by Joan Smith
"I knew it couldn't be Mr. I got him well soused before leaving the tavern. Did you know he drinks?"
"No!"
"Oh, yes. When an elderly gent is married to a dasher like Stella, he either takes to the bottle or beats her, depending on his nature. He often does other foolish things as well."
We were in complete darkness during this part of the conversation. I could not gauge by his tone what foolish things he referred to, but inferred he meant tampering with the collection. My own choice was Stella, but I was not sharing my views with the major yet.
"I must go,” I said.
"Mind closing the window after me before you leave?” he asked, very blandly, as though he were suggesting a game of cards, or some perfectly mundane thing.
"Is that how you got in?"
"No, Lucien let me in,” he answered, going to the window. His silhouette was perfectly visible, there against the pane of glass, but his moustache and beard hid his lips. Some crinkling at the corners of his eyes made me think he was enjoying himself.
"Shall I tell Dutch you are staying on here for the present?” he asked, as he heaved up the window, making a perfectly wretched squawking sound.
"Yes, if you see him."
"I'll be sure to see him. I am an inspector of jails, Miss Stacey. A perquisite I picked up as a reward for my illustrious military career. I'll tell you all about it soon. Good evening."
He sat on the window ledge, put his legs over the wall, and disappeared from view, but for eight fingertips that clung to the sill. They let go, and a dull thump told me he had reached the ground. I went to lower the window, carefully.
He swept a graceful and exaggeratedly low bow, there in the dim moonlight, one hand on his chest, the other holding his hat, flung out wide. He looked like some gallant cavalier from a picture story book, with his white teeth, flashing a smile.
Morrison liked playacting, and he liked women too. It was strange he would ruin his looks with that antiquated beard.
Of course it made a good disguise.
Chapter Nine
I learned the next morning that whatever else Major Morrison was, he was rich. He had completed the purchase of the Italian necklace the day before. Beaudel came to the schoolroom to tell Lucien so, and to show him the cheque for five thousand guineas.
"Good. Now I have got my own money,” Lucien said.
"You are well off,” Beaudel agreed, smiling. His eyes were red, his hand not as steady as a hand should be, after his night's intemperance.
"Has Major Morrison left town?” Lucien asked, voicing a thought that had already occurred to me.
"He stays on for a few days in Chelmsford. He is some sort of a government inspector, looking over the jail in these smaller centers. He will soon be on his way to Brighton, to see the Prince Regent."
After a few minutes of talk, Beaudel left. As the weather was so fine, and my student still young, we had some trouble settling down to work. Mrs. Beaudel stopped in to congratulate Lucien on the sale, and to pump him for news. As soon as she learned the Major was in town still, she decided she would run into Chelmsford to do some shopping.
"You two will not want to spend the entire day inside either, Miss Stacey. The last girl used to take Lucien out in the afternoons for some exercise. He likes to go for a walk in the meadow."
"I like to ride my pony better,” he pointed out.
"He only walks. You can easily keep pace on foot,” Mrs. Beaudel told me.
"Miss Little taught me to play battledore and shuttlecock too. I always beated her,” Lucien contributed.
"You shan't beat me, sir,” I warned him boastfully, though I had never attempted the game in my life.
We both looked forward to the morning's end, for the lovely fresh green trees stirred softly outside the window, and the sun shone invitingly. It was a day to read poetry under a spreading beech tree, to don a wide-brimmed hat and go to a garden party, to take a boat out on a lake, or to walk through the fields with one's beau, if one had a beau.
"We could read just as good outside,” Lucien pointed out, when he caught me mooning at the window.
"Just as well,” I corrected automatically.
"All right, let's,” he said, taking the correction for agreement.
Seeing no possible harm in it, I agreed, but wished first to tell either Mr. or Mrs. Beaudel what we intended. When we reached the downstairs hall, Wiggins was showing a caller into Beaudel's study. There were several callers at the Park, so this was by no means unusual. I told Wiggins what we were doing, and he honored me with an oily, impudent smile.
"A pity you haven't got a little older escort, Miss Stacey,” he said. “A pretty young lady like yourself must be bored, here in the country."
"I manage to keep myself occupied,” I said haughtily.
He shook his head. “You governesses are all alike. So bound and determined to be ladies you don't have any fun at all. The rest of us servants, the younger ones, are going to a barn dance tonight. You're welcome to come along, if you've a mind to. I just thought you might be dull, that's all."
I decided he was only trying to be friendly, and like Stella, knew no way of setting about it with a woman, except by flirtation. I declined, but thanked him for the offer.
Lucien and I settled under a tree that gave us a view of the house. I was curious to see what callers came, thinking the major might be ingenious enough to find an excuse to come. The only traffic was Beaudel's visitor leaving, very soon after he had arrived, and toward noon, Mrs. Beaudel returned from town, wearing a peeved expression. No luck chasing the major, I deduced.
It was Mrs. Beaudel's habit to take a ride on a showy bay mare after lunch. She pounded off through the park, but I had no way of knowing where she went. The care of her toilette suggested she might be meeting an admirer. On that day, Beaudel came to the nursery and told Lucien he was off to the bank to deposit his check. He tried to look merry, but failed miserably.
With both the master and mistress out of the house, it seemed a good time to look for Beaudel's account books. What they contained that interested the major, I had no idea, but if he was willing to enter the house by stealth, they must be of great interest.
When Tess, come to remove the trays, mentioned that the servants were busy setting up the dolly for the weekly wash, I felt I would not have a better opportunity. Even Wiggins was at work, carrying water out. To be rid of Lucien, I sent him to the stable for his pony, then I went quietly into Beaudel's office.
His desk top was not littered, as many are. The silver inkpot and a few pens sat in state, with nothing else but a calendar to decorate the surface. It was a double-pedestal mahogany desk, with two rows of drawers. I opened each drawer in turn—none was locked—and found nothing of interest. The material there dated from the days of Sir Giles and his wife. There was a small drawer between the two pedestals. As it was too small to contain ledgers, I had ignored it.
It flew open easily, revealing an untidy welter of business papers of recent date. There were several bills, mostly for items of lady's apparel. Hats, silks, gloves, shoes—the woman was a regular mannequin. A quick estimate sent the sum above the five-hundred mark. Some were marked paid, some not. Rifling toward the back of the drawer, I felt a leather wallet. It was thin, holding only a few sheets of paper. Right on the top was one of such significance I nearly expired. It was an IOU from a Mr. Sangster for five thousand pounds. It was marked paid in full, with today's date. He had used the money from the sale of the necklace to pay his own debts! No wonder he was in such a hurry to get to the bank. He would have to move quickly to get Morrison's check deposited before Sangster made his withdrawal.
The other few pieces of paper were all for redeemed IOUs as well, for lesser amounts. They came to a thousand pounds in all, all dating from the first of the year, a few months after his marriage. I quickly stuffed the papers back in the wallet, returned it to the rear of the drawer, and closed it. I did not continue looking for account books. I felt th
is was what Morrison had been looking for.
The hall was still empty when I peered through a crack of the door. My next step was to consider how to get this information to Morrison. He was a questionable ally, but my father trusted him, and really there was no one else to turn to. There was no way of knowing when, or even whether, he would return to the Park. I had to go to him, and soon. Getting away from Lucien was the problem. He was even then getting his pony saddled up for a ride, but a groom could accompany him.
What I needed was a good excuse to get into town alone, and a means of conveyance. There was no coach passing by, and it was a long walk—five miles. I weighed the advantages of a toothache against a pain in the stomach, wondering if I would get away alone in either case. Might they not send a servant with me if I claimed to be ill, or worse, have a doctor come to the Park? Dentist then—one had to go to him. As soon as either of the Beaudels returned, I would develop a toothache and arrange a drive into town. Meanwhile, I arranged for a young groom to take Lucien to the meadow.
It fell out that Mrs. Beaudel was the first back. She came striding in from the stable, whipping the side of her skirt with her crop.
"How are you coming along, Miss Stacey?” she asked, with no real interest. “I see your trunks have not arrived yet,” she added, with a passing glance at my gown, the same one I had worn since the day I came to them.
"Actually I am not feeling very well,” I said at once, to pave the way for my request.
"What seems to be the trouble? You don't look pale."
"It is a toothache that bothers me,” I replied, rubbing my jaw and casting a woebegone look onto my face.
"What a nuisance for you. There is nothing so depressing. There is a fellow in town who draws teeth very well. Wiggins had to have one drawn a month ago. Why don't you go to see him?"
"I shall. Would it be possible for me to go this afternoon?"
"Mr. Beaudel has the carriage out. There's a gig..."
"That would do perfectly."
"Very well. Go ahead then.” She gave instructions, examining me while she did so. “Funny your jaw is not swollen at all,” she said.
"I would like to get it tended to before it abscesses."
"You are brave. I always wait till the last possible moment. I dread the dentist so. Will you go right away?"
"Yes, as soon as possible."
"Very well, but you'll have to go alone. The servants are washing today. I know they'll destroy my new sprigged muslin,” she said wearily, then strode away, her hips swinging saucily. It was a source of continuing amazement to me that Beaudel had ever married this hussy.
I was soon jogging down the road, as quickly as a sway-backed old jade could carry me. It was a farm animal that was hitched to the gig. How I was to get in touch with Morrison was a problem. If he was out inspecting the jail, I would have to leave a note off at the inn. At least I knew he was at the Shipwalk. Beaudel had mentioned it that morning.
I drove there and stabled the gig, then went into the lobby, with the excellent excuse of inquiring for my trunk. To my surprise, it had arrived, and was loaded onto the gig for me, giving me an excuse to linger. The major was not in, so I used the lobby desk to write him my note. Before I had finished, he came dashing across the street, his timing so perfect you would think he knew I wanted to see him.
"What's happened?” he asked at once, in a sharp tone.
"How did you know..."
We walked a few steps from the desk, then I darted back for my unfinished letter.
"I have a fellow on the lookout—a groom at both inn stables—to keep an eye peeled for you. When your trunk came this morning, I hoped you would come in person for it. Now where can we go to talk? Somewhere we won't be seen—my carriage is probably the best bet. I'll bring it around to the front. Wait here."
He took my letter, which I was crumpling into a ball. “We don't want to leave any evidence around. Besides, who knows when I'll receive another billet doux from you?” He flattened it out and put it in his pocket, so carefully it made me look for a reason.
"If you think you're getting some evidence to blackmail me..."
"What!"
"I didn't sign it."
He shook his head and sighed. “What I was hoping for was something in the nature of ‘My dear Major Morrison: I need you desperately....’ A man could weave marvelous dreams around such an auspicious beginning.” He drew out the paper and glanced at it, frowning at my blunt words. “'Major Morrison: I think I have found what you were looking for.’ And they say poetry is dead,” he commented, shoving it back into his pocket, much less carefully.
"Hurry up with the carriage. I can't stay long."
"Yes sir,” he said, clicking his heels and saluting, with no concern for the few groups standing idly by, watching us.
Within a few minutes I was seated in a very elegant carriage, with the major facing me, demanding to know what had brought me to town. I explained my discovery and my suspicions.
"He made a dart into town to deposit the check. Certainly looks like it in any case,” he said. “Good work, Miss Stacey. What was the name on the smaller IOUs?"
"The name? Beaudel's of course. What do you mean?"
"Beaudel was the I. Who was the U?"
"I don't remember.” I frowned with the effort to conjure up in my mind's eye those squares of paper, but it was only the largest that I recalled. “I know Sangster was the one he paid off today."
"Better than nothing. You should always remember names."
"What's in a name, major?” I asked, reminding him of his own question, and that we both traveled under an alias.
"What did this Sangster fellow look like?"
"A big, burly man. Middle-aged, wearing a badly cut blue jacket. I hadn't much of a look at his face. His hair was fair, reddish, and his face very pink."
"I'll check around town and see if I can discover who he is."
"What does it matter? The important fact is that Beaudel is using Lucien's money to pay his own debts."
"True, but we have to know why he has these large debts. If they are connected in some way with legitimate estate expenses, we'll look no-how, hauling him up before a judge."
"They are connected with milady's bent for finery."
"He has some blunt of his own, possibly sufficient to keep her clothed in the style to which she wishes to become accustomed. He was certainly providing for himself before his brother died, at least."
"He didn't buy six gowns at one time, when he lived alone."
"If he bought even one, I am ashamed of him. Though I doubt two can live as cheaply as one, when one of ‘em is Stella. Still, over five thousand pounds in half a year ... That's a lot of gowns."
"Since he drinks, maybe he gambles too, and loses."
"Quite possibly."
"What should we do about it?” I asked eagerly, wanting to terminate the business, for my father's sake.
"We wait, and keep looking,” was his highly unsatisfactory answer.
"My father..."
"Dutch is all right. I am keeping him supplied with life's necessities, and even a few of its luxuries."
"The greatest luxury he wants is to be able to work. What will it take to clear his name? I thought if we could prove Beaudel is a thief, it would go a long way to proving Papa is innocent. It would be his word, a man of integrity with plenty of people to vouch for it, against that of Beaudel, a proven thief."
"We haven't proven it yet. Be patient. He is the executor of the boys’ estates, remember. Even if he's guilty, it would be possible to fudge the books to show the money went into estate business. He might be, or at least say in the books that he is, borrowing money from Lucien to loan Algernon. Repairs and renovations of a large estate can run into thousands. Not that I have actually seen any evidence of these major overhauls."
"There's not a single repair or renovation going on at the Park. I cannot imagine what it is you're looking for."
"I have the feeling t
hat when I discover it, I shall recognize it. I am a great believer in instinct. The little hindrance is that I haven't a notion what I am looking for."
"We differ there. I know what I'm looking for, and we're not looking for the same thing at all, Major Morrison. Your first priority is not freeing my father, clearing his name of this infamous charge."
"I confess it is not my first priority, but as it will surely follow, I consider we are working towards the same end, Miss Stacey,” he replied, stressing my assumed name, as I had emphasized his own title.
The look that passed between us was closer to animosity than cooperation. “I don't see why I should trust you,” I said, frustrated that my discovery had led to so little.
"I could say the same, with perhaps more reason,” he pointed out. “The diamonds were discovered in your father's pocket after all."
"Not all of them!"
"True, but then your pockets were not searched, were they, Miss van Deusen? I don't know what you can possibly accuse me of."
"Well upon my word, if this doesn't beat all the rest! You come pretending to be a soldier, dressed up in costume whiskers, you seduce Beaudel's wife, you coerce a child into helping you break into the house by bribing him with treats, you—"
"Pretending to be a soldier?” he asked, his gray eyes widening. “My dear masquerader, I could show you scars! Lucien quite begged me to come visit him, and as to what you no doubt consider the more heinous crime—well, it would be ungentlemanly to imply for a single moment the lady was anything but averse to my attentions, so I shan't bother to imply it. She did not have to meet me at the gazebo, however."
"I don't care whose wife you make up to, as long as you keep well away from me. And I don't really mind that you broke into the Park either. What I find utterly disgusting is that you strut about pretending to be an officer. I expect those whiskers you wear are to hide your face from the law for desertion of duty. Any soldier who was actually in the Peninsula would know Burgos was no victory. You must have been living in Bedlam, or Newgate, during those years, to be unaware it was a staggering defeat for us."