The Moonless Night (29 page)

Marie’s eyes continued to fly toward Sanford and Benson. She could not like to see Benson so patched up and with his little mole assuming an awful significance, growing to the size of not only a pea but a radish. Sanford had said he was not Cicero, but she felt sure he was. And while the mole grew, Sanford’s chin shortened, for he, obviously, was the government agent sent down from London. That much she had worked out to her satisfaction. When he smiled warmly at her a couple of times, the chin was no longer any other length than the optimum one. A man wanted a good strong chin. There was nothing worse than a chinless, weak-looking man.

She noticed there was some tension between the two gentlemen. Not that they behaved in any way markedly different from formerly, but she could sense something going on. As surely as one would glance at the other, the other’s head would turn quickly away. They didn’t exchange a word as far as she could see, yet each was alert to the other’s presence and every move.

She took her place in the welcoming line with her family, so that for a while with the guests coming in she lost track of her two gentlemen. She waited most eagerly for the arrival of Madame, wondering whom she would come with. She was very much surprised when she entered hanging on Sanford’s arm. He had gone to town to deliver her! Her evening took a little turn for the worse as this realization dawned on her. The other item of interest regarding Madame was to see what outfit she had chosen. She was in black, a new twist as she usually favored highly-colored gowns. With the Monet sapphires, Marie had been expecting blue, while hoping for pink to make her look as common as possible. The black was too sophisticated, too flattering to Madame to please Marie. As Madame shook Marie’s hand, uttering some pleasantry about the ball, Miss Boltwood looked to have her first view of the necklace.

The Monet sapphires were not being worn. Around Madame’s neck hung a set of imitation pearls, purchased as any local resident knew at a glance from the everything store in the village for a crown. The rhineglass clasp holding them on gave it away. It was all a faradiddle that Madame had any jewels at all, and if she had a château either it would be a wonder. Madame was positively effulgent, radiating joy and goodwill. She noticed how Marie stared at her poor fish-paste pearls, and explained her wearing them.

“You have heard the dreadful news, Miss Boltwood? The sapphires stolen!”

“No, I hadn’t heard,” Marie replied. “How horrid for you.” But Madame would not be glowing like a new mother if she had just sustained the loss of the fabulous Monet sapphires. Marie took care that she not lend enough pity to her tone that she gave any impression of believing this tale.

 
“Ah oui, quel dommage!”

“Stolen right from your cottage, were they?” Marie asked, somewhat indifferently.

“Yes, incredible, is it not? And the constable, he does nothing. Some of the riffraff visiting town have stolen them.”

“Or it could be one of your many callers, Madame. With so many of them, it would be difficult for the constable to know where to begin questioning,” Marie consoled sweetly.

Sanford held his lips steady, his eyes not quite following suit. He said as he led Madame away, “Madame does not think any of her guests to be the culprit, however.” Then it was time to say good evening to Biddy, who proffered all the proper consolation the theft of the sapphires demanded, while her mind contemplated the good a regular leeching would do to one of Madame’s size.

Others came along for greeting in quick succession, and the little incident passed from Marie’s mind. There was some commotion in the hallway. The word was quickly going around that the
Phoebe
was pulling in. Everyone, even including the reception line, made a dash for the platform to see this wonderful sight. The host of the party made such an undignified exit that he jostled Mrs. Sinclair’s side against a table and knocked over a vase of flowers, whose cleaning up caused Biddy to miss the landing. David was the recipient of a hard stare as
Seadog
was seen to be still to the fore, but Sir Henry was too gratified to he very angry. To see the
Phoebe
coasting in, her white ensign flapping, and the ship manned not by a crew of ordinary seamen, but by officers, everyone in his brass buttons, was too unique a view.

“Rawlins has had the officers who are invited man the ship while the other chaps remain at the station in case of trouble from Bonaparte,” Sir Henry explained, pulling the true explanation out of the air quite by chance. “This is not the first time Bolt Hall has been host to an official vessel, of course. During the Civil War we had a host of them stationed here. Well, well, we had better get back into the reception line to make them welcome.” He did this, gathering a reluctant Marie and David to go with him, but as the crowd of onlookers were more interested in seeing the complete landing, Sir Henry, too, returned. He was back at his post in good time to make Rear Admiral Rawlins welcome. “Admiral Lord Keith is still out, is he,” was his warm greeting.

“No, sir, he is at the station, but lying low to prevent that upstart MacKenroth getting to him with his writ.”      

“Ah, yes,” he said, regretting the admiral’s loss to his ball, but taking some compensation from the dozen tall officers standing in line to be presented.

Out in the throng, David elbowed his way to Sanford's side while Madame was bestowing her pelisse and said, “I didn’t think the officers would come in their dress uniform. What can that box of uniforms have been doing in the blue room?”

Sanford frowned. “You’re quite sure it wasn’t blankets?”

“Blankets? What would brass buttons be doing on blankets? And a box of shakoes, too. It was uniforms. This wants looking into, Sanford.”

A blanket might have been mistaken for a jacket after a few glasses of the Devon Mule, but David had not had enough to imagine brass buttons and shakoes. Yet these items had not been in the blue room a short while later. And Benson had been hanging around that area. “There’s been a change of plans then. I have to dash upstairs. Nothing will happen for a while. Listen, David, I want you to keep an eye on Benson. Don’t let him out of your sight. I’ll take care of Rawlins. If Benson does anything suspicious, let me know at once.”

“Suspicious in what way? Why don’t he just tell us what he means to do?”

Sanford looked on the verge of a disclosure. He directed a long, penetrating regard on David, and saw an eager, guileless face that couldn’t hold a secret for ten seconds. “He will, in good time. Watch him. Do as I say.”

Sanford dashed up for a fast conversation with his versatile Belhomme, and David did exactly as he was told for nearly an hour. A dozen times he smiled and winked at Benson in a conspiratorial way, lifting his brows, pointing to his watch and generally behaving in a way that led Benson to believe he was completely foxed.

Of course he didn’t devote every second to the chore of watching Benson. As the junior host, it was necessary that he disburse some gallantry amidst the female guests, and he did so in any spare minute he got from watching Benson and admiring Madame. Gad, but she cut a classy figure in the black gown, all glittering with shiny bugle beads, and the white pearls, almost invisible against her creamy throat. She was easy to keep an eye on, due to a pair of black ostrich plumes that towered above the throng, and were in some little danger of being ignited by a low-hanging chandelier.

Marie and Sanford opened the ball, but she was so miffed at his having brought Madame personally that she couldn’t be civil to him. No leading comments about business or anything else could stir her into a smile. Nor was Sanford’s whole attention on providing her an amusing partner.

Marie found much to say on the attractiveness of a naval uniform, and some few comments on the pusillanimity of a full-grown, able-bodied man who spent his time buying forged masterpieces while a war raged about his head. They parted as soon as the minuet ended, to become involved with other guests.

The dancing, drinking and merrymaking continued unabated for several hours. Marie had her fill of officers, every one of whom seemed young, gauche and poor partners this evening. She took it as a matter of course she would be joined by Lord Sanford for dinner, but dinner-time found him at Madame’s side, showing her every gallantry.

Biddy disliked this as much as the younger lady, but hid her displeasure more successfully. Was it possible this ball, designed to secure Sanford for Marie and herself was to benefit the French widow?

When Sanford looked to Marie just as the dancers were going to the dining room, she lifted her head in the air and quickly turned away. He shrugged, and looked around to see David was keeping a guard on Benson. Rawlins was with Biddy and Sir Henry, and with all the protagonists accounted for, it was felt that any interesting events would wait for the meal to be over.

Before returning to the ballroom, some of the guests strolled out to the stone platform for another look at the yachts, but the torches had been extinguished and the lights from the Hall itself hardly stretched so far as to illuminate the flotilla. The general outlines of the yachts were visible, with
Phoebe
in her place of honor.
Phoebe
was the vessel of greatest interest, of course, and there were a few lights, small lanterns only, seen bobbing about. Some skeleton crew left on board, it was assumed. With no moon nor stars to aid romance, the company soon straggled back in for more lively entertainment.

Sanford, standing up for a dance with Madame, temporarily lost sight of Rawlins. Benson was present and accounted for, however, and he expected no important move that would exclude Benson. Madame was flattering, amusing and light-footed during the waltz, but as it drew to an end and she requested a glass of wine, he began to become worried about Rawlins. He got her the wine, then excused himself on some excuse and went to seek the rear admiral. A careful search of the ballroom told him he was not there. Thinking Sir Henry might have cornered him to show him Bathurst’s inkwell, he went to the office, with no success. He began to be seriously alarmed, but before flying off half-cocked, he went to David.

“Are you ready, partner? This is it!” he said, his voice tense with excitement.

David gulped. “You mean now, right in the middle of our ball?”

“That’s the idea. Your job is to keep an eye on Madame and Benson.”

“I'll let them know. Er—just what is it they’re to do exactly, Ade?”

Sanford put an arm around David’s shoulder and turned him to such a position that the goggling eyes soon to be seen in his head would be hidden from Madame, who was glancing nervously toward them. “The fact is, they are the enemy. You understand me?”

“No—you mean they’re the ones going to free Boney?”

“With Rawlins’ help.”

“But he’s a rear admiral!” The eyes were not goggling, but unbelieving, even suspicious. David didn’t believe him, an unseen complication.

“He is a tool of Cicero.”

“Oh—I see. And Madame is, too, you mean.”

“No, Madame is Cicero.”

“You mean she ain’t a woman at all?”

“Oh, she’s a woman all right! You have to take my word for it, Dave. Now I depend on you utterly, Boltwood, and I trust you can follow instructions. Here is your assignment.” He threw in these important sounding words to trim David quickly into line, and they worked marvelously. He snapped to attention—would have saluted if he hadn’t been holding a glass of wine.

“Aye, aye, sir,” he said instead.

“Here’s what you’re to do. Keep an eye on Cicero and Benson. Don’t let them know you’re watching them; don’t for God’s sake give it away you know what they’re planning. Just watch them. I have to leave for a minute. If they leave the room, dash right down to the dock, and make sure you have your pistol with you. Are you ready to put on your captain’s hat?”

“I’m ready! Oh, hadn’t I better tell Papa?”

One Boltwood was already proving enough of a handicap that Sanford squelched this suggestion at once. “Remember your orders. Benson and Madame. I fancy they’ll be together. Watch them!”

Sanford was off, and David, his heart hammering in his ears, turned back to the saloon, searching for the two black ostrich plumes. He found them, but Madame was doing no more than tell a sympathetic neighbor about the loss of the Monet sapphires, so he began looking about for Benson. They were not together as Adrian had thought. Benson was on the far side of the room, and watching them both with the care the occasion demanded proved impossible. He garnered up Marie to assist him.

“All hell’s about to break loose,” he told her out of the side of his mouth. “You’ll never guess what! It’s Madame and Benson that’s the sneaks planning to free Boney.”

“David, you’ve had too much wine!”

“Damme, will you listen and hear your orders! I’ve got to keep an eye on Madame—she’s the big fish, and you’ll have to watch Benson for me.”

“Did Sanford tell you so?”

“Of course he did. He depends on me completely. Now, I’ll watch Madame and you don’t let Benson out of your sight for a moment.”

“Where’s Sanford’?” she asked, beginning to believe, but wishing to confirm it.

“He’s attending to something else. I’m in charge here. Your assignment is to tail Benson. Tell me if you see him nip out.”

With a memory of Sanford’s warning regarding Benson, and with the eventual realization that David was drunk with importance and not wine, she was convinced.

The best way to keep an eye on Benson was to become his partner for the next dance, and she foresaw no difficulty in doing this. Trembling inside, but determined to carry it off with credit, she pinned a bright smile on her face and accosted him. “We have had only one dance, Mr. Benson. I hope you mean to stand up with me again.”

“You do me too much honor, ma’am. But I have set my heart on enjoying your company for a waltz, and shan’t be fobbed of with a mere cotillion. The next waltz will find me by your side, I promise you.”

This answer was suspicious enough to convince her of his guilt. “Shall we treat ourselves to a rest and a glass of punch?” she suggested.