by Julia London
Hannah’s eyes rounded. She immediately looked to Sorcha, who, Maura noticed, made a point of avoiding the maid’s gaze. Whatever hand she’d had in it, she would leave Hannah to suffer this interrogation alone.
“Well, ah...there was some of them things that got put away into the attic, sir, that’s what,” she said quietly.
Some? What did that mean, some?
“Bring them down,” Mr. Garbett said.
Hannah clasped her hands together at her waist and looked frantically to Sorcha once more, but Sorcha turned her head.
“What is it then, Hannah?” Mr. Garbett asked impatiently.
“It’s just that I’ll need someone to help me, aye, sir? It’s a trunk, and quite heavy—”
“Take a footman, then,” Mr. Garbett said with a flick of his wrist. “You should no’ have put it in the attic to begin with, if it’s so difficult to retrieve. Use your head, Hannah,” he said, pointing to his own skull.
Hannah looked at Sorcha. “But Miss—”
“Please do as my father asks,” Sorcha said crisply, before Hannah could say more.
“Go on, lad,” Mr. Garbett said to the footman. “Help her fetch Miss Darby’s trunk. In the meantime, Sorcha, leannan, I’m sure you’ve something in that vast wardrobe of yours that Miss Darby might borrow for supper, aye?”
“Supper!” Mrs. Garbett exclaimed.
“Aye, supper,” Mr. Garbett said. “By my watch it is nearly half past five. We dine at half past six.”
“Surely Miss Darby will have her things and be on her way,” Mrs. Garbett suggested.
“Madam!” Mr. Garbett said sharply, and looked around at all of them as if they’d lost their minds. “It has grown dark. We canna in good conscience turn them out. Of course Miss Darby and Mr. Bain will dine with us, and first thing on the morrow, we shall see them off, aye? I’ll no’ hear another word! Include them in our number, Bagley,” he said, and started for the door. “Mr. Bain, you may join me in my study, then. Sorcha, you will find something suitable for Miss Darby to wear, for I’ll no’ have her put me off my supper looking as if she was found beneath a pile of rubbish!”
Mr. Bain followed Mr. Garbett. He gave Maura the slightest wink as he went past, as if to convey that he thought things were going along swimmingly.
They were not going along swimmingly—Mrs. Garbett was clearly beside herself.
Mr. Garbett paused at the door. “Tom, Adam, you’ll join us as well, aye? We’ll have a smoke, we lads, and leave the ladies to their nattering and what no’ as they put on gowns, then.”
Nattering! Maura had to glance at her feet to keep her glare from being seen by all. Was that what he thought, that after all that had happened, she would return to Garbett House to natter? She wanted to kick something, hit something, at the very least scream her frustration. But when she glanced up she found three sets of eyes staring at her with unabashed disdain, and it did not seem the most expedient way to get her hands on her necklace.
Maura said nothing, but bowed her head demurely, waiting.
“I donna have anything for you to wear,” Sorcha said disgustedly.
“Oh, I donna know about that,” her mother said coolly. “I’m certain we’ve something that will suit Miss Darby.”
She smiled in a manner that left no question as to what sort of gown they would find for her. Maura sighed, already resigned. “Thank you.”
“Oh, donna thank me yet,” Mrs. Garbett said, and with an imperious tilt of her chin, led the ladies’ procession from the drawing room.
CHAPTER TEN
NICHOL WAS RELUCTANT to leave Miss Darby behind with that pit of vipers. He’d always known that a woman’s scorn could run deep, but was Mrs. Garbett so vengeful that she would deny them a meal?
Nevertheless, he had no doubt Miss Darby would manage—he’d been rather pleasantly surprised that she’d done as he’d advised thus far and had presented herself as truly contrite and apologetic. Had he not known her true feelings, he would have thought her remorseful for what had happened here.
In his study, Mr. Garbett went straight to the sideboard and poured more whisky for himself. “Well, then, this has been quite a surprise,” he said, and cast a disapproving look at Nichol. “I had no’ expected to see you again, Mr. Bain. I had expected to receive the news of your success via messenger.”
“It is a surprise to me, as well,” Nichol said. “I hadna realized the lass had been sent off with so few articles of clothing.”
Mr. Garbett shrugged. “I thought she took quite a lot with her. ’Tis no’ my fault my cousin has no laundress. I guess the things I’ve heard are indeed true, and he’s gone to drink, aye?”
If you’d heard such things, why in God’s name send a young woman to him? Nichol wanted to shout. “You’ve heard correctly.”
One of Mr. Garbett’s eyelids fluttered unnaturally. “Well, I hope it wasn’t too terribly awful for her,” he said with a cool indifference that made Nichol want to punch him in the jaw. But he bit back the cursing on the tip of his tongue, and said, quite casually, “Clothing was the worst of it. She is missing her jewelry, too.”
“What jewelry?” Mr. Garbett asked.
What jewelry indeed. Nichol shrugged. “All I can tell you is that she said she’d left behind a few gowns, some shoes and a necklace.”
Mr. Adam Cadell perked up at the mention of the necklace and looked expectantly at his future father-in-law. But Mr. Garbett was quick to reply. “No necklace, Mr. Bain,” he said instantly.
“Did I misunderstand her, then?”
“No,” Adam said quickly. “They’ve taken the necklace from her. Mrs. Garbett—”
His father shot the young man a dark look that effectively silenced him.
“Pardon?” Nichol asked, feigning ignorance.
“Mrs. Garbett,” Adam said, his expression suddenly defiant, “has taken the necklace from Miss Darby.”
“Quite enough, Adam,” his father chastised him. “’Tis no’ your affair.”
“Is it no’?” Adam asked. “I’m to marry Sorcha after all and I want no part of this, I donna.”
Nichol cast a questioning look at Mr. Garbett, wondering if he would admit his culpability in their thievery now.
“Verra well,” Mr. Garbett said with exasperation. “Aye, we have a necklace that belonged to the lass. It has some value, and my wife and daughter thought it the least she could offer, given that she has received gowns and shoes and her keep from us all these years, only to betray us in the end.”
“Aye, of course,” Nichol said, nodding along as if he agreed with their thinking. Then he paused and looked curiously at Mr. Garbett. “But did you no’ tell me that she came to you with a small annual stipend for her keep?”
Mr. Garbett glowered at him at the mention of the stipend. “It was scarcely enough for all that she’s been given.”
Nichol shifted his gaze to Adam Cadell. He was the reason that Miss Darby was in this fix, and if he had any conscience at all, he would insist the necklace be returned to her. Mr. Cadell seemed to understand his pointed look, for he said, “With all due respect, sir, I would request that you reconsider Miss Darby’s jewelry. She did seem quite attached to it.”
“Aye of course she was,” Mr. Garbett said with a flash of annoyance. “It’s rather valuable, is it no’? Need I remind you that my daughter has been gravely injured by the actions of Miss Darby?”
Adam Cadell swallowed and glanced at his feet.
“Nevertheless, I shall appeal to my wife on your behalf, Adam. I canna say how she might receive it, but I shall appeal all the same, then,” Mr. Garbett said magnanimously.
Adam Cadell instantly deflated. It was astounding to Nichol that Adam was not meant to shoulder any responsibility for what happened here, and that it was, every bit of it, assigned to Miss Darby because of one mother�
�s vindictive nature. Mr. Garbett was more spineless than Nichol had originally thought, with no control over the women in his house. Every man standing there knew that Mrs. Garbett’s answer would be no. The woman would not give an inch to Miss Darby until her homely, unpleasant daughter was wed to this hapless, useless man. Good God, the woman’s vision was alarmingly myopic.
Well, then, Nichol would find another way to retrieve the necklace. He would not be put off by the likes of Mrs. Garbett. He realized, as he stood there listening to the men now speak of iron or some such, that what he was thinking was unlawful.
That was not like him in the least.
Nichol prided himself on being meticulous in his business dealings, to never giving anyone reason to criticize him or distrust him. His reputation of living up to his word in all things, of doing what he said quickly and effectively, was what recommended him to men like Garbett, over and over again. The only reason he had indulged Miss Darby in the quest for her necklace was because he knew all to well what it was to cling to a remnant of a life, to be reviled by people who were supposed to love you. He knew because it had happened to him. It bothered him that Miss Darby, through no fault other than her beauty compared to the homeliness of Miss Garbett, was made to suffer the same hurt he had.
And he did like a challenge. This situation was certainly that.
Miss Darby would have her necklace if he had to scale another tower to get it.
* * *
AN HOUR LATER the household gathered in the drawing room before supper. As the gentlemen entered, Miss Darby stood from her seat on the settee to curtsy to Mr. Garbett. She was dressed in a gown of bright yellow that made her skin appear sallow. It was two sizes too large and hung on her body, dragging on the floor behind her. Nichol also noticed that her hair, which he had labored over, thank you, had been bound rather badly behind her head. And yet, she still managed to outshine every woman in this room. They could take all that she owned and cast her aside, but they could not take away what they resented most about her with their ill-fitting clothing or poorly arranged hair. She was still beguiling.
“Oh dear,” Mr. Garbett said, looking her up and down, his expression one of alarm. “Have her things been brought down? Is there no’ a gown that will fit her better than this?”
“There is no’,” his wife said flatly.
Mr. Garbett looked to the butler. “Well? Where are her things?”
“We have no’ as yet retrieved it, sir,” Bagley said. “We’ve sent to the gardener for a ladder tall enough to reach that section of the attic.”
“What do you mean?”
“There is a wee bit of attic within the main attic. To reach it requires a ladder higher than we have available in the house.”
“An attic within an attic,” Mr. Garbett repeated skeptically, and looked to his wife.
“Aye, sir. It is the part of the roof above the kitchen. The ceiling, as you may recall, is higher there.”
“I recall,” Mr. Garbett said darkly, his gaze still locked on his wife. “What an effort it must have taken for the footmen to put it there, aye?”
“Aye, sir,” Bagley stoically agreed.
“It might have been easier to have burned the trunk,” he mused. “Well, then, Bagley, make accommodations for our guests this evening. I assume Miss Darby’s room is still available to us? Unless, of course, it has been moved to the attic within the attic.”
“The room is as Miss Darby left it, aye, sir. And we’ve the blue chamber for Mr. Bain.”
“Verra good, Bagley. Mrs. Garbett, a word?” Mr. Garbett asked, and turned on his heel, stalking from the room. His wife lifted her chin and followed at a brisk pace, as if she meant to overtake him, as if she meant to have her say first. Their daughter looked around at those who remained and darted after them, as if she were afraid to be left alone with the rest of them.
Mrs. Cadell had no wish to speak to Miss Darby, or allow her son anywhere near her. She drew her son and husband aside to gaze out a window into the dark that blanketed the garden.
Nichol strolled past Miss Darby and indicated with his chin that she should follow. He walked to a painting at the far end of the room and said loud, “What is that in the distance, do you suppose?” and leaned forward, as if he was peering intently at some object portrayed in the Highland scene with a few sparse trees, an elk and a glistening loch beyond.
Miss Darby followed him, the fabric of her voluminous gown rustling around her. “It looks a wee bit like a bird,” she said, and folded her arms across her body, her expression thunderous.
“Is that the best they could do for you, then?” he whispered, taking in her gown.
“No, Mr. Bain, it is the worst they could do for me,” she returned in a whisper, and glanced furtively over her shoulder. “Mrs. Garbett said I’d no’ ruin anything else that belonged to Sorcha, as I have ruined her engagement and quite possibly her wedding, and without a doubt, her life.”
Bloody hell, that woman grated on him. He whispered, “Mr. Garbett is now, as we speak, inquiring of his wife if she will allow the return of your necklace.”
Miss Darby snorted indelicately. “She’ll no’ allow it.”
“No,” he agreed, and glanced over his shoulder to ensure that they were not being heard. “Do you know where it’s kept?”
“Oh aye,” she said, dispensing with the whispering. “Sorcha is wearing it.”
Nichol slowly turned his head and looked at Miss Darby.
She nodded, her lovely eyes flashing with raw fury. “She keeps it in the jewelry box on her vanity,” Miss Darby whispered. “Her mother wanted me to see it. To know it belongs to her now, aye? So she retrieved it and put it around Sorcha’s neck.”
That was so brazen that Nichol was rendered momentarily speechless. “Well, that presents a wee bit of a problem, aye?” he drawled. He stared at the painting, thinking. He considered that if he could, somehow, devise a way to get the necklace off Sorcha’s neck, seeing as how he couldn’t wrench it from her neck as he very much desired to do—but if he managed to find a way, he could very well be caught. That would be disastrous to his occupation—years of carefully building his reputation would be undone in one evening.
But then he glanced at Miss Darby. For the first time since he’d met her, she seemed defeated. There was such despair around her eyes that he winced.
He hated that look. He had felt it in himself long ago. He knew how hopelessness and helplessness gnawed at one’s marrow. “Miss Darby,” he said softly.
She looked up.
“On my word, you shall have it back.”
“Mr. Bain?” Mr. Cadell said. “We’ve a question for you. Will you come to the window?”
Nichol gritted his teeth. He had no desire to keep the company of the Cadells—he had no desire to keep the company of anyone here but Miss Darby, a thought that was a wee bit unsettling. She had caused him nothing but trouble thus far, but by the same token, she was the most captivating of anyone here, and she was looking at him so hopefully right now that he could hardly turn away. Ivan used to look at him like that. It stirred strange feelings in him now. Uncomfortable, helpless feelings. “One moment, if you please,” he said, and pointed to something on the painting and said, “A ship, I think, Miss Darby. Look closely.” He leaned toward her and whispered, “Leave your bag, or whatever you have to carry your things, just inside the door of your room, and the door unlocked. Be prepared to leave at first light, no matter what else is said tonight, aye?”
“What?” she whispered frantically. “What do you intend to do?”
“Which room belongs to Miss Garbett?”
“You canna—”
Nichol touched his fingers to the back of her hand before she attempted to debate him. “You must trust me, Miss Darby, aye? Trust me, do as I ask and you will have your necklace. Which room?”
She bit
her bottom lip worriedly, then said, “In the upstairs hall, next to the last room on the right. Mine is next to it.”
He smiled. “Donna look so forlorn, lass,” he murmured, and smiled as he moved away from her, walking across the room to address the burning question the Cadells had for him.
He noted that Adam Cadell watched him closely as he approached, his gaze moving between him and Miss Darby. Nichol thought nothing of it—the lad was too thickheaded to guess that anything was afoot. His thoughts were on that bloody necklace. He was a man who always remained above the fray, but he was uncharacteristically determined to retrieve it. Interestingly, he was growing more determined with each step.
He realized what was driving him as he reached the Cadells. That strange feeling in him—it was resentment. Something of great sentimental value was taken from him when he was a lad, and his soaring resentment at that was as fresh now as it had been then. It was billowing in him like a full sail, only now on behalf of himself and Miss Darby.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
MAURA HAD NO appetite for her supper. She vacillated between rage at the injustice of it all and pure despair that Mrs. Garbett and Sorcha despised her so. She’d never given this family the least bit of trouble, had been nothing but loyal to them. Now that she was back among them, it troubled her that they would turn so quickly, and it made her fear others would, too. If the people closest to her could find her so repulsive, what would people whom she scarcely knew make of her?
For whatever reason, and in spite of all the evidence to the contrary, Mrs. Garbett and Sorcha had somehow convinced each other that not only had Maura tried to steal the weakling Adam Cadell—who, by the bye, would not stop looking at her as if she were an exotic bird—but that Maura had schemed to steal everything of Sorcha’s from the beginning. They had convinced themselves that a twelve-year-old girl, who had lost her father, who was frightened and uncertain, had somehow been wise enough to scheme against Sorcha. That a twelve-year-old girl who had hoped with all her heart that she and Sorcha would be friends, would share secrets and laughter, had come to them with a devious plan to take Sorcha’s place. Maura realized now she’d been too hopeful and naïve to understand it then, but oh, how she understood it now.