Chapter 31
Thirty-one
Fletch
Fletch left the clockworks rolled in felt on the landing with the long case clock. He had more important matters on his mind. But the talk of hidden jewels had reminded him of the puzzle solvers in the attic.
He carried his sketch of the pendulum engraving and a copy of the clock’s odd configuration to the nursery, where Rob and the eight-year-old prodigies worked under the tutelage of Mr. Birdwhistle, the gentleman tutor.
The boys didn’t require much explanation. The clock had been an object of curiosity too long. In what passed for delight in the solemn pair, they carried off the drawings, leaving Mr. Birdwhistle to inquire, “Engraving is unusual on pendulums?”
“Of course not. Quite common place. But clocks are handmade to order. Buyers request initials or crests or symbols of some significance, not hieroglyphs.” Fletch was impatient to proceed with his other plans, but the tutor deserved explanation.
“Do we know when the clock was built?”
“No earlier than the 1730s, not as old as everyone believes,” Fletch warned. “I’d say the last earl had this one made. Unless they were inventor geniuses, seventeenth-century pirates did not have clocks. The weights do not work well on rolling ships.”
“I suppose the etching might represent a star chart to buried treasure. The earl’s pirate ancestors didn’t win their title and wealth with ignorance. The date may help, but the earls were eccentric. It could be someone’s initials arranged as a puzzle.”
“Which is why I give it to you. Now, if only the earl’s brilliant ancestors had thought to install spyglasses to watch the ballroom for evil-doers, they might have been useful.” Fletch turned to leave.
The tutor cleaned his throat. “The boys can work from the gallery without being seen.”
Fletch hadn’t set up a military operation in years. He’d never set one up with minors. But the gallery overlooked the ballroom where the women worked. If he had eyes in the sky, so to speak. . . He’d feel much better about Kate working here.
He didn’t have to tell the tutor everything, just enough to understand the suspects.
He was already running late. He needed to see that Kate and her family reached home safely, but he hastily made a list of people whose actions should be noted.
The tutor agreed to have the boys work from the gallery while the ladies were below.
After the schoolroom, he sought out Hunt. Fletch and the manor’s executor didn’t have reason to speak much, but unlike Rafe, Fletch had no compunction about making demands. Rafe cared about what people thought, as a good innkeeper must. Fletch didn’t give a fart.
Dark and piratical with his one good eye and a scar running the length of his jaw, Hunt snarled after learning the gist of Kate’s letter. His aristocratic reaction was much like Miss Marlowe’s. “Throw the bastards out!”
“No proof of wrongdoing,” Fletch countered, not easily intimidated by bad temper. “And we can’t find Hugh to throw him anywhere.”
“And the solution is to hold a circus?” the American engineer asked with incredulity.
“We’ve done this before.” The last trap they’d set had been terrifying, but it had worked.
“The solution is to gather as many suspects as possible at the inn, where we can keep an eye on them, and follow the rest to see what they do when they think no one is watching. The community will be safely in the well-guarded pub while we do so.”
In the company of possible killers, but like Kate, Fletch simply didn’t think any of their suspects clever enough to make murder look like an accident.
But thieves. . . bumbling pilferers like the Jamesons were often stupid and careless, which was why Ana Marie had suspected the culprits. Even she hadn’t had proof.
Hunt paced, cursing, then nodded curtly. “I’ll speak with Clare. The women have to know. They’re intrepid and will plot the entertainment better than any tactician. Who will invite the entertainers?”
Fletch grimaced. “I’ll take Damien with me. He needs to know his tenants.”
Just finishing a stack of legal documents, Damien greeted Fletch’s arrival with wariness.
It might have been easier to have Kate explain to her sister and let Brydie tell her husband, but Fletch couldn’t be assured that they’d effectively communicate the nuances of his plan.
Not that he was good at it, but he knew more than they did.
When Fletch finished explaining, Damien ran a hand through gilded hair laced with silver. “One assumes the thieves aren’t stupid enough to believe the farmhouse contains treasure. So you think they’ll rob the manor?”
“If they’re thieves, that’s most logical.
The Priory has valuable art and the ladies have jewels.
Vivien has made herself available to the dowagers and has blatantly made herself at home in the halls.
She’s had time to locate anything not locked up.
If Hugh, the actors, or her sister are accomplices, they could empty the place in hours.
” Fletch feared the thieves might believe in the manor’s pirate gold, but then, criminals were stupid.
Damien tapped a pencil on his desk, frowning, giving Fletch time to arrange his words before speaking his fear.
“They may have originally employed a lunatic like Hugh in hopes of driving out Kate and using her house as headquarters. Now that the actors have the Hall, they don’t need the farm, but a lunatic won’t necessarily give up. ”
“We’ll stay at the farm this week,” Damien concluded, standing. “The manor has their own army. If you’ve alerted Hunt, they’ll be on guard. I’ll talk to Jacques while you invite our thespians. We could be making mountains out of molehills, though.”
“I want to believe that, but two women are dead, and Kate narrowly escaped the same fate. Whether or not Vivien’s accident was a ruse is impossible to say. Tying these unlikely incidents to a gang of conscienceless thieves is all I can think of.” Fletch followed Damien to the door.
“Ana Marie’s accident happened after the Jamesons set up housekeeping but before the actors arrived,” Damien noted with a frown.
“Well, the actors could have followed the Jamesons for reasons unknown. They may even believe Hugh’s delusions about owning the farm. Or they could just be waiting for an opportunity.” Fletch stepped out, eager to escort Kate to safety, weary of talking.
“I’m going to bring Upton into this,” Damien warned. “He may know the vicar in Worcester, who might have more reliable information.”
“Excellent idea, thank you.” Fletch could hear Kate’s offspring upstairs with their aunt. They should be safe enough for the moment. “I’m heading back to the manor to escort Kate. I’ll explain our plans on the way here.”
More talking. He needed a drink.
No, actually, he didn’t. He needed Kate. She was even better than a clock to keep him on task.