Amanda Scott (13 page)

T
HE FOLLOWING MORNING, IN THE
breakfast parlor, Sabrina informed Emily in a tone of distress that Mr. Tickhill was annoying the servants again.

“Mr. Tickhill?” Emily’s bewilderment lasted only a moment before she remembered. “One of your Bow Street Runners. What does he want?”

“He is not
my
Bow Street Runner,” Sabrina said indignantly. “Jack foisted him upon us, and all he will say when anyone complains to him—as many people have, Emily, for Mr. Tickhill and Mr. Earswick bring chaos and upheaval wherever they go, and if my servants leave, I shall take to my bed, and so I promise you—but all Jack will say is that since he has not got time to search for Miss Lavinia’s baubles, the Runners must do so.” She blinked. “Do you suppose you could talk to him, my dear? I simply cannot, but those dreadful men …” Her voice trailed away, and she stared at Emily hopefully.

Emily grimaced. “Not today, Sabrina, I beg of you. I mean to keep well out of Meriden’s way today.”

“Oh, dear,” Sabrina said, “then you have vexed him again. I do wish you would not, Emily, for you are really the only person who can stand up to him, and who will help me if you cannot?”

“My standing up to him is what vexes him,” Emily said with a smile. “He does not like anyone running counter to his lead.”

Sabrina sighed. “Very true. What did you do to vex him this time?”

Emily’s eyes gleamed reminiscently. “Let us just say that he no longer owes me a new gown and leave it at that. I fear the tale is not one that he would be pleased to hear noised about.”

“As if I would!” Sabrina regarded her steadily, but when Emily remained silent, she shrugged. “Oh, very well, then. I daresay Oliver knows all about it and that is what the two of you were in such whoops about yesterday. And no doubt he will tell Mr. Saint Just and Dolly, but if you wish to keep silent, all I will say is that if you have made Jack look foolish, I don’t wish to know the details, and I think you are very wise to play least in sight for a day or two.”

Emily intended to do that very thing. Although she agreed with Oliver that once Meriden’s temper cooled she would have little to fear, she had no wish to hear her character described to her in unflattering terms or stentorian accents. Thus, after her late breakfast and some desultory conversation with Sabrina, she returned to her bedchamber, intending to use the time to finish the book Miss Lavinia had lent her.

Although Martha had been there earlier, when Emily entered the room it was empty. Remembering that she had left the book, with her page marked, upon her dressing table, she went to fetch it, noting absently that the satin-lined box in which she kept the few pieces of jewelry she had brought with her was open. The box was also empty.

Quickly she moved to the bell and rang for Martha. A full ten minutes passed before the woman arrived, and in the meantime Emily searched through her drawers and her other belongings. “Martha,” she said crisply when the abigail entered, “have you moved my jewelry?”

“Why would I do such a thing as that when it’s safe in its very own—” She broke off when her gaze was caught by the empty case. “Lord-a-mercy, Miss Emily, the lovely China pearls your father gave you!”

“Not to mention my gold bracelet and the amethyst earbobs Ned gave me when I turned eighteen. Is Mr. Tickhill still somewhere about the house?”

“Aye,” Martha answered sourly, “but the man’s a right menace if you ask me, poking and prying and asking fool questions.”

“Go and find him,” Emily ordered, thinking fast, “and tell him I will see him in the little parlor next to the morning room. My sister will be in the drawing room now, and I do not want to distress her.”

“You’d best tell Lord Meriden about this,” Martha said.

“No, not just yet. He will only tell me to report it to the Runners, so I shall do that before I speak to him.”

Mr. Tickhill kept her waiting only a few moments. A burly man with narrowed eyes, round cheeks, and a pugnacious chin, he reminded Emily of a bull terrier one of her neighbors in Wiltshire had owned. The dog, she recalled, was neither as fierce nor as intelligent as he looked.

“Yer wooman tells me ye’ve lost yer jewels, mum.”

“That is correct,” Emily replied. She did not ask him to sit, nor did he move to do so. She described the missing pieces, adding, “Trumpery stuff mostly, and of little value, except for the pearls, of course, but they mean a great deal to me.”

The man wrote in his black occurrence book for several moments before he looked up from under beetling brows and said, “That wooman … what’s ’er name? Martha Cooling? Knowed ’er long, mum?”

“Martha? Goodness, you cannot suspect Martha! That is too absurd, Mr. Tickhill. She would never steal from anyone.”

“Been known to ’appen, mum. Could be she’s took a likin’ to them baubs over time and just now decided ter lift ’em.”

“Well, I will not listen to such nonsense,” Emily said angrily. “It is obvious to the meanest intelligence that my pieces were taken by the same thief who stole Miss Arncliffe’s jewelry. Martha wasn’t even here then.”

“Nor yet were young Master Giles,” said Tickhill with a shrug, “but you won’t cozen me into believin’ as this ain’t precisely the sort o’ mischief as would suit that young scamp down ter the ground.”

“Giles? Martha?” Emily’s hold on her temper snapped. “You stupid man, you put me all out of patience. No wonder everyone is so out of reason cross with his lordship for inflicting you and your ilk upon them. To suspect Giles or Martha when the thief has very likely been right under your nose is as ridiculous as if I were to accuse you of the thefts. More ridiculous, in fact, for you were the only stranger in the house today when my things were taken.”

“Now, lookee ’ere, mum, that Harbottle feller—”

“No, you look. I won’t listen to another word of this foolishness. Moreover, I intend to tell his lordship precisely what I think of your conduct and your capabilities.”

“Slow and thorough does the job, mum.”

“Oh, get out of my way,” Emily snapped, pushing past him and hurrying down the stairs to the hall.

The doors to the library were closed, but she did not hesitate. The confrontation by the pond was forgotten, and she wanted only to tell the earl precisely what she thought of his Bow Street Runners. Pushing open the doors without ceremony, she stormed into the room, only to be brought to a stupefied halt by the sight of Meriden seated in his leather chair behind the library table with little Melanie standing white-faced before him, her small hands held out, palms down, in front of her. As Emily watched in speechless horror, the earl rapped the little girl’s knuckles soundly with a heavy ruler.

Paying no heed whatever to the interruption, Meriden dealt two more sharp blows to the back of each small hand, then said sternly, “If you ever do such a thing again, Melanie, your punishment will be far more severe than this. Do you understand what I say to you?”

Sobbing quietly, Melanie lowered her hands and nodded without looking at him.

“I prefer to hear your voice,” he said in that same implacable tone.

“Yes, sir,” murmured the child, “I understand.” Despite the gentle sobs, her words came dully, evenly, as though they were part of a lesson learned for recitation.

“You may go back to the schoolroom now. Whether you decide to tell your mama or Miss Brittan about this is your own affair.”

Without another word but with tears streaming down her cheeks and her fists clenched tightly into the folds of her white muslin skirt, Melanie hurried from the room, passing Emily without looking at her.

Emily waited only long enough to shut the door behind the child before she rounded in fury on the earl. “Have you lost your mind, my lord?” she demanded. “Have you taken to ripping the wings off butterflies for your amusement? How could you use that poor child so? I could scarce believe my eyes. ’Twas a wicked, wicked thing to do!”

Instead of firing up at once as she expected him to do, he looked defensive. It suddenly seemed to occur to him that he ought to stand up. But as he came to his feet, Emily angrily waved him back.

“For once, have the goodness just to sit down, sir. I want answers to my questions, and I do not want you looming over me while you provide them.”

To her surprise, he sat down again at once, saying heavily, “You have every right and reason to wonder what devil possessed me. I am not entirely sure of the answer myself. The fact is that I simply didn’t know what else to do.”

He was truly distressed, and both his tone and his attitude were uncharacteristic enough to mitigate Emily’s wrath. She stepped nearer the table, saying more calmly, “What happened, Jack?”

He looked at her, searching her face for a long moment before he said, “I still don’t know the whole of it, and what little I do know will sound crazy.”

“Tell me.” She pulled the leather chair close to the table and sat down opposite him.

He nodded, leaning back in his chair with a sigh as he said, “I sent my bailiff from the park into the village this morning to settle some trifling accounts. He rode over here an hour ago to tell me that Melanie has, eleven times over the past three months, borrowed small sums from Hayworth, the chandler, telling him each time that she had other purchases to make and wanted to have everything on one account. Hayworth knows her, of course, and she gave my name as surety. He told my man that he knew that although we have our candles sent up from London, sooner or later someone would settle the account. My man checked. Melanie made purchases at no other shop. When I asked her what the devil she thought she was about, she said only that she needed the money—hardly an acceptable explanation, you will agree.”

“No,” Emily said, “but surely there was more.”

He shook his head. “When I scolded her, told her it was the same thing as stealing, she just stared woodenly into the distance beyond my shoulder until I finished, as though she were refusing to hear a word I said. I could think of no other way to get her attention, to make her understand that I won’t tolerate such behavior.”

“Well, for heaven’s sake,” Emily said, “if you were going to be so brutal with her, why didn’t you get to the bottom of things while you were about it?”

“I beg your pardon?” He leaned forward in his chair, glaring at her.

“It sounds to me,” she said, “as though you still have not got the least notion why the child needed money. Surely you do not believe her to be a thief. She must have had a good reason for what she did.”

“I gave her ample opportunity to explain her reasons to me, and she refused to do so,” Meriden said with forced patience. Making a visible effort to relax, he pushed his chair away from the table and leaned back again, tilting the chair onto its hind legs and rocking gently back and forth as he added grimly, “I am sorry for what I was forced to do. Believe me when I tell you that I felt every inch the brute you’ve named me. But the plain fact of the matter is that Melanie took money without permission and had to be taught never to do such a thing again.”

“The plain fact,” Emily retorted in sharper tones as she leaned forward and shook her finger at him, “is that you were a fool not to discover what she was about.”

Meriden’s jaw tightened, and his eyes narrowed ominously, but before he spoke, he drew a deep breath. Then, as though to show her how much in control of himself he was, how truly relaxed, he folded his hands across his stomach, tilted farther back, and propped first one booted foot, then the other, upon the tabletop, crossing them at the ankles. “Perhaps you ought to talk to Melanie,” he said in a musing tone. “If you think your efforts will serve better than mine, you may certainly do what you can to learn the truth of the matter from her.”

“I can hardly do worse than you have done, sir,” Emily said through her teeth, watching him. His casual, not to say unmannerly, attitude was affecting her temper nearly as much as his earlier behavior had done. “I will certainly talk to Melanie, for you will come to see your own error much more clearly when she has explained the matter in a perfectly unexceptionable way, as I am persuaded she can.”

“I hope she does,” he replied, still fixed in his casual position. The look in his eyes was not so casual, however, when he added, “Make no mistake, Emily. My threat to that child was not an idle one. If she obtains money by this method again, I will make her very sorry for it. You will be doing her no favor if you fail to make that point clear to her.”

“If that isn’t just like you,” Emily said scornfully, “to employ threats and force where gentle words and a loving hand would serve so much better.”

He did not reply. Instead, he regarded her steadily from beneath his brows, clearly expecting her to acknowledge her understanding that he meant what he had said and did not mean to be deterred by her disapproval.

After a moment of this treatment, Emily growled through her teeth and rose swiftly to her feet. “You make me so angry,” she said, leaning over the table to return his look with a fierce glare. “You deserve that someone should set you right. I only wish I were big enough and strong enough to be that someone.”

“Did you know,” he inquired gently and with a glimmer of amusement in his eyes, “that your dimples show when you’re angry? They are fascinating to watch.”

With a shriek of fury, Emily grabbed his booted feet with both her hands and heaved upward; and, since his chair was still balanced on only its hind legs, the earl went over backward with an ease that astonished her.

Shock registered briefly on Meriden’s face as he attempted unsuccessfully to regain his balance. Grabbing wildly for something to break his fall, he snatched at the curtains behind him, but his weight proved to be too great for the rods and with a clamor of noise satisfying only to Emily’s ears, down he crashed, the curtains and rod collapsing atop him.

As Emily hurried from the room, his muffled curses followed her, but she managed to walk with dignity, telling herself firmly that there was nothing he could do to her, that he deserved rough treatment after such insolence and after what he had done to poor Melanie. As she neared the stairway, her memory chose to remind her of their confrontation the day before, and she moved more quickly, hoping to find sanctuary with either Sabrina or Miss Lavinia in the drawing room. She reached the landing at the head of the central stair before his voice stopped her.