.

  When Mr. Dalton came in person at ten o'clock, I could scarcely believe I had ever mistrusted him. Who could mistrust a gentleman in such a well-cut jacket, smelling vaguely of some piney scent, and driving such a well-matched team of bays?

  "I am just about to leave for Brighton,” he said, but he agreed to sit down and have a cup of coffee with us.

  I showed him Lady Dormere's note, and he told me how delighted she was to recover her ring. “I am afraid I was not entirely truthful,” he said. The sun glinted in his Atlantic eyes that morning. “I told her only that you had got the ring from Parker. I did not go into details as to the nature of your procuring it. She assumed you bought it, believing it to have been left on the shelf by someone. I tell you this as she is eager to meet you, and thank you in person."

  "What a shabby creature you must think me,” I said, smiling in that careless way I had often admired in the ton.

  "On the contrary, I admire your daring."

  Hennie shoved the journal under his nose. “Look at this, Mr. Dalton,” she said. “Here is Eve's and my name in the journals, right alongside Lady Jersey's and the Princess Lieven's. We are flying pretty high these days."

  "I cannot imagine how the press got hold of it,” I said with a tsk, as though annoyed.

  "Did you not wish it to be known?” he inquired, wearing a worried face. “I am afraid this is my fault. When my sister was sending off her notice last night, I happened to wonder aloud if you had remembered to do so. She felt you had probably not, as your decision was taken suddenly. She did it for you, to let your friends know where you were to be found."

  "That is quite all right. Very kind of her,” I said magnanimously. “It did slip my mind, actually. It is as well for my friends to know, or they might be wondering."

  Hennie's lips twitched in either condemnation or amusement at my speech. After a cup of coffee, it was decided that Mr. Dalton would take our butler to Brighton in his rig, to prepare our house for us. I felt Tumble would give him a better impression of our household than any of the other servants. He was bound to be sober this early in the day. We parted on the best of terms, with a promise to meet for dinner in Brighton on the morrow.

  The remainder of the day was a turmoil of activity. Although I had few friends, I had considerable business to attend to. It had to be thrashed out which servants were to remain on South Audley Street, as I did not wish to leave the house empty.

  Jimmie Polke, who had come with me from Cornwall, had family in Cheapside and was eager to stay in London. The others were eager for a whiff of sea air, so that was soon settled. I visited my solicitor and man of business to arrange for having my monies and bills sent to Brighton. In a merry mood, I stopped at the millinery shop and purchased not less than two bonnets, one a romantic leghorn with a wide brim that could not possibly be worn anywhere but at a garden party, but it looked very dashing. Lady Filmore wore one similar in her portrait at the recent exhibition at Somerset House.

  Hennie made a dashing visit to her clergyman, to explain that we would not be occupying a pew in his church for a few months. “He will be missing your guinea in the collection plate, Eve,” she said a few times, until I got the idea I was to put all my guineas in an envelope before leaving, and she would take them to him.

  We remained at home that evening, tending to the last-minute chores of toilette, and retired early. No dark thoughts troubled my sleep. My head no sooner hit the pillow than I was out like a lamp, to awaken in the morning fresh as a flower, eager to be off to Brighton.

  I hoped to get away by ten, but with last-minute conferences with Polke, and with our groom suddenly remembering that we really ought to have four horses, which meant a trip to Newman's stable, we did not leave until eleven. It was rumored that our Prince Regent, in his heyday, made the trip from Brighton to London in his curricle in approximately four hours. I can only conclude that his speed, like so much about the man, is a sham. With my own team plus the hired pair, it took us over seven hours of hard rattling, and we made only one hasty stop to eat and refresh ourselves.

  We arrived around six, and were immediately enchanted with the place. Brighton rests on the seaward slope of the South Downs. The oceanfront is on a shallow bay. Had I never been to London, I would have thought it a huge metropolis.

  Our carriage continued south right to the water. The sea was no stranger to me, after my sojourn at Cornwall, but here was a civilized sea, not the stormy rolls and barren rocky cliffs of the west coast. The waters are tamed by the Channel, I daresay. Only the smell was similar, a lingering tang of salt and seaweed and fish, the latter not overwhelming by any means, despite Hennie's asking for my hartshorn and applying it to her nose. I must buy her a bottle, as she seems perpetually in need of it.

  Mr, Dalton's house was on Marine Parade, at the corner of Bedford Street. Lady Grieve's was right next door. Both were brick and of modern vintage, which is to say, built within the last thirty odd years, since Prinny made Brighthelmston famous, increasing its size and shortening its name. My house (from henceforth Lady Grieve's house shall be termed my house) was not quite so large or fine as Mr. Dalton's mansion, but had a prettier garden at the back. I determined on the spot that I would have an alfresco party there some fine afternoon to show off my leghorn bonnet.

  Tumble met us at the doorway (sober, but smelling of gin) and welcomed us into a dark-paneled hall. There was a deal too much dark paneling in the whole house to suit me, but other than that, it was entirely suitable, indeed a little grander than I had anticipated. Taking into account the excellent location, I
felt we had struck a good bargain.

  The place was well got up with good old furniture but with a sad surfeit of bibelots and fading prints. I would remove the bibelots and replace the prints with some of my own pictures from London. And perhaps my silk Persian carpet, to replace the threadbare thing in the main saloon. Lady Grieve could not be so intransigent as to forbid these temporary improvements.

  Tumble handed me a note from Lady Filmore, bidding us to dinner at seven-thirty. This was pretty late for Hennie. We usually kept country hours, even in London. We asked Tumble for tea to refresh us after our long drive, and while it was prepared, we chose our bedrooms. There were five in all, two nice large ones giving a view of the sea, and three smaller at the back of the house with a view of the garden. I hardly know which view was more enchanting, but I wanted a larger room, and so did Hennie. There was a third floor for the servants.

  I was most eager to get out exploring the town, but with the treat of Lady Filmore's dinner party awaiting us, there was not time that evening. As soon as we had supped our tea, we went abovestairs to make our toilettes. With no grand parties to require the services of a professional dresser, Hennie and I were in the habit of helping each other, using Mary Day for the odd fancy do that came our way. (Mostly the theater. If one could not buy a ticket for a do, we were unlikely to be there.)

  In her note, Lady Filmore used the phrase “an informal evening to meet a few friends.” I was quite at a loss as to what this dasher would consider either “informal” or “a few.” Hennie was of the simple-minded idea that “informal” meant informal, and “a few” meant three or four. I was glad I paid her no heed. As the hour drew near, I kept an eye on the window to watch the stream of carriages draw up at her door, and the toilettes of the ton descending from them.