Vivyan frowned. “How do you know precisely when the theft took place?”
“By merest chance. Oliver must have been planning it for some while, for he chose a moment when he might expect it to go undiscovered for a considerable time. You know that at this time of year Mayhew makes his round of annual visits to the other properties, and I would not expect to visit Rushbourne during the Season. Mayhew did in fact set out, as Oliver must have known he intended to do, but had gone only a mile or two on his way when he realized that certain documents he needed had been left behind in the strong room. He came back for them, and discovered what had happened.”
“Curst ill luck for Oliver! How long would it have gone undiscovered if Mayhew had not forgotten those papers?”
“Oh, a fortnight at least! He would ordinarily be away that long, and I had no intention of coming here before the end of the Season.”
“Oliver’s a damned cool customer, isn’t he?” Vivyan remarked with grudging admiration. “Fancy riding off from Rushbourne with the Medallion in his pocket.”
“Scarcely that, I imagine. After all, it is six inches across and proportionately heavy. One can only assume that he committed the theft during the night, concealed the proceeds somewhere away from the house, and collected them again next day. As you say, a cool customer!”
“And you can find no trace of him at all?”
“None whatsoever. Of course, I have been able to make only the most discreet inquiries, but I must have visited almost every inn and posting house within a score of miles. I know that he was riding that evil-tempered gray, but no one seems to recall seeing him, neither has his horse been left at livery anywhere that I can discover.” He picked up the decanter again and filled both Vivyan’s glass and his own. “Now I suppose I have no choice but to do what I should perhaps have done in the first place. Call in the Runners.”
“Bow Street?” Vivyan was startled. “Grey, won’t that kick up the devil of a dust?”
“Very probably, which is why I had hoped to settle the whole confounded business myself, but I dare not delay much longer if there is to be any hope at all of finding Oliver before he disposes of the Medallion.”
“He’d not be able to sell it, surely?”
“Only for a fraction of its real value. My greatest fear is that he may have it broken up, the jewels pried from their setting to be sold separately, and the gold melted down. He could make more profit that way, with less danger to himself.”
“Yes, by God! Grey, that may already have been done.”
“I think not. He would have to find a goldsmith whom he could trust to keep any suspicions to himself, and that would be impossible in a country district. I suspect that he has gone to London.”
“He would be safer out of the country.”
“Yes, but remember that Oliver has never traveled abroad, and speaks no language but his own. I do not think he will attempt to leave England until he has disposed of the Medallion, and he need be in no great haste to do that. As I told you, he stole a large sum of money as well, so he is not pressed for funds.”
“Damned scoundrel!” Vivyan said angrily. “Make what excuses you like for him, Grey, the fact remains that he knows what store Grandmama sets by that confounded bauble, and how the theft of it must distress her.”
“Precisely, but that is not likely to trouble Oliver. There is no love lost there.” Greydon’s voice held a note that warned Vivyan not to pursue that train of thought. “Viv, are you willing to help me in this matter?”
“Of course I am. Dash it all, Grey, you’ve no need to ask that!”
“I beg your pardon. The thing is that though I decided today that I must call in the Runners, I am very reluctant to return to London at present, particularly in view of what you tell me of Grandmama’s frame of mind. I thought of sending Stubbs with a letter, but it would be far better if you would go to Bow Street for me—with my authorization, of course.”
“I’ll do it,” Vivyan agreed promptly, “but it seems to me that any trail Oliver may have left will be cold by now.”
“Job’s comforter!” Greydon retorted wryly. “I fancy that Bow Street has sources of information denied to the ordinary citizen, and if an article as rare and as valuable as the Medallion has made an appearance in London, there are bound to be rumors of it among the criminal fraternity. That, at least, must be our hope.” Vivyan nodded. “I’ll set off first thing in the morning.”
“No,” Greydon said quickly. “For one thing, I would not be so ungrateful as to expect that of you, and for another, it would present a very odd appearance if you were to stay only one night after coming expressly to visit me. It may not be possible in the end to keep this unsavory business secret, but for the present I intend to use every means in my power to do so.”
“Whatever you say,” Mr. Calderwood agreed amicably. “I shall have to try to think of some tale which will satisfy Grandmama, and the longer I have to do that, the better!”
THREE
To the relief of his mother and sisters, Theodore suffered no serious consequences of his adventure. Dr. Barnfield, who came promptly in answer to the summons—a promptness, Dione suspected, due largely to the fact that the visit was made at Sir Greydon Varleigh’s request—advised a couple of days in bed as a precaution, but dismissed with gentle scorn Mrs. Mallory’s tearful declaration that never again should Theo be allowed to roam alone about the countryside. The doctor, a stocky, middle-aged man with grizzled hair and a kindly, blunt-featured face, had achieved something of a miracle by establishing at once a cordial relationship with his patient, who in spite, or perhaps because of his many encounters with doctors, was apt to be antagonistic toward the medical profession.
“Nonsense, my dear lady!” Dr. Barnfield said cheerily to Mrs. Mallory. “Your son is not robust, I know, but you will not help him by treating him always as an invalid. Due care, of course, and escapades like this one best avoided, but I can see no reason why he should not outgrow a great deal of his delicacy as time goes by.”
Mrs. Mallory was dubious, but Dione, who for some time had privately held the belief that Theodore would do better with less of the anxious cosseting lavished upon him by his mother and Aunt Winton, was in whole-hearted agreement, and found in Dr. Barnfield yet another assurance that the move to Garth House would prove to be of benefit to her brother.
Theodore’s kindly feelings toward his doctor suffered a setback when, the next day proving to be warm and sunny, he found that neither cajoling nor sulking could prevail upon his mother to allow him to get up. In vain he declared that he felt perfectly well; Mrs. Mallory, so persuadable in most matters, could be adamant where Theodore’s well-being was concerned, and the only concession she would make was to carry her sewing to his room in order to keep him company. Dione, appealed to, showed less than her usual sympathy, saying briefly that he was a tiresome little boy, and that being confined to bed on a beautiful day was no more than he deserved for giving them all such a fright.
Dione, in fact, though she took care not to betray it, was herself suffering from reaction from the events of the previous evening, her muscles stiff and aching from the climb up the hill, following as it had a hard day’s work in the house. The prospect of more housework was uninviting, but she had an uneasy suspicion that if none was done that day, they would all find it difficult to bring themselves to start again. Only the hall, she told herself wearily. Once that was made presentable, all the unused rooms could remain shut, the dust and decay within ignored for the time being.
Once they had started, however, even Dione was daunted by the magnitude of the task. Unlike the other rooms, the ceiling in the hall was high, accommodating as it did the staircase and the gallery, and the cobwebs that hung there in dark festoons were out of reach even of the broom that she tied to the end of a long pole. Nor were matters improved by the clouds of dust resulting from Ibstone’s bad-tempered assault on the huge fireplace. Ibstone himself, as soon as the piles of ash had been remov
ed, beat a retreat to some apparently urgent task in the kitchen garden, and his daughter, too, would have made her escape had Dione granted her an opportunity. Frustrated in this, Molly worked in a deliberately slapdash way, complaining until Dione’s fingers itched to box her ears. She knew that the girl was hoping to be sent back to the kitchen, but though she was of very little help, Dione was grimly determined not to allow her to escape.
Molly, however, was to have her revenge. She was standing on a stepladder, desultorily cleaning one of the windows flanking the front door, while Dione polished the massive oak table in the center of the hall. Edwina, on her knees, was busy with the legs of the same table, and Cecilia, who had undertaken the laborious task of cleaning the ornately carved balustrade of the gallery and staircase, was seated on a stair halfway down the topmost flight. Suddenly Molly descended the ladder with more energy than she had yet shown, and as she reached the floor a brisk knocking sounded upon the front door. Dione jumped, but before she could issue any instruction Molly had flung the door wide in a welcoming manner, revealing two immaculately attired gentlemen on the threshold.
“It be Sir Greydon Varleigh,” she announced unnecessarily, with a smirk of malicious satisfaction, “and another gentleman.”
Sir Greydon and Dione stared at each other in almost equal dismay. He had seen the grin on Molly’s face as she opened the door, realized that she was prompted by spite and not by ignorance, and that his arrival could scarcely have been more inopportune. Dione, robbed of any chance of retreat, could think only, with stunned horror, of the spectacle she and her sisters must present, and that she must now receive these exceedingly fashionable visitors attired in her oldest gown, a capacious apron and a remarkably unbecoming mobcap that completely concealed her hair. Edwina, still kneeling, seemed to be endeavoring to hide under the table, while a quick glance at the stairs showed that Cecilia, cravenly, had fled. With the calmness of despair, Dione went forward to greet her guests.
“Thank you, Molly. Pray tell Mrs. Mallory that Sir Greydon has called. You will find her in Master Theo’s room.” She held out her hand. “It is good of you to visit us, sir, and I am glad of this opportunity to thank you for sending Dr. Barnfield to us so promptly.”
Sir Greydon had never before found himself calling upon a lady who was busy cleaning her house, nor could he imagine any other lady of his acquaintance being surprised in such a situation, but if they were, he thought with sudden admiration, not one of them could have carried it off with more aplomb than Miss Mallory was doing. So instead of apologizing for his intrusion he shook the rather grubby hand extended to him, replied in a similar vein, and begged leave to present his cousin, Mr. Calderwood.
Dione, slightly comforted by his manner, and even more by the friendly smile that accompanied his words, made Mr. Calderwood welcome, and begged the gentlemen to step into the parlor, adding to her youngest sister, still on her knees:
“Get up, Edwina, and make your curtsy. Our guests will forgive us for receiving them in this fashion, but they will think it excessively odd if you hide from them under the table.”
Edwina, too young to disguise her embarrassment as Dione was doing, continued to kneel, scarlet-cheeked and close to tears, until Vivyan, whose astonishment could not overcome an innate good nature, stretched down a hand to her and said with a grin:
“Cramp, eh, Miss Edwina? Deuced uncomfortable thing to happen. Let me help you up.”
Edwina, shyly obeying, found herself heaved to her feet by a tall, handsome and smiling young gentleman, and immediately fell in love with him with all the promptness and thoroughness of her fourteen years. This had the effect of making her blush more than ever, curtsy in tongue-tied silence, and trail behind them to the parlor, where she established herself in a corner and gazed adoringly at Mr. Calderwood for the remainder of his visit.
Dione, meanwhile, recklessly deciding that tousled hair was preferable to that hideous mobcap, had pulled off the offending article as they crossed the hall and stuffed it into her apron pocket. In the parlor, she invited the gentlemen to be seated, and assured them that her mother would join them in a few minutes.
“I believe you said, ma’am,” Sir Greydon remarked, “that Mrs. Mallory is with your brother. I trust this does not mean that he has suffered any ill effects from his ducking?”
Dione laughed. “Not in the least, sir, I am happy to say, but Dr. Barnfield advised keeping him in bed for a day or two. This was not well received in such fine weather, and my mother has tried to soften the blow by sitting with him. I fear, though, that news of your arrival will make it even more difficult for him to reconcile himself, for he has talked of nothing but your horses ever since he woke up.”
“Horse mad, is he?” Vivyan said sympathetically. “I was the same at that age.”
“Yes, and very tiresome you were,” Sir Greydon informed him, “which is why I am able to sympathize with Miss Mallory. I must beg your forgiveness, ma’am. There are few things more wearisome than a small boy’s obsession with some pet subject, even when one is an enthusiast oneself.”
“Well, I admire fine horses,” Dione admitted, “but I am lamentably ignorant about them. Theo, on the other hand, contrived to acquire a certain amount of knowledge in my aunt’s stables when we lived in London, and is inclined to despise the rest of us for not sharing it. Perhaps it is just as well he is confined to bed, for I fear he would have found such an opportunity too good to miss, and would have pestered you with interminable questions.”
“We would have left my cousin to answer them, ma’am. That would have been a fitting revenge for the questions he was used to inflict upon me.”
This made Dione chuckle, and Sir Greydon reflected again that hers was the most unaffected feminine laughter he had ever heard. He was conscious of a growing curiosity about the Mallory family, and why, however indigent their circumstances, they had not taken one horrified look at Theodore’s inheritance and then returned forthwith to London. That they intended to stay was obvious from the attempt that was being made to furbish up the house; he had no need to speculate as to who was the instigator of that endeavor, and found her determination to make a home out of this decaying ruin both funny and touching.
Mrs. Mallory came fluttering into the room, with breathless greetings, and apologies for Cecilia, who had remained upstairs with her brother, to make certain that he stayed in bed.
“For as soon as he learned that you, Sir Greydon, had called, he wanted to get up, and come and thank you for your kindness last night. At least,” she added doubtfully, “that is what he said, and I am sure I hope he meant it, though I very much fear that what he really wanted to talk about is horses.”
Vivyan, who had come hoping to make the acquaintance of the pretty blond sister, was disappointed, but Dione and Sir Greydon exchanged a glance of mutual appreciation and amusement. To Mrs. Mallory, Greydon said:
“I am happy to hear that he is so much recovered, ma’am. I will confess that I was a trifle concerned last night, and felt that I must come to see how he goes on.”
The widow smiled warmly at him, and thanked him in earnest tones for his solicitude. “Such a comfort, Sir Greydon, to encounter kindness when one is a stranger, for though my late husband was Mr. Jonathan Mallory’s nearest relative, we were scarcely acquainted. I dare say you knew Mr. Jonathan better than I.”
Sir Greydon shook his head. “I think not, ma’am. I remember him, of course, from my childhood, but he was elderly even then. All I can recollect about him is that he was slightly lame and always leaned upon a stick. I entered the army as soon as my education was completed and was scarcely at Rushbourne at all until after the war ended, and by that time Mr. Mallory was so advanced in years that he never left Garth House.”
“Yes, he was nearly ninety-two when he died, I am told, and I greatly fear that he was not very well looked after in his later years. One cannot help feeling a trifle guilty, for though our relationship was not close, we are the only family he had
, and I should perhaps have used greater endeavors to communicate with him. Perhaps even removed here, so that we could look after him.”
Sir Greydon and Vivyan, who, though too young to have been acquainted with Jonathan Mallory, had heard enough about the old gentleman to guess how such a proposal would have been received, exchanged a pregnant glance. Dione, intercepting this, felt a stab of curiosity, but since this was not the time to indulge it, she said briskly:
“Well, I am sure we should have been very happy to do so, and one thing at least is certain. If we had been here, the house would not have been allowed to fall into such dirt and disorder. Though I do not think, Mama, that you have any cause to reproach yourself. If Cousin Jonathan had wished to trace us he could have done so, as his lawyer contrived to do after his death, so we can only conclude that he did not wish to make our acquaintance.”
This commonsense point of view, which Sir Greydon felt certain was characteristic of Miss Mallory, did not seem altogether to satisfy her mother, but she did not pursue the matter. The conversation turned to more general topics, and after some twenty minutes the gentlemen took their leave. Mrs. Mallory herself escorted them to the door, explaining, when she returned to the parlor, that she would not have trusted Molly to show them out, after what had happened on their arrival.
“How could she be so stupid as to admit visitors to the house without first giving you a chance to withdraw?” she lamented. “I hope you will take her severely to task, Dee!”
The Varleigh Medallion Page 7