by Kate Archer
The days were a quiet sort of happy, aside from wondering about the Dagobert, Lieutenant Farthmore, and Lady Montague. The four young people who occupied the garden had fallen into a very comfortable and familiar friendship. Daisy realized she’d never experienced anything like it. She had developed some amount of intimacy with other ladies, perhaps more so through letters than anything else, and particularly with Kitty, now Lady Grayson. But she’d never had the opportunity to live day to day with anybody but Mrs. Jellops.
Dear Mrs. Jellops spent most of her time in the garden sleeping, only to wake with a start, certain she was late for something. Discovering she was not, she would soothe herself with a few biscuits or sandwiches and drift off again. At the end of the day, as the sun dropped below the horizon, Daisy and Mrs. Jellops would have a quiet dinner together and retire early. Her companion had moved back to her own bedchamber and Mrs. Broadbent had relocated back to her own quarters, much to Mr. Bellamy’s approval. Daisy could not help but admit that she approved of the arrangement too. After blowing out the last candle, Daisy was free to peek out the window unobserved to spy Lord Dalton, his brandy, and his cat on their usual bench.
All the while, there was a constant watch on the post while they waited for any news from Lady Grayson regarding the Dagobert. There had been some alarms from the watchmen, who felt they needed to report to either Bellamy or Lord Dalton anything unusual they had spotted. Daisy attributed this to Mrs. Broadbent’s scathing what-for to poor Mr. Deer and his hope to never experience the like again.
At first, the watchmen’s racing to report everything they’d seen had startled Daisy, but she’d grown more used to it, as it seemed always to be something verging on the ridiculous. One evening, they had spotted a male cat on the premises and chased it off, lest it put Lord Dalton’s cat in an unwanted motherly condition. They had then promptly second-guessed themselves and inquired over whether Lord Dalton might indeed wish to have kittens about.
Another time, they’d harassed a grocer who was only attempting to bring Mr. Flanagan the radishes he’d been waiting for. Just an hour ago, they’d told the tale of a peddler who was turned back and noted there was a boat sailing off the coast. Daisy had listened, amused, as Bellamy gave them the what-for by way of noting there were peddlers everywhere on God’s green earth —and the boat was in the water because it would not do very well if it attempted to sail on land.
Now, though, the watchmen were back at their posts and had been told to expect the Minkertons so there was no danger of them driving her guests off like the poor peddler.
Two extra tables had been brought into the drawing room and a sofa moved out to accommodate it. Lord and Lady Bartholomew were to bring Mrs. Phelps, a lady visiting from their own neighborhood in Somerset, to make an even eight. They might pair off in fours for whist, or one table of whist and two tables for piquet.
As the activity swirled round her, Daisy could not help but notice the unusual spring in the servants’ steps. Betsy said it was due to everybody having perfected the skill of giving the what-for and feeling like they’d armed themselves against all comers. Daisy only hoped they would not be too liberal with it and start giving what-fors to anybody they might encounter.
The last platter for the buffet had been laid, a fanning of perfectly sliced ham with Mr. Flanagan’s secret recipe mustard cream in a crystal bowl in the center. Betsy had reported that they’d all been chased out of the kitchen while he prepared the mustard and all he would say about it was he used very cold water and liberal vinegar. However he prepared it, Daisy had found it was as hot-tempered as Mr. Flanagan himself. Mrs. Jellops had just taken a small spoon to taste it and appeared rather red in the face and teary-eyed.
Daisy gazed round the transformed drawing room with satisfaction just as the Minkertons’ carriage rolled up to the doors.
Lord Dalton came in not long after, and Daisy wondered if he’d been waiting for them to arrive before coming himself. The idea irked her, though she could not say exactly why. He was as handsome as he ever was though, perhaps more so with his tanned face, despite the usual scowl on it and the more recent addition of telltale cat hairs liberally decorating the bottom of his trousers.
Mrs. Phelps had been introduced round and Mrs. Jellops had taken an instant liking to her, the ladies being of similar age. She’d already warned Mrs. Phelps about the heat of the mustard cream as if this were a usual subject between middle-aged ladies. Mrs. Phelps had nodded knowingly and they went together to the sideboard to examine it more closely.
“Miss Danworth,” Lady Bartholomew said, “we have just had a lively exchange in the carriage. Lord Burke claims that he and Belle can easily trounce Lord Bartholomew and myself at whist. My lord says it is terrible nonsense.”
“So it is. Though I also mentioned,” Lord Bartholomew said, “that as much as we’d like to find out, it must be the hostesses’ purview to pair us up.”
“If it is my purview,” Daisy said, “then I say let the battle commence.” She could see they were all keen on the idea and she was rather delighted with Lord Burke for coming up with the notion. It was precisely the sort of gambit a lovesick gentleman might be counted on for. She was further gratified to see Miss Minkerton’s eagerness for the scheme. This satisfaction was capped off by Lord Burke insisting that Miss Minkerton’s ankle must still be sore and lending his arm to escort her to a chair. Really, the two of them were fooling themselves if they did not see they were exceedingly admiring of one another.
Mrs. Jellops and Mrs. Phelps returned from viewing Mr. Flanagan’s mustard at the sideboard. Mrs. Phelps said, “I was just telling Mrs. Jellops that I really do not understand piquet as well as I’d like, and she has graciously consented to be my instructress.”
Daisy hardly knew what to do with that information. For one, Mrs. Jellops was ghastly at piquet. They occasionally played together, as she did have a fondness for the game, but Daisy was forever making bad moves just to stay apace of Mrs. Jellops’ bad moves to keep the game going. For another, that would only leave herself and Lord Dalton un-paired, and therefore paired.
Still, there was not much she could do about it. It seemed everybody had decided what they would be playing, and with who. Was she even sorry over it? She supposed she was not.
Daisy said, “It seems, Lord Dalton, that it is left to you and I for a game of piquet.”
The lord nodded, but as usual it was impossible to determine if he viewed it a good thing or bad.
After everyone had seated themselves, Bellamy brought round his own particular selection from the wine cellar. Earlier in the day, Daisy had discussed what would be best and been somewhat relieved that he did not seem to still shoulder his sullenness over not being able to drink a few bottles a night himself. Having been so liberal in his past consumptions though, he was extremely knowledgeable. He’d suggested a white German wine from the Riesling region. It was a young vintage and would have the light crispness of a tart apple, exceedingly appropriate for the summer season. He would leave it in the cellar to remain cool until the last moment to enhance its refreshing qualities.
Daisy had trusted him and, in a moment, seen that he was correct. Lord Bartholomew had taken one sip before asking Bellamy more about it.
As Bellamy delivered his speech about the region, the type, the acidity, the finish, the vintner, and the year, Lord Dalton unwrapped a new pack of cards.
Daisy did her best to keep her concentration on her own table, but it was near impossible to avoid overhearing Mrs. Jellops and Mrs. Phelps. Dear Mrs. Jellops was communicating all sorts of wrong information, including what sounded like a completely made-up scoring system.
Mrs. Phelps nodded eagerly over each bit of misinformation and said things like, “Ah, I see! I hadn’t known.”
As Lord Dalton dealt the cards, he raised his eyebrows, no doubt also listening to this fascinating and very wrong conversation.
Daisy shrugged and pressed her lips together hard to stop herself from la
ughing.
“Perhaps we might play by the more usual rules?” Lord Dalton asked drily.
Daisy nodded. “Indeed, we’d better,” she said softly, “as I hardly understand how they have arranged their game.”
This elicited a very rare laugh from Lord Dalton and Daisy felt herself inexplicably gratified. She supposed when something was rare, its value was all the greater.
Daisy studied her hand. After discarding two and picking up, she found herself with a pair of aces. She decided to sink them, a trick she’d learned from Lady Ashworth, a rather renowned card player. They called the points, sequences, triplets and fours and Daisy thought her hand measured up very well against Lord Dalton’s. Particularly since he would go forward unaware of the aces she held back. As a further deception, she allowed him to take the first trick with a low card. He would be convinced to play his high cards at the end, and then he would lose them to her aces.
As they played on and Daisy noted down the running score, it was impossible to avoid understanding how the other piquet game was going. Mrs. Phelps was near-drowning in a sea of bad advice while Mrs. Jellops said comforting things like, “Do not scold yourself, Mrs. Phelps, you will catch on.”
Daisy did not know if it was the wine, or the idea that poor Mrs. Phelps would one day soon find herself at another card party attempting to explain Mrs. Jellops’ rules to an unsuspecting stranger. She could not help laughing.
She held her fan of cards over the lower half of her face but it was not enough. Lord Dalton’s shoulders heaved as Mrs. Jellops informed Mrs. Phelps that she’d just scored forty points for producing two eights in a row, an idea so far removed from piquet as to be from here to heaven.
Mrs. Jellops suddenly called over, “What is it, Daisy? Has Lord Dalton told a good joke?”
“Oh do tell us,” Mrs. Phelps said. “I do love a joke.”
“No, no,” Daisy exclaimed, knowing how impossible it would be for Lord Dalton to be forced to tell a joke, if anybody had ever dared tell him one. “I was just laughing at the awfulness of my hand. It is so bad as to be ridiculous.”
“Oh dear,” Mrs. Phelps said. “And here I am racking up forty points for a double run of eights. Sometimes it’s just down to luck, you know.”
Daisy bit down on her lip lest she fall off her chair in heaves of laughter. Lord Dalton leaned his forehead against one hand as if rubbing a headache, though Daisy saw perfectly well enough that he was attempting to control his own laughter.
She took in a deep breath and said, “I think we shall get on better if we do everything we can to concentrate on this game. And this game only.”
Lord Dalton nodded. “As far as I understand it, this is the only game of piquet being played in the room.”
Daisy did her best to ignore the wit of the statement, as that would only lead to more laughter. Lord Dalton could be witty when he liked, a very dry sort of wit that she’d always found amusing. Now, though, she must not continue laughing over Mrs. Jellops’ instruction or they were bound to be found out.
However bad Mrs. Jellops’ memory of the actual game was, Daisy would not point it out for the world. It would be for Mrs. Phelps to discover on her own at some future moment.
They had finally come to the last two plays. As she had expected, Lord Dalton was looking very satisfied with himself as he laid down the queen of hearts.
Daisy laid down her ace of clubs and took the trick.
Lord Dalton looked up in surprise. “You sank an ace?”
Daisy smiled. “Or two,” she said.
The lord reluctantly laid down the king of diamonds and Daisy took the last trick too. The extra points for taking the last trick would put her ahead.
“Where did you learn that little piece of deception?” Lord Dalton asked.
“Lady Ashworth,” Daisy said, “and it is perfectly within the rules.”
“You are a wretch.”
“I thought that was what you called your cat.”
“What cat?” Lord Dalton said, pulling the score pad toward him. “See here, what about this? I played a ten and then another ten—is that not an extra forty points you have not added in? Must I consult your intrepid companion about the rules?”
His playfulness in imitating Mrs. Jellops’ unique scoring system caught Daisy so by surprise that she began to laugh again. She took deep breaths to stop herself and thought she’d never laughed so much in her life. Others may not have found the state at all unusual, they were those who’d had a childhood filled with games and jokes. She had not, however. It felt somehow liberating, as if a great weight of seriousness had flown from her shoulders. As if it were not always necessary to be entirely serious.
When she thought about it, she realized she had laughed quite a lot this summer. It was meant to be a summer of quiet mourning and had somehow brought danger with it. Nevertheless, she’d found herself often amused by Mrs. Broadbent’s indomitable what-fors and Betsy’s interesting stories from the servants’ hall and of course, Lord Dalton’s cat. Now, here was darling Mrs. Jellops’ excellence at inventing an entirely new game and calling it piquet.
Just as these pleasant thoughts were rolling through her mind, she heard a distant knock on the front doors.
Chapter Thirteen
The knock on the door instantly chased away any lightheartedness Daisy had felt, and she looked up in alarm.
Lord Dalton rose and said, “I will go. Don’t forget about my run of tens and the forty points.”
She smiled at his joking, though inside she felt a sort of terror. She could not even say why. After all, it was not every time somebody knocked that had turned out unpleasant. But there had been some times. The time Lieutenant Farthmore had turned up. The other times when Bellamy had refused entry to one of her father’s cronies. Those unpleasant times were always at night.
She must not let a knock affect her so!
Certainly, if it were someone who should not be arriving, the careful watchmen would have chased them off. They could not chase off a peddler and stand in the way of the grocer and then let the likes of Farthmore through. In any case, whoever it was, if they were not wanted Lord Dalton would send them packing.
Lord Dalton returned to the room and gave her a reassuring nod. Loudly, he said, “A letter has just arrived by fast messenger. From Lady Grayson.”
Daisy let out a long sigh she’d not even realized she’d been holding. Dear Kitty had written again. They had waited and waited, and now they might finally hear something definitive about Dagobert.
The parties all stopped their games and Mrs. Jellops whispered to Mrs. Phelps what all the fuss was about.
“A mystery!” Mrs. Phelps said. “How diverting! What a pleasant card party this is.”
Lord Dalton strode across the room and handed Daisy the letter. The Minkertons and Lord Burke had laid down their cards and risen to join her, with Lord Burke carefully transporting Miss Minkerton via a strong hand on her delicate elbow. Mrs. Jellops and Mrs. Phelps were not far behind.
Daisy tore open the letter.
My dear Daisy,
What a time I have had writing back and forth to all my learned acquaintances! Just as it seemed I was to get nowhere with it, as I was forever receiving histories of King Dagobert I was already perfectly well aware of, I finally received the information I believe you have been looking for.
Mr. Croydon sent my request on to a fellow expert on France, and in fact the man is in Paris as we speak. Monsieur Benoit has written back to Mr. Croydon and he has faithfully made a copy and sent it on to me. The information is both exciting and alarming.
M. Benoit explains that the Dagobert is certain to be the Dagobert Scepter. It is part of the French crown jewels and had been housed in St. Denis Basilica. It was discovered stolen a few years ago, though it is not at all clear when precisely it was taken. It may have been missing for some time before it was even noticed gone.
Surely, this must be the answer to your mystery. Though, I am on tenterho
oks to discover if you know where this item is located or who has possession of it or how it came to your attention at all. Needless to say, Mr. Croydon and Monsieur Benoit are interested too.
I enclose a drawing done by M. Benoit to show what the scepter looks like.
Please do send me news when you have it, as I will do too.
Kitty
Daisy unfolded the enclosed picture. It was a drawing of a rod, and Kitty had helpfully noted that it was two feet in length and the whole was enameled in gold. At the top, a man rode some sort of bird. It was an ugly-looking thing, and not one that Daisy would have thought would prompt a thief to make off with. But then, as it was part of the French crown jewels, somebody had understood its value. Somebody had secreted it out of the basilica. How it had ever become associated with her father and Lieutenant Farthmore, Daisy could not fathom.
Lord Burke peered over Daisy’s shoulder and pointed at the scepter. “Wait a moment,” he said, “I have seen that somewhere before, I am certain I have.”
Lord Dalton took the paper from her hand. He stared at it in silence as Mrs. Jellops and Mrs. Phelps confirmed to one another that it was not the sort of thing they would display in a drawing room. According to the ladies, the scepter lacked a sense of delicacy and refinement.
“It’s the bedpost,” Lord Dalton said.
Nobody save Lord Burke seemed to understand this interesting speculation.
“My God,” Lord Burke said to Dalton, “I believe you’re right.”
“What bedpost?” Daisy said. She was certain it was not any bedpost in this house. The thing was horrid-looking and would haunt a person’s dreams.
“The day we went into your father’s room to search for letters,” Lord Dalton said, “we found it in complete disarray. Not searched, as your library had been, but just unkempt. I noted at the time that even a bedpost was missing.”