Rough Gentleman

by Maggie Carpenter

  “Madame.”

  “May I say, Madame, you could not be prouder or more honored than I am to be your husband,” he said huskily, then dropped his lips on hers in a long, all-consuming kiss.

  “How is it I can be so blessed after being so cursed?” she whispered as they broke apart.

  “My mother used to say life is like the pendulum of a clock. As far as it swings one way, it will swing back equally the other.”

  “Perhaps she was right. I wish I could have known her, and your father too, of course.”

  “I feel the same about your parents. We must keep them alive in our hearts, but also in our conversations. We will share stories about them as we share our life together. They will always be with us.”

  As a few tears spilled down her cheeks, she saw them brim in his eyes too. Abruptly hugging her, he held her tightly against his chest, and with the sound of the river echoing around them, the seconds ticked by. Finally pulling back, he kissed her again.

  “I’ll never forget this moment,” she whispered, “or anything that happened today.”

  “It would be impossible. These memories will last a lifetime,” he said softly, then pausing, he added, “I have another special place to show you, but it’s on the way to the house.”

  “You think it’s time for us to return?”

  “It’s probably a good idea. The sun’s dropping. The forest will turn cold and dark before too long, but I can have the cottage stocked with provisions and we can spend a weekend there if you would like to.”

  “Malcolm, I would love that, and I have to say, I love these clothes. I’m not ready to change out of them yet.”

  “Then don’t. There’s a small suitcase at the cottage. We can pack up what we wore for the wedding.”

  “Perfect, and if it’s all right with you, can I keep what I’m wearing at the house so I can wear them in the future?”

  “Of course you can.”

  “Tell me about this special place?” she asked as they started off. “Is it a cave?”

  “No, it’s not a cave. It’s where my father taught me how to shoot. It’s also where I learned to be patient. I’ll pick up my rifle from the cottage and show you.”

  “How exciting, though I don’t like the idea of hurting any animals.”

  “We only shot game for food, never for sport.”

  “I’m very happy to hear that,” she said, looping her arm around his. “I don’t believe in those awful fox hunts either.”

  “No,” he said, his forehead furrowing into a scowl.

  “What is it?”

  “I’m often asked why I don’t socialize much. You’ve just mentioned two of the reasons.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  “Shooting parties disgust me. They’re as bad as fox hunting.”

  “My mother and I used to argue with my father about both those things.”

  “You and I really are a match,” he declared, putting his arm around her. “I’d be very disappointed if you supported anything like that. My father taught me to respect nature, the plants and trees, and especially the wildlife. Speaking of animals—we should get ourselves a dog.”

  “Yes, please!”

  “Then it’s settled. We’ll find some poor dog off the streets and give it a home.”

  As they approached the cabin, Connie was sad to see their afternoon drawing to a close, but she reminded herself they had every day for the rest of their lives to make many more memories.

  * * *

  With Malcolm carrying the small suitcase in one hand and his rifle in the other, they moved back through the woods toward the house. Though his natural gait covered the ground at a fast clip, he knew if Connie hurried to keep up she could easily trip over a branch or exposed tree root.

  “Is it much further?” she asked, slightly out of breath. “Aren’t we getting close to the lawn?”

  “We’re almost there. What the blazes...?”

  Stopping abruptly, he placed the suitcase on the ground and grabbed her arm. “Malcolm, what is it?”

  “I’m not sure. Do you see that ditch ahead?” he whispered. “That’s where I was taking you. My father and I would lie in wait for passing rabbits or pheasants.”

  “Is that what you meant when you said he taught you patience?”

  “Yes, but there’s something in there, and I can’t make out what it is.”

  Rising to her toes, she craned her neck.

  “Yes, I see... oh... it moved,” she murmured urgently. “It must be an animal. I wonder if it’s hurt.”

  “If it is, it could be dangerous. Stay here. I’m going to find out.”

  Creeping toward the strangely shaped creature, he realized with a start he was looking at the back of a man hunched over. Raising his rifle and holding it at the ready, he moved cautiously around the ditch. As the man’s face came into view, Malcolm recognized him immediately. It was Hackworth, and he was sound asleep.

  Hurriedly creeping back to Connie, he motioned her to crouch down.

  “Fate has seen fit to deliver us a wedding present,” he whispered as he joined her. “That creature is none other than Hackworth.”

  “What? Are you sure?”

  “I’m absolutely positive. Go back to the house and wait for me. I know exactly what I’m going to do with him.”

  “You’re not going to shoot him, are you?”

  “Good heavens, no, though believe me, I’m tempted. I’ll explain later. Wait for me in the drawing room. I don’t want to search for you when I get back.”

  “Do you need any help?”

  “With that joker?” he said with a grin. “Go on now. Scoot, and cut through the gardens. The hedges keep you from view.”

  “But I want to be part of this.”

  “You are a part of it. Now go, or shall I bring my stick home with me and remind you what happens to naughty wives who don’t do as they’re told?”

  “That blasted stick,” she grunted. “All right. I’m going. I’ll make sure to have tea waiting, but Malcolm, please be careful.”

  “Always,” he promised, kissing her quickly. “Be sure to follow the path until you’re out of the trees, then you can cut across.”

  “I will.”

  Waiting until she was out of sight, he strode back to the ditch, positioning himself so Hackworth could see him. In spite of the sound of the crunching leaves the man didn’t move.

  “Hey! You there!” Malcolm shouted.

  Hackworth jumped, flailed his arms as if shooing away flying insects, then jerked his head up.

  “Mead?” he barked, his eyes bulging. “It was you I saw!”

  “There’s no one else in these woods, so if you saw anyone, yes, it would have been me. Now get your sorry backside out of there. We’re taking a walk.”

  “Sure, sure, whatever you say,” the thug said hastily, his eyes fixed on the barrel of the rifle.

  Guiding him to the suitcase, Malcolm ordered him to pick it up, then ordered him to head toward the open lawn at the back of the house. There would be nowhere for Hackworth to hide if he took it into his head to run.

  “Up the steps and stop at the first door,” Malcolm said brusquely as they reached the terrace. “Open it, step inside, put down the suitcase, then walk slowly down the hallway. Try anything and I won’t hesitate to shoot you. I’m well within my rights. You’re trespassing, not that anyone would find you. I’d carry you back to the river and dump your body.”

  “I won’t do anything, I swear.”

  “Move!”

  Entering the house and following him down the passage, Malcolm told him to stop. Pulling the wall sconce, the panel slid away revealing the opening into the secret room.

  “Inside. All the way in and lie face down.”

  As Hackworth moved into the dark space, Malcolm stood by the door, the gun at the ready. If the ruffian was going to make a move it would be now, but he didn’t. With the minimal light coming in from the hall, Malcolm watched him stretch out on the floor
and remain still. Like all bullies, Hackworth was a coward. Finding his way to the nearest lamp, Malcolm quickly turned it up, then moved back to the panel and closed it.

  “Please don’t hurt me,” Hackworth pleaded. “Please don’t leave me here to die.”

  “Sit up. There’s a bottle of brandy on a table behind you. Take a few swigs, but remember—”

  “I won’t try anything. I won’t,” Hackworth swore, rising to his knees and grabbing the bottle. “Thank you, sir. Thank you.”

  But Malcolm wasn’t taking pity on him. Alcohol was famous for loosening men’s tongues.

  “Aah, I needed that,” Hackworth grunted. “You’re a gentleman, sir.”

  “Sit on the floor.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Mead.”

  “Tell me who’s really behind the theft of the Statue of Kharute, and why was Mountbatten so determined to have it he killed the Cliffords?”

  “You know about that?”

  “I’m the one asking the questions!” Malcolm snapped. “Your job is to answer them—and truthfully. I repeat, who is the person responsible for the theft of the statue, and why did Mountbatten murder the Cliffords? Tell me, and tell me now!”

  “That’s a mystery, sir, God knows it is, but I’ll tell what I know. There’s an American man, a friend of his wife. His Lordship doesn’t like him, but he comes over from America and stays for weeks at the country place with her ladyship. I’ve heard bits of conversation, and I think he’s the man who wanted the statue, sir, but I don’t know why His Lordship is involved.”

  “What brought you here?”

  “His Lordship sent me to watch you, sir, and search your quarters for the statue.”

  “When are you supposed to report back?”

  “As soon as I have something to tell him.”

  “If you have a call of nature, use the basin on the chest against the wall, but make a mess and I’ll shoot you in the foot.”

  “I’ll stay right here on the floor, Mr. Mead, and I won’t touch anything.”

  “That would be wise, and Hackworth, don’t go anywhere,” Malcolm said sarcastically as he left the room.

  Anxious to speak to Connie, he hid the gun behind a suit of armor at the end of the passage, then picked up the suitcase and hurried to the drawing room.

  But when he entered, he stopped short.

  Edward was there, with a man Malcolm didn’t know.

  There was no sign of Connie or Edith.

  “Hello, Malcolm,” Edward said earnestly, stepping up to shake his hand. “May I present my good friend, Detective Frank Colby. Frank was with the Metropolitan Police and now works for Scotland Yard.”

  A shard of panic sliced through Malcolm’s heart.

  Had the detective seen Connie and arrested her?

  “Delighted to meet you, Mr. Mead.”

  “And you, Detective,” Malcolm replied, trying to control his anxiety, and wanting to shoot Edith for bringing a detective into his quarters. “Please call me Malcolm.”

  “You should call me Frank, and please let me put your mind at ease about Constance Clifford. I know she’s completely innocent.”

  “You do?”

  “Absolutely. Detective Poole was the man in charge at the time, and all of his cases are under review. I’ve been assigned the Clifford murder. As I went through the details I found many inconsistencies, along with details that made no sense. For example, how is it the staff heard nothing? Or the neighbors? Why did no one believe Constance when she told them a tall man had killed her parents and run off through the French doors? Given her age and slightness of build, she could not have committed the double murder without a terrible struggle; even then, it’s highly unlikely she would have succeeded.”

  “Exactly!” Malcolm exclaimed.

  “My men have been trying to find her, not to take her into custody, but to let her know she’s been cleared.”

  “For heaven’s sake,” Malcolm muttered. “She’s been living in fear and dread this entire time.”

  “Unfortunately I wasn’t able to put the word out publicly. I couldn’t allow the guilty parties to know the investigation is ongoing.”

  “This is remarkable news and I’m elated, but where is she, and where is Edith?”

  “They’ve gone upstairs so Connie can change,” Edward said, speaking for the first time. “Tea is supposed to be arriving momentarily.”

  “Ah, I see. Then I assume she knows everything you’ve just told me.”

  “Yes,” Frank replied, “though I’m sorry to say she had a moment of panic when we were introduced. I put her mind to rest as quickly as I could.”

  “I cannot begin to express how pleased I am you’re here. Your timing couldn’t be better.”

  “How so?” Edward asked.

  “Didn’t Connie tell you why I was held up?”

  “No. She started to, then thought better of it. She said we needed to wait for you.”

  “I’m not sure where to begin,” Malcolm muttered, shaking his head.

  “If it’s any help, I believe the Statue of Kharute is at the heart of this matter, and the Earl of Landenbury, Samuel Mountbatten, is involved up to his neck,” Frank declared. “I just haven’t been able to put the pieces together.”

  “We have a great deal to talk about and information to exchange,” Malcolm said thoughtfully, “but first, I have something of great importance to report. Mountbatten’s henchman is locked up down the hall. That’s what Connie didn’t know if she should tell you.”

  “Hackworth?” Frank exclaimed. “You have Hackworth?”

  “That’s right. Hackworth. Mountbatten sent him here to spy on me and to hunt for the statue, but the point is, he’s scared out of his wits. I have an idea—a plan if you will—to trap Mountbatten, and with Hackworth’s help we can make it happen.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Malcolm was about to outline his idea when Mrs. Melville and Baker arrived with pots of tea, finger sandwiches, and bite-sized cakes. A moment later, Edith and Connie entered the room. Seeing her dressed in a pale turquoise silk dress, Malcolm thought Connie’s green eyes had never sparkled so brilliantly, or her smile been more radiant.

  “Have you heard?” she asked excitedly, moving quickly across to his side. “I’m not a fugitive anymore. Could this day get any better?”

  “I just found out. It’s simply marvelous. Did you tell our friends about us?”

  “No. I wanted to make the announcement with you.”

  “What’s this?” Edith inquired. “Malcolm, have you been keeping secrets?”

  “Hello, Edith,” Malcolm said with a chuckle. “It’s lovely to see you.”

  “You too,” Edith replied, giving him a peck on the check, “but you both look much too pleased with yourselves. You must tell us what’s going on.”

  “This morning, in the chapel by the back gardens, Constance Clifford became Mrs. Malcolm Mead, and before you ask how we managed it,” he added hastily, holding up his hand, “we had no time to obtain a license, but the vicar was kind enough to perform the ceremony. In the sight of God we are husband and wife. We will have a legal wedding in London later, with a splendid celebration, I might add.”

  “How thrilling,” Edith exclaimed, stepping forward to hug them both. “What a wonderful day. I’m so glad we came.”

  Edward and Frank extended their congratulations, and the group continued to chat until Mrs. Melville and Baker finished serving. The moment they left the room, Malcolm quickly outlined his idea to trap Mountbatten, and explained how he could use Hackworth to lure the earl into the net.

  “It’s a good plan,” Frank said, nodding his head. “Not difficult to execute, and that’s important. When things become too complicated you can run into problems. Simplicity is key.”

  “You’re the expert,” Malcolm said modestly. “I’m very pleased it meets with your approval, and there’s something else. I believe I know why there were no witnesses, or rather, why no one would come forward.”
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  “Edward and I have talked about that, and we have a few thoughts too, but tell me what you came up with.”

  “Someone scared any potential witnesses into silence by threatening to harm those they care about. We can confirm this with Hackworth now that I have him.”

  “Fear! That occurred to Edward and me as well,” Frank declared, “but what makes you so confident?”

  “Hackworth used that approach with my kitchen maid, so it stands to reason he—and probably others—would have used the same technique to terrify those who might have seen something.”

  “It makes sense,” Frank muttered thoughtfully. “In my experience, when a criminal finds a method of coercion that works they stick to it.”

  As they drank their tea and ate the tasty morsels, Frank and Malcolm shared what they knew, and though Edward volunteered information about the statue, Malcolm didn’t comment. He wasn’t yet ready to reveal its whereabouts.

  “If I may summarize,” Edward said gravely, “Mountbatten, under orders from this American chap for reasons unknown, arranged the theft of the Statue of Kharute. Hackworth hid it somewhere at the Cliffords’ home the night of the robbery, also for reasons unknown. When he returned and found it gone, Mountbatten showed up and confronted the Cliffords. That’s when things got out of hand. Mountbatten must have already known Detective Poole and contacted him right away to ensure he’d be in charge of the case.”

  “Poole may have been involved from the beginning,” Edith suggested.

  “Yes, Edith, I believe Mountbatten brought Poole in early on,” Frank remarked. “He would have had all his ducks in a row before the burglary in case things went haywire, which they did.”

  “What an evil, beastly man the earl is,” Edith exclaimed. “I cannot believe I’ve been nice to him. I sat next to him at a dinner party about a month ago. If I’d known I would have put poison in his wine.”

  “They’re all evil, beastly men,” Connie muttered angrily. “Every last one of them. It was probably Hackworth who made sure no one would step forward for me, including my uncle, though I don’t think he would have cared one way or another.”