by Joan Smith
“The Bristcombes have got a gig,” Bobbie announced. “I like it. It’s so nice and jiggly.”
The rain had let up during the morning, and a weak ray of sunlight was attempting to force its way through the. curtain of lingering mist. Bobbie was taken into the saloon and made a fuss over by her great aunt, while Miss Milne went to visit with her cousin. The family business could not be discussed in front of Bobbie. Lady Jane soon surmised from the impatient movements of Mrs. Grayshott that there was news to be relayed, and said after half an hour, “You’ll never guess what cook is doing, Bobbie. Making gingerbread. Would you like to pop down to the kitchen and help?” Indeed she would, and scampered off in high spirits.
“What a treasure that child is,” Jane said fondly, “but, as we mentioned t’other day, one cannot forever have the children present. I know you have something to tell, Delsie, and have been on thorns this thirty minutes to hear it. Do tell me, have you had your search without me, and found more gold?”
“Twelve bags!” she exclaimed, unable to hold in the news another moment. She outlined amidst excited questions the details of her find. “And you may be sure that is not the end of it.”
“We must definitely go over the whole place tomorrow,” Jane declared, her eyes shining with eager anticipation.
“I have been doing a little peeking here and there. I think the saloon is clean—of money, I mean, for of course it is filthy. The Bristcombes took my message to the village for me, for the two maids I hope to hire. They asked me for the afternoon off today.”
“They often take a Sunday afternoon off,” Jane confirmed.
“How have they been behaving?” deVigne inquired.
“Respectfully. They are trying to improve, I think. What are your feelings on my latest discovery, deVigne?”
“That makes it twenty-five hundred guineas. It is beginning to become serious.”
“Yes, grand larceny is hardly a joking matter.”
“Let us conduct the search and see how much the total amounts to before we decide what to do about it. Any pixies in the orchard last night?” he asked next, in a spirit of civil inquiry only, as far as the widow could tell.
“As a matter of fact, there was one, which quite slipped my mind with the more important news,” she answered offhandedly. She risked a close scrutiny of deVigne, but could read nothing except interest on his face.
“What happened?” he asked.
“I heard a noise, and took a look out. I could only see one man.”
“What was he doing?” Lady Jane asked.
“Just snooping around, I believe. He didn’t try to come in, at least,” Delsie answered, feeling very warm at the memory of what had really happened.
“Ha. Maybe he left you another present. Have you taken a look around outside today?”
“No! I should have done so!”
“It’s a nasty, miserable day,” Jane consoled her. “No one else will have been there before you. You can have a look early tomorrow.”
“I shall, certainly.”
Sir Harold, who had been listening to all the talk, suddenly pushed himself to speech. “Andrew was up to some monkeyshines,” he said, impatiently eyeing a book that lay on the table beside him. “Not a doubt of it. Where else would he have got ahold of twenty-five hundred guineas? A small fortune. And kept it around the house in cash too, instead of putting it in the bank like a Christian, or into the funds. A pity the fellow was ever let into the family.”
“Good gracious!” Lady Jane shrieked, and turned pale around the edges of her rouge. “He wouldn’t have invented a counterfeiting machine, would he? The man has turned coiner on us.”
“The ones I saw were the real thing,” deVigne assured her.
“Was certainly up to something crooked,” Sir Harold insisted mulishly. “Running a gambling hell right under our very noses, likely as not.”
“He wasn’t well enough for that,” deVigne explained. “And in any case, the amount of traffic entailed would not have escaped our notice these last three years.”
“If it were that, he’d have lost his shirt,” Jane said more bluntly. “Lost every penny he played on the market, and always lost at cards too, as far as I can remember. Never backed a winning horse in his life. Whatever it was, I wish we knew. Twenty-five hundred guineas. If it weren’t actually illegal, we might continue with it. Well, Delsie, you are twenty-five hundred guineas to the good. What do you mean to do with the money?”
“Save it and make restitution when the case comes to court. I hope the judge will deal leniently with me if I can return most of the money.”
Lady Jane sat mute at such innocent honesty as this. Sir Harold nodded his head in approval. “An excellent notion,” he agreed. Then he gave in to temptation and picked up the book.
“I trust our cousin is funning,” deVigne stated. “As I trust you were also joking about setting up a gig.”
“I am not joking about either one.”
“There is no way they can take Delsie to court, is there, Max?” Jane asked.
“Of course not, and there is no way Mrs. Grayshott is setting herself up a gig either.”
“I believe I can manage it on my new salary,” she countered.
“With the sale of Andrew’s cattle and stable equipment, you can do better than a gig.”
“A carriage and team would be very expensive. The horses must be fed, you know, and two horses eating their heads off day after day will soon eat up my two hundred and fifty pounds. Then too, it requires a driver, whereas I think I could handle a gig myself, with a little practice.”
“Why not make it a dog cart and have done with it?” deVigne asked angrily.
“My dear, I cannot think you would wish to appear in the village in a gig,” Jane said, frowning. “If your own money is insufficient for a carriage, and nothing can be spared from Bobbie’s portion, you would do better to just use my carriage or Max’s when you wish to go out, I should be very happy to share mine, and you, Max, have several. One would always be free.”
“It is understandable that Mrs. Grayshott wants to set up her own, especially when mine are in the habit of arriving late to deliver her, but I should dislike excessively to see her set up a gig, like a—”
“Schoolmistress?” she asked with a pugnacious light in her eye.
“That was not what I meant to say.”
“That’s good, for I don’t know of any schoolmistress fortunate enough to set herself up with a gig, and it is plenty good enough to suit me.”
“But it is not, my dear,” Jane contradicted baldly. “It is only useful on a fine day for a short jaunt. Why, even if you had your own gig, it would have done you no good today, in the rain. You need a proper covered carriage. It rains at least three times a week, and is too cold half the year to go anywhere in an open gig, as well as looking so very shabby. Really, I think it a waste of money.”
“The sale of Andrew’s effects will allow you to set yourself up a creditable carriage and team, and I shall be happy to undertake fodder for the team,” deVigne said.
“There is a fairly good crop of hay in my own yard,” Delsie said, as a jesting way of indicating her acquiescence in the matter, without actually saying so.
This was not good enough for Jane, who wished to have it settled. “Does this mean you have decided against the gig?” she asked.
“I shall reconsider it,” she allowed. The objections raised had weighed heavily against the gig. Her wishes too were not averse to procuring a more dashing and prestigious means of conveyance.
“It would look so very odd to see you in a gig,” Jane continued. “Bobbie too. For a child of the deVigne family to be transported in such a manner, like the Bristcombes.”
“If it is not good enough for a deVigne, then I suppose I must not get it,” Delsie said, becoming annoyed. “As far as that goes, Roberta bears the same name as myself, and I would not be ashamed to be seen in a gig.”
“It is nothing to be ashamed of,�
� deVigne allowed.
“Louise once spent a summer jogging along the roads in a whiskey, and appeared to derive considerable pleasure from it too, but as Jane pointed out, it would be useless three quarters of the time, and it seems a shame to spend good money on a toy.”
After this interlude, the afternoon passed quietly and agreeably. Roberta returned to the family circle, replacing Sir Harold, who slipped away to his library, without being missed in the least. Those remaining gathered around the grate to talk and play a few games of jackstraws to amuse the child (and Lady Jane, who was an adept at this diversion). Neither did she consider a game of all fours beneath her dignity. With jackstraws, cards, and magazines, a quiet afternoon was enjoyed. Dinner was served earlier than usual because of Roberta’s presence. She was allowed to eat with the adults for a treat. Similarly, the evening broke up early, at eight o’clock.
As they were driven home by deVigne, he said, “It is a little early to call it a night yet. May I prevail on your charity to invite me in for an hour, cousin? Harold tells me you are a fair hand at chess. If my conversation fails to hold your interest, I hope my skill at the game may be a compensation.”
She had not been looking forward to a long night alone, and was pleased at the question. Her talks with deVigne more usually occurred in the midst of the family. She was happy at the prospect of becoming more intimately acquainted with him. “An excellent idea, but even poor conversation sounds more appealing to me than good chess.”
“Thank you. I feel my conversation to be no worse than poor.”
“I didn’t mean that!”
“Can I conversate with you too?” Bobbie asked.
“No, ignoramus, you can study your grammar,” her uncle replied blandly. “With two teachers, one hopes for some better progress than you are showing.”
“How can I progress if you don’t let me talk?” she asked artfully.
“I see you have progressed to sophistry already.”
Mrs. Grayshott entered the house with a high heart, looking forward to the visit. Her spirits plunged with the first words she heard from Bristcombe, who was there with lamps lit to admit them.
Chapter Twelve
“It wasn’t my fault! I locked the place up before I left, tight as a drum,” Bristcombe said.
“What has happened?” Mrs. Grayshott demanded.
“We was broken in on while the place was empty.”
“What, visited by burglars?” deVigne queried.
“Yes, milord, and it was no common burglar either, for the door was opened with a key. Must have been — there’s no windows broken, and no sign of monkeying with the locks. He had a key, whoever he was. I locked up every door most particular before I left, knowing I’d be home early, before Mrs. Bristcombe.”
“It is all of a piece,” Delsie said, and stepped into the hallway. “I suppose the vault has been broken into?”
“No, ma’am, it’s only the master’s bedroom as has been mauled about. We took a look all about as soon as we saw the back door standing ajar. The silver’s never been touched, nor the china, nor nothing taken at all.”
“We’d best go have a look,” deVigne said, and headed to the staircase, with everyone, even including Roberta and Miss Milne, at his heels. They were not long in discovering the master bedroom to be a total shambles. The bed had been literally torn apart—the hangings on the floor, the canopy split open with a knife, the mattress on the floor, also split wide open, with a quantity of goose feathers drifting in the breeze. Every drawer of every chest and the desk was upturned on the floor, the contents in a heap.
The entire company was speechless at such wanton vandalism, till Bristcombe pointed out to them that, despite the chaos, nothing here either had been removed. The silver-backed brushes left in place, and a little dish holding some rather fine shirt studs and tie pins and a gold watch not tampered with at all.
“He knew what he was after all right,” deVigne said, with a meaningful look at Mrs. Grayshott, who cautioned him to silence with a scowl.
“A pity,” she said in a brisk tone. “I’ll have one of the girls I’m hiring clean it up tomorrow. It is too late to tackle such a monstrous job tonight. I’ll just lock the door and take the key with me.”
Roberta was reluctant to leave the scene of so much amusement. She was busy kicking up feathers, and blowing them about. Miss Milne led her away, while Bristcombe returned to his kitchen, leaving Delsie and deVigne to go down to the saloon to discuss this new twist in private.
“He was after the money, of course,” she said at once. “I wonder who knew it was there. I don’t put this a bit past the Bristcombes, to have done it themselves while the place was empty.”
“I think not. They had the place to themselves half a week before you came here after Andrew’s death. Why leave it so late?”
“He said the burglar had a key—an ex-servant, that sounds like.”
“Samson,” deVigne said at once. “Andrew’s valet. I paid him off the day after Andrew’s death. If anyone knew Andrew had money stashed in that room, it was he. No doubt he looked around before leaving, but the money was well hidden. You might not have thought to look on top of the canopy yourself, if you hadn’t happened to notice it sagging. Interesting thing—he came to Andrew about three years ago, shortly after Louise’s death. It was not long before, or perhaps after—in any case, around the time of Andrew’s financial troubles, when he sold the place at Merton and tried to get control of Louise’s money. Samson very likely had a key, or could have got one easily enough.”
“He wouldn’t know there was to be no one here on this particular afternoon. Unless he has been skulking about in the rain, spying on us,” she pointed out. “What a pleasant thought! A villain standing at our doorway, with a key to the place in his pocket, to facilitate his entering any time he pleases, to slit our throats or set fire to us.”
“That does not appear to have been his aim, cousin. He waited till the place was empty. Samson would know the Bristcombes often take a Sunday afternoon off, and could have learned with very little trouble, by simple induction, in fact, that you would eat out when your servants were to be away.”
“We shall learn from the constable how he found out. I mean to report him.”
“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that,” he answered, rubbing his chin and gazing into the fire.
“How do you plan to stop me?” she asked in a starchy voice.
He looked at her and smiled suddenly. “Wrong tack again. I ought to have urged you to dash off to Questnow at once in search of the constable, to insure your not reporting it. You forget, we have a little illicit business of our own going on here that we do not wish to call official attention to. Only think how embarrassing if it should come out that the valet—I assume our culprit must be Samson—tells he was looking for a fortune got by illegal means by your husband.”
“He’s your brother-in-law! Don’t make it sound as though I am so closely mixed up in it. I suppose it might come out what he was after, but I don’t mean to stay on here in a house where burglars are free to come and go as they please.”
“You are wishing yourself safely back in Miss Frisk’s garret, I collect? Don’t you think it would be better to change the locks, and take your chances?”
Her bosom swelled in indignation. “It has been clear from the outset that you place no store in my safety or comfort, or you would never have made me marry this villain of an Andrew in the first place. But I should think you would show some concern for your own niece!”
“I am concerned for the safety and comfort of you both. If I thought there were the least real danger, you may be sure I would not permit you to stay on here.”
“Permit me? I shall stay if I want to!”
“Oh, very well, then, stay, but I do think you ought to get the locks changed.”
“Oh!” She stamped her foot in vexation at this subtle trap.
“You should really try to control your temper, ma’am. It canno
t be good for your heart for you to be so easily vexed. Shall I send a man from the Hall to attend to the locks? I have an excellent chap who does that sort of repair work for myself and the Dower House.”
“Very well,” she sighed in resignation. “I have no doubt that when Roberta and myself are lying on a cold slab, your repairman will also construct a superb set of coffins for us. I would like my daughter’s to be painted white. A plain pine box will do for myself.”
“It would be more fitting to paint it black, as a token of your widowhood,” he suggested piously.
“You would choose a royal purple for yourself, I suppose?”
“I am rather fond of mahogany, varnished. Bear it in mind when I am being laid to rest.”
“Your sort lives forever,” she said, arising in agitation to stalk about the room. “There is one good thing anyway—I got the money before Samson got to it.”
“Possession of the stolen goods is considered an advantage now, is it?” he asked, following her perambulations with his eyes.
“I see no advantage in letting another crook have it. What happened to honor among thieves, I wonder?” Suddenly she stopped walking and returned to the sofa. “DeVigne, I have just had an idea! The man outside last night—it was Samson, trying to get in and go over Andrew’s room while we were all asleep. How fortunate I prevented it.”
“I am curious to hear more about last night. I had the idea you did not tell the whole. How did you prevent his entering, when you did no more than peer out a window?”
She felt a flush suffuse her face, and looked quickly away. “Actually I—I went to the door—opened it. That’s all.”
“Why do you find that a matter for blushing?” he pressed on, observing her with a peculiar, knowing smile. “Come, tell me the whole. You went out, didn’t you, when I most particularly cautioned you not to?”
“I took a step outside,” she admitted.
“Foolhardy in the extreme. Don’t stop now. You stepped outside, and...”
“Well, if you must know, he kissed me.”
“How did you enjoy being kissed by a larcenous valet?” he inquired politely. No anger, no concern at her danger!