"That is very kind of you, ma'am,” I said, feeling as if the weight of the world had fallen from my shoulders. “We should have just returned the necklace and explained, but we were ashamed for Mr. McShane."
"Only natural,” she said. In her relief that I was not legging after her son, she became almost civil. And in my relief at not being prosecuted, I forgave her for that condescending “quite respectable."
I finished up my sherry quickly and took my leave. Lord Weylin accompanied me to the door, chatting as we went.
"I am sorry we were so swift to condemn you, Miss Barron, but your actions were… strange, to say the least."
"Your reaction appeared equally strange to me, milord. Let us forget the matter,” I said, heading for the door.
"Let bygones be bygones,” he said, with a goodwill but a lamentable lack of originality. He did not follow me toward the door. I had the feeling he wished to detain me, for he continued talking. “I was in London when Aunt Margaret had her necklace stolen. I thought, at the time, that I ought to have gone to Tunbridge, but my work in the House made it impossible. I daresay there is no point going at this late date."
"I shouldn't think so. It all happened quite five years ago. There would be no hope of finding the culprit now."
A frown of concentration hardened the lines of his face, and his dark eyes gleamed with intelligence. “It happened in May, as I recall."
"Yes, I first heard of it at the spring assembly."
"You would not remember whether your uncle was in London at the time?"
The implication of his questions was becoming clear, and troublesome. “I am afraid not. I did not record his visits in my diary,” I snipped.
A smile peeped out. “You would have more interesting things to write there, no doubt.” He looked at my reticule. “You are leaving empty-handed, Miss Barron."
"I did not come to beg or borrow-or steal!"
His lips twitched in amusement. “That ill-considered accusation was unforgivable. I am indeed sorry. I had very little idea of your character…"
"We have been neighbors for twenty-five years, milord. If I were a thief, you would have heard a rumor of it before now."
"Possibly, but in all those twenty-five years, I had not heard you have a quick temper, and a somewhat reckless manner of solving life's little problems. That was a shatterbrained thing to do, you know. I was within Ames-ace of sending off for the constable."
"It is indeed strange how little we neighbors know of each other. I, for instance, had no notion who was responsible for all the damaged books in the library. I see now why they are called dogeared."
He cocked his head to one side and just looked at me for a long moment. “A very quick temper,” he said. “How did you manage to institute a quarrel, when I was only reminding you that you forgot to help yourself to the books I offered you? And about those library books-Mama is too lazy to replace them, but she does invariably pay for the damage. Come, let us select your novels."
"You are very kind, milord, but it is really not literature a century old we are reading. It is the more recent novels. I suggest you consign your old books to the grate. They make a dandy fire on a cold evening."
"I know it well. We discard so many books here. It requires patience to pull the leaves out. But what you were really saying, in your own way, is that I was palming rubbish off on you-and you are right."
I was just trying to think of some polite way of agreeing and saying good-bye when Lady Weylin's fluting voice came from the Blue Saloon.
"Algie! I say, Algie! Bubbums wants to go out."
The bored look that seized his features amused me. I wondered whether his mama and her Bubbums were not half the reason Weylin spent so little time at his home.
He said, “Duty calls. If you think of anything that might help explain the mystery of the necklace, I wish you will let me know, Miss Barron. And I shall-"
"Algie? Are you there?"
He ignored the summons. “And I shall let you know if I learn anything."
"My uncle did not go to Tunbridge-"
"Algie!" The whine had escalated to a roar.
Lord Weylin called, “Seeton, will you put the demmed dog out! I am trying to talk to Miss Barron.” He turned a sheepish face back to me. “Sorry about that."
"That is quite all right. Will you say good-bye to your mother for me?"
"Certainly, and I shall bark a farewell to Bubbums as well. Do you not plan to say good-bye to me, Miss Barron?"
"Algie!"
There was no longer any ignoring the summons. I escaped, before this domestic contretemps escalated into an argument. The visit had not gone at all as I had imagined, but at least the necklace was back where it belonged, and I had some ammunition to hold the hateful Steptoe in line until we found a replacement.
With Borsini's lesson to look forward to that afternoon and my studio to prepare for future lessons, I could enjoy the lovely spring day. There was just one troublesome little detail to mar perfection. Had Uncle Barry gone to Tunbridge Wells that May day five years before, and had he stolen Lady Margaret's necklace? It was pretty clear that Lord Weylin thought so, and he did not seem ready to let the matter rest.
Chapter Five
"Oh, Zoie, I wish you had not told them,” Mama scolded, when I returned and related the tale of my visit to Parham.
"It was that or let them believe I had gone to steal Lord Weylin's vases. In any case, it is over, Mama, and now we may have the exquisite pleasure of turning Steptoe off."
"You say they knew all along he was a thief? Fancy their not letting us know. He might have robbed us blind."
"We have been paying him an exorbitant salary, but that is our own fault. He has not filched the silver so far as I know."
"I wonder he ever condescended to come to a house with so little worth stealing,” Mama said. “Not that I mean we are poor, but after Parham, or even the Pakenham, he would have slim pickings. I daresay the rich families all know what he is, and are in league not to hire him."
While we were discussing the matter, Brodagan came sailing into the saloon, black eyes scowling. “The luncheon meat is charred to cinders, meladies,” she announced with gleeful misery. There is little dearer to Brodagan's Irish heart than a catastrophe. The singed corners of her apron testified to dire doings belowstairs.
"I was such a gossoon as to leave Mary in charge of the meat, and the worthless creature betrayed me,” she continued. No blame is ever to be left in Brodagan's dish. Whatever she destroys, and she has a heavy hand, it is always the fault of someone else. Whether meat burns or pudding turns lumpy or gowns fall apart in the laundry, she can always shift the blame onto another. But really she is so devoted and such a worker that we are never savage with her.
She continued her litany of woe. “Didn't I find her in the darkest corner of the dining room snuggling with Steptoe last night. I promised her ma I'd look after her. Either he goes or I go, for I'll not have my girls tampered with by the likes of him."
"Send Steptoe in, Brodagan,” I said.
"Send him in, is it, and he in the tower rifling through Mr. McShane's poor bits o’ rubbish, thinking to find tuppence in a dead man's pockets. That's a good many stairs for my poor limbs to climb."
"He is in the tower room now?” I asked.
"That's where he spent the morning, and no more clearing away done than if he'd stayed at the door, where he'd ought to have been. I wasn't hired to be answering the door. It was that Mrs. Chawton who called, about the books.” She drew out a note and fought her way through it as if it were a patch of nettles. “She says Guy Man… somebody, or was it Scott? Anyhow, it's sold out, and Vicar's wife don't care for the heathen, Lord Byre, or is it Berry? No matter, she said the fellow who wrote about little Harold. Mrs. Dobbigan and Mrs. Steele have already read every word of Maria Edgewool, and none of the other ladies like your idea of Proud and Prejudiced, by an onymous lady. I never trust an ominous lady. If she's afraid to put her name to her scribbling, you may be sure the book is no better than it should be."