A Wedding in Springtime (12 page)

“The emeralds are not my best piece. Why would the thief only steal that?”

“Yes, that is perplexing,” said Marchford, examining the room.

Lady Devine wiped a tear from her eye. “Do you think the necklace will be returned soon?”

No one answered her. The emeralds were gone.

“What will they do with them? Everyone knows the setting to be mine.”

“The necklace will probably be ripped apart and the jewels sold separately,” said Marchford without feeling.

“It was my mother’s,” whispered Lady Devine as more tears began to fall. The admiral gave Marchford a glare. Grant just shook his head. For a smart man, Marchford could be thoughtless when it came to women.

Grant motioned to Marchford, who readily followed him outside the lady’s domain to where Thornton was still standing. “There may be a thief downstairs. Shall we call the police?”

“And have them search the guests? I imagine Lady Devine would not care for it,” said Thornton, always practical.

“I do not care for this scene,” muttered the duke. “A thief would have had ample opportunity to come up to her boudoir and steal the lot of jewels. It appears to me this scene was made to look like a failed burglary, but in fact, the thief did not care for jewels or more would be taken.”

“But why?” asked Grant.

“Perhaps it was created as a diversion, so the thief could steal what he really wanted.”

“What could that be?” asked Admiral Devine, joining the party.

“Not sure,” said Marchford. “Have you anything else of value?”

“My wife has several pieces of jewelry, but nothing else has been taken.”

“What about you, Uncle. Anything in the house of particular interest to a thief?” asked Grant.

“Well, there is the silver, some artwork, an extensive, if you do not mind me saying, collection of wine, and some of the finest whiskey handed down from my father.” He looked up to the ceiling in a wistful manner.

“Admiral,” said Marchford, bringing him back to the matter at hand. “Have you anything else in the house. Anything perhaps of interest to a French spy?”

The wistful look vanished and the admiral snapped to attention. “My study!”

Twelve

“The keys to the study!” Admiral Devine called to his butler.

“You keep the study locked?” asked Grant, running after his uncle, Marchford and Thornton in pursuit.

“Yes, as a precaution. I have recently received some letters of a most sensitive nature.”

The keys were produced by the butler and the admiral began to unlock the door.

“Wait!” called a demanding voice. “This is a matter for the Crown to investigate!” Mr. Neville pushed his way forward. “My agents report there has been a theft in this house. Admiral Devine, you received sensitive information recently, did you not?”

“Yes, yes, letters. They are in the top drawer of my desk.”

“Careful now,” said Mr. Neville, taking off his large coat. “Maybe we can catch this thief.”

The door was unlocked and the men carefully edged into the dark room.

“There he is!” shouted Neville, and everyone rushed into the room.

“Where is he?”

“Someone bring a light!”

A loud crash shot through the room just as the butler emerged with a candle. The window curtains were flung back and the window was smashed out.

“He’s made a run for it out the window!” called Marchford.

“After him!” called Neville. “I’ll run around the front and try to head him off.”

Marchford pulled the drapes over the broken glass and jumped through the window after the thief, Grant and Thornton right behind him.

“Which way? Did you see him?” asked Grant. They were in a dark, cramped alley between two large houses in crowded London.

“No, let’s split up and find this bastard,” called Marchford. “You two go toward the front, I’ll check behind.”

“The thief may be dangerous. You should not go alone,” said Thornton.

Marchford drew a small revolver from his waistcoat. “I will not be alone.”

“Remind me to talk to you about the accouterments you bring to a ball,” said Grant, and he turned to run along the side of the house toward the front, Thornton following him. The passage between the two houses was dark, and the men slowed their step around blind corners and entryways, cautious for any surprise attack. They moved silently, listening for any sound.

At the front gate, they heard a scraping noise. Grant carefully lifted the latch. Taking a slow breath to calm his racing heart, he steeled himself for battle. He burst through the gate, but an alley cat merely screeched and disappeared into the night. Grant and Thornton searched around to the front of the house but found no sign of the thief.

Marchford joined them a few minutes later. He too had not found anyone, so they returned to the study, where the admiral stood before his desk. The top drawer had been wrenched open.

“Did you catch the thief?” asked Neville, joining them a few minutes later, breathless and panting.

“No,” replied Marchford. “You?”

“I thought I might have seen him once, but I could not catch him.” Mr. Neville gasped for breath.

“Sit, man, sit,” demanded the admiral.

“Did he get the papers?” asked Mr. Neville, collapsing into a chair.

“I am afraid he did,” replied the admiral.

“Demmit, man!” yelled Mr. Neville. “This is why sensitive information should not be kept in a private residence. This information should be handed over to the Foreign Office for protection.”

“Not that the Foreign Office provides any more protection,” snapped the admiral.

Grant shut the door against unwanted eavesdroppers and gossips, of which London society were the worst offenders. “What do you mean, Uncle?”

“Sprung a leak, my boy. The Foreign Office has been losing information faster than a leaky rowboat takes water.”

“That is a slanderous untruth!” sputtered Neville.

“How else would you explain it?” asked the admiral. “Documents missing, plans known by our enemy before they are even executed, and our spies—many have been discovered or have disappeared.”

“Is this true?” asked Marchford.

“The enemy does seem to have good information,” conceded Neville. “But all the more reason why we must be extremely cautious. What information did those papers contain?”

“It was correspondence from spies on the coast containing plans for the naval defense of Cadiz and other places.”

“Which spies? Give me the names!” demanded Neville. “They must be warned. Their very lives are in danger.”

“I think we have some time,” said the admiral, walking to a wall of books. He climbed up a small ladder and pulled a tome from one of the top shelves. Opening the book, he pulled out a large envelope with an elaborate red seal.

“What is that?” asked Grant.

“Why are these men here?” asked Neville, pointing at Grant and Thornton. “They are not government agents. They have no business here.”

“They are my friends,” said Marchford in a quiet tone that crackled with authority.

Neville glowered under bushy eyebrows but said no more.

“The letters were written in code,” said the admiral. “The code is contained in this envelope. I had one made myself, did not trust the Foreign Office. Without this, those letters are useless.”

“Our people should still be warned,” said Neville, taking out a small notebook.

“And so they shall, but not by you,” said the admiral. “These are my men. I will see to their safety.”

Neville’s eyebrows once again slammed down over his eyes. “But what about the code? It cannot stay here; surely you must see that.”

“Yes,” conceded the admiral. “I suppose you are right.”

Mr. Neville stood and stretched out his hand for the envelope.

“Marchford,” said the admiral. “There is no man I trust more. Will you keep this safe?”

“Yes, Admiral,” said Marchford, taking the envelope, even as Neville sputtered.

“This is exactly the sort of thing that must not happen. Private residences are not a safe place for information of vital importance to the Crown.”

“Plug your own leak, Neville,” demanded the admiral. “Until then, I’ll not trust your office.”

Neville stood up straight, reaching his full, albeit diminutive height. “I will need to interview each member of your staff, and I will need a full guest list. Let us at least acknowledge the painful truth that a member of your staff or a guest in your home is a thief working for our enemy.”

The admiral’s shoulders sagged. The truth was undeniable. “Yes, yes, of course. Lady Devine will provide you this information.”

Grant bowed his way out of the room and left with his friends.

“Such excitement!” declared Grant. “And I thought debutante balls were a bore. Why, nothing could be further from the truth!”

“I’m so glad the drama could serve for your amusement,” replied Marchford.

“It does not appear to have pleased you, my friend.”

“No, indeed,” said Marchford lowering his voice, “for it is likely that someone on the guest list is a spy, and I will, no doubt, be the next target.”

***

“What do you mean you do not have the code?” A delicate figurine launched through the air and smashed to slivers on the hearth.

“I brought you exactly what you asked for,” the spy defended himself, stepping to the side as a vase was hurled toward his head. It smashed on the floor behind him.

“Not good enough! How am I to read this gibberish without the damned code?”

The man ducked as a plate was flung at him.

“Now get me that code. I cannot hold my patience for long!”

If this was patient, the spy was loathe to see angry, and yet getting the code would prove problematic. “The code was given to the Duke of Marchford. He runs his house like a vault. The servants are above bribery, I’ve tried. He has a footman on guard in the study where I suspect the code is being kept. He even has a man sleeping in the study.”

“I do not care to hear your petty problems. Every man can be bribed or killed. Do not tell me that a mere footman is going to prevent Napoleon’s victory.”

“It is not just the footman. The butler keeps the front door locked. There is no way in!”

A red hot poker was removed from the fire and slowly raised level with the spy’s eyes. “Smash the window, poison the footman, bribe a visitor, blackmail a lover, I don’t care how you do it, but bring me that code!”

Thirteen

“You can do this.”

“Pardon?” asked Marchford.

“You look apprehensive. Thought you needed encouragement,” said Grant with a sly smile.

“I am fine. We will pay a morning call on Lady Louisa and then continue to Tattersall’s. Unless you would like to go there directly, I do not wish to impose on your time.”

Grant laughed. “Oh no, you are not getting out of speaking with your fiancée that easily. Besides, what have I to do? I am utterly at my leisure.”

“Remind me to do something about that,” muttered Marchford.

They pulled up outside the Bremerton household and handed the reins of the barouche to Marchford’s tiger, who had jumped down from the back in a flash. They entered the house and were ushered into a formal sitting room.

Lady Bremerton met them with a wide smile. Marchford’s prospective bride barely acknowledged him. Grant easily procured a chair for himself next to the lovely Miss Talbot and abandoned Marchford to pursue awkward conversation with Lady Bremerton.

“I hope you enjoyed the ball, Miss Talbot,” said Grant in a tone he knew would raise an eyebrow from his mother, or any mother, for that matter.

“It was indeed an enjoyable event,” said Genie without rising to the bait of his seductive tone. “Did you have an enjoyable evening, Your Grace?” Genie asked Marchford. If Grant hoped to monopolize her conversation, he was doomed to disappointment.

“Yes, enjoyable evening,” said Marchford in a flat tone that conveyed it had been anything but.

Silence fell briefly, but Genie picked up the conversation with a determined smile. “I believe you were quite successful at cards, Aunt.”

“Silly girl, you ought not speak of such things,” chastised Lady Bremerton. “But since we are all almost family, I will only say that I had a fine evening. Lady… well that’s not important, she fancied herself quite the card player, but she left disappointed. Some of those ladies were betting deep, let me tell you. People think it is the man who is susceptible to gambling, but I have seen evidence to the contrary.”

“Certainly, I can tell you often it is the lady of the house who runs afoul of her vowels,” added Grant.

“Vowels?” asked Genie.

“A gambler’s term for IOUs,” explained Grant with a wink to Lady Bremerton.

“Honestly, Mr. Grant, you ought not speak of such things to Genie. She is backward enough as it is.”

Grant glanced at Genie, but she accepted the insult without qualm. He got the distinct impression her aunt was frequently critical. He did not care for the way Genie’s quiet acceptance made her eyes dim. He did not care for it at all.

“Shall we all go for a ride in the park?” he asked, surprising nobody more than himself. He could not remember the last time he did anything as flat as taking ladies for a ride in the park.

Marchford raised an eyebrow at him. “A ride in the park?”

“Why yes, it is a lovely day for it,” exclaimed Lady Bremerton, ignoring the dark clouds framed in the window before her.

“I believe a ride in the park would suit me. Do let’s go, Cousin,” said Genie, lending support to Grant’s scheme.

Lady Bremerton encouraged all the young people to go along, while bowing out of the ride herself. It was rare that Grant found himself on the same side as a marriage-minded matriarch, but in this case, his plan to provide Genie some time to escape the house coincided nicely with Lady Bremerton’s goals of putting her daughter into Marchford’s company.

Several minutes later, they were seated in the stylish barouche, open to the weather, trying to ignore the brisk wind and the drop in temperature. It may have been late spring, but the London weather could be unpredictable, and Grant hoped to have some time with the ladies before encroaching rain put an end to the proceedings.