Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
The plan agreed, Georgie and Hugh set out across the street. Hugh headed for Mr. Pierce’s, the shop closest to the vicarage. Georgie went straight to Mr. Pritchard’s shop.
The wet grocer was just finishing with another customer, Mrs. Dunworthy, one of the duke’s tenants. The older woman bobbed a quick curtsey to Georgie before scurrying out the door.
“Your Grace,” Mr. Pritchard heralded, coming around his counter. “What an honor! How might I be of assistance? I trust the sturgeon was to your liking.”
“Everything you send us is to my liking,” Georgie told him with a smile. “We rely on you at the manor. But I fear I’ve come about something less pleasant.” She leaned closer, though no other customers remained in the shop. “Am I to understand you’ve had problems with theft?”
He grimaced. “Been speaking with that vicar, it seems.”
The way he said Hugh’s title implied censure. She tried not to stiffen. “The vicar mentioned there had been thefts, yes. We’ve had a similar theft at the manor, you see, though please keep that to yourself.”
She realized her mistake as soon as his eyes brightened. Here was a man who not only enjoyed knowing more than the next person, but who would likely be happy to spread his knowledge.
“I won’t say a word,” he promised. “What happened?”
“A minor matter,” Georgie hedged. “But it set me to thinking. What did you lose?”
“It started with some apples, then strawberries, but most recently it was a package of my best jerky.” He nodded to a side counter that held various packages of dried meat.
“And Mrs. Hallet had only the day before expressed interest in having it.” He leaned around Georgie to glance out the window, as if he could see the vicarage and its occupants from here.
“Made me wonder if someone from the vicarage might have had a hand. Liberating what would have cost them.”
“The duke sees that the vicarage has all it needs,” Georgie reminded him.
“Oh, to be sure,” he hurried to reply, straightening. “Only, can we trust this new duke? Not to speak ill of the dead, but we all remember what the last one was like.”
Even the village had suffered under the previous duke’s neglect and abuse.
He’d refused to pay bills out of spite, disparaged goods in front of the shopkeepers, and made suggestive remarks about the lady shopkeepers.
He must have put on a very good performance in London for Sophia to agree to marry him.
“His Grace is nothing like the previous duke,” Georgie assured the wet grocer. “He is even-tempered and thoughtful and sincerely wants the best for all those who depend on him.”
“Good to hear you say that. But you have to take into account all these new people he’s brought with him. I heard they aren’t the best of the bunch. Why would people of good character need to come all this way for a position?”
Georgie drew herself up. “Because they hoped for a better future among those they can turn to as friends and family.”
He dropped his gaze, coloring. “Forgive me, Your Grace. You’re right. But we all know not everyone comes to Tyneham with the best of intentions.”
She could not argue with that. But Pip had come hoping for family. Hugh had come hoping to make a difference, and so, she thought, had Max. They should not be excluded because they hadn’t been born here.
And such a sentiment against newcomers was not one she’d heard before in their village.
The year after she’d married Freddie, a village a few miles away had flooded, and every house in Tyneham had opened its doors to the refugees.
No one had questioned their integrity or character.
Certainly, she and Sophia had been welcomed when they’d married into the family.
“Was there a reason you’d suspected someone new to the village?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Something Sir Winfred mentioned when he was last in. A shame he wasn’t made duke.”
Georgie kept her polite smile firmly in place. “Sir Winfred has made many friends around Tyneham over the years. I’m sure His Grace will do the same.”
And the sooner, the better.
* * *
Every shopkeeper told Hugh the same story: small things taken, once a week or less, within the last fortnight or so.
All told, the amounts added up to nearly thirty pounds, a year’s wages for a footman like Bailey, but the bulk was what staggered Hugh.
If it was Pip, where was the boy stashing the things?
Hugh met Georgie on the village green and related his findings. She sighed.
“Mr. Pritchard related a similar situation. And Hugh, he’s prone to blame anyone who arrived recently, including His Grace and the staff!”
Like fungus, the suspicions spread. Hugh shook his head. “That’s clearly nonsense. And I cannot believe it of Pip. Perhaps I don’t want to believe it.”
“Your points were well taken,” Georgie soothed. “We know he didn’t carry the figurine away last night.”
“Or he hid it somewhere for retrieval later,” Hugh replied, hating the seed of doubt inside him.
“Does Pip know the village so well he could find a safe place?” she countered. “He certainly can’t know the manor. He saw some of it last night, and Oliver likely showed him only those places Oliver finds of interest.”
“The portrait gallery, the sculpture gallery, and the library,” Hugh agreed. He blew out a breath. “I don’t know what to do, Georgie. I promise you, Pip isn’t a bad lad. He vows he hasn’t stolen anything besides the food, blanket, and coat he took when he first arrived.”
She set her hand on his arm, the touch steadying. “I know, Hugh. And I believe him. But we must discover the culprit, before your reputation or the duke’s are forever ruined in the village.”
* * *
“I can’t believe it’s gone.” Maisy dropped down on the bench beside the staff dining table on Friday where she and Morrigan were taking a cup of tea before resuming their duties. “And I’d been saving for months!”
Everyone on the staff knew the butler and ladies’ maid had been hoping to take a holiday later this summer when things settled down at the manor. Some of the staff had even contributed to the little fund. To see it taken was a blow they all felt.
Yet Morrigan couldn’t imagine who would have stolen it.
As a maid-of-all-work, she was uniquely positioned to have labored beside the indoor staff.
As the Exalted Dog Nanny, she often interacted with Mr. Foster and his gardening staff as well.
She’d even spoken with Mr. Lawrence and the stable workers about ways to keep Anastasia safe during travel.
She couldn’t imagine any of them sneaking into Mr. Kinsle’s rooms and stealing from him!
But who else could it be? His Grace and the duchesses would have had no need to steal, and generally someone on the staff was with them every moment.
The same could be said of Mr. Warden. If any of them had cut through the kitchen, it would have been the talk of the staff table.
Sir Winfred might be pompous, but his presence too would be noticed.
And she couldn’t see the high and mighty colonel being willing to so much as set a foot inside the servants’ area of the house.
Which left Oliver, Pip, Mr. Caddington…
And Sally.
Morrigan started. “Oh, surely not!”
Maisy regarded her. “Have you thought of someone?”
Morrigan shook her head, clamping her lips shut.
She should talk to Bailey, but she could imagine how his dark eyes would fill with hurt.
He might even tell her she was evil-minded for suspecting such a thing.
Besides, just because her last employer had been a scoundrel didn’t mean everyone else she trusted would disappoint her.
She pasted on a smile. “No one that bears mentioning. But I promise you, I’ll be watching from here on out.”
* * *
Georgie barely managed to make it back to the manor before the sun set.
Her father looked at her askance as she slipped into the sitting room, still gowned in her day dress, with the others waiting for dinner, but she did her best to be pleasant to all as if nothing troubled her as they went in to dinner.
Unfortunately, she’d never been good at dissembling. By the time they’d finished Mrs. Bettleton’s famous apple cake at the end of the meal, Claudia was regarding Georgie with narrowed eyes, and Max was frowning.
Sophia linked arms with her as they started down the corridor for the sitting room. “What’s happened, dearest? You look sad.”
Georgie fixed her gaze on Max’s slender frame just ahead of them. “I am concerned about something, but I think I should speak to His Grace first.”
Sophia squeezed her arm. “I have found him remarkably understanding, for a man.” She winked at Georgie.
Georgie smiled, which she was sure was her friend’s intention. Then she took a deep breath and raised her voice. “Your Grace? Might I have a word?”
Max stopped. So did Georgie’s father. With another squeeze, Sophia left them to chivvy the others into the sitting room.
His Grace regarded her with his clear blue eyes. “The library, I think,” he mused. “We’ll rejoin you in a moment, Colonel Bancroft.”
Her father took out his pocket watch as if confirming the time, but he did not argue.
Max accompanied Georgie to the library, motioned her in first, then shut the door behind him. A fire glowed in the grate, and the light from the lamp on the desk did not quite reach the bookcases beyond. Georgie went to sit by the hearth, carefully arranging her skirts, while Max sat opposite.
The duke raised his reddish brows as he met her gaze. “This looks important.” His face lit. “Come to tell me you’re engaged?”
Heat rose in her cheeks. “No, Your Grace. Most definitely not.”
He sighed, leaning back. “Ah, well. Hope springs eternal. And it was to be Max, remember?”
“Of course, Max.” She shifted on the seat. “Forgive me. I fear the habit is ingrained.”
“Some habits were meant to be broken,” he said, doing away with hundreds of years of tradition. “Now, how can I help you, Georgie?”