“Spit it out. We don’t have all day!”
There were the nerves again.
“Your painting was never really stolen.”
Magnolia and he both faced the constable.
“What?” Mr. Thornton pulled the collar away from his throat.
“You only pretended to lose your painting because you wanted the attention.”
“How dare you!”
“I dare because I’m the constable.” He puffed out his chest.
Could the man be on to something?
“Is it true, Basil? Did you steal your own painting?” Leave it to Blake to blurt out the question.
Thornton smoothed down his waxy hair. “Yes! Yes! I sold the painting but told others it was stolen.”
“Why?” Miss Mayne leaned forward.
“Because my family name was being lost amongst the gossip of others.” He crossed his arms over his chest in a protective manner. “It is not a crime to sell my own painting.”
“True, it is not.”
“And you still haven’t answered the question about who was behind Tyrrel,” Joanna Edmonds threw in.
“Of course I have. It was Basil Thornton.”
The crowd gasped, and Magnolia grabbed Justin’s arm and squeezed. They both knew it was untrue, but they couldn’t correct the constable before the crowd.
Kenelm’s guards escorted a protesting Thornton from the room. Constable Roskin smiled and lifted his hands to the air. “Everyone, please return to the festivities and let the law do its work.”
There were faint mumblings but everyone complied with the order. Justin grabbed Magnolia’s hand and escorted her to another room. Now they had a bigger issue to contend with.
****
Bags packed, they returned home. She kept her thoughts to herself as Justin escorted her inside the London townhome. Heat radiated from the parlor entrance. She removed her gloves and dropped them on the hall table as she entered the room and fell onto the sofa in a heap.
“How could the plan have gone so wrong?” The opinion burst from her.
“We are in agreement then that Thornton is not behind Roskin.”
“We are.” No way Thornton’s ruse was because he was the master of the puppet. And Roskin had every reason not to reveal his master. How could Kenelm and Justin have been so foolish?
“Now what?”
Kenelm had stayed behind at the castle. He’d insinuated he’d visit soon, but she’d not pushed for a specific date. The melancholy look on his face had almost made her break, but she had held firm. Kenelm, handsome though he may be, was not the man for her.
She sighed. “I presume we let Justice and Miss Quinn die for awhile.”
“Agreed.”
He leaned over the fireplace. Had she heard him correctly?
He faced her. “It is too dangerous.”
Oh so he worried for her safety. Had he just started to worry now? Maybe now was the time to reveal her feelings. She inhaled. “Justin—”
He looked at her with darkening eyes and she swallowed her fear. If he refused to accept her affections, he would still be her friend. She was sure of it.
Air blew her skirt, and she turned toward the door.
“Oh Justin you’re here. Now we can proclaim our love!”
Hesper…
****
He stood outside the Quinn townhome. Laughter bubbled inside him, but he squelched the sound. Hesper was inside ruining the lives of Justin and Magnolia—he couldn’t be more pleased.
The two of them had caused him immense trouble. If he’d known that the ball at Odell was just a ruse to catch him, then he’d have made the game a little more interesting. Why fake a murder when you could have a real one? His lips twitched. Evander Hudson wouldn’t get away so easily. He’d make sure of that.
Wisps of blonde hair blew out of the carriage window. He wrapped his coat tighter around his middle and hastened across the road toward the carriage. His ladylove would be inside. If he didn’t hurry she would be contemplating his demise. The chilled air made her mood fouler than usual.
She was always ripe for any kind of game he chose to play but of late she grew bored. The theft was one thing, controlling the constable another. Both she’d tolerated. But this new game, this one was not making her happy. Soon she would realize the purpose behind his plan. She might not agree with his engagement to Hesper Rotherham, but she would consent. She always consented.
Author’s Note:
I thought we’d left Hesper without a promise of courtship, but apparently she misheard. And she had to interrupt just when Magnolia was set to reveal her true feelings for Justin.
In the next installment, The Case of the Secret Love, join me to find out how far Hesper will go to get what she wants.
And will we ever find out who pulls the constable’s strings? He is not as good a detective as he thinks he is, or is he?
Keep reading for a sample of The Ruse – a non-traditional regency or so I’ve been told.
Excerpt from The Ruse
Chapter One
February 1802
London, England…
Luke Andrews, Baron of Stockport, waited patiently in the Elis Wold library. Lord Zedekiah Elis, Viscount of Elis Wold, would attend him at any moment, or so he’d been told.
Baubles lined floor-to-ceiling shelves and Luke perused them. An enormous amount of the items represented were dolls.
Luke plucked one from the shelf. The intricately painted figure sported a rouge mouth, bright blue eyes with dark lashes, and a crown of gold atop its overly large head. The doll back in place, he studied the rest of the collection. Their vivid colors and disproportioned bodies attempted to force a person to find them attractive. Silly frippery! What sort of family collects such absurdities?
Luke placed his hands in his pockets and felt for the box. Coins bumped his fingers and he brushed them aside. Rough edges touched his hand and he sighed with relief. Everything was in place.
Restless, he prowled past the crowded shelves to the window. At least the Elis grounds were well maintained and not full of ridiculous topiaries.
Luke sighed and turned from the window. Nothing could hold his attention for very long, not with the impending meeting ahead of him. His wandering feet took him to the fireplace. A fire roared, yet he experienced a slight chill. He stroked the hearth’s uneven stones, the warmth of the rock permeating his palm.
The fact that Lord Elis had not upgraded to a coal fireplace with a scuttle was a bit discouraging.
For lack of anything else to do, Luke looked for wood and was shocked to find the wood box empty.
He lifted his hand to pull the bell rope. The door opened and feeling irrationally guilty, he dropped his hands to his sides.
An elderly man, with a short crop of graying hair, a beak nose, and a slight stoop entered. He didn’t stop to say hello, but rather continued to a seat behind the rather substantial desk.
Once seated, he steepled his fingers and studied Luke. The appraisal caused a frightful set of nerves and Luke found himself unable to stand. He took a seat across from the desk and waited.
“So you are the great Baron of Stockport, Luke Andrews. My daughter Zilla has told me much about you.” Luke opened his mouth to speak but was promptly interrupted. “I am Zedekiah Elis, better known as Zede to my friends, but as of yet you are not my friend.”
Luke cocked a brow, shifted in the seat, and crossed his legs. Irritating dullard.
“I don’t know if you realize, but Zilla is barely ten and seven. She is my only child, and yes, I’ve held onto her longer than I should but under such circumstances that is to be expected. Naturally, the man she marries will inherit my estate, and therefore, the choice she makes for a husband is important to me.”
“Of course.” Inheritance of the estate is the only reason I, or anyone else, would willingly sit across from you and suffer your condescension.
Lord Elis frowned and continued, “As I was saying, I will
not take Zilla’s mate choice lightly. There will be at least a year of courtship, perhaps longer.” Lord Elis stood and walked around Luke. He tapped his fingers on the fireplace mantel sharply. The unexpected, imperative sound startled Luke and he swung around. “I believe she primarily fancies you because of your title.” Lord Elis paused but Luke didn’t react, unwilling to give the insolent cur the satisfaction. He resettled behind the desk. “For that reason, before I settle on one man, I will require that Zilla attend several more balls with myself in attendance. Do you understand?”
Luke nodded. He understood. The viscount thought himself worthy to speak to a baron like a child and to watch over him like one, as well.
“Good day to you.”
Luke stood, bowed, and exited the library. Greeted by an empty hallway, he punched his fist into his hand and muttered, “Blast it all.”
The meeting with Lord Elis, which he had considered a mere formality, had turned into a formal task where he would now be expected to woo a woman he wasn’t even sure he wanted.
Impatience grew with waiting and he tapped his boots against the shiny mosaic floor. A footman dressed in full orange and flamboyant green livery rushed forward and promptly escorted him to his horse, led from the mews by a groom. Luke craned his neck and stared up at the looming red brick manse. He felt like a carriage had run over him. The meeting had been a complete failure, of that he was sure.
Atop his horse, he set out for his townhouse. A minimal staff kept the house in working order. He only used it when visiting London and occasionally rented it to other families.
The home sported whitewash and cheerfully sparkling windows decorated with flower boxes. Manicured shrubs and multi-colored primroses bloomed along the walk.
Beneath the shadows of his home, he dismounted and handed the horse’s reins to the stable hand.
“Thank you, Michael.”
Michael nodded and led the horse away.
The horse was in good hands. Luke turned on his heel and walked inside. He removed his hat, coat, and gloves and handed them to the footman.
“Thank you, James.”
The butler stepped forward. “Was your afternoon productive, my lord?”
“Humph.”
“That well, my lord.”
“I’m afraid, Charles, that the viscount is not as willing to marry off his daughter as I had been led to believe.” Luke paused then asked, “Were there any calls while I was out?”
“No, your lordship.”
“Thank you. I’ll be in the parlor if I’m needed.”
“Very good, my lord.”
In the parlor, Luke cut a half-sheet of paper and composed a letter to his half-brother.
Chadwick,
I fear that my hope of conducting my business quickly has been thwarted. I will stay in London for only a month longer, at which time I will return. Remember that Jarvis and Roland are your greatest assets. Continue to run the estate in a manner pleasing to our late father, and I will return as soon as is prudent.
Your brother,
Luke
Luke sealed the letter and directed it to the Stockport estate. He leaned back in his chair and tapped the tip of the quill to his forehead.
Luke reviewed the visit with Viscount Elis. If the gent didn’t have a man in mind to marry Zilla, then Luke was mother to a group of piglets. Any father would have seen Luke’s pursuit of his daughter as a welcome petition.
Maybe the viscount had been scorned before. Perhaps he feared Luke would mismanage the funds belonging to the Elis estate. But why would that be? Stockport had flourished under his hand.
A sigh rent the air as he pondered the possibilities. He straightened in his chair. What if he attended Elis’ planned balls, and encouraged his friends to attend and tout his finer qualities? By making himself more available in increments, he would become more familiar and thereby more acceptable. Excited by his plan, he raced downstairs.
Rosabel Smith tirelessly worked in the kitchen. Upon her husband’s death last year, she had agreed to take the job of housekeeper and cook in his beautiful townhouse. A surge of affection for her willingness to assume duties beyond her writ filled him as he studied her from the kitchen entrance. She hummed and bounced as she kneaded a mound of fresh dough. Her lace cap joggled and tendrils of graying hair escaped. Her gray uniform sashayed across the floor.
He strode into the room and whistled.
Mrs. Smith flashed a smile in his direction. “Ah, your lordship, how are you this fine day?”
“I’ve been better.”
She laughed and shook her head. “Girl troubles, my lord?”
Luke laughed. “I guess you could say that.”
“You know my rules; I will always treat you like family. So if you need an ear, your lordship, I wouldn’t mind bending mine to you.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Smith, but what I need is a list of balls for the month.”
“A full month, eh? I personally am not on the circuit,” she paused and shook her head at her own joke, before adding, “but I’m sure if I ask the upstairs maid, Paulina, she will know.”
“Thank you.” He leaned over her shoulder. “What’s for supper?”
Mrs. Smith tapped him on the nose with her floury finger. “If you must know, your lordship, you are having chicken, potatoes, fresh bread, and a sweet.”
“Hmm, sounds good.” He grabbed an apple off the table, tossed it in the air, caught it, and took a bite.
Mrs. Smith shooed him from the room and he headed upstairs to search his wardrobe.
****
Stockport, England…
Chadwick accepted the post. “News from my brother?”
“None, I’m afraid.”
“Roland, this is intolerable. The estate is in total disrepair, the rents I will collect from the people will hardly be enough, and I’m out of money.”
Roland sighed but said nothing.
“You are the butler, you have to do something.”
“Sir, your brother left express instructions. You have permission to raise funds if need be.”
“Of course I have permission to raise funds, but how is the question. I could increase rates but the people can’t afford another cent and my debts continue to grow.”
“Perhaps if you stopped playing Faro then you wouldn’t need to raise funds.”
Chadwick narrowed his eyes and slapped his palms on the desk. “Faro is the only pastime I’m allowed.” He stood straight and raked his hand through his brown hair. “I’m not allowed to travel past Stockport, I’m not allowed to have friends visit the estate, I’m not allowed to enjoy a woman’s company—”
“That’s because in the past you did a little too much,” whispered Roland.
Chadwick ignored the jab. “Do you know how hard it is to be the second son of a baron? No, you don’t. Do you know how hard it is to be the son of a woman no one liked? No, you don’t.” He stared out the window at the vast grounds. “I should have been allowed to travel to London and join the theater. I would have been perfect on stage.”
“Agreed.”
“I know you say this because you think I’m a liar, but would you care to consider that perhaps I have other talents?” He continued to speak as if to himself. “I could put on a show, I know I could. I would be the talk of the town. Why, if I had half a chance, I know I could be the leading man in any play I put my mind to.”
He fell into the chair behind the desk and propped his feet on the corner. The sound of agony the action dragged from his confidant increased his sense of power. Head back against the chair, he closed his eyes and imagined the wooden stage, the candlelight, the crowds of fans, all there to watch him. Then after the show would come the hero worship, the adoration. Women would flock to him like sauce on a goose. Notes planning clandestine meetings would arrive in his private chambers. He would pin them on the wall, stare at them, and enjoy the promise of the meeting as much, or more, than the meeting itself.
He opened his eyes
and gazed around the room. The library contained mostly books but on one wall there was a painting — the portrait of Baroness Stockport, Ethelinda, Luke’s mother. No portraits of his mother had ever been crafted, nor would they be.
Chadwick narrowed his eyes. What if he could make the money by putting on a show? Surely local peers and those of wealth would pay for a bit of entertainment.
Steepling his fingers, Chadwick formulated a plan.
Chapter Two
Brigitta Blackburn waved to neighbors as she headed to the market. Cool crisp air lifted locks of her auburn hair and blew them into her face. She pushed strands from her eyes and located the butcher’s stall.
“What will it be today, Miss Brigitta?”
“Lamb, please.”
“Same size as last time?”
“Perhaps a little smaller,” said Brigitta, digging out the necessary coins.
The small piece was wrapped and handed to her. “Tell your folks I said hello.”
Brigitta cringed as she promised to pass the message. She headed to the next stall. Finished purchasing the meager supplies, she left the busy streets and headed home.
The two-room wooden cottage sat on the outer edge of town. The area consisted of manufactory workers and tradesmen; those considered of greatest need by the people but held in the least regard.
Children with filth-streaked faces skipped past, grabbing her skirt and leaving a handprint. Crippled villagers congregated and rattled bowls; the meager coins they’d collected struck the metal sides and echoed through the narrow pass. Brigitta lowered her head so she didn’t have to look at the crowded, shabby homes and the destitute people lining the muddy lane.
Brigitta reached her cottage, opened the door, and closed it just as quickly. Wind pushed at a loose shutter and it crashed against the wall. With a cry she dropped the basket and secured the latch. Cold raced along her spine and she glanced longingly at the empty wood box.
The Case of the Puppet Constable (A Justice and Miss Quinn Mystery Book 2) Page 8