Rough Gentleman

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Rough Gentleman Page 32

by Maggie Carpenter


  “I told you not to worry about it,” Malcolm said, playing along. “I’ll ask Kendrick to take care of it for us tomorrow.”

  “I’m so sorry I broke it, Malcolm.”

  “It’s not important. I never liked it very much anyway. I’m not even sure why I bought it in the first place. Now we have the real thing, we don’t need it.”

  Frank looked from Malcolm, to Connie, then back to Malcolm.

  “So... this piece of art you were going to hide under a cloth and claim was the statue for the auction, is now in pieces in your former bedroom, Connie.”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  Sending his eyes back to the relic, he studied it for a minute, then nodded his head.

  “I’m going to put this right back where you found it,” he declared. “It remained hidden all this time, and I’m confident it will stay safe one more night, especially with the boxes on top of the floorboards. I’ll also have men outside, front and back, and inside the house as well. No one will have a chance of looking for it, let alone finding it.”

  “Tomorrow night this whole nightmare will be over,” Connie said softly as she straightened up, then seeing the frown on Frank’s face, she asked, “What is it, Frank? Why do you look so worried?”

  “Roger. He came in, threatened you, saw you with the statue, then ran off,” Frank replied, covering the relic in the pouch and returning it to his dark hiding place. “Why didn’t he try to get it away from you, and what will happen when he reports what he saw to Lord Mountbatten? That’s why I’m worried, Connie, and I suspect you are too, Malcolm.”

  “Yes, I am, but as I said to Connie, these people desperately want the statue, and seeing Connie might help to confirm what I’ve written in the letters. They’ll be here! I’m sure of it.”

  “I see your point,” Frank said as he stood up. “At least they certainly won’t be able to steal it a second time. Connie, I must compliment you again on your idea to gather everyone together for an auction. It really is genius.”

  “Thank you, Frank.”

  “But you both must be very careful. Keep your eyes open. Don’t take any chances, and Malcolm, I’m going to post a guard outside your house.”

  “That’s very kind of you,” Malcolm said gratefully. “What about Detective Poole? Do we need to worry about him?”

  “Not anymore. I haven’t had a chance to tell you. He’s been arrested. Innocent people he framed over the years are being released as we speak, but he refuses to talk about the Clifford case. Hopefully it won’t matter after tomorrow.”

  “I’m very happy to hear that,” Connie said solemnly. “What an awful man. I hope he rots in prison for the rest of his life.”

  “He’ll be gone for many years, and where he’s going he won’t be popular,” Frank muttered. “I’m going to stop next door and have a final word with Kendrick before I leave.”

  “Thank you for everything,” Malcolm said gratefully. “I’m not sure what we would have done if you hadn’t shown up at my country house with Edith and Edward.”

  “I’m the one who should be thanking you. I’ll soon be making the biggest arrest of the year, possibly the decade, and the Statue of Kharute can finally be returned to its rightful owners.”

  “It should be back in Egypt,” Connie said with a heavy sigh. “That’s its real home.”

  “I think so too,” Malcolm agreed, “but I’m afraid that’s out of our hands. Shall we go? I want to stop in and see Edith on our way home.”

  Walking out into the garden, they said their final goodbyes, but as Malcolm and Connie disappeared into the house, the detective’s eyes narrowed. He paused for a minute, then quickly returning to the shed, he moved the cartons back across the floorboards.

  A plainclothes constable was already posted near the path behind the wall, and another was stationed across the street to keep watch over the front of the house. When he returned to Scotland Yard, he’d send over two more of his most trusted men: one to stay in the garden, and another in the house. They wouldn’t know the real reason for their presence, just to keep everyone but Kendrick, Malcolm, and Connie off the property.

  But before Frank could leave, there was something he wanted to check.

  Striding from the shed and into the home, he trotted up the stairs and started down the first hallway, peering into room after room. Turning down a second passage, he finally found what he’d been seeking. A bedroom with a shattered black sculpture lying on the floor.

  The scattered shards supported Malcolm and Connie’s story.

  He frowned.

  He was sure they’d had possession of the Statue of Kharute.

  “Was I wrong?” he murmured, bending over and idly picking up one of the larger pieces. “Oh, now I understand,” he said, shaking his head and grinning. “Was this your idea, Connie? If so, I was right. You’re a genius. An absolute, bloody genius.”

  Against the plaster of Paris, he could see a partial impression of the head of the Statue of Kharute.

  * * *

  Samuel Mountbatten, his wife Josephine, and David Manning had found a fragile peace. Once enemies, they were suddenly allies with a mutual goal: David’s possession of the Statue of Kharute.

  For Samuel, it would mean the end of David’s blackmail.

  In America David dealt in the shady world of private art collections. If one of his clients wanted a certain piece, David would obtain it by any means necessary. He had several wealthy customers hungry for the statue. It would bring him a fortune.

  Josephine would see the man she loved happy. She’d do anything for David. Absolutely anything. She’d even married a broke, homosexual English earl so David could gain entry into the British aristocracy.

  But the unsavory trio faced a problem.

  According to the invitation, they wouldn’t be the only guests attending the very private, very special auction.

  “We need to find out who has the blasted thing,” Samuel exclaimed, “and how did he know to send me an invitation? I wonder who else will be there. More important, how many others will we be up against?”

  “Hold on,” Josephine muttered. “I’ve just had a thought.”

  Abruptly leaving the salon, she hurried to the table on the landing and picked up the mail waiting in the silver dish. Anxiously going through the envelopes, she stopped at one with no crest or indication of the sender. Her pulse ticking up, she tore it open and withdrew the card.

  Lady Mountbatten,

  You and your companion, David Manning, are cordially invited to a confidential auction tomorrow evening at eight p.m. The priceless item that will go to the highest bidder is the Statue of Kharute.

  For obvious reasons, all invitees are being closely monitored. Any attempt to visit the auction site or contact the authorities will be dealt with immediately.

  To enter the auction, you must bring this invitation and hand it to the guard at the door.

  The location is the former home of Baron Clifford of Cloverdale in Knightsbridge. Your husband, the Earl of Landenbury is familiar with the house. He too, has received an invitation.

  We look forward to seeing you there.

  Most sincerely,

  Anonymous

  “Excuse me, Your Ladyship.”

  Jumping, she turned and glowered at the butler walking toward her.

  “For goodness’ sake, Partridge! Must you creep up on me like that?”

  “I do apologize, my lady. I didn’t mean to startle you. The Duke of Hatley is here to see His Lordship. He’s waiting in the drawing room.”

  “Offer the duke tea, and tell him Lord Mountbatten will there in a moment.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  Shaking her head, she returned to the salon, wondering why her husband kept the creepy man in service. He always seemed to be skulking around.

  “Samuel, Roger’s father is here,” she announced, gliding into the salon. “He’s waiting in the drawing room.”

  “Oh, no!” Samuel exclaimed, a de
ep frown crossing his brow. “Something must be wrong. Roger was supposed to be here after lunch and he didn’t show up. He didn’t come over yesterday either.”

  “Then you’d better go and talk to his old man,” David sneered. “You won’t find out what’s happened to your precious Roger standing in the middle of this room becoming hysterical.”

  “You are such a common, uncouth bastard,” Samuel snapped, turning on his heel and striding through the door.

  He could hear David’s laugh as he trotted down the stairs, but he didn’t care. All he cared about was Roger. His stomach churning, Samuel hurried into the drawing room.

  “George, how nice to see you,” he began, doing his best to appear unruffled. “Roger was due here earlier but he hasn’t arrived. I do hope he’s all right.”

  “I’m afraid he’s become ill,” George said solemnly. “Gravely ill!”

  “Dear, oh, dear. What’s the matter with him?”

  “That’s what I’m here to find out.”

  “I don’t understand,” Samuel said, a strange wave of nausea sweeping through him.

  “He has a wound on his hand. He claimed it was a rat bite then changed his story. Samuel—it’s imperative we find out exactly what happened. The doctor can’t treat him if he doesn’t know what he’s dealing with. Do you know if Roger has been bitten by a rat?”

  “I’m so terribly sorry,” Samuel said, taking a deep breath, trying to fight the rising tide from his stomach. “I’m afraid he was. It happened in my study, but I called for my private physician and he came immediately. If Roger isn’t well, I doubt it’s because of the bite.”

  “Why in God’s name was there a rat in your damn study?”

  “I don’t know. Roger reached for something—uh—in a corner. The rat was there.”

  “Listen to me, Samuel,” George began brusquely. “I know you and Roger have become good friends, but I will no longer sanction his membership in the historical society. He’s been neglecting his obligations. From now on he—”

  “No! George! Please!”

  “When he’s well enough to travel, his mother and I will be taking Roger to Whitcomb Castle to recuperate. He needs time away from all these distractions.”

  “Distractions...?” Samuel muttered, a wave of heat uniting with the contents of his stomach bubbling up through his body. “But you can’t, I mean, he’s wanted here. The society, we—”

  “To hell with the bloody society,” George shouted. “Roger is the heir to my title and my fortune. He can no longer fritter away his time at your damn society.”

  “No, please, we share—”

  “I don’t care what you share with my son! And he’s too sick to have visitors. Kindly do not call on him. You will be turned away at my door!”

  Too stunned to speak and too shaken to move, Samuel stood stock still as the Duke of Hatley charged past him.

  The door slammed.

  The room fell deathly quiet.

  Then suddenly, he couldn’t breathe, and like a bolt of lightning, a sharp, blazing pain sliced through his upper arm. Gasping for air, he crashed to the floor.

  “Your Lordship? Oh, dear. Your Lordship? Can you hear me?”

  “Partridge...?”

  “Yes, sir, it’s me.”

  “The safe... you... know... what...”

  “Yes, sir, I know what to do, but it won’t come to that. I’ll send for—”

  “It’s too late...”

  “May God rest your soul, Your Lordship.”

  “He won’t.”

  They were Samuel Mountbatten’s last words.

  * * *

  Partridge closed his eyes to mutter a quick prayer, then lowered Samuel’s eyelids. Slowly rising to his feet, the weary butler locked the door, then flopped into the nearest chair and surrendered to the immense relief flooding his body.

  He had been in the earl’s service for many years, and though he was well-paid, Mountbatten had been a hard master. More times than he could count, Partridge had considered seeking other employment, but each time he’d reminded himself the devil he knew was safer than the unknown.

  Gathering his thoughts, he thrust himself out of the comfortable armchair, walked briskly across the room, and pushed open a door that led into the earl’s study. Making sure the door was bolted, he hurried to the valuable landscape hanging behind the desk. Pushing the right edge of the frame, he heard the click, and gently swung the painting away from the wall.

  He smiled.

  Inside the safe sat his future.

  Spinning the dial and turning the handle, he opened the thick metal door and smiled at the contents. Reaching in, he picked up the large wad of cash. There was more than enough to see him through the rest of his days in comfort, possibly even luxury. He’d move to Blackpool, or Bristol, or perhaps even Paris. His choices were abundant.

  Placing the money in an envelope, he hid it behind a row of books for later collection, then returned to the safe and found the stack of intimate letters wrapped in red ribbon. They were to be burned. They could have been used to blackmail Roger’s father, but Partridge was not that foolish. Carrying them to the fireplace, he tossed them into the flames.

  But there was another group of letters.

  He knew what they were, and exactly what he would do with them.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  As Malcolm’s carriage rolled toward Edith’s home, a place in which he’d spent a great deal of his youth, he put his arm around Connie and gave her a hug.

  “What was that for?”

  “Can’t a man hug his wife when the mood takes him?”

  “Of course he can, but are you sure that’s all it was?”

  “I’m just incredibly proud of how you’re handling all this.”

  “I couldn’t without you.”

  “You give me too much credit,” he said, looking at her intently as the coach rolled to a stop. “We’re here. Are you ready to tell Edith—and Edward if he’s there—that we found the statue?”

  “I wish we could tell them the truth.”

  “Not yet. It’s too soon.”

  “I suppose you’re right, but to answer your question, yes, I’m ready.”

  Before the footman arrived to open the carriage door, Malcolm climbed out ahead of her and held her hand as she stepped down. Though he had his own residence, he still had a key to the Whitby family home, and was welcome to come and go as he pleased. As they walked inside, March, the butler, strode forward to help them with their coats.

  “Hello, March, how are you?” Malcolm asked.

  “Very well, thank you, sir. And you?”

  “Excellent. This is Constance Clifford, now Constance Mead, my bride. We were married in the country, but we’ll be enjoying a second wedding here for the benefit of our friends as soon as the arrangements can be made. Connie, this is March. He’s been the butler here since before I arrived.”

  “It’s an honor to meet you, Madame,” March said warmly. “What splendid news. Congratulations.”

  Watching him closely, Malcolm saw a flicker of recognition in his eyes. He knew who Connie was, but he made no indication. Malcolm decided it would be best to satisfy the man’s curiosity.

  “Constance was Constance Clifford, the daughter of the Baron of Cloverdale, but she has been cleared of all charges,” he said quietly. “She’s a free woman, but that information is not quite ready for public knowledge yet. It will be very soon.”

  “Very kind of you to tell me, sir. I’m very pleased for you, Mrs. Mead.”

  “Thank you, March.”

  “Is Edith here?” Malcolm asked.

  “Yes, sir. She’s having tea in the drawing room with Viscount Simington. Would you care for some tea, sir?”

  “I most certainly would, thank you. Is Edith’s mother home?”

  “Her Ladyship is attending a charity event, sir.”

  “Of course she is,” Malcolm remarked with a grin. “This way, Connie.”

  “The house is
lovely,” she murmured as Malcolm guided her down a wide hallway.

  “It is rather. I’ve always liked it. Here we are.”

  Opening a door, they walked in to find Edith sitting near the fireplace, and Edward standing at the hearth.

  “Malcolm, Connie, I’m so pleased to see you,” Edith beamed, rising to her feet.

  “Hello, old chap,” Edward exclaimed, walking forward and shaking Malcolm’s hand. “Hello, Connie.”

  “Hello, Edward, hello, Edith. Did you have a good trip back?”

  “Marvelous, thanks,” Edith replied.

  “We have some very important news,” Malcolm announced. “Connie and I found the Statue of Kharute. It was under the floorboards in the garden shed.”

  “You didn’t! It wasn’t! This is incredible,” Edward exclaimed.

  “It certainly is,” Edith said excitedly. “My gosh, how thrilling. After everything that happened and all that time, it was in the garden shed?”

  “So, what does this mean, and where is it now?” Edward continued. “Does Frank know? Sorry. Silly question, he must.”

  “Why don’t you both sit down and I’ll bring you up to date? There’s a great deal to tell you, but first, I must thank you, Edward. Connie and I are immensely grateful that you brought Frank into this sorry mess. He’s coordinating everything for tomorrow night, and I believe all those responsible will finally be arrested.”

  As they settled into the couches, Malcolm relayed everything that had transpired, finishing just as March arrived with their tea. Waiting until he’d left, they began talking about the auction.

  “As we planned, Edward, you, and Frank will be there as buyers, but Frank will be adding two more of his men. There will also be undercover policemen stationed both in front of the house, and on the path behind the garden wall. Of course the house is being watched as we speak.”

  “So tomorrow night the statue itself will be on display,” Edward exclaimed. “That’s amazing. The Mountbattens, Roger, and David Manning will think they have serious competition.”

  “I can’t wait,” Edith said enthusiastically. “This will be so much fun.”

  “This isn’t about fun, Edith,” Edward said solemnly, “this is very serious, and you can’t possibly be there. It’s far too dangerous. These men are killers... sorry, Connie,” he added hastily.

 

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