by Joan Smith
“Yes. I want to warn Clifford he must behave with the utmost discretion. I won’t have him bothering my guests.”
“It is a very pale rose I had in mind.”
“Yes, yes. A very pale rose. I wish you would hurry, Buck.”
“He’ll do you up in a garish pink if you don’t keep an eye on him. I’ll take a dart over myself later.”
“Fine, but first call Clifford.”
Buck left and was back in five minutes. “Clifford isn’t free right now. They tell me he’s interviewing Mr. Meecham in his room. Giving another client a disgust of us,” he added sadly. “And Mr. Meecham such a fine gentleman, too, a friend of Joshua’s.”
“In his room?” Esther asked quickly.
“Yes, but I daresay he won’t be long. Shall we nip over and check out the painter while you wait?”
Esther was already on her feet. “No, I’ll wait in my room, Buck,” she said, and flew upstairs, where she put her ear to the wall to try to overhear what was being said next door. Lowden Hall had been well built. No sound penetrated through the thick layers of lath and plaster and several coats of paper.
She tried the fireplace that backed against Mr. Meecham’s fireplace; it was a little better. She could hear a low hum but nothing distinguishable as a human voice. Dare she go into the hall and put her ear to the door? No, that was too farouche. She looked hopefully to the window. Hers was closed, but if she opened it, and if Mr. Meecham happened to have his open ... She ran to the window and flung it open. By sticking her head and shoulders out, she could see that Mr. Meecham’s window was closed tight. There was nothing to do but wait.
When Mr. Meecham’s door was heard to open, she ran to her own door, and when Mr. Clifford sauntered past, she whispered to him. A cunning, wizened little prune of a face turned and stared at her from a pair of bright brown eyes. The man looked deplorably out of place at her inn. That dilapidated blue jacket was no ornament even to the farming profession, but he was an officer of the law, and Esther beckoned him into her chamber.
“I must speak to you,” she said, and introduced herself.
“Ye were my next stop. Ye know who I am, then,” he said, his head wagging importantly.
“Yes, indeed, and I am very grateful that you are staying here,” she said politely, for she wanted to ingratiate him.
“I’m doing no more than my duty,” he answered with a quiet show of modesty. “The world’s as bent as the devil’s elbow, and it is my job to straighten it.”
“You do it very well, I’m sure. Did you learn anything interesting from Mr. Meecham?” she asked.
“As ill luck would have it, he slept through the entire affair, so he couldn’t tell me if there were any comings or goings here last night. He was a trifle foxed, I believe. Certainly his room smelled like a brewery.”
“Have you spoken to Mr. Fletcher?” was her next question, delivered with such a sapient eye that the runner perked up his ears.
“Aye, that I have, miss,” he said, and nodded wisely.
“Did he mention Mr. Meecham to you?” she inquired. Now that the moment was at hand, she found herself strangely loath to air her suspicions of Meecham. What did they amount to in the end? He hadn’t told her he was a veteran. He had been in her barn—which was hardly criminal when he told her his reason. And he had kissed her—which she had no intention of mentioning. Ah, but there was the ladder!
“I can’t say that he did, but Mr. Meecham mentioned Fletcher,” Clifford answered with a sage nod. “Strange, Fletcher hanging about here with no rhyme or reason.”
“He has a reason! He is looking to buy a property nearby."
“Aye, but he hasn’t visited an estate agent. Claiming to be in Windsor the night the Higginses was robbed, and losing a wheel—that’s a poor sort of a story.”
“Mr. Clifford!” Esther exclaimed, astonished at such wrongheadedness. “You’re not suggesting Mr. Fletcher is involved! The local judge saw him with his carriage broken down the night the Higginses were robbed.”
“It was dark as the devil’s waistcoat that night.”
“Judge Mortimer identified him. It is my inn he wishes to buy. I gave him a tour yesterday.”
“Now, that I find highly suspicious,” Clifford said, shaking his head. “Why else would he want a tour of your ken but for to know all the ins and outs of it? Where he might stash a cache of stolen goods, or come and go as he pleases. Highly suspicious,” he added. “Has he made you an offer to purchase the inn?”
“Good heavens, no. It’s only been mentioned. Nothing is definite.”
As Meecham hadn’t hesitated to direct blame away from himself, Esther delayed no longer in redirecting it to its proper target. “Mr. Meecham was trespassing at an old abandoned barn of mine yesterday,” she said. “There were fresh marks from horses there.”
“So he told me. And the bottle of wine from your place, too. 'Tis fortunate he discovered that. I hope you haven’t mentioned it to young Fletcher? I took a quick trot over to the barn this morning, but it wasn’t used for the gold robbery. A wagon rattling in and out would have alerted you. Did you tell Fletcher about the barn?”
“Of course I did!”
“Why, of course, miss, if you don’t mind my asking? Aiding and abetting an outlaw highwayman won’t do yer reputation a deal of good.”
She shook her head angrily. “You’ve got it all wrong,” she said, and outlined the true nature of events.
Mr. Clifford listened patiently, only shaking his head at her naiveté. “Yer partiality for young Fletcher is showing, if you don’t mind my saying so, Miss Lowden. I know both the lads are right in size and shape and agility to be Captain Johnnie.”
“No, they’re not. Mr. Fletcher is too thin.”
“Jackets can be wadded out to any size. Both landed in on you around the same time as well, and both keep lurking about with no clear reason. Fletcher took a tour of the place. Why would it be you chose Meecham as your highwayman?”
“Because—” Esther came to a dead stop. After a little consideration she said, “Meecham rides a dark stallion. Mr. Fletcher’s mount is white.”
“That’s highly suspicious. It is,” Clifford said.
She relaxed at his agreement, but he soon spoke on to disillusion her. “Highly suspicious that Fletcher chose a white mount. They’re rarish, except in old gray nags that are white with age. Fletcher’s is a genuine white mare. It certainly looks like he’s trying to deflect suspicion from hisself. As to Meecham’s nag, if it’s the dark horse stabled here he uses when he’s being Captain Johnnie, what would he need your old stable for?”
“Perhaps he has two mounts,” she invented. “Last night there were two men.”
Clifford fixed her with a piercing brown eye. “Do ye really think Captain Johnnie’s such a fiat, he’d ride his working horse into public, bold as brass? Divil a bit of it.”
She played her ace. “Mr. Meecham used a ladder to enter his room the night the Higginses were robbed,” she said, and explained the time element.
“That is odd,” he admitted. “I’ll quiz him on that score. What is odder is that young Meecham was at pains to ask around who Ramsay is, and when he found out he was the prime citizen in the countryside, he suddenly decides he was at school with his cousin.”
Esther came to quick attention. “Did he, indeed? I hadn’t heard it. But he could hardly ‘decide’ such a thing, Mr. Clifford,” she pointed out reluctantly. “He would need names, times—information.”
“Which he was at pains to get in the tavern that same night and went strutting out to meet Ramsay next morning when he stopped by the inn. Oh, he’s a cunning enough rogue, Mr. Meecham,” he finished.
Seeing her runner was being more reasonable, Esther tried a new tack. “You realize Mr. Meecham was in the army, like Captain Johnnie,” she said.
“I do. Quite a hero he was. I’ve checked that out.”
“You haven’t had time,” Esther said swiftly.
Cli
fford smiled an oily smile. “Bow Street is awake on all suits, miss. We had half a dozen lads down here this morning. I sent one of them off to check war records. Captain Meecham was in the Peninsula with Beau Douro, right enough. A fine job he did, too, by all accounts. Near got his left arm blown off, but it didn’t stop him. Ah, I do like a military man,” Clifford finished, sighing in admiration. “If I was twenty years younger, I’d have been in the Peninsula myself, giving Beau a hand.”
Officer Clifford rose and strutted to the door, a shabby parody of a hero. “As to your Fletcher, since you’re so mighty close to him, Miss Lowden, you might fish around and see if you can find out who and what he really is. Not that he’ll tell you, but a clever lady like yourself might pick up on something.” The words “clever lady” were delivered with an ironic smile.
“Mr. Fletcher is ex-navy, Mr. Clifford.”
“The Admiralty is slower than the army to cough up their secrets. I haven’t verified him yet. Not that he couldn’t borrow a real sailor’s name.”
“The same applies to Meecham.”
“There’s no saying the Scamp was a military lad at all. There’s always a hundred rumors about such creatures. He don’t wear scarlet regimentals, and if he did, it wouldn’t necessarily prove anything but he visited a costume store. Facts, Miss Lowden. That’s what I’m after. Facts, not rumors. How did the Scamp learn that gold shipment was being made, for example? There’s a puzzler.” Mr. Clifford bowed and left the room, muttering into his collar.
Esther was so disgusted with him, she didn’t know whether to laugh or shout. To think the capture of Captain Johnnie was in the hands of a fool like that was enough to sink her spirits. She wanted time to think in private and sent off for tea to soothe her addled nerves.
How did Meecham discover the gold shipment was being made if it was a guarded secret? It must have been his accomplice, someone from London, who ferreted that out. I was talking to Sir Clarence Fulbright at the finance minister’s department about Paul. Good God! Had Joshua learned of the shipment yesterday and inadvertently let it slip out to Meecham? He said, when he left her, that he was going to see Meecham. She must ask Joshua about that.
Over the second cup of tea her thoughts took a different direction. There were some striking similarities between Fletcher and Meecham. As Clifford pointed out, both were the right size and coloring to be the notorious highwayman, or could be with wadding in the shoulders of a jacket. Both had arrived at the inn at the same time, and both were remaining longer than guests usually did, both using the pretext of wanting to buy a house in the neighborhood. How could she know whether they were lying? Joshua hadn’t met Meecham before this visit, and it was possible Meecham had invented the whole matter of being at Harrow with Josh’s cousin.
Esther thought and thought. It occurred to her that there had been two men involved in last night’s robbery, and perhaps Fletcher and Meecham were a team, calling themselves ex-soldier and sailor to confuse everyone. How they must be laughing at her if she had set one thief to watch his partner. After much earnest effort all she could think of was to follow Clifford’s advice. She’d try to learn more about not only Meecham but also Fletcher.
She couldn’t pursue any of her goals from her room, so she tidied her toilette and headed for the door. Glancing at the tea tray, she decided to take it to the kitchen herself, down the servants’ stairs. She had just entered the hall when Mr. Meecham’s door opened and he, too, left his room. He gave a start of surprise when he saw her. “Miss Lowden!” He looked at the tea tray and the door from which she had issued. “A shortage of servants?” he asked archly.
She gave an answering smile, engineered to disarm suspicion. “Not quite. I am having my saloon painted, and am living at the inn for a few days.”
“Let me take that to the kitchen for you.” He took the tray from her.
“Thank you. Did Joshua Ramsay find you last night? He was at my house and mentioned coming here to look you up.”
“He stopped around for a moment, but as I was busy at a card game, he didn’t stay long.” But it wouldn’t take long to mention having spoken to the Finance Department, and Meecham would pump him for any useful information. It was, presumably, the meeting with the Finance Department that Josh would have discussed with his protégé. “You’ve heard of Captain Johnnie’s latest stunt?”
“I have. Shocking, is it not?”
“You must take care not to go near the heath after dark, Miss Lowden.”
She gave him a conning smile. “And you, too, Mr. Meecham.”
On this superficial pleasantry Mr. Meecham took the tray to the kitchen, and Esther set off to find Joshua, to pick his brains.
Chapter Eight
Joshua Ramsay had heard of Captain Johnnie’s latest atrocity and, like half the gentlemen in the neighborhood, went pelting off to the Lowden Arms to discuss it with his colleagues. His dark brows drew together when he saw Esther tripping toward Buck’s office. He went storming in after her.
“Esther, for God’s sake, go home. This is no time for you to be in a place like this! Every yahoo in town is here this morning.”
He was back to his usual self, all reckless charm abandoned. Esther almost felt she had imagined that romantic kiss the night before. “Why should I be different from the rest of you? It’s my inn. Sit down, Josh. I was just going to ask Buck to send a footboy after you. You’ve heard about the gold robbery?”
“Of course. That’s why I’m here.”
“Did the gentleman at the Finance Department in London happen to mention the shipment to you yesterday?”
“No, he didn’t. Why do you ask?”
“Just curious. I don’t see how else anyone around here learned of it. I thought you might have mentioned it to Meecham last night—inadvertently, of course,” she added hastily as Joshua’s scowl grew to dangerous proportions.
“The Scamp must have an accomplice in London,” he replied coolly. “Or perhaps Johnnie himself operates out of the city. We never had any proof he’s staying in our neighborhood.”
Esther pondered this idea, unhappy to have her theories come to nought. It had been worrisome thinking the Scamp was staying at her inn, but it had been exciting, too. “You’re probably right,” she admitted. “Why must you always put a damper on any little excitement that comes along, Josh?”
“Murder and robbery are hardly the proper excitements for a young lady. You ought to be attending balls and parties.”
She gave him an ironical glance. “I never miss the local assembly—two thrilling excitements a year. How do I stand the pace?”
Joshua studied her a moment. He told himself he disliked that strain of unsteadiness in Esther that must always have some rig running, yet it attracted him, too. To see her saucy shoulders slumped in ennui saddened him. To cheer her he said, “I hope you don’t plan to miss my ball. I’ve decided to resume the tradition.”
Her face lit up like a lamp. “Joshua! How splendid! When? Is it going to be very grand?”
“It will take a couple of weeks to prepare. We’ll make it as grand as you like. Pick a theme—a masquerade party, perhaps.”
“A formal ball! Lovely. I haven’t had an excuse to buy a new ball gown in ages.”
“Or a masquerade. Have you ever attended one?”
“No, but—”
"Then we must make it a masquerade, just for you.”
Esther rather preferred a formal ball, but was pleased at the attention of having any sort of party in her honor, and didn’t demur. “I’ll help. I can write the cards for you.”
“What will you come as, Esther? Pierrette? Cinderella?”
“I fancy myself as a more modern, enlightened lady.”
“Madame de Stael, perhaps?” he joked.
“Or a working lady—say a publican.”
He quelled his annoyance and smiled. “Would you like me to accompany you home now?”
“Oh, I am at home. I’ve moved into the inn,” she teased.
“Only for the nonce, while my house is being painted."
“You did it on purpose! You just wanted to be at the hub of all the excitement.”
“Who would not?” She laughed. “Now it is beginning to seem all the excitement is over.”
“You’d never know it to see the crowds in your lobby."
“And the Bow Street runners here, annoying my customers.”
“Bow Street is here? I’ll have a word with them.”
Joshua left, and Esther went to sit in Buck’s chair to think about the masquerade party. Now, what had made Josh decide to have it? Had he done it for her? She was interrupted by a tap at the door, and before she answered, Lady Gloria came tripping in, dragging an assortment of gossamer shawls after her. Her vague smile didn’t deceive Esther as to the reason for the visit. Lady Gloria always had a complaint. On this occasion she had more interesting words as well.
“Ah, Esther, I was expecting to see Buck, but you will do equally well. I’m afraid the strawberries were a leet-tle sour this morning. They weren’t quite ripe, I think. I hope your guests aren’t all suffering from the gripe as I shall be.”
“I’ll speak to Cook.”
She hoped this would get Lady Gloria out the door, but the dame sat down and tilted her head conspiratorially toward the desk. In the sunlight her scalp showed through her thinning hair. “Quite a ruckus here today.”
“Yes, we’re rather busy.”
“I was just wondering, Esther, whether I should mention Mr. Meecham to Bow Street.”
“If Officer Clifford speaks to you, you might just mention the ladder incident.”
“I had forgotten all about it. No, what I had in mind was the other ... You haven’t had any complaints about theft in your inn?”
Esther blanched. “What do you mean? Are you missing something?”
“Not I. You know I keep all my valuables about me.” She patted the omnipresent pearls. “I referred to Mr. Fletcher. I saw Mr. Meecham slipping into his room last night, when poor Mr. Fletcher was asleep. It must have been two o’clock. I was awake. I have great trouble sleeping, but I don’t say it is only the traffic in your halls that causes it. It is my age. So annoying, and I can’t read as I used to, either. The eyes are gone.”