Bees in the Butterfly Garden (The Gilded Legacy)

by Maureen Lang

  “I don’t think we can wait any longer,” Claire said gently to Meg. “We told the servants to go ahead nearly half an hour ago. Your cousin will likely come directly to the park. Perhaps he’s already there.”

  Meg nodded. Ian’s tardiness was all part of the plan.

  Another benefit to Ian’s delay was that Meg would easily be the last to leave the house, making sure the latch that normally locked the door was not flipped. Following Claire from the house to the carriage where Nelson and Evie already waited, Meg only pretended to secure the door.

  Then off they went, to the first annual Pemberton household Blue Moon Picnic.

  One that very well might be the last.

  31

  The revision of criminal laws in recent decades has prompted this essay to firmly state that we have gone far enough in our sympathy for villains. While I do not suggest we return to such punishments as burning at the stake, I implore the legislators to keep in mind that hangings are justified in most cases of murder and theft.

  “Reasons for Incarceration”

  Ian watched the Pemberton carriage roll down Fifth Avenue. He’d seen Meg, as the last to leave, join the Pembertons in their carriage. From where he stood on the other side of the street, behind a lamppost surrounded by tall foliage, he was far enough away that he couldn’t see her features, but he would know Meg anywhere.

  Ian kept his head down, knowing in the absence of complete darkness his hat would shadow most of his face. His dark suit and black scarf covered the only white he wore, the shirt and cravat. Careful movement helped him blend into the surroundings. He didn’t have to look up to find his way to the Pemberton door. As expected, it was unlocked.

  Good girl.

  He let himself in, locking the door behind him once he was inside. No sense leaving evidence that he’d been so easily allowed in.

  Only the slightest of house creaks greeted him. Quickly, he walked through the foyer and rounded the hall to the back of the house. It didn’t take long to locate the kitchen and, through that, the servants’ entrance, which he opened to find Pubjug already waiting. From under his jacket, Pubjug withdrew the drill and two different points, only the round drill crank rattling in the otherwise-silent exchange.

  Ian found his way to the library, while Pubjug followed.

  The key to the office was placed exactly where Meg had shown him. She was, indeed, the perfect partner. He opened the door, then replaced the key, careful to leave it just as he’d found it.

  Then he stepped into the office. It, too, was exactly as Meg had described. Square; a desk slightly to the right, beneath high windows that offered light from the setting sun. He eyed the farthest corner, where he guessed the secret stairway to be housed.

  Stepping forward, he looked for the first time at the artwork that, as expected, covered nearly the entire wall to the left. Light shone through the windows like beacons on its subject.

  Pubjug must not have expected Ian to stop short, because the older man bumped into him. But Ian didn’t care. He was seized by the painting: Jesus, the Lamb of God.

  Ian’s knees nearly failed him.

  Why hadn’t Meg warned him?

  But of course, why should she? Had the image no impact on her, that she thought its subject so inconsequential?

  From its inception, Ian had wondered if he could go through with this plan. Even as he stood on the street just now, doubts had muddled his intentions. Of every job in Ian’s life, this one would likely offer both the largest haul and the best opportunity to pay back Brewster—not just for the beating Ian had taken, but for his belief that he deserved Ian’s allegiance just because John had died.

  Yet this same job could result in Meg’s endangerment.

  As he stared at the painting, taking more time than he knew he ought, all those memories of his father, all the times John’s presence had haunted him, all the impressions that God Himself was closer than he’d ever imagined, became clearer and stronger than ever.

  He swallowed hard. That gold was guarded by more than just a safe.

  The thought crossed his mind to pray—nearly an urge—but Ian feared it might be too late for that. Or maybe it was too soon, with just the faintest remnant of a faith he’d abandoned so long ago trying to work its way back into his heart.

  He shrugged away the thought and found the concealed lever, pulled it. Pubjug reached the secret opening before Ian did and held the door wide to let Ian through first.

  Without a word, Ian went down the narrow, sturdy stairwell. Pubjug carried a lantern, which he lit only after the door was shut behind them.

  There it was, just as Meg promised. Under the light Pubjug supplied, Ian set about his work without delay. He cranked the drill, boring a hole as small as possible. Three would do it, before he was able to pull aside a steel triangle just large enough to insert his mirror. Then, leaning aside to allow the maximum light from Pubjug’s lantern, he gently twisted the combination wheel until the reflected image revealed which numbers tumbled into place. The lock was open in less than a minute.

  Ian turned the handle and pulled open the door to reveal the safe’s contents.

  He had trained himself to work in silence, but neither he nor Pubjug could withhold a gasp. All that gold in one spot was something to see.

  All that gold . . .

  So the rumors were true. Each brick was stamped on the top and short edges with the famous Pemberton seal, a P with a flourish.

  Each brick four hundred troy ounces. The purest gold this country had to offer. At twenty-one dollars an ounce . . . How many were there? More than a dozen, at least.

  He knew Pubjug must be wondering what was taking so long. The plan was for them to carry the bricks up to the garden, to exchange the phony ones for these. Of course they’d have to take the seal first, use the additional melted gold Pubjug even now had simmering in the covered bed of the brickyard’s wagon. They would stamp the phony gold bricks with the Pemberton seal, and no one would be the wiser about which was which—at least at first glance.

  They had enough counterfeit bricks to take some with them, all dressed up in that fancy P. The real bricks would be stored in a compartment below the wagon bed, while extra fakes would be waiting above for Brewster to do what he did best: steal them, now that he’d been fed information Ian had spread.

  But an image of Meg stopped Ian short. Exchanging with Pubjug the drill for the lantern, Ian held the light close. He couldn’t help admiring the gold that glimmered so warmly, so invitingly. Would it be cool to the touch or warm? He feared any contact as much as he desired it, wondering if even the briefest contact would make him cave in to temptation.

  Ian forced his gaze past the gold. There was also a considerable sum of cash, yet another temptation. Banknotes as well as greenbacks. He looked past all of that, too, without more than a guess of the value before him. A copper-and-silver box made him wonder what kind of jewels he might find as well. But Ian didn’t have time to investigate. In fact, he’d wasted precious seconds already just coveting the considerable wealth before him.

  There it was: the Pemberton seal. Exactly what Ian needed if he was to salvage any bit of this job.

  He snatched the lead seal; it was heavy and solid. He knew lead and gold were similar in weight, but what a difference it would be to simply hold one of those gold bars.

  How he wanted to close the safe’s door without another glance. He should flee this temptation as surely as a saint flew from a demon.

  And yet he couldn’t. Because Ian was no saint, and he knew it.

  He took a step back, his gaze still captive to the gold.

  “Ain’t we gonna move it, Pinch?” Pubjug whispered. “We best get to it.”

  Pubjug reached for the uppermost bar of gold that crossed the other two stacks beneath it.

  “No!” The word was little more than a blurted croak, as weak as a dying man refusing the inevitable.

  Pubjug stared at Ian. “No? You mean we ain’t gonna take it
up to the bricks we got waitin’? You know, to exchange ’em? You know, the plan?”

  That was what they’d come for. And staring at the riches, unable to do otherwise, Ian wanted to do exactly what they’d planned.

  But somewhere in all of that gold he saw something else. The shimmer of Meg’s hair under a golden sunset. The warmth of John’s memory. The words of his own father, about not loving money more than God. The streets up in heaven.

  Everything that painting hanging just up the stairs brought so vividly into focus. A painting that washed Ian with something he’d never felt before: the love it would’ve taken for someone to do what Christ had done.

  Love.

  God’s love.

  In the same moment he realized another kind of love. If he stole this gold, he’d do what John’s love had shielded Meggie from all these years.

  And Ian knew now that he loved Meggie too. Enough to do the right thing. For her, if not for himself.

  “Shore up the hole, Pubjug.” The words, breathless and feeble, barely made it past his lips.

  Then, still clutching the seal, he fled temptation the only way he knew how: by running to the steps and scurrying ever upward.

  He stopped in the library just long enough to rearrange the key on the bookshelf. Everything made sense now, what he had to do. If he was to leave all that gold in a broken safe, the compromise needed to be discovered sooner rather than later.

  Meg watched the household staff eat and mingle with the Pembertons, a laugh rising now and then amid the sound of violins playing near a table laden with everything from watermelon to cold slaw, ham sandwiches to roasted turkey, iced currants to fine fruit sweetmeats.

  Meg knew she would have to eat, although her stomach was in such a knot she wasn’t sure how she would manage. She’d expected Ian to be late but didn’t know how late to expect him.

  “There you are, darling!”

  Meg turned round, the knot in her stomach twisting tighter at the sight of Kate.

  “You—you’re here!” She shouldn’t be here at all, since Meg had destroyed the invitation she’d found on the outgoing silver tray a few days ago.

  “Of course, dear. Where else would I be tonight of all nights?”

  Meg nearly pulled Kate aside to demand she admit why she’d come, but Claire was already calling them over to the banquet table. Kate knew—surely she must—the significance of the night. What did she plan to do with the information?

  “Oh, you did come, Lady Kate!” Claire’s smile was always infectious, though tonight Meg was immune. “I’m so glad. Meg was afraid you’d left town. Tell me, did you receive two invitations for tonight or just one?”

  “Just one, darling. Was that enough, or should I have received more than that to be fully invited?”

  Claire laughed. “It’s only that I left the first invitation on the tray to be posted, and when I checked on it, our Mrs. Longford said she hadn’t seen it. So I sent another. I cannot imagine what happened to the first!”

  Kate spared Meg a glance before speaking. “Well, no matter. Here I am, delighted to share the evening.”

  “Did you . . . happen to see Ian, Lady Kate?” Meg asked.

  Kate looked around with a frown. “Isn’t he here?”

  Too late, Meg realized the foolishness of having brought up Ian at all. Kate already looked suspicious. “Just detained, I suppose.”

  Nelson approached from behind Kate. “Where are these frowns coming from on a night like this, ladies? This is an evening to enjoy.”

  Claire looped her arm with her brother’s. “Meg is wondering what could be keeping Ian.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be here soon,” Meg said, squashing her nervousness, hoping her tone sounded as lighthearted as she meant it to be.

  “Perhaps he went to the house first. I was pondering going back there anyway,” Nelson said. He patted his sister’s hand. “Claire and I worked on a little speech to thank our staff, and I’ve just discovered I left my notes behind. I’m not sure I can do without them.”

  If the ground of Central Park had suddenly opened to swallow her, Meg would not have felt more unsteadied than she did at that moment. “Why don’t I fetch the speech for you, Nelson?” Was her voice too eager? Nervous? “I don’t mind going, since if he did go to the house, it’s likely my fault for poor communication.”

  “Yes, darling,” Kate said, and Meg was sure her face was as fraught with tension as Meg’s own. “Why don’t we both go so Nelson won’t be an absent host?”

  “No, no, no,” Nelson said with a smile. “I insist you both stay here and enjoy the party. Go now, and enjoy yourselves. I’ll take the carriage and be back with Ian, if he’s there, and my notes as well.”

  Meg watched Nelson leave, sick at the thought of him discovering Ian. When Kate took her arm to turn her toward the buffet, the sight of the many varieties of food made her stomach roil.

  “Calm down,” Kate whispered. “Ian will know how to handle himself, and it’s best if you’re not involved.” Then she laughed Claire’s way and said, “You won’t let us eat alone, will you, Claire? I believe your staff has already partaken.”

  Meg turned a seething glance on Kate, who obviously cared not a whit that Ian might be found out. Kate had likely come to stop them anyway. This way only Ian would be caught. Was that what she wanted? Or would she confess to the Pembertons that she was a fraud too, along with Ian—and Meg? Once Ian was caught, Kate would indict them all at once. What did she want more than seeing God’s justice done?

  Could anything else go wrong?

  Another drop of sweat tickled Ian’s scalp, but the heat he felt had nothing to do with the pot he helped Pubjug return to the back of the wagon. With it safely returned to its spot, Pubjug climbed up to the driver’s seat.

  The job was nearly done. Inside that pot had been enough hot coals to keep melted the gold they’d needed for the fake bricks they’d just rehidden among the delivery inside the garden. The melted gold eagerly accepted the image from the Pemberton seal. Thanks to false information supplied to Brewster through the man Ian had sat with on the train from Peekskill, he would monitor that pickup. All they needed was for Brewster to act true to himself by stealing from the thieves he believed had stolen the gold first.

  The only difference in the plan was the empty compartment beneath the wagon, something Pubjug clearly did not understand. This job had ended up costing them instead of bringing in a penny of profit. But the thought of Brewster believing he’d outsmarted Ian, then learning he hadn’t, was worth every cent of Ian’s investment. It might not free him—it might inspire another beating—but it would be worth that, too.

  He stepped back from the covered cart and took a deep breath of evening air as Pubjug drove the wagon out of the covered Pemberton parkway. Ian hadn’t been sure he could do it. But he had. Best of all, it would be done without a whisper of trouble Meg’s way.

  Maybe God didn’t think Ian so useless, after all.

  He had just one thing left to do. Return the seal.

  Ian let himself back into the Pemberton home through the servants’ entrance. The prospect of facing that safe this second time hardly frightened him at all. He’d done the right thing once; he could do it again.

  A noise at the front door froze him into stillness, choking back his confidence along with his breath. Someone was there—with a key.

  Silently, Ian retraced his footsteps. He listened at the kitchen door, only to be sure someone had indeed entered. He heard the front door open, then close. It was no use. He would have to find another way to return the seal.

  Ian left the kitchen, shutting the servants’ entrance and locking that as well, knowing that doing so meant he would be unable to get back inside without some measure of trouble. Hang it all, this was why he never took the chance at home burglaries. They were too unpredictable. Too personal.

  Ian pulled the black scarf from around his neck, wrapping the seal inside. Searching for a place to hide it, he chose a
spot close to the delivery porch, well beneath a thick and prickly bush so no one—not even a curious dog—was likely to investigate.

  Then, brushing off his jacket, straightening his cravat and hat, he walked around to the front of the house, glad Pubjug was long since gone. Ian was just in time to see Nelson Pemberton emerge.

  With a wave, Ian joined him at his driverless carriage. Evidently the man had come back entirely on his own.

  So much for thinking God might have blessed what Ian had just done. He’d very nearly been caught, and until that seal was returned, he wasn’t free of trouble yet.

  Meg hadn’t expected the height of her performance to begin until after the theft was discovered. But behaving as if nothing were wrong while everyone else celebrated an evening of entertainment was surely as difficult as acting innocent.

  With each passing moment of Nelson’s absence, she grew more and more fretful that he had found Ian in the most compromising circumstance.

  The music, instead of soothing her, grated on her nerves as each note pounded into her head. Rubbing her eyes, she wondered how much longer she could endure the wait. She’d left Kate with Claire, preferring instead to sit off to the side by herself so she could play with the food she had no intention of eating.

  “That looks especially delicious.”

  She nearly dropped the plate from her lap at the sound of the familiar voice nearby. Next to Nelson stood Ian, as tall and handsome as ever, a twinkle—of triumph?—in his eye.

  Meg rose, but there was nowhere to put her plate. So she clutched it in hopes of keeping steady her hands and offered instead the most welcoming of smiles. “Oh! I’m so glad you’ve made it to the party.”

  Relief over seeing him gave the first hint of unfurling the knot inside. Surely nothing had gone wrong. Did it mean that even now the golden bars were hidden among the bricks in the garden? Entirely unprotected, innocently waiting for Pubjug?