Had We Never Loved (17 page)

“What did you say?”

“Oh, nothing of importance. What are you about now?”

She sat straighter, so that he could see her work. It was the top bar of a chairback, beautifully carven, and inset with gold leaf, enamel, and stones, to form an intricate design. “They wanted a extra chair,” she explained, selecting a piece of mother-of-pearl from one of her little boxes. “So Ab built it, and I'm making the top to match with the rest. It's about done.”

“Why, how clever you are! Are you given much of this type of work?”

“No. But sometimes I fixes the lids for dressing cases—things like that. Depends what Uncle Ab can find fer me. He goes to a lot of shops what sells—
that
sells to the nobs. This don't pay much, but”—she twinkled up at him—“every little helps, eh?”

“Yes. Absalom taught you, I collect?”

“Mmm. He does the carving. Like that there cane. You should see some of the things he makes. A jeweller told him he's got the hands fer it.” She placed the mother-of-pearl fragment into one spot, then tried another.

Watching interestedly, Glendenning said, “He seems to have taken good care of you, I'll own. But—this isn't much of a home for you.”

“I'm safe,” she said, bristling at once. “He's kept me safe from the
chals.
You shoulda seen that, last night!”

“They weren't
chals,
” he argued. “They were Londoners. They said something about having been employed by a squire.” He eyed her narrowly. “Is there any reason why a country squire would seek you?”

Her head flung up and her eyes glittered. “Why not? Absalom broke into the squire's mansion and stole his butler, and sold the poor cove to the king of Lilliput. And the silly arse of a squire ain't been able to open his front door since, so—”

Glendenning's shout of laughter interrupted her.

“Oh, Amy! What a delightful puzzle you are! But how
ever
are you to become a lady if you use such terms?”

“I might surprise ye,” she said, twinkling at him.

“You constantly surprise me. How did you contrive to read Gulliver?”

“A fine lady in a carriage throwed it at her husband and it—” She hesitated, then said carefully, “
Came
—through the window. So I picked it up and run.”

“Ran, Mistress Consett.”

She sighed. “I can't get 'em right all the time.”

“You've a quick ear. You'll do splendidly, I don't doubt.”

Brightening, she said, “That's what Uncle Ab says. 'Sides, he heard a duchess talking once, and she swore something dreadful, so I'm going the right direction, ain't—isn't I?”

He smiled. “Perhaps. But I'd rather hear you speak like a gentlewoman, m'dear.”

“Oh. All right. I'll try. Still,” she appended, beaming up at him, “how many gentlewomen ever made ye laugh like that?”

It was a home question.

*   *   *

The Countess of Bowers-Malden held the calling card at arms' length and said without warmth, “You are on the staff of General Underhill, Mr. Farrier?”

Standing before her chair in the richly appointed red saloon at Glendenning Abbey, Burton Farrier bowed.

She viewed his sober grey habit disparagingly. “Yet you do not wear uniform.”

He bowed again, and the countess' thought that she did not care for his persistent smile was strengthened.

“There are some matters, ma'am,” he said with an apologetic gesture. “Matters of a … sensitive nature, one might say, that are better handled in civilian dress.”

She observed coldly, “You mean you are a spy.”

Up went both white hands in horror. “I'faith, no, my lady! Nothing so vulgar.”

“What do you want with my son?”

“I came on a matter which need not disturb a lady. 'Tis why I had asked to see Mr. Templeby.”

“Mr. Templeby is in London.”

“Ah. And Lord Bowers-Malden, I am told, is in Ireland. Perhaps—Lord Glendenning?”

Lady Nola wondered if that smile might be amputated. She said, “The viscount visits friends.”

“In company with his brother, perchance?”

“Not to my knowledge. Nor do I see how Lord Horatio's whereabouts need concern you, Mr. Farrier.”

Another bow. A faintly wounded air. “If I am concerned, dear ma'am, 'tis only that because of the apparently dire emergencies that have called your husband and sons from your side, I am forced to—”

“I do not recollect,” she interrupted glacially, “that I described the absences of my menfolk as being due to ‘dire emergencies.'”

“Oh, dear me. How I offend. I humbly apologize. It just seemed odd, you know. That
all
your gentlemen would leave you, my lady. But then, perhaps I am overly protective where the fair sex is concerned.”

Her sense of danger was strong. She said, “I have little time to spare, Mr. Farrier. You will do better to overcome your protective impulses and say whatever it is you have come to say. Pray be seated.”

He thanked her, and sat watching her, his smile positively benign. “It is, my lady,” he said in his soft voice, “in the matter of a jewel thief. A very clever fellow who conspires with a servant in some fine house, removes a piece of great value, copies it, and returns the copy in place of the original.”

“Indeed? We have had nothing stolen, sir. But I thank you for the warning.”

“Ah, but ma'am, how would you know? This, you see, is why I am sent to you. I am expert, and can detect a copy in an instant. The general was most anxious that your valuables be verified as authentic, for you have some pieces he holds in high esteem.”

“I suppose that
might
explain why a general in His Majesty's service would feel called upon to investigate the activities of a common thief.”

Farrier laughed softly, and clapped his white hands. “Ah, but you are too clever for me, my lady. Rumour hath spread its wings, I see. How astonishing that word of the list should have reached you so swiftly!” He leaned forward. “But
you
have nothing to fear, ma'am. So loyal a family as the Laindons are not suspect, I do assure you.”

Lady Nola experienced the sensation that a cold wind had breathed upon her. ‘Tio!' she thought. ‘This horrid creature is come after Tio!' Trying to sound calm, and dreading lest she had turned pale, she said, “List? What kind of list, sir? And how does it concern us?”

“It does
not,
my lady! Of that there can be no doubt. But I will explain, in the fervent hope that you will not be too provoked with me for having twisted truth's tail, as they say. 'Twas required of me in the course of duty, and from no wish of mine own.” He looked at her soulfully, and receiving no response save for her steady stare, went on: “There has come to light, madam, a list, drawn up by the traitor Charles Stuart.”

The countess felt quite breathless, but she managed to keep her gaze fixed unwaveringly upon this serpent and his grin.

“You will have heard, I feel sure,” Farrier continued, “of the treasure that was donated by the Jacobites to finance their treacherous cause?”

“I heard,” she acknowledged, “that much was given by ill-advised supporters, but was received too late to be of help to the prince. And that nothing is known of what became of it.”

“Very true. Egad, but I cannot fail to admire so well-informed a lady! At all events, there was a list made of everything the Jacobites received. Each donation was given a number and, on a separate sheet, another list contained the names of all those who contributed. Beside each name were noted the numbers of the appropriate items on the first list, so that after the war, restitution could be made. Ah, I see you are shocked, ma'am.”

“Indeed, I am,” she said, struggling to command her voice, and wondering if the name of her beloved but exasperating stepson was on that accursed list. “I am shocked to think that loyal Englishmen would indulge such folly!”

“The point exactly, ma'am. They are
not
loyal! But they are about to be unmasked, for—the list is in our hands now!”

The room seemed to swim before her eyes. She said, “Then you can arrest them all.”

The lady had become very white, noting which Mr. Farrier looked down to hide the triumph in his eyes. Spreading his hands, he sighed, “Would that we could. Alas, we have only the first list, which describes the
articles
contributed. The
names
—ah, if we had that!”

“You will pardon my obtuse brain,” said the countess, able to breathe once more. “But I fail to see what all this has to do with the activities of a thief.”

“Ah, well, that was my little subterfuge, ma'am. One does not wish to distress ladies unnecessarily. And I am sure that in your case it would be unnecessarily.”

A terrible premonition began to hover at the edges of Lady Nola's mind. She said, “Do you say, Mr. Farrier, that you believe
this
family has donated articles to the cause of Charles Stuart?”

He sprang to his feet, and with a hand over his heart said, “Heaven forfend, ma'am! The very
thought
that the threat of imprisonment; the confiscation of all the earl's properties; the horrors of questioning and execution for High Treason! That such terror might come upon so splendid a family!” He took out a lace-trimmed handkerchief and mopped his brow. “Faith! It quite unmans me!”

“Mr. Farrier,” said the countess, rising and looking down on him from her commanding height, “you weary me. I take it that you wish to ensure that certain valuables are still in our possession and have not passed into the hands of Bonnie Prince Charlie. Shall you require a complete inventory? Or have you a specific area of interest? Deeds of Trust? Livestock? Silver? Strong box? Antiques?”

Again, he looked grieved. “You are vexed. How should I blame you? I am desolate to so offend. But—the general, ma'am. I have no choice, alas, and must do as I am bid. Forgive, but—if I might just be allowed to see your jewellery?”

With regal steps despite her trembling knees, the countess walked to the door.

Farrier leapt to open it and bow her out. As he accompanied her along the hall, she asked, “May I know if there is any particular piece that interests the general?”

He said apologetically, “You will laugh, ma'am. You will snap your pretty fingers in my stupid face. But—you own, I believe, a very ancient plaid pin?”

CHAPTER VII

Glendenning reached for the cane, then stood staring down at it and turning it slowly in his hands. His head seldom troubled him now, and his ankle was sufficiently healed for him to dispense with the cane. It was eleven days since he'd come crashing into Amy's life, and he acknowledged guiltily, that he should have gone home before this.

He doubted that Lady Nola would be worrying, for it was not uncommon for several months to elapse between his visits to the abbey. But quite often Michael would appear at his flat, or they'd run into each other somewhere about the Metropolis. And Samuels, his head groom, who doubled as his man when he was in Town, was a regular mother hen since he'd been shot down while carrying that Jacobite cypher. Remembering, Glendenning's grip on the cane tightened involuntarily. That had been damned close. Except for Dimity, he'd not be alive today. Dimity—who was now Lady Anthony Farrar … He closed her out of his mind hurriedly. And then there was Falcon, who would be beside himself, for the date they'd set for his duel with Morris had come and gone!

Sighing, he propped the cane against the wooden crates and limped into the kitchen. These past three days had been an oasis of peace in his rather hectic life. He had begun to help Amy with her tasks, as well as to correct her grammar. She responded eagerly to his instruction and was quick to learn not only the correct usage, but also the cultured accent. Each sentence correctly spoken became a small triumph for her, and her delight when he praised her was touching.

He had insisted upon accompanying her when she drove the donkey cart into Epsom to deliver her completed chair-back. Afterwards, they'd gone shopping, and he'd been angered to note how the eyes of the men followed her. She had been radiant that day, and had danced for joy in her spontaneous way when he'd bought her a bright silken scarf and blue ribands for her hair. Small things, he thought rather sadly, to have thrown her into such transports.

Always, she was full of questions about London life and fashions, and the Court. He'd done his best to gratify her curiosity, often coming to grief when attempting to describe the gowns and coiffures of the ladies, so that she would dissolve into peals of laughter and tell him he was a great silly, who wouldn't know warp from weft—whatever that might mean. In the evenings, he chatted with her lazily, watching her quick light movements as she bustled about at her cooking, or tidied the rooms, or worked at some task for Absalom. Sometimes, while listening to the quaint songs she sang, he would meet her eyes across the room, and smile at her. At first, she'd returned his smile cheerfully, but of late he noticed that the thick curtain of her lashes would sweep down, and she would avoid his eyes. She seemed also to revert to her coarse ways of speech and for no apparent reason would take him in strong aversion. Suspecting that she was tired of the extra work he caused, he'd tried to be of more help, but his efforts seemed to exacerbate her ill humour, and she would tell him ungraciously to sit down and stop getting underfoot. Fortunately, she soon got over these odd fits, and would be as bright and light-hearted as ever, drawing his attention to the shape of a cloud, or the wonder of a blooming weed, or the patient crawl of a caterpillar, so that he marvelled at her ability to find beauty in the most commonplace things, and envied her passionate zest for life.