That Would Be a Fairy Tale (16 page)

She turned to go.

‘You’re wrong,’ he said.

She was already walking away from him, but his words halted her. She hesitated. Then turned.

His eyes were burning with a strange intensity. ‘I do understand,’ he said.

She almost believed him. But then she said, with a shuddering sigh, ‘No, you don’t. You are going to cut it down.’

The air was suddenly still. Not a tree rustled. Not a leaf stirred.

‘No.’

‘N . . . no?’ she asked hesitantly.

‘No.’

He shook his head, and the gesture caught the moonlight, which lit the side of his face and painted silver streaks into his hair. ‘I’m not going to cut it down.’

‘But you said . . . ’ she began.

‘That’s before I realized what it meant to you.’

There was a light in his velvety eyes that neither she, nor anyone else, had ever seen there before.

‘You would spare it . . . for me?’

He reached out his hand and pulled her gently into his arms. He stroked a stray tendril away from her face. ‘Yes. I would.’

She relaxed against him, and felt him pressing his lips against her hair, then against her forehead. He lifted her chin, and his eyes roamed over her face. Her hands rose of their own volition against the lapels of his dinner jacket. The fabric was warm and soft to the touch. Beneath it, his muscles were firm.

She shuddered, overcome with his nearness. She was unnaturally aware of him: his hair, with one lock falling across his forehead; his eyes, with their fine lines at the corners; and his chin, with its day’s growth of beard.

And he was unnaturally aware of her. She could tell by the way his eyes trailed over her body, lingering on the whiteness of her shoulders.

He took her face between his hands, and  -

‘Thief!’ The cry cut into the night like a knife. ‘Someone has stolen my necklace!’

Cicely’s eyes flew open.

Alex cursed under his breath. His eyes held Cicely’s as though unable to let them go.

Then, ‘Thief!’ The cry came again. It could no longer be ignored. Nor could the hubbub coming from the direction of the house as more voices took up the cry.

‘I have to go. But you’re coming with me,’ he said. He took her by the hand and ran towards the Manor, with Cicely running alongside him.

‘What is it? What’s happened?’ he said, playing his part, as, dropping Cicely’s hand at the last moment, he strode into the house.

‘My necklace,’ said Miss Postlethwaite, playing her own part to perfection. ‘My beautiful emerald necklace. Someone has stolen it.’

By now, all the guests had assembled in the ballroom, drawn there from the terrace and the supper room by Miss Postlethwaite’s cries. They were busily exclaiming over the theft, and cries of, ‘Her necklace!’ and ‘Those magnificent emeralds!’ pierced the night.

‘If I could have your attention,’ said Alex, taking control. He strode into the middle of the ballroom and addressed his guests. ‘It seems that a most unfortunate incident has occurred.’ He turned to Miss Postlethwaite. ‘You are sure you were wearing your necklace tonight? Forgive me for asking, but it is as well to examine every possibility before we consider theft.’

‘Quite sure,’ said Miss Postlethwaite.

‘And the necklace could not have slipped off?’

‘No.’ Miss Postlethwaite spoke definitely. ‘Absolutely not.’

‘Then, ladies and gentlemen,’ said Alex, looking round the company, ‘if I might ask you all to remain in the ballroom. Unfortunately I feel it is my duty to call the police, and that being so, I feel sure they will be able to clear this matter up more speedily if we are all in one -’

A rustle of conversation, which had started as a whisper at the back of the room, now found full voice, and someone said, ‘The maid. The maid took it.’

All eyes turned to the hapless maid who stood with a tray full of oysters in the middle of the room.

‘Who said that?’ demanded Alex.

But no one knew where the voice had come from.

‘Might as well search her, just to be on the safe side,’ said Mrs Yarrow sensibly.

‘Go ahead,’ said Gladys, the maid. ‘I ain’t got nothing to hide. Look, all I’ve got in my apron pocket,’ she said, plunging her hand deep into that article of clothing, ‘is . . . ’ Her face changed, and out of the pocket she drew . . .

‘Miss Postlethwaite’s necklace.’ Mrs Yarrow’s voice broke the silence that had filled the room.

A hubbub of voices broke out.

‘I shouldn’t stand for it, Evington,’ came a voice from the crowd.

‘Dismiss her!’ came another.

Alex felt himself rapidly becoming caught up in a nightmare. He had no wish to dismiss Gladys, but he knew that unless he did so - or at least appeared to do so – then Mr Goss would not relax.

Inwardly cursing, Alex said, ‘Gladys, you are dismissed. You will wait in my study until the police arrive.’

‘But I never . . . ’ began Gladys, before she realized it would do no good, and her voice tailed off in a sob. ‘Yes, sir,’ she said brokenly.

‘Take over here,’ said Alex in an aside to Roddy, as Gladys left the room. ‘Soothe everyone’s ruffled feathers and get the evening back on an even keel. It’s no good. Goss has been too slippery for us - this time.’

‘But we will get him?’ asked Roddy anxiously.

‘Oh, yes.’ Alex’s voice was steely. ‘We’ll get him. It’s just a matter of time.’

Seething, Cicely followed Gladys from the room. How could Alex have treated the girl so disgracefully? she thought angrily. Following Gladys into the study, she found the poor girl wiping her eyes on her apron and sobbing bitterly.

‘Oh, miss, I never took it!’ Gladys cried, as Cicely slipped into the study behind her.

‘No, of course you didn’t,’ said Cicely soothingly. ‘I never for one moment thought you did.’

‘Oh, miss, I’m that relieved,’ said Gladys, beginning to sob less violently. ‘I thought you suspected me like everyone else and I couldn’t bear it. Not after you was kind enough to get me this job at the Manor.’ Her face crumpled again. ‘But what’s going to happen now, miss? I’ll never get another job. Mr Evington won’t give me a reference, and word of this’ll be all round Little Oakleigh, and Greater Oakleigh, too, by tomorrow, if I don’t miss my guess, so who will employ me now?’

‘Hush, Gladys. Dry your eyes. It is not as bad as you think. If the worst comes to the worst, you can always come and work for me. I have been thinking for some time that I need a maid at the Lodge.’

‘Oh, miss, it’s that kind of you, but everyone knows how hard it’s been for you since your father died. There ain’t no way you can afford to take on a maid, not even with your job at the Manor.’

‘My job at the Manor?’ asked Cicely faintly. She had no idea that anyone else knew about it.

Gladys nodded. ‘Yes, miss. You needs what you make from your job to pay Tom to help Gibson.’

‘How did you know?’ asked Cicely, mystified. ‘I thought I had kept my secret so well.’

‘Ain’t no such thing as a secret,’ sniffed Gladys. ‘Not in Little Oakleigh. Everyone’s known for ages but no one’s said anything to you, miss, they know you have your pride.’

Cicely gave a rueful smile. The village was a small place, and sooner or later even the best-kept secrets slipped out. ‘Well, never mind, Gladys, I will help you to find another position. Meanwhile, I intend to speak to Mr Evington on your behalf. Once he realizes that you are not the sort of girl to steal a necklace I am sure he will relent.’

Gladys looked unconvinced. Nevertheless, her conversation with Cicely had done much to soothe her, and when Cicely said she meant to go and find Mr Evington and speak to him that very minute, Gladys said nothing to detain her.

Straightening her shoulders, Cicely passed out of the room . . . not noticing Alex standing in the shadows in the hallway, stunned.

The conversation he had overheard had shaken him to his foundations. It had made him reconsider all his preconceived notions about Cicely, and acknowledge that he had been completely wrong about her. He had come to Oakleigh Manor prepared - no, if he was honest with himself, he had come to Oakleigh Manor
determined
- to dislike her, and he had attributed to her thoughts and feelings she did not possess.

Before he had even met her he had classed her as one of the people who had made life so impossible for his sister, but that was completely wrong. Far from turning against Gladys, as others had turned against Katie when she had been falsely accused, Cicely had gone out of her way to help the girl. And if Cicely had been present when Katie had needed help, she would have helped Katie as well.

And just what other preconceived notions had he been clinging to for the past few weeks?

The notion that Cicely’s father had been an arrogant and careless man, happy to ruin innocent tradesmen by never paying his bills - that had been one of his totally unjustified thoughts. For instead of being an arrogant and careless man who felt himself too grand to settle his accounts, Mr Haringay had instead been a harmless eccentric who had retreated from the world after his beloved wife had died. He had been guilty of nothing worse than absent-mindedness.

Then again, there was the idea that Cicely was a wealthy woman who had taken a job as his secretary out of boredom, when such was not the case. She had taken a job in order to pay the salary of a boy to help her ageing butler, as the conversation he had just overheard had revealed.

And what of his idea that she had been glad to get rid of the Manor, seeing it as a white elephant? Her distress at the thought of the chestnut being cut down showed that her feelings were quite otherwise. Far from viewing the Manor as a draughty old barn of a place, as he had assumed, she had loved it as her home, for that was what it had been. To her, it was the house in which she and her family had lived for generation after generation, and it carried with it happy memories of her childhood, and the mother she had lost at an early age.

From beginning to end he had built his judgements of her, not on fair and just observation as he usually did, but on prejudice.

It was not pleasant, but it must be acknowledged for all that. He had been wilfully blind.

The realization brought other feelings in its wake. Warm, deep feelings for Cicely which he had too long denied . . .

The sound of Gladys sobbing brought him back to the present, and forced him to put his other thoughts aside - for now. Entering the study, he quickly reassured the girl that she would not lose her position.

‘I never meant to dismiss you,’ he said, ‘but I had to say it in order to calm my guests. You have nothing to fear, however. I know you did not take the necklace and you will not suffer for it having been found in your apron.’ Then, on a different note, he asked, ‘Do you know how it got there, Gladys?’

‘No, sir, I’m sure I don’t.’

‘Did any of the guests bump into you? Might one of them have dropped it in your apron pocket?’

Gladys’s face creased in concentration. Then she shook her head. ‘I couldn’t rightly say, sir.’

‘Very well, Gladys. I suggest you go to your room, and we will speak of this again in the morning.’

‘Very good, sir.’

Gladys went out, shutting the door behind her.

Leaving Alex to ponder anew the warm and fulfilling emotions that were flooding his breast.

Cicely had looked all over for Alex, but he was nowhere to be found. The orchestra was playing again and people were dancing. She had expected an air of constraint to be hanging over the party, but the opposite had happened. The theft of the necklace had given people something to talk about, and now that the culprit had been found and punished - or so they thought - the guests could enjoy reliving the sensation.

But none of that helped Cicely. She still needed to find Alex and convince him that Gladys had nothing to do with the theft. But she had the feeling that she knew who had been responsible.

At last, being unable to find Alex, she returned to the study in order to tell Gladys that she should go to bed. To her surprise, she found Alex there.

He turned round as she entered the room.

‘Come in, and shut the door.’

Cicely did as he said, preparing herself to stand up for Gladys, but his first words told her that would not be necessary.

‘You have no need to worry,’ he said. ‘I know Gladys is innocent.’

She looked at him in surprise. Then asked, ‘How?’

‘Because,’ he said, ‘I planned tonight’s robbery. Oh, not its execution,’ he hastened to reassure her. ‘But I planned for it to happen. Miss Postlethwaite is - let’s just say, she is a friend of mine - and her necklace was the bait. You see, it is not the first time this has happened, that a valuable piece of jewellery has been stolen at a fashionable gathering.’

‘I know.’ Cicely sighed, and sat down. ‘And I believe I know who the culprit is.’

It was his turn to look surprised. ‘You do?’

She nodded. ‘I can’t prove it, unfortunately, but I believe the thief is the Honourable Martin Goss.’