Gwenllian scooted her chair over so she could put her arm around her sister's shoulders. “This must have been so difficult for you. You should have told me sooner."
"La, I do not mind so much,” Letticia said, making a fair attempt at nonchalance. “It is only that he thinks he is fooling me. I want to know that he has not. He will not have won anything I did not let him win. But I must know the game in order to play it, do you see?"
Gwenllian nodded. “Pride is at stake here, then. Not love."
Her sister's eyes brightened. “Precisely."
Gwenllian nodded again. She had always known Letticia's marriage was not a love match. More a fair exchange of goods and services. But she had thought, she had hoped.
She was a romantic ninny.
Marriage was a serious business. Not something people entered into because of love or ... Her thoughts flashed to the pinery. Simply disgraceful behavior. No, she refused to regret it. It had been so delightfully lovely. But it had certainly not been respectable, marriageable behavior. Here they were discussing wicked mistresses and she was mistress material. Mr. Wyckliff had treated her like a mistress. Mr. Wyckliff would never marry her.
What was she thinking? Certainly he would never marry her. She had few goods and no services. What need would he have of her? She would remain on the shelf and collect a thick layer of dust.
She shook her head. “So you were outside last night because you were following one of them?"
"Actually, I think I was following you. I heard first one set of noises in the hall, then another, but though I patrolled the house I found no one. Then I saw a figure go into the pinery. So I sneaked out to catch them."
Gwenllian took a sip of her chocolate. “Your plan to determine which is the mistress is to catch them at it?"
"You have a better idea?"
"Let me think.” She extricated her arm to finish her chocolate and asked for more. She was halfway through her second cup before she spoke again.
"Everyone is out at church, correct?"
Letticia nodded.
"Let us search Isabella and Mariah's rooms."
"You don't think one would have brought letters from Edgar?"
"No, not letters. But maybe jewelry. Both Isabella and Mariah have the sort of temperament which would find delight in wearing gifts from the husband in front of the unknowing wife.” Gwenllian took another sip of chocolate. “Or perhaps one of the jewels bears an inscription which makes leaving it outside her own keeping a risk, so the guilty party was compelled to bring it.” She shrugged. “Could be there is nothing to any of this, but we might as well chance looking. Of course, it is a violation of all the laws of hospitality to search a guest's room."
Letticia was already heading out the door. “I'm searching Isabella's room,” she called. “You do Mariah's."
* * * *
At first Gwenllian had been distinctly uncomfortable, but now she gently rifled through Mariah's belongings with a sense of fascination. Looking at Mariah's belongings was rather like stealing a peek behind the scenes at a theater. One believed the performance completely natural until one witnessed just how much artifice was in fact involved.
Face creams, skin pastes, rouges, lip salves and even several patented soaps were lined in rows in front of the dressing table mirror like soldiers awaiting battle. On top of one of the chamber's little round tables were grouped such a collection of bottles and jars that she thought Mariah had purchased every powder, tincture and lotion ever produced. Poor Mariah. Gwenllian momentarily felt sorry for the desperation represented by all those little bottles.
Searching through the dressers and high chest proved fruitless, other than exposing Gwenllian to the expensive beauty of Mariah's apparel. Soon the only hiding place left in the room was a black and gold japanned cabinet. Its small drawers were empty, but the large drawer contained several reticules, all different shapes and colors, designed to complement Mariah's dresses. Gwenllian opened each one and inspected its contents. She found nothing extraordinary, in fact most were empty. But when she picked up the final reticule, she felt something small and hard inside it. Pulse quickening, she dumped the contents on the bed. Out plopped a ring.
Just a simple silver band, but quite large, although perhaps its width made it seem bigger than it was. She picked it up and, impressed by its weight, slipped it on her middle finger. The ring was wearable, even though it looked exceedingly wide on her hand. Width meant the opportunity for engraving.
Gwenllian took the ring off and peered at the inside. There was an inscription. The style of the engraving was ornate, however, with many interconnecting loops which made it difficult to read. She took it over to the window, shoving the curtain further back to let in more light.
The inscription inside the band was comprised of only two words: ‘Rose Marie.'
Mariah was definitely beautiful, but she would not have reminded Gwenllian of a rose. Rose, rose, rose. Red roses symbolized love. Had someone given Mariah this as a declaration of love?
It was a cheap declaration if it were from the Baron. But if it were a love token, the value would be in the sentiment, not in the price. This could be what they were looking for. There was certainly nothing else of interest in Mariah's room.
Gwenllian made certain she had restored the room to its previous condition. Then, clutching the ring in her fist, she slipped out of Mariah's room, turned and nearly ran into her sister.
"Look what I found.” Letticia held out a familiar, substantial ruby pendant with its wide gold bands.
"I saw Isabella wearing that ruby when first we met,” Gwenllian declared.
"You can see the bands of the setting are wide enough for an inscription."
"And has it one?"
"It has.” Letticia glanced impatiently around the hallway. “But it is too dim in here to show you."
"The windows in Mariah's room."
"No, not back in Mariah's room. Somewhere without risk."
Gwenllian thought for a second. “We will find quite enough light by the library windows."
It was but a short dash down the stairs. Letticia and Gwenllian raced each other to the door and were giggling between puffs of breath as they entered the library.
They were confronted by the sight of Mr. Wyckliff standing in front of the wall of books on the opposite side of the room. In one hand he held a knife. Its sharp edge glinted in the sunlight pouring from the great windows. On the oak table in front of him lay a gold pocket watch.
"That's Geoffrey's watch,” Letticia exclaimed. “I am certain of it. Thief! He is a highwayman!"
Eleven
Mr. Wyckliff looked as surprised to see them as they were to have found him. But he did not hesitate. Like a marauding pirate, Mr. Wyckliff leapt onto the tabletop. He scooped up the watch in his free hand as he crossed to the other side, then jumped down with a feral grace. The moment his feet hit the floor, he lurched toward Gwenllian and Letticia. The knife he held pointed toward them. It was not directly threatening, however. More like it was his natural way to hold a weapon, and he had rather forgotten about it.
"What are you doing here?"
Letticia was outraged. “This is my house."
"Has everyone returned?” He was looking at Gwenllian. His eyes were wary, but not unfriendly.
She swallowed. “No, we never left."
"Thief! I demand that you hand over Geoffrey's watch,” her sister ordered.
Mr. Wyckliff turned his attention to Letticia. He grinned. “And if I refuse?"
"I shall scream and at least twelve footmen will come running."
His eyes narrowed. Gwenllian could tell he was calculating his options. It did not take long. He chuckled. “Fair enough.” He turned and placed the watch on the oak table behind him. When he turned back, he gazed directly at Gwenllian. “It is an enlightening mechanism."
"And the knife, too,” Letticia demanded.
He placed the knife on the table as well. “I am at your mercy, ladies.” His genial d
emeanor was completely at odds with what was happening.
"We need some rope. Gwenllian, fetch some footmen and tell them to bring rope."
Gwenllian stood frozen, sick to her stomach. “Perhaps he only wished to borrow the watch. You do not know of a certainty that he was stealing."
"We should tie him to a chair,” her sister continued, oblivious to all but the task at hand. “Or perhaps the sofa."
He raised an eyebrow. “You have practice in taking prisoners?"
"How dare you! We have never, never had a criminal in our midst,” she fumed. “Oh, the scandal. To think I invited him! This will be the ruin of my house party. Gwenllian, why aren't you leaving?"
Gwenllian could not move. She should help her sister. She knew that. Letticia was behaving correctly, and with more courage than she would have expected. They had apprehended a criminal and criminals deserved to be punished. But every instinct Gwenllian possessed told her that while Mr. Wyckliff might be mysterious and unusual, he was not a criminal. In fact, ever since they had met, he had been kinder to her than anyone outside her immediate family. He deserved someone to take his part.
"I do not think we need detain him,” she said quietly.
"What?"
"He has not injured anyone and it was only one item. If we do not mention it, no one will know. No one need know. We could forget the entire occurrence.” Gwenllian's voice grew in strength as her sentences progressed. “Let him leave freely tomorrow morning. I am certain Mr. Wyckliff can think of a proper excuse. Your guests will never know the difference. Gossip will have been precluded and harmony will reign. There is no reason to spoil your house party, after all."
Mr. Wyckliff folded his arms. “Might I have a say in this?"
"Absolutely not,” Letticia snapped. She frowned and glared at him. At length she looked at Gwenllian and sighed. “For you Gwenllian, for you he can leave at first light. We'll say he was called away on urgent business or something, we'll think that bit up later.” Letticia was warming to her topic. “He can stay locked in his room until then. We shall say he is ill. Watch him."
Letticia dashed out of the room.
He chuckled. “Lady Berwentford seems to have an inordinate amount of faith in your defensive capabilities. She has just left you unarmed and alone in a room with a desperate man who is not an arm's reach away from a knife."
Gwenllian folded her arms. “Perhaps she thinks it would be irrational of you to attempt to flee and she has an uncommon belief in humanity's capacity for rational behavior."
Mr. Wyckliff raised his eyebrows.
"No, I do not believe that either.” She shook her head, sadly amused. “Letticia is not one for thinking out consequences. You may go, if you wish. I'm not stopping you."
"If it is all the same to you, I think I shall stay. Never have I enjoyed such agreeable company.” He flashed that brilliant smile at her.
At that moment Letticia returned with three footmen. “Please escort Mr. Wyckliff to his room. He is feeling unwell. And to protect the health of my other guests, see to it that he does not leave."
The footmen failed to hide their surprise.
Letticia rolled her eyes. “Just lock his door."
"The things a baroness can get away with,” Mr. Wyckliff commented as the three footmen escorted him out the door.
"And to think you might have married him.” Letticia shook her head. Then her eyes brightened. “Speaking of marriage, let me show you the pendant.” She shut the library door, then skipped over to the nearest window.
Gwenllian had quite forgotten about Isabella's ruby pendant, not to mention Mariah's ring clenched in her fist. “You do realize someone might mistake what we are doing for thievery."
"Nonsense. We're investigating.” Letticia held the back of the pendant up to the light. “There is definitely an inscription. It's in French. I'll translate.” Letticia thought for a moment. “It says, ‘For my Beautiful'. In this case I think the French ‘belle,’ meaning ‘beautiful,’ is a poor attempt at wit, playing off of Isabella's name—'Your Edgar.’”
Gwenllian shook her head in dismay. “I am astonished he used his own name."
"True, but as he did not name her, there is nothing in this to say he did not have it made for me. It is no wonder the shop assistant thought it was created for his wife."
"I don't suppose she might know two Edgars?"
"Where is the bill of sale, still on the table? Let's go compare the two. Endicott's won't have made two identical pieces of custom jewelry. And I can tell you now, it's going to match."
Letticia flounced over to the door.
"Wait, before we leave, look at this.” Gwenllian held out her palm upon which sat Mariah's ring. “I found it in one of Mariah's reticules."
Her sister dashed back and snatched the ring from her hand. “It won't be anything. Let's go compare, so I can return these items. Oh, fetch Geoffrey's watch."
"But you can't return the ring, you don't know where I found it."
"You said in a reticule,” Letticia answered hurriedly. “Now fetch Geoffrey's watch and let us finish this sordid business."
Her sister was getting terribly dismissive lately. She strode to the oak table, snatched up the watch, and swung around to start for the door. Then it happened.
Geoffrey's gold pocket watch slipped out of her hand. The pit of Gwenllian's stomach fell away as the watch tumbled toward the carpet. She snatched at it but her desperate fingers only succeeded in knocking it in mid-air and sending it faster to the floor. The watch landed with a small thump.
Gwenllian and Letticia froze.
"Have you broken it?” Letticia whispered.
Gwenllian knelt by the watch. The latch for the case's back must have taken the brunt of the impact, for the solid gold shell had popped open, but the watch's gold face twinkled back at her from behind its cover of uncracked glass.
"The glass is not broken.” Gwenllian carefully picked up the pocket watch. The open back revealed all sorts of ticking, little gears moving in circles. “It is still working.” She raised the watch to her ear and was rewarded to hear a steady, metallic click, click, click. “Yes, definitely still working."
She inspected the gears again. As she turned it to the light, a glint of etching in the interior of the cover caught her eye.
"Are you certain? It looks broken."
"The back cover has come open only. ‘Tis meant to do so. I can snap it closed,” she replied. She twisted her wrist this way and that, trying to reveal the esoteric etching.
"Then snap it closed and quick! We must get this all put back before anyone returns,” her sister urged.
"Wait, there is something here.” She took the watch to the window and slowly shifted it to catch the best light.
"Wait? We cannot wait,” Letticia huffed. “What is so unusual?"
"For one thing, the engraved figure is on the inside, where no one can appreciate it."
Suddenly the etched lines caught a beam of sunlight and the complete engraving flashed out at Gwenllian like lightning across an evening sky. Then it just as abruptly disappeared as Letticia appeared at her side, blocking the light. But that did not matter. Gwenllian had seen it, and she knew what it was.
"What are you on about?"
Gwenllian offered the open watch to Letticia. “Look. There is a bee engraved in Geoffrey's watch."
Letticia tossed her curls, not bothering to take the proffered watch. “Probably for Berwentford."
"No, not the letter, the insect."
"Oh. Well, probably still for Berwentford. Geoffrey is clever like that, with symbols and emblems and what-not."
Gwenllian snapped the cover back in place. “He would not be the first."
"This incident is becoming too vexing for words,” her sister began, but she interrupted her.
"Where exactly was Mr. Wyckliff standing when we entered?"
"You saw as well as I. Somewhere around there.” Letticia indicated the wall of books behind the
oak table with a toss of her chin.
"Precisely what I thought.” Gwenllian walked over to the wall of books. She crouched beside the bottom shelf and ran her fingers along the book spines, moving up to the next shelf, and so on up.
"What are you doing?"
"Looking for books that have been disturbed."
"Look at me if you wish to see disturbed."
"You are not a book. Now, these are all perfectly aligned, as are these.” Gwenllian inspected another shelf. “But these have been perused recently. See how they have been replaced all higgledy-piggledy."
"Oh, hardly that, they are but a little askew."
"They have been read and put back. That is my point. Will you not grant me my point?"
"I will grant you the point. Now that you have your point, may we go?"
Gwenllian pulled the perused books off the shelf and placed them on the oak table. “They are all French history."
"They were also all bought simply to look nice upon the shelf. I doubt the pages have been cut on most of them."
"They have on this one.” She nodded her head triumphantly. “That is what he was doing with the knife. I told you there was an innocent explanation."
Letticia rolled her eyes. “One is supposed to use a dull knife to cut book pages, everyone knows that."
"I am certain he was more concerned with speed than propriety."
"So, besides gaining you another point, what does this mean to the price of tea?"
"Wait and see.” Gwenllian let the book fall open. “If these books truly have so little usage, then this could be the section the book was opened to...” She scanned the pages.
Letticia paced back and forth. “But why do we care if Mr. Wyckliff was looking at that page?"
Gwenllian continued to read.
"Isn't it terribly old? How could that have any consequence for today? Gwenllian? Gwenllian? What is it about?"
"It is a history of the Merovingians.” She read further. “I knew bees were familiar."
"You are most infuriating."
She glanced up and smiled. “My apologies. Golden bees were found in Clovis’ grave.” She went back to scanning the densely worded page.
The Secret Hunter Page 14