Bees in the Butterfly Garden (The Gilded Legacy)

by Maureen Lang

  “No!”

  Nelson rubbed his chin. “It’s true the only member of the staff to know of it is Mr. Deekes, and we all know it wasn’t him—he’s one of the family. But if it wasn’t any of us and couldn’t possibly be the chief of police . . .”

  Meg kept silent, even as confusion poked questions at her. Should she pretend to be entirely in the dark? Ask where the safe was? Ask . . . anything?

  Soon Mr. Deekes himself opened the office door, quietly announcing the police chief had arrived.

  “I’ll see him in a moment,” Nelson said before turning to Meg and his sisters again. “There is nothing any of you can do. I only wanted to inform you of what was happening should any noise have disturbed you. You might as well go to bed.”

  “All alone?” Evie asked. “In a house where a stranger can come and go?”

  “Don’t be silly, Evie,” Claire said. “They couldn’t have been here when we were all home.”

  “It likely happened when we were out,” Nelson said. “Perhaps at a party, or more likely during the picnic when the entire house was empty.”

  “Just last night!” Evie’s words were breathless. “Oh, please don’t send me to my room alone, Nelson! I’d rather stay up with you.”

  He shook his head, then glanced at Claire, who looked none too pleased by his silent entreaty.

  “Oh, all right, she can stay in my room,” she said.

  “Can I bring Pindar? He’ll squawk if anyone comes in—or flutter his wings and wake me.”

  “Absolutely, positively not. I’m not sleeping in the same room as that creature. Not even in his cage, since he knows how to get out of it.”

  “But—” Before Evie could form an argument, she turned her attention to Meg. “Could I stay in your room, then? Me and Pindar, too? I promise you he won’t make a bit of trouble. I’ll bring a blanket to put over the table, so if he happens to . . . Well, he won’t make a mess like the last time because he’s calmer when I’m with him.”

  Meg knew Evie had nothing more to worry about tonight than she had any other night, but logic wouldn’t let her say so and compunction wouldn’t let her refuse the request. She nodded.

  “Oh, thank you! Will you come with me to the aviary to get him? I don’t want to be alone, not for a moment.”

  Meg uttered a somber good night to Nelson and Claire, hearing her friend say that she wanted to send someone to the hotel where Jude was staying, but Nelson discouraged her from sending for him this late. Then Meg was out of the room, unable to hear more.

  Claire was clearly as upset as Evie. Fearful, even.

  But they had nothing to fear! Ian wouldn’t hurt anyone; he was entirely incapable of such a thing. And certainly they weren’t afraid of her!

  Yet she was responsible for their unease.

  The bird did not appear at all ruffled at the visit, but Meg reminded herself of Evie’s late nights in the aviary, so it was little wonder Pindar welcomed her company as if he’d been waiting for her. He probably didn’t expect to return to the guest room he’d been banished from so many weeks ago, but as Evie promised, he made no noise while sitting on her shoulder as she spread a blanket on the table near the window overlooking the garden.

  She spoke quietly to him, soothing words Evie herself probably needed to hear more than the bird did. Meg removed her robe and slippers, then pulled back the covers of her bed. It was certainly large enough for two, although a thought unsettled her as she climbed in. Once, when she was a child, one of her schoolmates told Meg she’d spoken in her sleep. What if she did so again, only said something incriminating for Evie to hear?

  Perhaps she shouldn’t have let her guilt force her into accepting Evie’s request after all.

  “Can we sleep with the light on?” Evie asked.

  “Yes, if you like,” Meg said. It was just as well; she didn’t plan on falling asleep until well after Evie did anyway. If at all.

  Evie crawled into the bed beside Meg. “Thank you so much for this, Meg. You know, I’m sorry I ever played any pranks on you. Here or at school. I honestly like you.”

  “Thank you, Evie,” Meg said, but rather than welcoming the words, her heart went leaden. “I like you, too.”

  Meg woke with a start. She hadn’t realized she’d fallen so thoroughly asleep, though she must have dozed more than once during the night. The sun shone brightly through the open window.

  Then she remembered Evie, but the bed was empty.

  Meg sat up. Pindar was still there, the bird’s outline sharp against the light through the open curtains. He eyed her unflinchingly, a cold-eyed, accusing stare.

  “Good morning,” Evie said. She was at the dressing table, fully dressed. Meg’s robe had been neatly cast aside and her slippers were nowhere in sight. Meg saw instantly that in the light of day Evie did not look at all as timid as she had last night.

  With a glance at the clock, Meg realized it was later than she’d assumed. Past ten.

  “Is Nelson meeting with the staff?” Meg threw aside the covers. “I must get dressed.”

  “The meeting already happened,” Evie said. “I didn’t want to wake you.” Her voice sounded strangely cold.

  “I wish you would have,” Meg said. How could she have slept so soundly? Then she eyed Evie again, who stared back in a peculiarly intense manner. There wasn’t a trace of leftover fear, which was a relief, but next to her reestablished self-confidence there was something else. Curiosity?

  “Will you be all right on your own this morning?” Meg asked, but the moment the question was uttered, Evie broke her stare. She went to Pindar, put him on her shoulder, took up the blanket that had covered the table beneath him, then walked silently from the room.

  Evidently she would be fine.

  Meg dressed quickly in the first gown she grabbed, one of blue-and-green gingham. There hadn’t been any reason for her to attend the usual Pemberton meeting, but she wished she’d been there to hear what was said. Had the police returned—had anyone other than the police chief arrived? Surely they weren’t going to allow all that gold to be unguarded in a broken safe, gold they didn’t know was worthless. Perhaps they’d moved it already this morning!

  After pulling up her hair into a set of combs, Meg emerged to a quiet upstairs hall. She heard voices below and descended. The foyer was empty, but she caught a glimpse of shadow, someone going into the office.

  Meg was about to follow when someone called her from the parlor. She turned to see Nelson and Claire. Claire had obviously been crying, and Nelson’s brows were drawn, his mouth set in a grave frown.

  Behind them was another man. Although he was dressed in a plain suit of clothing, he had a look of calm authority about him. The police chief?

  He stepped around Claire and Nelson to stop in front of Meg.

  “Permit me to introduce myself, Miss Davenport. I am Detective Cambridge. And you, young lady, are under arrest on suspicion of burglary.”

  34

  The happiest young wife recognizes the value of deep and abiding friendship among her peers, even after her first concern becomes her husband and family. Loyalty to one’s friend is as necessary to happiness as loyalty to one’s spouse.

  Madame Marisse’s Letters to Young Wives, No. 9

  Meg thought she might faint. The edges of her vision seemed to fade, as if preparing her for a complete blackout. But just then someone twisted the bell at the front door, sufficiently calling her attention back to consciousness.

  Perhaps it was Ian! Perhaps he’d come to take her away—could they run? Was it possible they could elude the police detective standing not three feet from her?

  But it wasn’t Ian at the door. The butler let in Jude Johnson, who went to Claire’s side after only the quickest greeting extended to Nelson.

  “Oh, Jude, I’m so glad you’ve come,” Claire said. “It’s just awful! Our safe was broken into—drilled right through the metal. And they think my dearest friend had something to do with it. I cannot believe it!”
Then, as if stronger with Jude at her side, she stood a bit taller and faced the detective. “In fact, sir, I do not believe Meg could have been involved. And what does it matter, anyway, if only that silly lead seal was stolen?”

  “I concur with my sister on this, Detective,” Nelson said. “I cannot believe Meg would have anything to do with this, despite the evidence.”

  “I . . . don’t understand,” Meg said, her voice as feeble as she felt. “Why do you think that I was involved?”

  Neither Nelson nor the detective answered. Rather the detective called for someone and two officers responded, dressed in traditional police uniform. He said something to Mr. Deekes about showing them to Meg’s room; then the butler and the two officers went up the stairs.

  “Your room will be thoroughly searched, miss,” Detective Cambridge said. “We’ve only waited this long on orders from the Pembertons. If there is any evidence, or if the missing item is in your room, we’ll find it.”

  “But I don’t have anything that doesn’t belong to me.” She hadn’t thought herself so capable of meekness, yet here she stood, the very picture of it.

  “There, you see?” Claire said, now coming to Meg’s side and taking her hand. “I told you she wasn’t responsible. It’s ridiculous. I’ve known her for years, and a graduate of Madame Marisse’s simply wouldn’t do such a thing.”

  The detective, a man with a fair complexion made fairer by white hair and a matching white mustache, appeared only skeptical. “We’ll see about that, then.”

  Nelson stepped to Meg’s other side. “Even if the missing seal does turn up in her room, Detective, there was no real harm done.” He eyed Meg. “We’d like an explanation, of course, but we have no intention of pressing charges.”

  Meg wished she could find comfort in his words. What would happen when they learned the gold bricks were fake? That Ian had replaced them with look-alikes?

  Part of her was tempted to confess to it all, except that it would endanger Ian—and that she wouldn’t do.

  If only she hadn’t been foolish enough to be caught! But how had she been found out?

  “What is your evidence that I was involved?” Perhaps this time she would receive an answer.

  “Evie found your slipper,” Claire said. “It’s stained with the rust from our old safe. We can’t imagine how, except that you must have been in the cellar. But how, Meg? How could that be?”

  Meg’s head was so light she feared all strength would abandon her. Why, oh why, had she thought herself capable of going through with this if she couldn’t pay the price of being caught?

  The bell at the door sounded again, but this time it was Jude Johnson who answered the call, since Mr. Deekes was still with the officers upstairs. Two more police officers came in. Evidently both Nelson and the detective had expected them, since the detective introduced them to Nelson.

  Nelson then led the two officers from the foyer to the office, while the detective excused himself from Claire to move toward the stairs. He sent Meg a somber glance before speaking as he ascended. “I trust you’ll still be here when I return in a moment, Miss Davenport.”

  She nodded. Where could she go under so much scrutiny?

  “Nelson is having the gold moved to a safer location,” Claire said, “until we decide what to do with it. I suppose we’ll have to send word to Father, to see what he thinks best. I wonder if they might cut short their trip?”

  “I never knew your family kept so much of the gold here, Claire,” Jude said. Then he looked at Meg. “How did you?”

  Meg swallowed hard, and the effort pierced her throat. “I . . . didn’t.”

  “But the stained slipper, Meg,” Claire said. “It’s obviously from our cellar, from the unusual color. How did they become stained?”

  “I . . . I . . .”

  Claire leaned closer. “Meg, if you’re innocent, just say so. I want to believe you. But there is a footprint in the cellar that matches the quilt of your slippers. I don’t know how you could be innocent, but I want very much to believe that you are.”

  Part of Meg longed to confess, thinking it might help. But fear wouldn’t let her.

  “Unless . . .” Claire’s voice sounded curiously hopeful as she scanned the hall and what was visible of the parlor. “Unless this is one of Evie’s pranks! Where is she, anyway? She’s been skulking around all morning.” Claire turned to Jude. “Do you suppose she could have done this? She could have taken Meg’s slippers and worn them down there. We’ve never shown her how to open the safe—she’s still too young—but she’s been in the cellar on her own. She’s been wanting to cause trouble for Meg ever since our neighbor first laid eyes on her.”

  For the barest moment Meg wanted to latch on to the slimmest thread of hope Claire was so eager to cast her way.

  But she couldn’t. She would not lay blame where it didn’t belong.

  She opened her mouth to confess, but nothing came out. Not a word.

  How could she confess without implicating Ian? She couldn’t do that any more than she could get Evie into temporary trouble.

  “If nothing of value was taken,” she finally managed to say, her voice so raspy it hardly sounded like her own, “then can we not forget this whole thing?”

  Jude was already shaking his head. “With the police involved, it’s not likely to be entirely excused.” He looked at Claire. “Didn’t you say the safe was broken open by a drill? How would Evie have drilled into that safe? I don’t think she’s strong enough to turn a drill crank through metal as substantial as a safe would require.”

  “If Evie isn’t strong enough, then neither is Meg.”

  Meg felt tears warm her eyes over Claire’s staunch defense. She looked again toward the hall that led to the office. If Nelson brought that gold up from the cellar, would the light of day reveal the bars to be the frauds they were?

  Then Claire would know; they would all know.

  And she would go to jail, even though she hadn’t the faintest idea where the real gold could be found.

  Ian stepped up to the Pemberton door. If he was to be sure Meg’s reputation remained intact—allowing hope of a future her father would have wanted for her—this part of his plan needed to succeed every bit as much as everything else had thus far. If the break-in had been discovered, as surely it had based upon the activity surrounding the house, they would soon have an explanation. At least the explanation Ian wanted them to believe.

  A man he didn’t recognize—clearly not a servant by his fashionable set of clothing—answered the door at Ian’s ring.

  Ian removed his hat. “Ian Vandermey.”

  “Ian!”

  The man could not even step aside before Ian heard Meg’s call—her tone a mix of horror and relief.

  He moved past the man who’d opened the door, directly to Meg’s side. Her color was high, her blue eyes dismayed—though still lovely and clearly glad to see him. He knew she would have come into his arms had he offered such comfort, but instead he held out his hand for her to clutch. That was all the contact he could afford and still have any hope of carrying through the rest of his plan.

  “I came to call on you, Cousin,” Ian said, as jovially as possible, “but I see you already have company.”

  It was then he noticed Claire Pemberton. She stepped closer, putting her palm on the arm of the man near her. She had a look of distress on her face, an expression not unexpected, but he saw that the man beside her was someone from whom she drew strength.

  “I’m afraid we’re facing something of a crisis, Mr. Vandermey. Our safe was broken into.”

  He put on a frown. “Was it? Did you catch the perpetrator?”

  Both Claire and the man at her side looked at Meg. They suspected her? But how? Surely she hadn’t confessed, when she’d shown such fortitude so far!

  Meg confirmed the horrific notion with a small nod. “They think it was me.”

  Ian knew immediately he must hasten with the rest of his plan. He bowed as if an ac
tor at a performance. And truly, he was. “It was I who broke into the safe.”

  “You!”

  Meg did not look pleased by his admission, though it should have eased the worry on her face. He would soon have all of this cleared up—at least as far as Meg went.

  He handed Claire a card he pulled from his vest pocket.

  “Vandermey Securities,” she read. She looked at him, her brow ruffled. “What is this?”

  “That, Miss Pemberton, is the name of my business. I believe I proved my services are required by successfully breaking into your safe. I assure you I can prevent such a thing in the future with as much expertise as I used to carry out this violation.”

  The man beside her took the card from Claire’s hand, looking at it, then at Ian. “So you broke into the safe to prove your necessity?”

  The man was every bit as tall as Ian himself, only he was a bit sturdier than Ian’s slim build. The kind of man Ian had learned long ago to avoid inciting. “Yes, of course. Obviously my services are needed.”

  “You realize you could be arrested for doing what you did?”

  “Not if I can convince the Pembertons they need me. Soon I intend having all of Fifth Avenue looking at that same little information card.” He looked at Claire with hope in his eye.

  He knew Meg must be confused; he didn’t have to see her face to know that. She still believed he’d switched the gold bars. But he refused to look at her, partly from the sure knowledge that he wasn’t the actor he needed to be when it involved her, and partly because it fit so exactly into his plan not to give her the comfort she obviously would find in his reassurance.

  “I think all of us need an explanation,” Meg said.

  “Wait,” Claire said, holding up a palm. “Let me get my brother, or we’ll be forced to repeat it all for him. You’ll wait, won’t you?”

  Ian nodded, then eyed the glowering man at her side. “I imagine your friend here will make sure of that.”