Thick As Thieves

by Joan Smith

  "The extra produce is part of my wage when Lady Grieve is here,” he said with a sulky look.

  "Don't try to con me, you sly rogue. She has not been here for decades. Now go, before I box your ears."

  He left, without even apologizing, and I went to tell Hennie the news about our being bait for Tom.

  "Are you crazy?” she demanded. “You'll lose all your jewels. We shall be fortunate if he don't slit our throats."

  I explained how the thing would work, and she settled down to a dull grumble. To rouse her out of the sulks, I told her about Lady Verona Shelby's rout, adding that I would go on to another do with Mr. Dalton.

  "What is this other do? Perhaps I would like to go along to it as well."

  "It is a gaming hell, Hennie, and you are perfectly welcome to come along, if you wish."

  Her eyes opened up like saucers. “A gaming hell! I don't know what the vicar would say."

  "Yes, you do. David would say it was a den of the devil,” I teased, and left, hoping she would not accompany us.

  Until dinnertime, I planned my garden party for Saturday afternoon. Thus far, I had not made many acquaintances, but I meant to invite everyone I had met, including even Stewart Grindley. One other duty that had to be taken care of very soon was the matter of additions to my toilette. I would ask Lady Filmore to recommend a modiste to me. Her advice would be invaluable, as she always turned out in the first style of fashion. It was a good way for us to further our acquaintance.

  I was not entirely without handsome gowns, however, and for that evening I wore a green one the shade of tulip leaves, edged with silver lace and ribbons. With it, I wore Lorene's diamond necklace and carried a lace shawl. This latter article offered more style than warmth. Hennie squinted her eyes at it and said, “I have heard the road to hell is paved with vanity."

  "You have heard wrong. It is paved with good intentions."

  When Mr. Dalton called for us, he had Lady Filmore along with him, resplendent as usual, this time in a cream-colored gown with sapphires as lovely as her eyes. During the drive to Lady Verona's on German Place, I asked Lady Filmore's advice on a modiste, and she offered to accompany me the next morning to her Frenchwoman on Paradise Street, near All Souls Church.

  All the people I had met at Mr. Dalton's dinner party were at Lady Verona's, and a great many more besides. The ones I had met greeted me as an old friend. My first partner was Mr. Dalton, who danced with grace and charm.

  At the dance's end, there was a crush of beaux lined up to meet me. I felt as courted as Prinny's heir, Princess Charlotte. I had to remind myself that Mr. Dalton could return me to anonymity with a word, or my head would have grown too large to carry. Of course, it was my dot these fellows were interested in, but they had to take me along with it, and that was good enough for the nonce.

  I invited half the people there to my garden party on Saturday. Ladies and gentlemen, young and old, if they looked halfway respectable, I invited them. Not one soul refused either. I can say without boasting that my projected party was the on-dit of the evening.

  It was for the fifth set that Lord Harelson wedged his way through the throng and asked me to stand up with him.

  "I hear you are having a little do Saturday,” he said. A surprising number of my partners used that opening ploy. In his case it was unnecessary.

  "Lady Filmore has most particularly told me I must invite you,” I said. “I hope you can come."

  "Ah, Linda will be there, will she?"

  "Of course."

  "Well, I shall come anyhow."

  "I thought that might induce you,” I said, looking a question at his lack of enthusiasm.

  "No, Miss Denver, that is not what induces me,” he said, with a smile. He could be quite charming, when he roused himself out of his usual torpor. I began to see what Lady Filmore had seen in him.

  That smile made me realize that Harelson had an eye on me himself. It was an extremely touchy state of affairs. “Just so long as you come,” I said, and turned the conversation to Stewart Grindley. If that name did not kill his flirtatious mood, I don't know what would.

  "Grindley said he had met you. He is putting up with me for the summer. Deuced odd fellow. He insists on paying rent, as if I were running an inn. I only take it to have some cash on hand to lend him when his pockets are to let. I don't mind having him about, but I wish he would wear his own shirts."

  "Did his nag win the hurdle races? He seemed to put great faith in a horse called Blue Boy."

  "Blue Boy trailed the field. You never want to put your blunt on any nag Grindley recommends. Now, if you are a betting lady, I can—"

  "Oh no. I am not interested in that, Lord Harelson."

  The dance was pleasant enough. His flirtation never exceeded the bounds of good taste. Before leaving, he mentioned that he would “pop in” to see me, sometime he was in the neighborhood. I assented without undue enthusiasm.

  Just before dinner I went abovestairs to tidy myself, and met Hennie there, rouging her cheeks. Now, the late vicar, you must know, had no opinion of rouge.

  "Paving the road to hell, are you, Hennie!” I quizzed. “Where did you get that?"

  "From your toilet table at home,” she retorted, squinting at me. “Lord Brockley asked me if I was feeling faint. I felt fine, and concluded I must be too pale. I have decided to buy a pot of rouge, Eve. Every lady here over thirty is painted—and a few of them who are younger than that.” This was a jibe at my occasional use of rouge. I was not wearing it that evening. “Why should I look like a flat?"

  "Why indeed? Here, let me smooth in the edges for you.” She had it sitting in two circles, low on her cheeks. “Have you decided about coming on to Mrs. Lament's gaming hell later?"

  "I shall be going, but not with you and the Daltons. Lord Brockley is taking me. I don't suppose you could lend me a couple of shillings, Eve? I did not bring any money with me."

  "A couple of shillings will not get you far. Here, take this,” I said, and gave her a couple of guineas.

  "Good gracious! I don't mean to dip so deeply as that."

  But she took the money, and tucked it into her little beaded reticule. Hennie looked pretty that evening. Her eyes sparkled with a new light, and the rouge became her.

  "Are you setting up a flirtation with Lord Brockley, Auntie?” I teased.

  "No, he is trying to set up one with me. He is a widower."

  "I knew he was available. I thought he was a bachelor."

  "No, his wife died a decade ago. He finds it lonesome without her. His kiddies are all grown-up."

  Lady Filmore and some other ladies came in just as we were about to leave. “Miss Denver, could I speak to you for a moment?” Lady Filmore asked, drawing me off to a corner. “I saw you dancing with Harelson. Did he say anything about me?"

  "I told him you would be at my garden party, and he was eager to come."

  "What did he say?” she asked, with pathetic eagerness. It seemed unkind to lead her on, but if the fellow planned to jilt her, I saw no reason why I should be his messenger.

  "He said he looked forward to it."

  "Is he going on to Mrs. Lament's after the rout tonight?"

  "He did not mention it."

  "He will surely be there. I shall go with you and Richard. You don't mind?"

  "Good gracious, no. Why should I mind?"

  She gave me a knowing smile. “I thought you two might want to be alone. I have never seen Richard so mad about a lady for months. He quite dotes on you, Miss Denver."

  "There is nothing like that between us. Lady Filmore,” I expostulated. I was about to mention the true nature of our dealings, when it struck me that Dalton might not want her to know. She was a flighty little thing; she might unwittingly give the secret away.

  "And birds do not have wings either.” She smiled.

  Hennie was waiting by the door, so I joined her, and we went down to dinner. I sat with Mr. Dalton, and while we ate, I asked whether his sister was aware of o
ur plan to trap Tom.

  "She knows I am working with Townshend. I did not tell her that you are involved. You have not mentioned it to anyone?"

  "I am not a flat! I did not even tell Lady Filmore."

  "Good. It is more than likely that Tom is sitting in this room. Possibly right at this table."

  Lady Verona had four round tables set up in her dining room. At ours, most of the same people from Dalton's dinner party sat. I supposed they were good friends, and tended to gather together at such dos as this. Lady Collifer and her husband were there; Hennie and Lord Brockley; Lady Filmore had managed to get Harelson to sit with her. There were eighteen in all. Mr. Grindley was there, with some hatchet-faced lady in a straw yellow gown, the same shade as her face.

  Surely this was not the group Dalton meant when he suggested that Tom might be one of us. They all, with the exception of Stewart Grindley, looked above reproach. Several of them had titles. I pictured Tom as more of an outsider, someone who had weaseled his way into the golden circle to ferret out news of their doings. I had not met anyone like that—except possibly Grindley?

  We left for Mrs. Lament's gaming hell shortly after dinner. If I had not known gaming dens to be infra dig, I would not have twigged to it by either the looks of the house, nor the guests. Everything was done up in the first style of elegance. Several of Lady Verona's guests showed up, and the others looked equally respectable. Dalton took up a seat at the faro table, and Lady Filmore and myself, who were tyros at gambling, stood at the roulette table, putting down our chips and having them pulled away at every turn of the wheel.

  Lady Filmore played the more daring game. She bet on the actual numbers. I settled for red or black and lost my blunt at a slower rate, but equally surely.

  "There, my pockets are to let. I have lost twenty guineas,” Lady Filmore said, after half an hour. “Dalton will cut up stiff. The skint only gave me twenty guineas."

  Twenty guineas sounded like a great loss to me, but I smiled gamely and suggested we take a seat and have a glass of champagne, to rest our legs. As the wine was free, I meant to recoup part of my five guineas in liquid form. Lady Filmore took one sip, then set her glass aside, wrinkling up her nose. There was certainly a hint of vinegar to the wine, but I was thirsty, and finished mine. Mrs. Lament served little tidbits of salted nuts and olives and things with it.

  I kept an eye on the others while I drank. Dalton was playing faro with an air almost of ennui. At the roulette table, Hennie placed her bets with the fevered eye of the tyro. Lady Filmore was watching Harelson in that peculiarly proprietary way she has. He was plunging rather deeply, but when he joined us later, he claimed he was even steven.

  He asked if we had seen Grindley, which we had not. “I was to meet him here, but he is late,” he said. “Just as well, really. Mrs. Lament would let him punt on tick. I know for a fact he is stone broke. He would end up selling his carriage and team and be forever borrowing mine. He has already sold his curricle. And how did you fare at the table, Miss Denver?"

  "I lost."

  "Try again. Your luck is bound to change."

  "I am fresh out of money,” I explained.

  "Good God, Mrs. Lament will give you credit—a lady with your fortune at her back."

  "I fear that fortune would not be there long if I gambled further, Lord Harelson."

  "Unlucky at cards, lucky at love,” he said, with a smile as warm as it dared to be in front of Lady Filmore. Then he turned to her. “How about you, Linda? Are you interested in trying faro?” I sensed he was eager to return to his gambling.

  She hopped up at once, and they left. Lady Collifer joined me, lamenting that she had lost a monkey, and would never come again if the only food served was to be nuts and olives. Have I mentioned she was a corpulent lady? A fine trencherman.

  After another glass of champagne, Hennie joined us, smiling from ear to ear. “I won twelve pounds, Eve!” she exclaimed. “Here is the two I borrowed from you. Take them before I lose them again. Lord Brockley is teaching me to play roulette. The trick is to bet the numbers. You don't make enough to bother with on the colors."

  "But the odds are not so high against you,” I pointed out.

  "The gaming table is no place for the fainthearted,” she informed me.

  The vicar's widow was sliding fast down the slippery road to damnation. Only last week she had refused to buy a raffle ticket, and that was for charity. She swilled down a glass of champagne and trotted back to the roulette table. I hoped Lord Brockley would not introduce her to the vice of punting on tick when she had lost her ten pounds.

  We did not remain long at Mrs. Lament's. Mr. Dalton refused to reveal how much he had lost, which inclined me to think it was a large sum. We dropped Lady Filmore off at her front door, and Mr. Dalton walked me home.

  A fat white moon shone above, casting shimmering ripples of gold and silver on the ocean's face. A breeze lilted my lace shawl. I shivered, but whether it was the wind or the handsome face lurking in romantic shadows above me that caused it, I could not say.

  Chapter Eight

  "Did you enjoy your evening?” Mr. Dalton asked.

  "I enjoyed the rout, but gambling is boring,” I told him, to prevent a repeat engagement. “If I want to gamble, I would prefer to play cards, where some skill is involved."

  "We don't have to go back. I wanted you to be seen by more people. The sooner you are known, the faster we catch Tom."

  I had hoped for a more personal sort of conversation, but did not mean to institute it myself. “Do you think it possible Grindley might be involved?” I suggested. “He has no money; he gambles; he has managed somehow to be a part of society."

  "I have pinned my suspicions on a dozen people, over the months. My feeling is that Tom has got money from his thievery, which is why I tend to discount Grindley. Besides, Grindley is an awkward concern. I cannot see him scampering up a trellis and sneaking into a lady's chamber without breaking the window or knocking over a chair. But I fancy it is someone like him. Some young buck who has run through his own fortune."

  "His awkwardness could be an act to avoid suspicion, and so could his poverty. I mean Tom might be amassing a fortune, planning to skip off abroad when he feels he has enough. Or he might be losing the money as fast as he steals it. Grindley is an unlucky gambler—horse races, the gaming table."

  "I don't count anyone out,” he said.

  We were at the door. As it was one o'clock in the morning and I did not know whether Hennie was home yet, I did not invite him in. He thanked me for the strawberries; I told him he was welcome. I did not tell him their history, as I was ashamed of being duped by my own gardener.

  "I shall call on you tomorrow to arrange the evening's outing. You are still game?"

  "Certainly. I do not welsh on my bargains, Mr. Dalton."

  "And about your jewelry—we want to get it out of your house soon, for safety's sake."

  "If I am to continue wearing it, then it will be awkward to have it in a bank."

  "I had a safe installed at my place after I was robbed, and my servants are always on guard. What do you think of leaving it with me? It would be handy for your use."

  "That sounds a good idea. Do you want to take it tonight?"

  "Do you have it put away safely?"

  "It is hidden under my mattress."

  He shook his head and tsked at my simplicity. “And here I thought you were up to all the rigs, Miss Denver. That is the first place Tom would look. Put it at the bottom of your potato barrel tonight, and I shall collect it tomorrow."

  "I will do nothing of the sort. I am not going into the cellar alone at this hour of the night. Tumble does not return from London until tomorrow. I sent him to get some decent furnishings. I told the servants to lock the doors and leave one light on downstairs."

  "I don't like to send a lady alone into a house at night. I shall go with you and collect your jewelry while we are about it."

  I hesitated a moment, wondering if I was qu
ite safe alone with Mr. Dalton. I feared I was, but a little maidenly reluctance seemed called for. His eyes opened wide in amusement. “Surely you are not afraid of me!” he exclaimed. “I would never take advantage of a lady."

  "That has not been my experience, sir! You bullocked me into this scheme in the first place,” I replied playfully. Then I slipped the key into the lock and opened the door, before he could remind me how that had come about.

  I lit a few lamps, as the dark-paneled room looked like a grotto, with only one feeble light burning. “Help yourself to a glass of wine, while I go and root the jewels out from under the mattress."

  I nipped smartly upstairs, got out the jewel box, and returned to the saloon. Mr. Dalton had poured two glasses of wine. He began to rise from the sofa when I entered, but I motioned him to remain seated, and joined him.

  I opened the large, varnished box that held Lorene's jewelry. It was lined in blue satin, with little pockets to hold her treasures. I never really gave much thought to the collection. A deal of it was made up of her “collaterals,” old-fashioned diamond rings, two diamond bracelets, and a clutter of jeweled brooches. Her own jewelry was more valuable. Besides the diamonds I was wearing, there was a long rope of good pearls and an intricate jeweled necklace of rubies, sapphires, and diamonds, which always reminded me of our flag. It was not very pretty, but some of the gemstones were large and no doubt valuable. There was another diamond and emerald necklace with matching bracelet, and several rings of various precious stones.

  "Good Lord!” Dalton exclaimed, when he looked at it. “You have a king's ransom here! It is well you laid low, Miss Denver. If Tom had learned of this...” He lifted out the pearls. They swung from his fingers, glowing in the lamplight.

  "These would goad him into action, if he knew of them."

  "He soon will. Tomorrow evening I want you to wear these,” he said, holding the pearls against my gown. “Marvelous. Where did Lorene find such a treasure?” It sounded strange, to hear the name “Lorene” drop so familiarly from his lips.