by Joan Smith
“Let the gentlemen from Whitehall recover their own property, I’m taking you home to put a cold compress on that lump on your head.”
I could see his head was aching. He refused the compress but agreed to take a headache powder before turning into an unofficial agent for the government.
We discussed possible suspects. Lollie favored Maitland. I favored the tall stranger Maitland’s game warden had seen talking with Lord Harry in the water meadow.
“He’s disappeared—if he ever was here,” Lollie pointed out.
“Of course he was here. Maitland’s game warden—”
“I wonder how much Maitland paid him to see this mysterious stranger.”
I liked Lollie better before he became an agent.
Chapter Nine
A note from Renshaw arrived shortly after I reached home. He suggested that as we had missed our drive yesterday, he would call for me that afternoon at three, unless he heard otherwise from me in the interim.
Aunt Talbot went into a rant. She thought it presumptuous of him to assume he could “call whenever it suits him, and you will be sitting on your thumbs, waiting for him. He’s only after your money, my girl. If he had a hop farm making ten thousand a year, people would have heard of him. A son with that sort of inheritance waiting for him doesn’t go shabbing off to be baked to leather in the sun of India. If I were you, I’d write a note telling him I was busy.”
“Yesterday’s outing was postponed because of the rain. Surely that is what a postponement means, that the outing will take place later,” I said.
“Auntie is right, of course,” Lollie said, “but I wish you will let Renshaw come all the same.” Lollie had adopted a cynical air to go with his new position as self-appointed agent for His Majesty’s government. This air consisted mainly of keeping his eyes half closed, cocking his head to one side, and looking at us mere mortals with tolerant amusement.
He continued, “It must have occurred to you, Amy, that Renshaw arrived hot on the heels of Lord Harry. He might very well be mixed up in this. The shepherd’s hut is as handy to Sommers’s place as it is to Maitland’s.”
“Handier!” Aunt Talbot said at once, although it wasn’t true. The hut is about equidistant from Oakbay, Maitland’s place, and Beau’s. “And what is the matter with your neck, Lollie? Do you have a crick in it?”
The neck straightened infinitesimally.
“Actually, Mr. Renshaw didn’t arrive until the morning after Lord Harry’s death,” I reminded them. “We cannot lay both charges against the poor man. If he has stolen fifty thousand from the government, he hardly has need of my dowry.”
I spoke lightly, making a joke of it, but it was entirely possible that Auntie was right about his being after my dowry. Why should an extremely wealthy, handsome gentleman who could have his pick of the heiresses have his head turned by a provincial miss such as I? He would be in London during the Season selecting an Incomparable for himself.
“Where was he the night before Lord Harry was killed?” Aunt Talbot asked. “I always thought it odd, his arriving so early in the morning from Kent. You remember I mentioned it at the time. He might have arrived the day before and been lurking about the water meadow, looking for Lord Harry.”
“Precisely, and I don’t leave Sommers out of it, either,” Lollie said, peering at us from his hooded eyes. “They might be in it together. Find out what Beau is doing this afternoon, Amy. If he’s out, then you occupy Renshaw while I have a look about Sommers’s land. I doubt Beau would take the stolen property into his own house. Pretty hard to make any claim of innocence if the government property is found on his premises. Inside the house, I mean. You’d be doing the country a good deed by lending assistance.”
“It’s money, Lollie. Not some vague property,” I said. “You’re beginning to sound as pompous as Murray. And if you want to search Beau’s land, I’ll go with you.”
“I’ll take George and my pistol,” he said. “Invite Renshaw in for a glass of wine before you leave. I’d like a chance to find out what he knows. Discreetly, of course. He’ll never know he’s being quizzed.”
It was all done just as Lollie wished. I think Lollie overestimated the danger to his reputation, but Chilton Abbas is a hotbed of gossip and there might be a few raised eyebrows at the money disappearing while he was guarding it.
When Renshaw arrived at three, I invited him in for a glass of wine. He had already heard about the incident in the meadow and inquired about Lollie’s condition.
“A mere tap on the head,” Lollie said cavalierly, but couldn’t resist adding, “It left a lump the size of an onion.” Then he narrowed his brown eyes to slits and asked cunningly, “How did you come to hear of it, Renshaw?”
“I was in Chilton Abbas this morning. The whole village is abuzz with it. I half expected to see you in bed with a sawbones hovering at your side.”
“It would take more than a knock on the head to put me out of commission. You were in Chilton Abbas, you say? What time would that be?”
“Around eleven, I think. Why do you ask?”
I knew the reason. The attack had occurred around ten. I believe Renshaw also suspected the reason for the question, as he went on to outline the rest of his perfectly innocent day without prompting.
“Before that Beau and I were visiting his aunt, Mrs. McLaughlin, who lives on the other side of the village.”
Beau stood to inherit his childless aunt’s small fortune and thus dances attendance on her.
“How is Mrs. McLaughlin?” Aunt Talbot inquired.
“She’s nursing a bad case of arthritis.”
“It’s the rain that brings it on, poor soul,” Auntie said.
“Beau and I lunched at the inn,” Renshaw continued. “I sent that note to you from the inn, Miss Talbot, as soon as I felt the weather had settled down. I was sorry to miss our drive yesterday.” He turned to Lollie and added, “I fancy you won’t be up to testing my grays for a day or two, Talbot?”
“Damme, there’s nothing wrong with my hands and arms. I could drive them today ...” He recalled what more important business he had to accomplish that afternoon. “Well, perhaps tomorrow,” he added reluctantly.
“Shall we set a time?” Renshaw asked at once. “How does the morning suit you?”
“By Jove! As early as you like.” In his eagerness Lollie forgot to narrow his eyes. But he soon remembered. “What is Beau up to this afternoon?” he asked.
“He mentioned coursing hares with a friend.”
“At Beauvert or at his friend’s place?”
“At Beauvert.”
That would make it difficult for Lollie to do any hunting for the bags of money. I soon deduced that he meant to keep an eye on Beau all the same.
“I shall take my fishing rod down to the stream,” he said. The stream, the same one that floods the meadow in the spring, meanders to and fro through the meadow. Pretending to fish would give him the opportunity to watch Beau and his friend. “My head is up to that much strain.”
“Take your gun and keep an eye out for trouble,” Auntie said.
Lollie gave her a dampening glance for revealing his strategy.
“I should think the thief is long gone by now,” Renshaw said. “He’s got the money. He’s taken care of Lord Harry. What is there to keep him in the neighborhood?”
“You don’t think he’s a local lad, then?” Auntie asked.
“You suspect Maitland because the money was in his hut?” Renshaw was so foolish as to inquire.
“Certainly not! Maitland’s place is not the only estate near the hut,” she replied, and began a fierce attack on her petticoat with her needle. She had the garment carefully arranged to conceal its intimate use. She would never sew a petticoat in front of a gentleman if he could see what she was making.
“True, Oakbay is just as close,” Renshaw replied with a glinting smile, “but I’m sure everyone acquits you all of complicity.”
“Why would we report it if
we were the thieves?” I demanded, high on my dignity.
“That certainly gives you an ... air of innocence,” he said, not exactly stressing the “air” but hesitating a moment before saying it. His meaning was perfectly clear in any case.
Before anyone took issue with this ill-bred piece of impertinence, he changed the subject. “You heard, I expect, that Lord Harry was an agent looking for the money?”
“I thought it was supposed to be a secret!” Lollie scowled.
“It is the greatest secret in the village. Everyone is whispering it behind raised fingers. Some are saying the five hundred that was stolen was payment to whoever tipped him off about where the money was hidden. One percent is not much inducement, but if the finder is honest, it is enough. And if he is not, then no amount would be sufficient.”
I looked a question to see if His Majesty’s agent had any further questions. Lollie nodded a curt dismissal and I went out with Renshaw.
“Finding the money must have been quite a shock for you, Miss Talbot,” Renshaw said, when we were clipping along in his curricle. We were headed in the direction of Chilton Abbas.
“The bigger shock was seeing Lollie knocked unconscious. And that horrid Murray, hinting that Lollie had taken the money and hidden it!”
“You’ll be happy to know that no one in the village suspects him. Your brother, I think, is not quite so kind to his neighbors. I can assure you, Beau had nothing to do with it. I was with him the whole time.”
“We don’t particularly suspect Beau.” Nor did I think Renshaw made a totally reliable alibi. They could even be in it together.
“Of course one must consider Maitland,” he said. “No one seems to know where he spent his morning. He wasn’t in the village.”
“He’s a busy man. I’m sure he’ll have some explanation.”
“He’s bound to have an alibi—especially if he’s the guilty party,” he said with a glance to see how I reacted.
I wouldn’t satisfy him by flaring up in Maitland’s defense. I asked nonchalantly, “You didn’t see any sign of the money bags when you were in the hut the day we drove out there?”
“No, nor later that day when I returned for a closer examination. The money was put there after seven o’clock that evening.”
“You went back to look?”
“I was just curious to see if the girl returned looking for her blue ribbon,” he said, smiling in a way that suggested he might have been joking. “She didn’t, but while I was waiting I moved the hay about. There were no bags hidden there at that time.”
I refused to tease him about the girl. “Can’t we speak of something else? Lollie has spoken of nothing but this robbery ever since it happened.”
“I’m sorry to have ruined his afternoon by telling him Beau is coursing hares. He intended to scout Beau’s land for the money, I take it?”
I feigned astonishment. “In his condition? You must be joking!”
“What is this peculiar ‘condition’ whose only symptoms appear to be a narrowing of the eyes and a rash of leading questions? I diagnose the onset of spyitis.”
“Well, I expect he might have a look about while he’s fishing. My brother is eighteen years old, Mr. Renshaw. Still young enough to enjoy a bit of role playing. As all the neighbors are under a cloud, you and Beau cannot expect to escape entirely. You, especially, being a stranger in the neighborhood.”
“Lord Harry was also a stranger, an innocent stranger. As the Bible says, ‘Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.’ “
“And some have entertained less celestial beings, no doubt. If you haven’t a set of wings to flee danger, I suggest you be careful or you may find a dagger in your chest one of these nights,” I warned.
“It is kind of you to worry about me, ma’am.”
Our conversation was conducted in a facetious manner. When Renshaw spoke again, he spoke more seriously.
“It wasn’t a dagger, by the by. It was a hunting knife.”
“Did they find the knife?”
“Yes, quite near where you were sketching, actually. It had been tossed into the water. It was a common knife with a bone handle, the kind that can be bought anywhere.”
“Where did you hear all this?”
“You ought to have gone into Chilton Abbas. That is where one gets all the latest on-dits. I kept a sharp eye out for you. I’m happy to inform you that no one suspects you of wielding the knife. The underrated Monger found it. He spent a deal of time examining the scene of the crime. I discovered something else as well.”
“And what is that?”
“But you don’t want to discuss the case. We shall speak of other things.” He looked about and said, “It’s turned out a fine day after all.”
Chapter Ten
“Mr. Renshaw! What did you discover?” I demanded.
“Still harping on the case? Well, if you insist. Mr. Mulliner doesn’t sell, and never has sold, blue ribbons of the type I found in the hut the day before yesterday. ‘No market for such dear items hereabouts,’ he tells me.”
“Is that all? Good gracious, that’s not news. Now if you told me the ribbon couldn’t be had in Windsor or Woking or Farnborough, you would have something. Not many of us make it all the way to London, but we do get as far as a nearby city from time to time.”
“I haven’t had time to ascertain whether Windsor, Woking, or Farnborough carry such a ribbon. And even if I did, there is always the possibility that the ribbon was sent as a gift from even farther away. No, the ribbon, I fear, is a purple herring.”
“Surely you mean a red herring?”
“And you call yourself an artist! Red and blue make purple, n’est-ce pas?” I frowned at this freakish speech. “Oh, never mind, it’s only a joke.”
We did, finally, speak of other things than the murder and the missing money. I asked Renshaw about India and he told me tales of heat and holy cows and monsoons and loll shrub, which is only red wine with a fancy name, of which a great deal is consumed in India. I had heard more interesting tales from Uncle Hillary.
I suspected that Renshaw’s career had been too raffish to retail any of his stories to a lady. I never did discover why he went. He weaseled out of a real explanation and talked about his love of travel and adventure.
“Very amusing, Mr. Renshaw, but you have not forgotten the price to be paid for my driving out with you?”
“Miss Talbot, I’m shocked!” he exclaimed with laughter lurking in the depths of his dark eyes. “Society has a word for ladies who charge for their company!”
“And no doubt you’re familiar with it. Never mind that, weasel. You were going to tell me who Isaiah saw in the shepherd’s hut.”
“I shall require all my attention to come out of this unscathed,” he said, and drew the curricle to the side of the road near a weeping willow.
“You forgot the best part of Isaiah’s tale, ma’am. Doing ‘things they shouldn’t ought to,’ “ he said, smiling. “Do you know, I’ve been wrestling with my conscience. I shouldn’t have struck that bargain with you. It was ungentlemanly in the extreme. I’m surprised you didn’t point it out to me at the time, as you are always looking out for my behavior. The female in the case was a lady, and a gentleman never carries tales detrimental to a lady’s fragile reputation.”
“It was indeed improper of you to strike such a bargain. It can only be my love of gossip that blinded me to its impropriety or I would have called you to account. But once a gentleman has made a deal, he pays the price. Surely that is the very essence of being a gentleman?”
Renshaw drew off his York tan gloves and flexed his shapely fingers. I wouldn’t have called his hand a fire hand. His fingers were quite long enough for aesthetic admiration. The emerald twinkled on his smallest finger.
“Paying one’s debts is only one of the essential ingredients of gentlemanhood,” he said. Then he flung the gloves aside. “Making a jackass of himself to gain a pretty lady
’s company is another. It was rash, ill-bred, and foolish of me to strike that bargain. I am on the horns of a dilemma here, Miss Talbot. Demmed uncomfortable place to be. Can’t you help me out of this appalling position?”
“Never mind trying to shift the onus on to me. So you’re going back on our bargain!”
“Not at all. You were kind enough to accompany me and I must pay the price, but can’t we reach a compromise? Ask me anything else. Anything. A fair exchange is no robbery.”
He gazed for a moment into my eyes. I read a challenge there. “Is there nothing of a more personal nature you care to know about me?” he asked in an insinuating manner.
“And you promise to tell the truth?”
He looked leery. “Oh, dear, why do I have the feeling I’m hopping from the frying pan into the fire?”
He was right about that. I meant to give him a good roasting about chasing after my fortune.
“That will teach you to renege on a bargain. I want the truth, the whole truth—”
“And nothing but the truth. You would make a fine lawyer, ma’am. Do you remember Portia? ‘The quality of mercy is not strain’d.’ More is expected of a lady lawyer than a mere male.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Renshaw. My question is: Why are you really here? Beau never mentioned you before. You can’t be bosom bows. A brief visit to a school chum might pass muster, but you’ve been with him for days now and show no intention of leaving.”
“You make me sound like a piker! I brought him a case of very fine sherry from—” He came to a guilty stop.
“Wine would certainly be the way to Beau’s heart. You’re not eighteen years old, like Lollie, to be loitering in the neighborhood because of the murder and theft. Are you sure you don’t have an ulterior motive for all these drives out with me?”
I sat back, enjoying his discomfort. Auntie had half convinced me that he was courting me for my dowry, and as he squirmed and turned pink, I felt she had hit it on the head. It was a disappointment, but I hadn’t quite fallen in love with Renshaw yet. Maitland still had a strong-enough grip on my imagination to prevent it. Blame it on my soft heart—or on Renshaw’s boyish embarrassment or on Portia. I let him off the hook.