by Joan Smith
Moira had to take herself by the scruff of the neck and force herself to go belowstairs, where she knew Major Stanby would look for her. She felt the time was ripe to try to sell him the jewels. The settee was empty when she entered the Great Room. The servants had cleared away the traces of lunch. The only person in the room was an elderly gentleman, a traveler, reading a magazine at one of the tables while he sipped coffee.
Moira picked up a journal and sat staring at it with unseeing eyes. Within a quarter of an hour, she heard the firm tread of Lionel March, and her spine stiffened. She forced a smile of welcome when he came bowing and scraping forward.
“I was concerned when you did not come down for luncheon, Lady Crieff,” he said, lifting his coattails and sitting closer to her than she liked. “I hope the headache is not worse?”
The major had made a dashing run to Dover, where he had spent an hour at the newspaper office, looking into the history of Lady Crieff. He was now in full possession of all the details, including the value of the Crieff collection.
“Truth to tell, Major, it was something else that was bothering me. The jeweler from London should be here by now. I begin to wonder if he has changed his mind, after having me come all this way to meet him. I don’t know what I shall do if he does not come.”
“Have you thought over my offer?”
She gave a small, trusting smile. “You are so kind, but truly I could not let the jewels out of my possession for only five thousand pounds. They are worth twenty times that. Who is to say you would not be robbed on your way to Paris? I shall just take them to London and try my luck there.”
“If you mistrust me—and you are quite right to mistrust a stranger’s ingenuity, if not his honesty—you could come to France with me,” he said.
She gave a gasp of alarm. “Major Stanby! I could not travel about with a gentleman! What would people think?”
“You misunderstand me, my dear. I meant you could hire a chaperon and accompany me. In that manner, you would see I do not plan to run off with your fortune.” He gave a disparaging laugh at such an idea. “Have you ever been to Paris?”
“No, I have never even been to London.”
“You were made for Paris, and Paris for you. It is delightful.”
She had to talk this idea away and said, “I do not speak French. I would not be comfortable there. I would prefer to deal with an honest Englishman.”
Stanby shook his head doubtfully. “I do not wish to add to your troubles, my dear, but if the jeweler has not come, there must be a reason for it. It is very difficult to sell jewels of—how shall I put it— doubtful origin. Jewels that the law might say are stolen, even though they are yours by rights.”
“But that is why I was willing to sell them for half their value. I am aware that they would be difficult to sell in the short term. Eventually the talk will die down. I shall write to Mr. Everett, the jeweler. Do you think I ought to lower my price?” she asked uncertainly. “He might come for forty thousand.”
“You would be fortunate to get ten for them, milady.”
“Ten thousand! But that is ludicrous. Aubrey’s lawyers would settle for more than that, to avoid going to court. They spoke of giving me a fifth of the value, twenty thousand pounds. If I cannot do better than that, I shall take them back to Penworth.”
Stanby was happy with the figure. He patted her hand gently. “I see you are shrewd as well as pretty. I have a broad circle of acquaintances from my business dealings in London. I might know a collector who would give you a little more than twenty. Just between ourselves, what would you take?”
“Thirty,” she said, knowing there must be some haggling but determined not to take less than the twenty-five March had stolen from her and Jonathon.
He frowned. “I doubt Lord—my friend would go that high. Let me offer him the collection for twenty-five and see what he says.”
“Only a quarter of their worth? I had hoped to get more. Oh, very well. I suppose I must, as I am at my wit’s end.”
“Of course, I would have to see the jewels. I daresay my friend would trust me to act as his agent in the matter. We are old and true friends.”
Moira felt a suffocating excitement invade her. She could hardly speak for the blood pounding in her ears. She was on the verge of success, and she must deal most cautiously or all her work was in vain. March knew her face now; there would be no second chance. The first item was to show the jewels in a poor light. In daylight, he would see they were fakes.
“You have seen one set of diamonds, and the sapphires,” she reminded him.
“It is the emeralds, however, that are most valuable, I believe. I wonder you did not wear them with that enchanting green gown last night.”
“They are much too valuable to be flaunting at a public inn. But I shall wear them this evening so that you may judge them,” she said.
“Excellent. You shall dine with me, Lady Crieff, to allow me to study them a little.”
She gave an insouciant smile. “Good gracious, Major, do you not trust me?” she asked. “I have admitted I do not have full legal entitlement to the collection, but I assure you the jewels are genuine. I can show you articles from the journals, if you do not believe me. They were quite horrid about it, but even the most scurrilous hack did not suggest the jewels were fakes. Why would the lawyers make such a fuss over paste jewels?”
Her naive arguments convinced Stanby that she had the goods right enough. His next ploy was to firm up a future alliance with her.
“We must keep in touch when you go to London, my dear. A lady possessing twenty-five thousand pounds will attract every gazetted fortune hunter in town. You will require a protector. I have a broad circle of acquaintances. I would be delighted to sponsor you into society.”
She smiled fatuously. “Would you really, Major? I was a trifle concerned about how I should meet the right sort of people.”
“I would be honored, my dear.” He took her fingers and squeezed them warmly. “You and I shall deal very well together.”
“What part of town should I live in?” she asked, quelling the urge to withdraw her fingers.
For half an hour they discussed such things as living arrangements and Lady Crieff’s debut into society. The major recommended a house close to his own, allegedly on Grosvenor Square. It was not of a presentation at St. James’s Court or society balls that he spoke but of such low amusements as the Pantheon masquerades and Vauxhall. Moira expressed a suitable enthusiasm for them all.
“How soon do you think you can be in touch with your friend about selling the jewels?” she asked.
“I shall dash him off a note this very minute. Send it by special messenger. And you will remember you are dining with me this evening, Lady Crieff.”
“I look forward to it, Major.”
Moira drew a deep breath of relief as she watched him go. The tension eased out of her shoulders, leaving her limp. She felt soiled from such prolonged contact with Lionel March. And she still had to face dinner with him, knowing he was assessing a set of paste emeralds. She must distract him as much as possible. Flirtation seemed the likeliest way to do it—that, and a very low-cut gown. Worst of all, she had to carry out this disgusting charade under the eyes of Mr. Hartly. Her twenty-five thousand pounds were being hard-earned.
Chapter Fourteen
“What did Hartly do this afternoon?” Moira asked Jonathon when he returned to change for dinner.
“He was riding about the countryside, poking into ditches and haystacks and barns looking for brandy. Then he sat on the cliff with a spyglass, watching the smuggling ships for a bit. When he returned to the inn and went into the taproom, I took a run down to Cove House. Cousin John tells me he has brandy hidden all over the countryside. If Hartly moves tonight, he will recover some of the cargo, but he will not be able to tie Marchbank to it. Cousin John means to lie low.”
“That is the main thing, that Marchbank not be arrested. He will have to suffer the loss in silence.
”
“That is what Marchbank said. I am to continue watching Hartly.” He looked at his sister and said, “I say, Moira, why are you wearing the emeralds?”
“Major Stanby wants to see them. He has taken the bait, Jon,” she said, and laughed a nervous laugh.
“By the living jingo! Tell me all about it.”
She outlined her afternoon’s work. “We are to dine at his table this evening,” she said in finishing her tale.
“Well done! I wonder you could bear to let the old goat touch you. I should rinse myself off with bleach if I was you. Do you think he will know the stones are paste?”
“God only knows. If he asks me to take them off and looks at them under a loupe, we are lost. I shall just have to claim Sir Aubrey left me a box of strass glass and depart with my tail between my legs. Run along and change. It is nearly time for dinner.”
The major wore the smile of a suitor when he met Moira and Jonathon at the door of the Great Room. His eyes went straight to the necklace even before he looked at her face. Expecting to see a fabulous emerald necklace, he found no fault with the stones.
Moira put her hand on his arm and began speaking at once, to distract him. She said in a low voice, “Say nothing in front of David. He does not know of my plan. Did you write that letter to your friend?” she asked.
“Indeed I did. It is on its way to London. We will have an answer by morning.”
She spoke more loudly then, including Jonathon in the conversation. “Shall we take our seats?”
The major led her proudly to his table, holding to her arm as if she were a prisoner, which was exactly how she felt.
“I shall sit next to you, Major,” she said with a bright smile. He would not have such a good view of the necklace from her side as he would if she sat across from him.
Stanby drew her chair and they all sat down.
Stanby said, “I have ordered champagne, knowing it is a treat for you youngsters.”
“David may have only one glass. That will leave the rest for us, Major,” she added, smiling flirtatiously.
The champagne was brought and poured.
The sight that greeted Hartly’s eyes when he arrived was Lady Crieff and the major, sitting side by side, laughing and sipping champagne, while David was completely ignored. Hartly could not make heads or tails of it. Lady Crieff spoke of mistrusting Stanby. Why had she elected to make a special friend of him? He bowed stiffly, then took up his own seat.
He already knew Lady Crieff’s jewels were paste. If she knew it, too, then she might be making a play for a wealthy bachelor. She could hardly have chosen worse than Stanby. It was only her fortune he was after. Yet she was in no real danger; the worst Stanby could do was relieve her of her paste jewels. It might prove a salutary lesson for her. Having settled this, he hoped to forget the matter.
But his mind would not leave him alone. It was aggravating to see her flirting her head off with that old goat of a Stanby. Good God, had she no taste, no scruples at all? Having sold herself to one old man, was she about to repeat her folly?
By dint of outrageous flirtation, Moira managed to keep Stanby from making too close an examination of the “emeralds.” Every time his hateful gooseberry eyes turned to look at them, she set up a new round of flirtation. She touched his hand, she smiled and chattered and teased, she leaned forward to let her gown reveal a little more of her bosoms, and generally behaved like a hoyden. All this kept the major in spirits but so annoyed Hartly that he left halfway through his dinner.
Jonathon gobbled down his mutton and said, “May I be excused, Lady Crieff? I have had enough dinner. I would like to go for a ride before it comes on dark.”
“Very well, David, but be back before dark.”
Stanby turned and seized her fingers. “Alone, at last,” he said in dulcet tones.
Moira’s heart rose to her throat. What would come next? She never thought she would be happy to see Mr. Ponsonby, but when he stopped at their table, she was so relieved, she greeted him like a lost-lost friend. She teased him about how much he had drunk and asked if Bow Street had discovered him yet.
“Did you know Mr. Ponsonby is a murderer, Major Stanby?” she asked.
“I have heard the tale of Noddy.” Stanby smiled.
“Are you on for a friendly game this evening, Major?” Ponsonby inquired. “We missed our game last night because of the assembly.”
“Later, Ponsonby. Lady Crieff and I plan a tête-à-tête by the fireside first.”
Stanby was smiling at Lady Crieff and missed the brief flash of intelligent interest that shone in Ponsonby’s eyes. Moira caught it and wondered if Ponsonby was as foolish as he let on. His loose smile hardened to cynicism. Then, so quickly that she was not sure she had not imagined it, his stupid, expression was back in place.
“Do I smell April and May?” he asked coyly.
“You are too foolish,” Moira scoffed.
‘‘Business, Ponsonby. Purely business,” the major said. “We shall meet around, say, nine? I look forward to it. See if you can round up Hartly as well. I am feeling lucky tonight.” He directed a telling look at Moira on the last sentence.
Ponsonby wandered out the door and on outside for a stroll. He spotted Hartly standing alone, gazing balefully at the water, and joined him. “I have just had a word with Stanby,” he said. “He is keen for a game later. Are you on?”
“Yes, why not?”
“You noticed who Lady Crieff was dining with? Something brewing there, eh? Romance, do you think, or business?”
“I doubt there is much distinction in their minds.”
“I teased them a little. He claimed it was just business.”
“If the lady plans to sell him her paste gems, someone ought to warn the bleater.” His concern had nothing to do with Stanby’s welfare. He was afraid there was not enough money for him to be conned twice.
“You think the collection is not genuine?” Ponsonby asked.
“I know it.”
“I did wonder how she got hold of it.”
“Getting hold of it was no problem. Sir Aubrey left it to her in his will.”
“Oh, no,” Ponsonby said, smiling from ear to ear. “He left it to Lady Crieff. The raven-haired beauty is not Lady Crieff. I visited my aunt at Rye this afternoon. She has a sister in Scotland. She tells me Lady Crieff is a bran-faced, red-haired gel, dirt common. Strangely, the real Lady Crieff did take the collection and make a bolt for it. She was caught at the border and hauled back. The story was hushed up for the sake of the family. Auntie heard Lady Crieff settled for ten thousand and has taken up with the head groom. Interesting, eh?”
Hartly stood like a statue, staring in disbelief while a dozen questions buzzed through his head. He gave tongue to the most pressing of them. “But if she is not Lady Crieff, who the devil is she?”
“A dashed pretty adventuress.”
“Lady Marchbank acknowledges her.”
“That is another odd thing. My aunt has never heard of any connection between the Marchbanks and the Crieffs, and she has known the Marchbanks from the egg. No, Hartly, the hussy read the story somewhere and decided to make gain of it. What I have been puzzling over is the Marchbank connection. How did she bribe or con the Marchbanks into lending her countenance?”
“I have no idea,” Hartly replied in a stunned voice.
“And why did she choose Stanby and no one else as her victim? I mean to say, I have been acting the rich fool, throwing myself at her head, and she did not try to sell me her collection of paste. Or you, come to that. You are not entirely indifferent, I think. Why him?”
A slow smile moved across Hartly’s lips. “I don’t know, but I shall ask her.”
Ponsonby frowned. “What, just come right out and ask her? She will lie her head off.”
“She hasn’t much choice but to give an explanation. I shall insist on it.”
“I shouldn’t like to do that. I mean to say, she may not be Lady Crieff, but she is a
lady, don’t you think?”
“Either a provincial lady or a damned fine actress. While we are speaking of explanations, Ponsonby, just what the devil are you really doing here? A man don’t hide in Blaxstead when he has killed his man. He rusticates at his estate. There has been no mention of that duel in the journals.”
“I daresay Noddy recovered. He was not a bad fellow. I am happy for it, to tell the truth.”
“The truth? We have not heard much of that. Come now, I know you were in Stanby’s room last night.”
“I was bosky.”
“No, my friend, you were as sober as you were the night you arrived. I do not think you and I are at odds. I suspect we have something in common, and I could use a colleague.”
Ponsonby thought a moment, then said, “Say you are right, just for the sake of argument—what did you have in mind?”
Hartly looked around to see they were not overheard. “There are too many ears here to suit me. Let us walk along a little. I have a story—and a proposition—that might amuse you, Mr. Ponsonby. Or should I say Lord Everly?”
“How the devil did you know that?”
“I did not know it. It was my man, Mott, who recognized you. You were at Harrow with Mott some years ago. You might remember him better by the name Lord Rudolph Sinclair.”
“So it is Rudy! I thought he looked very like, but it was so many years ago. What the deuce is going on, Hartly?”
“That is what I am about to tell you.”
They turned and walked off, away from the small throng around the estuary.
Chapter Fifteen
Jonathon found scant entertainment in following Mr. Hartly from the dining room to the estuary, but that was the extent of the gentleman’s travel. Soon Ponsonby had joined up with Hartly, and the two began a dull promenade back and forth along the banks of the water. It was difficult to follow them at a distance that made eavesdropping possible. Ponsonby had given him a couple of decidedly odd looks when he tried it. In the end, Jon was forced to give up. He decided to take Firefly for a ride. When he returned half an hour later, he knew he had not missed a thing, for Ponsonby and Hartly were still at it, talking six to the dozen. Jon stabled his mount and returned to the front door just as they were entering the inn.