by Joan Smith
To judge by her behaviour, she had wanted him the year she made her bows, but she no longer showed that ingratiating female habit of asking his opinion about things and agreeing with everything he said, and generally behaving as if he were her lord and master. Nossir, that prim and proper young deb had matured into a headstrong lady who knew what she wanted and didn’t hesitate to use others to get it.
He was tempted to call her a vixen, but she was a vixen with a big heart. Her interest was all for others, not herself. Even to the extent of marrying Tommy Gower, if “absolutely necessary.” Or did this new, madcap Lizzie, actually love Tommy? Her affection for him had as much the air of maternal affection as of romance. All in all, an intriguing puzzle.
Chapter Ten
As the set ended, Elizabeth looked around the room for Nicholas. When she spotted him walking towards Sara and Lord Buckner, she knew he had secured her as his partner for the next set and made short shrift of Pensham’s offer to accompany her to the refreshment parlour. This was her chance. The set would last half an hour, plenty of time to search Sara’s room for the necklace.
The difficulty was getting out of the ballroom without attracting attention. Twice she was stopped by friends wanting to stand up with her. She claimed a torn hem that needed mending and hurried away. But still her flight to Sara’s room was not clear. Groups loitered about the hallway within clear view of the staircase. It would look odd for a guest to run upstairs. A small room belowstairs was always set aside and a servant on hand for guests requiring help.
A sudden distraction at the entrance to the ballroom gave her the needed time. Sir Henry Barker had over-imbibed, as usual, and was being escorted out for sobering up. Elizabeth seized the opportunity, lifted her skirt and darted upstairs. She had once been in Sara’s room when she was gathering used clothing for the Dials and knew the room was to the left of the staircase, not the first room but the second or third. She turned left.
Dim lights along the length of the corridor showed her the way was free of servants. Inferior portraits of unlovely Belmont ancestors glowered at her from the walls as she hastened along. It was the custom for the rooms facing the street to be lit when a ball was in progress to give the house a welcoming air. She hurried past the first door, then took a closer look in at the second. The room had the unlived-in look of a guest room — no book on the bedside table, no brush or comb on the vanity. She darted down to the next room and knew at once that this was Sara’s room. All those little personal items were present, including the slippers beside the bed.
She remembered, too, that Sara had complained of those dark green window hangings and canopy on that other occasion. And who would blame her? Horrid. She stepped in and closed the door behind her. Now, where to begin searching? First the single drawer in the bedside table, which was as innocent as the Bible sitting on top of it. Next a quick rifle of the desk. Beneath the various letters and stationery, she found a well-thumbed copy of Byron’s Childe Harold.
Imagine a lady Sara’s age having to hide it from her aunt, who had doubtlessly banned it without having read a word of it. She wondered if Buckner knew of this dissipation. Next the dresser, where she quickly rooted through to the bottom of each drawer. Sara was well supplied with very serviceable undergarments that would not set Buckner’s heart aflame. Then a quick, fruitless search beneath the pillow and under the mattress.
Her nerves were drawn taut. She had to keep listening for footsteps in the hall. How much time had passed? It was not like looking for a large object. There were so many places to hide a necklace. It might be in the pocket of a coat in the clothespress, or the toe of a shoe or shoved into the hems of the window hangings, or on top of the canopy or under the bed. It would take an hour to search thoroughly.
And it was entirely possible Sara had it hidden on her person, as Tommy had mentioned. As Hanson was not at the ball, however, she thought that unlikely. She was just heading to a little table between the windows when she heard footsteps running down the hall and assumed it was a servant. It couldn’t be her worst fear, Lady Belmont. That dame had a tread like an elephant.
But the footsteps stopped at Sara’s door. In a panic, she darted into the clothespress and pulled the door close behind her. Unfortunately, this meant she could not see who was in the room. It must be a servant as Nick was standing up with Sara. The servant wouldn’t remain long, perhaps just turn down the bed and set out Sara’s night things. There was the sound of a drawer sliding open, then silence. Not wanting to waste a precious minute, Elizabeth put the interval to good use by searching the pockets of the garments in the clothespress, quietly working her way along the row of hanging gowns and jackets.
She really didn’t expect to find anything, and was so shocked she nearly let out a shriek when her fingers closed around the cold, hard jewels in the pocket of what felt like a woolen coat at the far end of the clothespress. With bated breath she moved her fingers along the length of the necklace. When she felt the large, round pendant that was the centre of the piece she knew she had found what she was after. She listened closely. The room was perfectly silent. The servant must have left. As she edged towards the door she brushed against two empty hangers. Wood rattled against wood. It was not a loud sound, but apparently audible beyond the clothespress.
A voice outside called, “Who’s there? Who’s in there?”
It was Sara! And she was more nervous than Elizabeth, to judge by her trembling voice. What was she doing here? Nick was supposed to keep her occupied. Elizabeth froze and held her breath, hoping Sara would go away. The breathless voice called again. “I know you’re in there. Come out or I’ll shoot.”
Elizabeth took this as mere bravado and didn’t move. She hardly breathed. Sara wouldn’t have a pistol, would she? She had opened a drawer. Was it the one in that table between the window, the one she hadn’t searched?
Again Sara ordered, “Come out right now, or I’ll shoot.” Her voice was firmer this time. Elizabeth rapidly scanned her options. It seemed Sara intended to remain until she came out. Well, what of it? She couldn’t very well deny that she had stolen the necklace when it was hidden right in her room. Believing the threat of shooting to be mere bravado, Elizabeth pushed the door open a crack and peered out from behind a hanging gown to see for herself if Sara had a gun. She didn’t see it, but Sara saw something move and was seized with panic.
There was someone in the closet! She completely forgot Miss Warwick’s dash from the ballroom. It must be a robber! How had he got into the house? Had Hanson sent him? Was it Hanson himself? What if he found the rubies? What if he rushed out, overpowered her and ran off with them and still kept her letters? Would he make her steal something else? In her panic, she lifted the little lady’s pistol, took aim and fired into the space where the door was ajar. Elizabeth felt a sharp pain like a wasp sting in her arm. She was more shocked than hurt.
She quelled down the instinct to call, “Don’t shoot!” She pushed the gown aside, opened the door and stepped out before Sara should let off another bullet. Sara stared as if she’d seen a ghost. She opened her lips to speak, then she saw the necklace dangling from Elizabeth’s fingers. She stood a moment in silence, then fell into a dead faint. Elizabeth stuffed the necklace into her evening reticule and ran to her.
She lifted her head and tapped on her cheek. “Sara. Sara, it’s me. Wake up.” As if this wasn’t bad enough, more footsteps were heard outside. Fast, running footsteps this time. The door opened and Nicholas burst in. He took one look at the spectacle before him, saw the pistol lying beside Sara, saw Elizabeth bending over her and took the awful notion that Elizabeth had killed her. “Lizzie, tell me you haven’t killed her!” he said in a hollow voice. He didn’t notice he had called her Lizzie, nor did she.
“Of course I haven’t killed her. She shot me, then she fainted. Get some water from that carafe by her bedside.” He took a closer look and saw the blood streaming down Elizabeth’s arm. Sara’s eyes fluttered open. She saw Nicholas h
ad joined them, uttered a low moan and closed her eyes again.
In the confusion, none of them even heard when Lady Belmont came thumping down the hallway. She suddenly appeared in the doorway and demanded in a stentorian voice, “What the deuce is going on here? Miss Warwick, is that blood on your arm? What happened?”
Elizabeth was the first to recover. Apparently the music had hidden the sound of the shot, or Lady Belmont would have mentioned it. She picked up the pistol and hid in the folds of her gown as she rose. “I fear I broke a glass in the refreshment parlour,” she said. “Just a scratch but it is bleeding rather freely. Sara kindly offered to dress it for me.”
“Carbury, wrap your handkerchief around it before the blood soils the carpet,” the dame ordered. “It is impossible to get blood out of a carpet.” Nick did as he was told, happy to have a moment to think. Elizabeth took the opportunity to shove the pistol out of sight under the bed.
Lady Belmont glared at her niece then turned to Elizabeth and asked, “Why has Sara fainted?”
Sara struggled up to a sitting position. “You know I — I always faint at the sight of blood, Auntie,” she said in a weak voice. “I hadn’t realized Elizabeth was cut so badly.”
Lady Belmont considered this explanation, said, “Weak as water,” then turned her glare on Nicholas. “Pray what are you doing here, in my niece’s bedchamber, Carbury?” Her beady black eyes suggested his motive was of the darkest sort.
“I was standing up with your niece when Miss Warwick motioned her for help. Naturally I was concerned as I am Miss Warwick’s escort. I was afraid your niece might faint, and accompanied the ladies upstairs.”
Lady Belmont glanced at Elizabeth’s arm, said, “Pooh, it is only a scratch. The proper thing to do was to notify a footman to take Miss Warwick to a small private parlour and have her properly bandaged up. There was no need for you to leave your own ball, Sara. Buckner is asking for you. He saw you leave in an unladylike rush. What am I to tell him? Are you well enough to come down?”
Nicholas assisted Sara up and she tidied her gown. “Yes, pray explain the matter to him, and tell him I’ll be down in a few moments.”
“Do something to your hair. You look like a washerwoman. It is enough to give Buckner a disgust of you,” Lady Belmont said, then she turned her angry face to Nicholas. “You ought to know better than to enter a lady’s bedchamber, Carbury. Come along with me. I shall send a maid up to look after Miss Warwick.”
When they left, Sara turned to Elizabeth. Her face was ashen. “How did you know?” she asked in a small, frightened voice.
Elizabeth opened her reticule and drew out the rubies. “I saw you remove them from Lady Belmont at the Galveston’s party. Why did you do it?”
Sara hung her head in shame. When she looked up, tears were slipping down her cheeks. “I needed the money,” she whispered. Her voice was barely audible.
“Who is holding you to ransom, and what has he got on you?”
“A man I used to think I was in love with. I wrote him foolish letters. It was the year I made my bows.”
“Hanson?”
“How do you know everything? I didn’t tell a soul. Did he tell you?”
“No one told me. I didn’t know for certain, but you were fond of Hanson once. His pockets are to let. It was an educated guess.”
“But what has it to do with you? Why are you here?”
“To recover these,” she replied, indicating the necklace. “When did Hanson approach you?”
Sara looked as if she would like to ask more questions, but she replied. “It was at a tea party Mrs. Harris gave two weeks ago. It was about the last time anyone invited him anywhere. He demanded a thousand pounds, or he’d show the letters to Buckner. I don’t have a thousand pounds. He made me go to meet him in the park the next day and said if I didn’t get the money I’d lose Buckner. I love him so much, Elizabeth!”
Her sobs increased till her shoulders were shaking. After a moment she looked up and said, “He would despise me if he knew the truth. So when Hanson suggested the rubies, I had to agree. I know it was horribly wrong, but I had to do something.”
“You didn’t have to let the world think Tommy Gower was the thief!” Elizabeth shot back.
“I know! I’m sorry. It never occurred to me anyone would think it was him. And when they did — well, what could I do? I couldn’t tell my aunt. She’d throw me out on the street, or worse, send me to gaol. And I’d never see Buckner again. Oh I have felt so awful, Elizabeth. I almost wished I was dead. You have no idea.”
Despite all the trouble the girl had caused, Elizabeth did understand, and felt sorry for her. She recalled only too clearly her own misery when Nicholas jilted her. Perhaps she would have stolen one of her aunt’s necklaces to keep him, though she hoped she would not have let anyone else take the blame. Sara was certainly a weak character, but Elizabeth didn’t think she was really wicked. Still, she had to steel herself to be firm. “How do you think Tommy feels?”
“He’s a man. It’s different for men — easier. He’s used to being in scrapes.” Sara was sobbing in earnest now. When the servant arrived at the door with water, bandages and basilicum powder, Elizabeth told her to put them on the table. Sara would attend to her wound.
“Her ladyship said —”
“I’m sure Lady Belmont did not tell you to argue with her guest,” Elizabeth said sharply. The servant set down her burden and left.
“I’m not very good with blood,” Sara said, still sniffling and wiping her tears.
It was obvious that Sara was not much good for anything that demanded a modicum of backbone. “Never mind that. We have to decide what is to be done. Just take off the handkerchief, sprinkle some basilicum on a strip of cotton, and tie it up.”
Sara, with trembling fingers, did as she was ordered. “Will Buckner have to know? Will I go to gaol?” she asked, pale with anxiety.
At least she had put losing Buckner first. “We might manage to keep all this quiet, but you must do exactly as I tell you. Now tell me when and where you are to deliver the necklace to Hanson.”
“Tomorrow night — really the next morning, at two o’clock at the corner of Grosvenor Square and Duke Street. He’ll give me the letters and I’ll give him the necklace.”
“How many letters?”
“Just three.”
“Make sure they’re all there, and check to see they’re the originals.”
“But if I give him the necklace —”
“Come to call on me tomorrow for tea. And don’t bring your aunt. You can say you promised to call to see how my wound is recovering.” She looked at the bandage and said, “Do you have any wide ribbon, preferably blue?”
Sara thought for a moment then said, “Just on my straw bonnet, that I wear to picnics and things.”
“Get it.” Sara rose obediently and rifled through hatboxes in her clothespress until she found the bonnet, removed the ribbon and handed it to Sara. “Now tie it over the bandage, wrap it around a few times to cover all the cotton. Perhaps I’ll set a new style.”
“But you’ve been shot. Aren’t you going home now?”
“Certainly not. I haven’t had a dance with Nicholas yet.” Sara stared at her in confusion, then wrapped the ribbon around the bandage and tied it in a bow. When she was done, Elizabeth said, “Tidy up your hair and let us go belowstairs. The pistol is under your bed. Best hide it from your aunt.”
Both ladies made a few repair to their toilettes before descending the grand staircase to resume dancing. Sara gave a wan smile and said, “I wish I were more like you, Elizabeth.”
“So do I!” Elizabeth said to herself. To Sara she said, “Just do as I say, Sara. We may get through this without your losing Buckner.”
Chapter Eleven
Nicholas and Buckner were waiting for the ladies at the bottom of the staircase. Looking down on them, Elizabeth thought that Buckner’s frown held an air of disapproval, along with sympathy. She judged by the frown
Nicholas wore that he was concerned and uncertain. After all the trouble, he still didn’t know whether she had found the rubies. She nodded to indicate all was well.
Buckner came forward as they descended. He said the words the occasion demanded, no more. “Sara, your aunt told me you had swooned. Poor girl!” She smiled wanly at him and extended her hand, which he accepted, but he didn’t put his arm around her. He turned to Elizabeth and said in a perfunctory way, “Sorry to hear of your accident, Miss Warwick. I trust you are feeling better now?”
“Yes, thank you. Sara took good care of me,” she replied.
“Then I shall take her to the refreshment parlour for a glass of wine. She looks pale.”
“Yes, you do that,” Elizabeth said. As they left, Sara cast a hopeful glance back over her shoulder.
Nicholas offered Elizabeth his arm. “Careful. I wouldn’t want to start it bleeding again,” she said in an undertone. He noticed then it was her wounded arm and moved to her other side. “I’ll call for my carriage and let your aunt know you’re leaving. You will want to lie down and recover.”
“What I want is wine, but we shan’t go to the refreshment parlour till they’ve left.”
“Sure you don’t want to leave? You got the necklace — or did you?”
“Certainly I got it.”
“I wasn’t sure, but since you did, our job is done. Your ‘accident’ makes a good excuse to leave.”
“I don’t want to leave. I haven’t had one decent dance. I’ve only stood up with Sir Giles. That isn’t dancing. It’s punishment.”
“But your arm!”
“I shan’t tackle a rowdy country dance. I could manage a waltz well enough.”
“You can hardly return to the ball with that bandage —” He looked and saw the jaunty ribbon tied around her arm. “That’s not a suitable bandage. You’ll get that wound infected.”