Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
“Sheldon has been bilking his brother blind,” Hyperia said, pacing the perimeter of the duchess’s sitting room. “This impersonation of Yorkshire shopkeepers and so forth has likely been going on for years.”
Her Grace presided over a Sèvres tea service, and Sir Clive had propped himself against the end of the mantel. His scowl was thunderous, while Miss Weatherby, seated beside my mother, looked dumbstruck.
“Dantry had likely caught on to his brother’s tricks,” I said.
I’d chosen a post by the windows, where a dreary day was going darker with the approach of night.
“Those trinkets I found in his jewelry box belonged to Sheldon. I suspect Dantry would have taken them to the jewelers on Ludgate Hill and learned their provenance, then matched it to the various invoices he’s been showered with.
The watches would have been the easier projects. ”
Miss Weatherby accepted a cup of tea from the duchess. “What watches? Dantry has only the one, and it was a gift from his maternal grandfather. It keeps excellent time. The spurs and the watch are both very dear to him.”
“Dantry had three watches with him at the Knot,” I said, “two of them fancy.”
“Tea, anybody else?” Her Grace asked.
We demurred.
She poured herself a cup and sipped serenely. “We have identified the culprit. Do we notify the magistrate?”
“That would be Lord Huffnagel,” Sir Clive said. “This is a family matter.”
“Dantry was looking for proof before he made accusations,” Miss Weatherby said. “He wasn’t running to the law, and my guess is, he’d not bring Lord Huffnagel into the situation unless the charge was high treason.”
The charge, oddly enough, might be petit treason. Sheldon had not killed his brother, but he had certainly violated Dantry’s authority as a peer and as the head of the Arbuthnot family.
“Point taken,” Hyperia said. “Dantry would not want family linen aired in public, but Sheldon might well have done worse than steal from his brother. He must be held accountable.”
The window was giving off a significant chill. I crossed the room to add peat to the fire and poked up the flames.
“Dantry must decide Sheldon’s fate,” I said, “assuming Dantry is extant.”
“Sheldon would not have killed his brother,” Miss Weatherby said. “He lacks the resolve to take such a risk.”
She was looking a little more the thing, thoughtful rather than blank.
“I came to the same conclusion regarding James Fletcher.” I lingered at the hearth, grateful for the warmth. “He’s greedy, selfish, and arrogant and has a host of other shortcomings, but above all, he’ll safeguard his own person. He lacks the spine to commit the murder of a peer.”
Hyperia took a wing chair, though I sensed she’d have rather continued pacing. “Sheldon could make off with his brother confident in the knowledge that his nearest neighbors would make no effort to find Dantry. Huffnagel and the Fletchers are probably hopeful Dantry is never seen again.”
“Huffnagel strikes me as mostly decent,” Miss Weatherby said. “A blowhard, but not malicious.”
The duchess peered at the flames over her tea cup. “Don’t be fooled. A man who must regale us with all his charitable responsibilities is a man who lacks humility.”
He’d certainly not recited any such list to me. “Charitable responsibilities?”
“Vestryman,” Hyperia said. “Chair of the Committee for the Peace, of course, burdensome though that office may be. Chairman of the village fete. Secretary of the Grange. Ombudsman for Bascomb’s Retreat.
Alternate treasurer for the Loyal Order of Benevolent Trenchermen.
I forget what else, but he worked them all into the conversation. ”
“Secretary for the local hunt,” the duchess added, “though he’d be better off spending more time managing his domestics. I don’t recall his household as being so…”
“Moth-eaten?” Hyperia suggested. “Dingy?”
“‘Fetid’ overstates the matter, but the occasional open window wouldn’t hurt. When his wife was alive, the place sparkled.”
Was the decline financial, emotional, or simply a widower reverting to a bachelor’s lax housekeeping? “How long has he been widowed?”
“Five years or so.” The duchess set her empty tea cup on the tray. “The late baroness was a Welsh mining heiress. The match was considered favorable on both sides and the union happy despite a lack of progeny. She would be appalled at what has become of her household.”
Sir Clive sent me a patient smile. The ladies had been on full alert, alas for Lord Huffnagel’s staff.
“We will wish Lord Huffnagel more diligent housekeeping in future,” I said. “Let’s plan on confronting Sheldon after supper. Sir Clive and I will invite him to join us for a hand of cards in the library. You ladies can take your tea in there instead of in the family parlor.”
“When has the company of books ever been a bad idea?” Miss Weatherby said, wheeling herself toward the door. “If you will excuse me, I’ll see to packing. I cannot imagine we’ll have much reason to bide here past tomorrow.”
When I would have argued the point, Hyperia stopped me with a shake of her head.
“I must dress for supper,” the duchess said, rising. “Sir Clive, you will want to change out of those boots.”
“Of course, madam.” He bowed her through the door and closed it in his wake, leaving me alone with my intended.
“What aren’t you telling me, Jules?” Hyperia said, wrapping her arms around my waist. “You have the look of a man vexed by details that don’t fit.”
I was a man vexed by a memory that faltered badly and unpredictably. Hyperia knew that about me, and yet, she was willing to marry me. Still, I could not bring myself to explain why this would be our last investigation.
“I love you,” I said, returning her embrace. “I need to say the words from time to time, whether or not you need to hear them.”
“I like hearing the words from you because they are sincere and backed by deeds. Had I been whiling away the past week in London, I would have lost my wits, Jules. The baron was a tedious host, but listening to his false modesty at least felt useful at the time.” She snuggled closer.
“Your sentiments are effusively reciprocated, by the way. You are angry with Sheldon, aren’t you? ”
“A brother who takes fraternal loyalty lightly deserves my ire.” I hadn’t been able to save Harry, but neither had I abandoned him to enemy hands. The realization brought an odd comfort. I had done the right thing, but I hadn’t done it successfully.
“Sheldon deserves everybody’s contempt. Is Dantry still alive?”
How was I to think of Dantry when Hyperia’s feminine abundance filled my arms, her rosy scent enveloped my senses, and I was being less than forthcoming with her about my own situation?
“Perry….”
She stepped back, and I let her go. “You’ve had a thought?”
I had many thoughts, also a guilty conscience. “If I told you—”
“Oh! Beg pardon.” Sheldon stood in the doorway, looking curious rather than contrite. “I see the ladies have returned. Did Huffnagel try to foist a puppy on you? His hounds are fruitful, and puppy season will soon be upon us. You are hereby forewarned.”
I wanted to backhand that cheerful, mischievous smile right off his mug. “No puppies were proffered, apparently. If you will excuse me, Miss West, I, too, must change for supper. Arbuthnot, until we dine.”
Hyperia beamed at me—I was forgiven for abandoning her in the company of the greedy puppy who’d joined us—and I beat a retreat straight to my rooms.
The hair on the door latch was undisturbed this time, though that hardly mattered.
Dantry had been betrayed by his own brother, and never had I dreaded confronting a villain more.
For the sake of all concerned—Dantry, Sir Clive, Miss Weatherby, the climbing boys, coalminers, and even Sheldon himself—I would do exactly that directly after supper.
I dressed for an informal supper in what finery I had brought along, feeling on all accounts like a fraud.
I would smile and nod as Sheldon played the gracious host, I would consume food for which I had no appetite, and I would put off yet again any chance to unburden myself to Hyperia regarding the nature of our shared future.
We had to deal with Dantry’s scurrilous sibling first, and Hyperia particularly enjoyed the finale of any investigation, when truth was revealed and justice served.
She was an able and tireless sleuth. She enjoyed our investigations in a manner I did not—purely for the joy of unraveling tangled skeins of truth and lies—and she would miss them.
I would miss the challenge of putting right some difficult wrongs, but neither did I relish the consequences if my wits again went wandering at the wrong moment.
I paused outside the door of the family parlor, marshaling my thespian capabilities. I was to be a polite guest, slightly self-conscious both because I hadn’t been invited to the Dovecote and because I was failing utterly to locate the missing earl.
A humble fellow, well-bred enough to know he was trying his host’s patience.
My hand was on the latch when Hyperia’s voice came to me through the closed door.
“Of course you will tell Dantry of your feelings,” she said. “We are not haring over hill and dale to find the man so that you can continue to pine for him from afar.”
“You must find him. What I do with a few passing sentiments is no business of anybody’s.” Miss Weatherby was very certain of her conclusions.
“Passing sentiments? I’ve seen you on the terrace, Miss Weatherby, using the balustrade for support as you make your way without your chair from one end of the terrace to the other. A woman doesn’t put forth that sort of effort if she’s content to sit in her chair for the rest of her life.”
“What has that to do with finding Claude? I exercise. The physicians encouraged it, and eventually I might yet see some results.”