Crista retrieved it from its hiding place, carefully wrapped it in a velvet cloth and slipped it into a pouch. Uncle Charles opened the back door and glanced cautiously up and down the lane. Several people loitered there, including one of Lord Romsey’s men dressed as a street trader. He walked across to the door when he saw it open, and Crista slipped the stone to him.
“It all went smoothly,” she assured him.
“Aye, and we have a network of people following Reece right now. We shall soon know where he goes.”
“Take good care of that stone. It is worth a king’s ransom.”
“Don’t you worry none, miss. You just get yourself back inside and leave the rest to us.” He doffed his cap and disappeared into the crowd.
“So, Uncle,” Crista said, hugging the old man but feeling strangely deflated now it was all over. “Our part is done.”
***
Reece’s anger quickly gave way to fear as he strode down the main street. It was the busiest time of day, stallholders doing a brisk trade, and it was impossible to tell if he was being followed. How the devil had this happened? He had not once left the stone unprotected, so the original stone must have been a fake. But the people his master dealt with were experts. They would not have been misled. His step faltered when he recalled hiding the stones in his room at the Crown when he went to the Park on the day of the party. But he would stake his life that when he returned, they were exactly as he had left them and had not been interfered with. Still, he better not let on to his master they had been unattended at all. He had been told quite specifically never to let them out of his sight. He would cover his back by explaining what had happened and let others figure out what went wrong.
Images of Crista Brooke kept flashing through his mind. He would bet what few possessions he owned she was involved in some way. But how? She had not touched the stones before today. Even so, there was something different about her. A newfound confidence that made him feel disadvantaged. He had become tired of trying to engage her in conversation when he sat in her workshop and so pretended to read his newspaper. In fact, he kept looking around its sides, directly at her, and she appeared to be constantly smiling today, as though she knew something he did not. He had supposed some man had put that knowing smile on her lips. The thought had filled him with jealousy and rage, but that was nothing compared to the way he felt now. He knew what had happened to her father when he had been foolish enough to cross Reece’s masters. God forbid they should accuse Reece of somehow switching the stones and consign him to a similar fate.
Switching the stones! He stopped dead in his tracks. God’s beard, that is what they must have done, and he had marched out of there without even searching them, and the entire place. What a numbskull! He didn’t know how they had managed it, but Crista had known the size of the stones. She could, with her contacts, have somehow contrived to obtain a fake. Although, he supposed, she would have to go somewhere like London to find someone willing to make it for her. He relaxed when he realised she had had no time to do so. Besides, he had been keeping a constant watch on her and the old man. They had not left Shawford.
Relieved on that score, Reece decided to tell his master he had made a thorough search of them and the workshop. He would never know otherwise, and the deception might just save Reece’s neck. He reached his destination, glanced over his shoulder, and couldn’t see anyone paying any particular attention to him. Taking a deep, calming breath, be wielded the door knocker. He brushed past Mary when she answered his knock, for once not pausing to flirt with her.
“Is he home? I need to speak with him, and it can’t wait.”
Mary shrugged. “I’ll tell him you’re here.”
***
Reece went to a house on the edge of the village owned by a man named Mayfield,” Romsey told Amos and Zach. “What can you tell me about him?”
“Not much,” Zach replied. “Do you know him, Amos?”
“Moved here a year or two ago, if memory serves. He’s a middle-aged nabob who made some money in the Indies, according to talk at the Crown. He is a bit of a recluse, by all accounts, and seldom leaves his house.”
“Well, he left it this afternoon shortly after Reece visited him, in a tearing hurry. Took off in his carriage, heading for the Winchester Road. It’s safe to assume he’s heading for London. Shame, I was hoping he’d send an express, which we could have intercepted and seen who it was addressed to.” Romsey stood up and stretched. “Never mind, he can’t make it all the way to London today. He will have to break his journey, and we’ll be on his tail the entire way.”
“What about Reece?” Amos asked. “I don’t want him causing problems for Miss Brooke. By now, he might have figured out a switch was made, or at least suspect it. I won’t have her put in danger, not after all the risks she has taken to help you.”
Zach grinned. “Don’t worry, little brother. I predict Reece’s ale will be tainted with something that will unsettle his belly and see him confined to his bed for the rest of the night.”
“Ah, that’s what you despatched Nate to the Crown to put in hand.”
Zach shrugged. “Doesn’t hurt to be thorough.”
“Just so long as he doesn’t get so caught up with Martha he forgets what you sent him there to do.”
“Have a little faith,” Zach said, standing to pour the three of them substantial measures of whisky.
“You must stay away from Miss Brooke until this is all over,” Lord Romsey told Amos.
Amos bridled at his arbitrary tone. “Just a minute, Romsey. Who the devil do you think you’re talking to?”
“Romsey is right,” Zach said mildly as he handed Amos his glass, defusing the tension with his calm yet authoritative stance. “We cannot risk the two of you being seen together. It would be extraordinary enough to attract attention, and you know how the villagers like to gossip, especially in the taproom, where Reece might easily overhear what was being said. You don’t wish to endanger Miss Brooke, I’m sure.”
“No, of course not.” Amos slumped in his chair and moodily sipped at his drink. “But I don’t like the thought of her being exposed to danger.”
“She won’t be,” Romsey replied. “We have Reece under constant watch and the only other person in the village connected with this business is Mayfield, who is now on the road to London.”
“What do you think will happen next?” Zach asked.
“One of two things,” Romsey replied. “First of all, Mayfield will lead us to the person behind all of this. We have to assume he has taken the diamonds with him. He will take them to whoever authenticated them for him. Once he confirms the large stone is a fake, he will assume the switch was made here in Shawford, either by Reece or Chesney. Hopefully, he will return with Mayfield to discover which. We know how important this final transaction is to him, so I’m guessing he will take that chance. If he does not, we will arrest him in London.”
“You ought to do that anyway,” Amos said morosely, “and save Miss Brooke from further danger.”
“No one will get near her,” Romsey said, enunciating each word clearly. “But it is better for us if the ringleader comes down here, then there can be no doubt about his culpability, and no opportunity for him to slip the net. He’s a well-connected cove, and if he realises he’s been rumbled, there’s no telling what plans he has in place for a quick exit from the country.”
“The day after tomorrow, Amos,” Zach said. “That will see an end to this business.”
Unable to fault their logic, Amos nodded, wondering why he couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that gripped him whenever he thought of Crista with only an old man inside the house to protect her.
Chapter Nineteen
Reece, it transpired, had underestimated many things about Mayfield, especially the violence of his temper. Stern yet mild-mannered, Reece had always respected his guile, his amoral character, but had never felt afraid of him. Reece was a good twenty years younger and considerably stronger
than Mayfield, who had become lazy and allowed himself to run to fat in his later years. Since Mayfield trusted him, Reece had no reason to fear him because what had happened with the diamond was beyond his control. He went to his home, knowing he must be told at once. He felt apprehensive but unafraid to admit to the truth, only to see a very different side to Mayfield when he did so.
“What’s this you tell me?”
Mayfield leapt to his feet, knocking his chair over without appearing to notice. His face drained of all colour, except for the network of ugly protruding blue veins decorating his nose. His breath came out in short, angry hisses, and he actually backhanded Reece’s face so viciously he cut his lip and left a bruise on his cheek.
“You fool!” he said. “I told you never to leave the diamonds unattended. Someone got to them and made a switch.”
“They cannot have done so,” Reece replied, staunching the flow of blood from his lip with his handkerchief. “I have had them with me all the time.”
“Are you sure you didn’t get insensible with ale, or allowed some floosy to distract you?”
“Perfectly sure.”
“Then it must have been you who pulled a fast one.”
“Me!” Reece shook his head. “I would not know how to begin. Besides, why would I be so stupid? I am being well paid for serving you−”
“Huh, if you still expect payment after making such a mull out of a simple assignment, then you are deluded.” Mayfield snarled the words, his face now stained a deep, ugly red, a nerve working beneath his left eye. “You will be fortunate to escape with your life.”
“The mistake must have been made in London, sir,” Reece said, feeling suddenly very afraid. “The switch must have been made there, accidentally or deliberately.”
“How do we know a mistake has actually been made?” Mayfield drummed his fingers on the surface of his desk and glowered at Reece. “Can you tell a real diamond from a fake?”
“No, sir, but the girl and her uncle can. Why would they lie when they know this is the last commission we require from them?”
Mayfield snorted. “Perhaps they are not as gullible as you appear to be and realise we would never give up on such prime and lucrative source of workmanship.”
“Even so, I don’t see how they could have obtained a fake stone. Besides, I searched them and the workshop and was watching them the entire time when I gave them the stones. If they had made a switch, I would have noticed.”
“You had better hope, for the sake of your own neck, that is the case.” Mayfield lumbered to his feet and grabbed the box containing the diamonds. “Stay here at the Crown and keep a close eye on the girl and her uncle. I must go to London and try to make sense of this farrago.” He looked less than enamoured at the prospect. “Your fate is in the hands of others, but if I have any say in the matter, your inefficiency will be dealt with swiftly and ruthlessly.”
“But, sir, I have done nothing wrong.”
“Get out! Get back to the Crown, and I will see you in a few days.”
That had been several hours ago. Now Reece was sitting in the taproom at the Crown, nursing his grievances and a tankard of ale. Whichever way he came at the problem, things did not look good for Reece, and it was time to consider his own skin. What concerned him most was Mayfield’s obvious anxiety about facing his masters in London. The man was always composed, always so sure of himself. If he was scared, Reece had good reason to be even more so because the ultimate blame would be placed squarely on his shoulders.
He took a sip of his ale, not as enthusiastic about the local brew as was usually the case. Besides, it had a bitter taste to it tonight. It wasn’t the best barrel, but Reece was too preoccupied to complain. The handsome payday he had been anticipating would not now happen, that much was abundantly clear, and it was all the Brooke girl’s fault. What a fool he had been to accept her explanation at face value and not more closely examine the possibility of their having switched the diamond. In actual fact, he hadn’t understood one word in ten about the means of telling a fake stone from the genuine article. Miss Brooke had a happy knack for making him feel stupid at the best of times, and so he hadn’t asked for a clearer explanation, or paused to properly consider the alternatives.
Damn it, he was a fool! She and her uncle had worked in tandem to deliberately confuse him. Now he was thinking more rationally, that much was obvious. The little slut could easily have slipped the real stone inside her clothing. Reece bashed his tankard against the table, causing several people to glance in his direction. He glowered at them, discouraging them from approaching him. Not that many people tried to engage him in conversation. He had nothing to say to them, did not desire company and the local populace had long since given up on attempting to befriend him.
It was as clear as day to him now, and he called himself all sorts of a fool for not being more suspicious. They had bamboozled him with talk about how to tell a real diamond from a fake, taken him by surprise, and made it hard for him to think straight. But he was thinking straight enough now. The girl and her uncle had somehow contrived this business, probably with the help of her fancy lover.
Jealousy and rage gripped Reece in a vicious hold. He had assumed she would not confide in Lord Amos, but if she had done so, then the game was definitely up. He needed to leave Shawford, and he needed to do so tonight so he could get well away from the district before Mayfield returned. But he was damned if he would leave without revenging himself against the Brooke girl. He would help himself to a few baubles from that workshop of her uncle’s, to compensate for his lost payday, and would help himself to a few other things from Miss Brooke while he was about it. If she was so free with her favours with Sheridan, she could damned well show him the same consideration.
Leaving his ale unfinished, Reece pushed himself to his feet, shoving bodies out of his way so he could reach the stairs. He felt a bit light-headed, and once he reached his room he was obliged to lean against the wall until his head stopped spinning. When he felt a little better, he threw his few possessions into a valise, still wondering why he felt so woozy. He had consumed less than half his usual quota of ale, and it didn’t normally affect him very much at all. Putting his reaction down to the strain of his circumstances, Reece slipped down the servants’ stairway and out the back door. No point in wasting blunt by settling his account, since he had no intention of ever returning to this rat-infested hovel. He patted his pocket, double checking he had everything he would require close at hand, waited until the coast was clear and then let himself out of the back door that led directly to the mews.
There was a livery stable across the street, and Reece made his way to it. He hired a saddle horse, arranged to leave it at the first posting inn on the Winchester Road, and mounted up. Anyone asking questions about him would assume that was where he had gone. Not that he anticipated being missed, but it paid to be cautious. Indeed, he had every intention of riding to that inn and catching the next public coach to London, but he had unfinished business to attend to in Shawford first.
He rode to the end of the village and left the horse in Mayfield’s stable. As expected, it was empty, Mayfield having taken his carriage and horses to London, and no permanent grooms lived on the premises. The cool evening air helped to clear his befuddled head, and by the time he had walked back to the village, he felt a great deal better. More importantly, he was in control of his anger, ready to make it work in his favour.
He came to a halt at the rear of Chesney’s shop without encountering another living soul. They had closed for business for the day, but Reece could see lights coming from the apartment above. The door leading directly to the living quarters was locked, but that was no impediment to a man of Reece’s skill. It took him less than a minute to fix a long implement into the lock, carefully turn the tumblers from the outside, and slip into the entrance vestibule. The hinges squeaked as he opened the door, sounding unnaturally loud. Cursing, Reece concealed himself in the shadows, clutching the cosh
he had brought with him tightly in case anyone came to see what the noise was about.
After several minutes, no one had come down the stairs, and Reece considered it safe to make his next move. He could hear voices coming from above. Damnation, he had forgotten Chesney employed a maid of all work, and she would still be on duty at this hour. Well, there was no help for that. In his uncompromising mood, Reece could handle an old man and two helpless women, especially since he didn’t especially mind if they lived or died. He took the stairs cautiously, expecting at any moment to be challenged—almost hoping he would be, because he needed an outlet for his growing rage.
Luck was with him. When he reached the top of the stairs, he found the maid with her back to him, carrying dishes from the parlour to the scullery. He followed behind her on silent feet, waited for her to put the dishes down, and then grabbed her from behind, clapping a hand over her mouth to prevent her from crying out.
“Make a sound, and you will not live to see another day,” he whispered. “Nod if you understand.”
The girl nodded, her eyes round with fear as her struggles subsided. Satisfied she was too frightened to move a muscle, Reece produced a kerchief from his pocket and tied it securely around her mouth. He found a length of rope, one of several he had placed in another pocket, and tied her hands behind her back.
“Good girl.”
He patted her ample rear, opened the door to the pantry, threw her roughly inside, and locked the door on her.
Buoyed by his success, Reece crept towards the parlour and peered around the open door. Chesney was seated in a chair beside the fire, smoking a pipe. Crista was sitting across from him, a book open on her lap. It would be impossible for him to reach either of them without being seen, but that hardly signified. He only needed to subdue the old man, threaten him, and the girl would do whatever he asked of her.
“Good evening,” he said, straightening his shoulders and strolling casually into the room.
“You!” Crista leapt from her chair.
Ducal Encounters 01 - At the Duke's Discretion Page 21