by Kate Archer
He pointed at the picture. “That was the one that remained.”
“So the Dagobert is a scepter, and it has been here all along,” Daisy said softly.
Lord Bartholomew said, “But why should Childress have got himself involved with stolen crown jewels?”
“I cannot answer why,” Lord Dalton said, “but I know that he had. I found letters in the cottage that indicated that smuggling was his primary business. I did not say anything of it because I did not wish to frighten Miss Danworth, as there has been some contention, and some dirty-dealing, over it.”
“What do you mean by contention?” Mrs. Jellops said. “What was there in it to frighten Daisy? Certainly, nobody can hold Daisy responsible for anything Lord Childress had ever done.”
“The lady lands right on the point,” Mrs. Phelps whispered approvingly to her new friend. “A daughter cannot control a father, it is very well known.”
“Farthmore claimed the Dagobert had been delivered,” Lord Dalton said, looking not very eager to convey the details. “Lord Childress claimed it had not. The lord had initially, at least from what I can gather…Farthmore thought he was to marry Miss Danworth in exchange for the Dagobert. Later on, there was some kind of altered agreement that they would wait until she had reached her majority, though I do not understand what could have been promised.”
“Hateful man,” Lady Bartholomew said softly. “There is no soul in a father who would bargain his daughter.”
Lord Bartholomew nodded and he and his lady looked fondly at Miss Minkerton.
Daisy felt a little pang at noting their affection for their daughter. It was clear that Miss Minkerton had grown up protected and loved. Daisy could hardly imagine how it had been. Her own house had always given her the feeling of being an intruder in enemy territory.
“Of course,” Lord Burke said to Lord Bartholomew, “any right-thinking father would only wish that his daughter marry someone who can give her a good life, and treat her well, and honor her in every way.”
Miss Minkerton gazed up at the lord admiringly.
“My father,” Daisy said, “was many things. He was not, however, right-thinking. But, for all his penchant toward lowness of all sorts, he did have an almost obsession with rank. He would have never connected himself to Farthmore through marriage. Not even to punish me in some fashion.”
“I agree,” Lord Dalton said. “And that is why I cannot imagine what he promised to fend Farthmore off for a few years. That must have been his purpose, to delay him for a period of time. I had assumed, not knowing what a Dagobert was but concluding it was some piece of art, that it had been long ago sold. I don’t know what Lord Childress’ plan was to deal with Farthmore, but he was just buying himself time. Perhaps he would have sold it and paid some of the money to his conspirator. It was Farthmore who got his hands on it in Spain. I do not know who originally stole it, because it likely changed hands a few times over the years. But I believe that the man who arrived to Tarragona with it was murdered by Farthmore.”
A cold began to run through Daisy’s veins, as if her blood were turning to ice. She was not particularly shocked to hear of the lieutenant as a murderer. She was not even surprised that her father had been involved in such a scheme or that he had dangled her as bait. But a terrible truth, far worse than any she could have imagined, had stolen over her. If her father had made a deal with Farthmore to wait until her majority, he could only have had one thing in mind—he wished to wait until she had her money. He would not, however, have waited until she’d composed a will. She would have conveniently died intestate, and then the money would go to him.
That was how he planned to pay off Farthmore, and they had both agreed to it. He would pay off Farthmore with part of her inheritance and then sell the scepter at his leisure. He was a high stakes gambler to the end. All his claims that she must marry high, and at the same time being sure to show her what men could be, exposing her to the lowest forms, keeping her as locked in as possible…it was all a delay tactic to be certain she was still unmarried when she came into her money.
Had her father lived one more year, it was not very likely that she would have lived much longer after that.
Daisy gripped the arm of her chair to steady herself as Lord Dalton went on with his speculations.
“There was some other fellow mentioned in the letters, a man named Jenkins,” Lord Dalton said, “though I am not sure what part he’s played in it. He seemed to be some sort of middleman. I also do not know why Childress should have left such a valuable piece posing as a bedpost.”
Daisy decided she would not reveal what she’d guessed of her father’s real plans. The company was already horrified by him and she somehow felt responsible for being related to such a man, as if the taint was upon her.
“I cannot be certain,” she said slowly, “but knowing my father, it would have amused him to use crown jewels as a bedpost. He would have felt superior to them, as he liked to feel about all things and all people. He would have felt powerful, hiding it in plain sight.”
“Though, perhaps he accidentally left it behind?” Mrs. Jellops said. “Remember Daisy, that very strange year when we were sent back to Shropshire quite suddenly, we were only given a day to pack. Then, your father was to remain here for another month, but arrived a week later with a black eye.”
Daisy nodded. “Yes, of course I remember, though I just chalked it up to his general capriciousness and assumed he’d been in a brawl in town. And that does not account for the other years. He left the bedchamber in disarray and left it behind last year.”
“We may never know what prompted his hasty exit last summer,” Lord Dalton said, “but from the state of his room it was indeed done at a run.”
“Those poor watchmen outside just now would be shaken right out of their boots if they knew they were guarding part of the French crown jewels,” Mrs. Jellops said.
“Indeed,” Daisy said, “they would be.” She paused, a sudden new idea filling her with dread.
Lord Dalton, instantly noting her distress, said, “What? What is it?”
“The watchmen,” Daisy said. “It may be nothing, but only a few hours ago they reported to Mr. Bellamy that they’d turned away a peddler and also…that they’d spotted a boat off the coast that struck them as suspicious. I am sure it does not mean anything…”
“But it might,” Lord Dalton said. His voice had taken on a harsher, crisper tone than Daisy had heard in some weeks. “The distraction of a party and my cottage unoccupied might be just the time somebody might choose to slip in and slip out. After all, Farthmore knows what he is looking for, while we did not.”
“Is he here? In the house?” Daisy asked, her voice sounding too high to her ears.
Lord Dalton did not answer, but turned to Lord Bartholomew and said, “Will you care for the ladies?”
Lord Bartholomew nodded. Lord Dalton turned to Lord Burke and said, “Let’s go.”
Burke gently placed Miss Minkerton in a chair. The lady wrung her hands and said, “Oh, do be careful, whatever it is you are planning!”
Lord Dalton and Lord Burke raced from the room and Daisy heard them bounding up the stairs.
Over Lord Bartholomew’s objections, Daisy ran from the drawing room to the bottom of the stairs. She could hear the pounding of feet overhead, a door thrown open, and then Lord Dalton shout, “The window!”
Daisy hurried back into the drawing room, to the far side that housed the windows overlooking the garden. They were the windows that sat directly below her father’s bedchamber and whatever now occurred there.
“What do you look for, Daisy?” Mrs. Jellops asked tremulously from the other side of the room.
Daisy hardly knew what she looked for, she’d heard Lord Dalton yell something about the window and so she’d run to it.
The garden was softly lit with a full moon and punctuated with shadowy outlines—the shrubbery lining the garden’s walls, the well-worn paths in the scrubby coastal gra
ss, worn down from trodding feet, the gate in the distance that led to the old cement stairs. The cat stretched out on the bench in its usual spot, illuminated by the lone candle burning in the window of the cottage.
It seemed peaceful as it ever did, but for the pounding of feet and shouting overhead.
A rope dropped into her view and a man’s legs dangled in front of the window. At first, she’d only seen shoes and trousers. The shoes were worn and the trousers dirty and frayed. Then came the rest of the man.
It was Lieutenant Farthmore. His eyes met hers and Daisy recoiled from the hate she saw in them. She instinctively grasped at the window sash to ensure it was locked, lest he leap in and murder her, as he had no doubt planned with her father.
She was certain that he’d dressed himself as a peddler earlier in the day to gain entrance—he was dressed as a peddler still. After he’d been turned away at the front gate, he’d found another way in.
He clutched the scepter and raced toward the back of the garden. He skirted the bench that sat outside the cottage, the cat since disappeared.
Lord Dalton came down the rope next. Daisy was horrified that he would pursue the lieutenant.
“Do not follow him,” she cried through the glass. “There may be others with him!”
Her words fell on deaf ears. Lord Dalton had set off in a run and now Lord Burke had landed on the ground and was fast on his heels.
“Please, please do not let anything happen to him,” Daisy whispered, her palms against the glass. “Nothing must happen to him.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
As soon as Charles had heard of the suspicious boat offshore that had been reported by the watchmen and dismissed by Miss Danworth and his butler, he’d known Farthmore was making another run at the scepter.
Of course he would choose this night. Somehow, Farthmore had discovered the card party—easy enough to hear of it from a grocer or a maid chattering about it in a shop. Since none of household often left the premises, the second-best thing was to ensure that everybody was in the same room, engaged in an activity together.
It was his own fault for discovering it at the last moment. He’d said nothing to anybody about the letters he’d discovered in the cottage. Nobody but himself had known that Lord Childress had been a smuggler.
He’d told Daisy, Miss Farnworth, that he had not informed her of it because he did not wish her to be frightened. That was true, though he had also not wished her to be damaged. News that one’s father had engaged in criminal activities was a quick way to find doors shut in one’s face across England. That sort of news would be picked up and carried everywhere by the likes of Lady Montague. That her cousin, three times removed, was also involved would have been conveniently glossed over or she would have simply cut the connection.
He’d bounded up the stairs, Burke coming behind him, and raced to Childress’ bedchamber. In his hurry, he’d been stupid enough to forget a candle and at first, he could not see much when he threw open the door. He could feel, though, and what he felt was a distinct breeze from an open window.
His eyes quickly adjusted to the gloom with the help of the light from the full moon. The scepter that had stood in for a bedpost was gone, and a man climbed out the window.
Charles had run to the window and found a rope tied round a stone gargoyle that sat just below it. The man, who he was certain was Farthmore, had reached the end of the rope and leapt to the ground. Charles followed him out the window and he’d heard Burke coming down after him as he set off across the lawn. Farthmore was making for the back gate and Charles wondered if that was how he’d gained entrance in the first place. Beyond the gate was only the dilapidated cement steps leading down to a rocky beach. It was not a place for swimming, or even strolling. It was a hemmed in cove and so had never been particularly guarded. After all, nobody could reach that beach unless they came by boat.
Before he’d known that Childress was a smuggler, he’d wondered why the steps were there at all and had assumed that the lord had some plan or other to clear the beach of all the rocks and somehow make it pleasant. Once he had known about the smuggling, he surmised that this was where the goods had come and gone.
Farthmore blasted through the gate, and it had been clearly left unlocked for him to do so. Certainly, that was how the scoundrel had come in.
Charles gained on him, though he was not certain he would catch him. He was also not certain of who else he might run into. He’d heard Daisy’s warning to him that there might be others, though he’d pretended he hadn’t. He remembered well enough that some fellow named Jenkins had been involved all along. As well, if Farthmore had come by boat, which seemed likely, he could not have come alone.
Burke caught up with him as he reached the gate. There was a sloop offshore, big enough to do a safe channel crossing, and a rowboat with a man standing next to it beached on the shore.
Farthmore raced down the winding steps, the scepter in one hand, and a burlap bag that came from he knew not where in the other.
As Charles burst through the gate, he suddenly saw the cat appear on the steps in front of Farthmore. He saw her, but Farthmore did not.
The lieutenant tripped over her and crashed headfirst down the last of the steps.
As the cat scampered into the scrub bushes that lined the rocky cliff, the man who stood by the rowboat ran to Farthmore, who lay motionless among the rocks. He leaned over, grabbed the scepter and the burlap bag, and made for his boat.
Charles scrambled down the steps, which felt like they were nearly crumbling underneath his feet. He kept his eye on Farthmore, who had remained motionless.
“He’s getting away,” Burke said of the man with the rowboat.
Indeed, the man had already thrown the scepter and the bag into the boat and pushed it back into the water. He leapt on and grabbed his oars just as Charles and Burke reached Farthmore.
“We won’t catch him,” Burke said, as the man rowed furiously out to sea. The larger boat which sat in deeper water signaled with a lamp to guide the rowboat toward it.
Charles reached down to feel Farthmore’s neck for a pulse. There was nothing, the man was dead. As far as he could tell from the angle of Farthmore’s head, his neck had been broken on the impact.
He stood up and looked out to sea as the rowboat reached the larger sailing ship and the man and his goods were hauled up over the side.
“I will assume that is Jenkins,” Charles said. “The middleman who has outlived both his partners.”
“We’d better send for the magistrate,” Burke said, “though I hardly dare imagine what he will make of this tale. Should we carry the body back to the house?”
Charles considered it, then shook his head. “The tide is out, and will be for some hours. We’d best let the fellow see the scene of the accident as it is.”
“Will he even believe it, I wonder,” Burke said. “A stolen scepter, climbing out a window, a boat waiting offshore, and all that only to be done in by a cat?”
“She is an exceedingly clever cat,” Charles said, “but perhaps we might just mention that Farthmore fell of his own accord.”
Burke nodded and they began making their way back up the steps.
As they climbed back up, careful on the crumbling edifice lest they meet the same fate as the lieutenant, faces began to appear over the back wall of the garden.
Charles was at once aggravated that Miss Danworth had not stayed in the drawing room as she should have, flattered that she’d been concerned for his safety, and admiring that she did not wail in the face of a dead body as Miss Minkerton was just now doing.
Charles called up to Bellamy, who had joined them in looking down upon the gruesome scene. “Send for the magistrate and tell them if there are any naval ships at the docks, they ought to set sail and be on the lookout for a sloop that is just now making off with some French crown jewels.”
Bellamy nodded at the unusual request, a testament to his years serving a master who might be counted on to i
nvolve himself in all sorts of odd matters.
Burke was through the garden gate first and Charles was surprised to see Miss Minkerton throwing herself at him. Just a moment ago, he’d been certain she was on the verge of a swoon. Now, he was not so certain that the lady had been wailing over the dead body at all, as it seemed she was now wailing over Burke.
“Don’t you ever, ever put yourself in such danger again!” she cried, beating her little fists against his chest.
Burke took her in his arms and said, “I was never in any real danger.”
“You were, I know it,” Miss Minkerton said sobbing. “And well, I could never, what I mean is how could I go on…”
“Could you truly not go on?” Burke said.
Charles heaved a sigh of disgust, as he could see perfectly well where this was going.
“Now, Belle,” Lord Bartholomew said, “it’s all come right in the end. Do release poor Burke.”
“But with your permission, Lord Bartholomew,” Lord Burke said, “that is, with Belle’s permission too of course, well what I wonder is, am I really suited to being only a brother to Belle? That is what I have been wondering.”
Charles could see that neither Lord nor Lady Bartholomew had the least idea of what Burke was trying to say.
“It seems that Miss Minkerton,” Daisy said, “has been afraid that Lord Burke views her as a sister.”
“I do not!” Lord Burke said. “Not ever!”
“And,” Daisy continued, “I suspect Lord Burke has been afraid that Miss Minkerton views him as only a brother.”
“But I do not!” Miss Minkerton cried.
“I believe,” Daisy said, “they are quite taken with each other.”
Both Miss Minkerton and Lord Burke nodded vigorously. Lord Burke said, “Belle has been the love of my life, well…as long as I’ve been old enough to think of a life. From the very moment I set eyes on her.”
“Ah,” Lady Bartholomew said, “now I see. Well! How wonderful, do not you agree, Husband?”