Chapter 18 #2
Hetty growled inwardly but kept the smile fixed upon her face as she turned back to Gideon. “Mrs King asked me to look in upon the ironmongery, my love, to check it was just as she specified. The date for the grand ball is fast approaching, and she does not want any last-minute errors.”
“No, indeed.” Gideon nodded gravely and led her to a large box beside his desk. It was made of pine and nailed shut, but Gideon reached for a small crowbar and prised up the lid, just as they had discussed.
Hetty moved closer, reaching into the box and taking away several layers of tissue paper, laying them carefully on Gideon’s desk. Then she took a heavy object out, likewise wrapped, and carefully undid it. She held the solid brass doorknob up with an exclamation of pleasure.
“Oh, how smart they are,” she said with approval, turning it this way and that in the light.
“Five shillings apiece,” Gideon said with a sigh. “And that box is full of them. Then there are boxes of finger plates and escutcheons. It’s quite an investment.”
Hetty nodded. The box contained two hundred such items, each worth five shillings. Mr Ridley earned twenty-five shillings a week, which meant that the box represented a significant amount of money.
“Well, they look splendid. Mrs King will be pleased.”
Gideon nodded. “That’s a relief. They’ll be ready to fit them in a few days, and I can’t afford any delays.” He turned then to Mr Ridley, whose attention was fixed on the ledger before him.
“Ridley, do a chap a kindness and fetch Mr Ludlow, Lady Henrietta would like to see the ballroom before she leaves, but I must finalise these orders before the day is over. If you’ll forgive me, Hetty, dearest?”
“Of course,” she said smoothly, noting the flicker of irritation in Mr Ridley’s eyes before his expression smoothed over.
“Of course, sir,” he said. “Though I could escort the lady myself, if—”
“Oh, no. I would like a moment longer, if you’ll forgive an impatient bridegroom for snatching a moment with his betrothed,” Gideon said with an admirable show of sheepishness, considering he was of a mind to throttle Ridley with his bare hands if he was the culprit.
Ridley nodded, heading for the door. “As you like, sir.”
They waited until he was gone.
Gideon blew out a breath. When he turned to look at her, she saw the tension around his mouth and eyes now that he’d dropped the polite mask. He was determined to catch the thief so he could present Mr King with a fait accompli, but the stress was wearing on him.
“Did you bring them?”
“Of course! Jenkins, get the paints out.”
Jenkins got to her feet, hefting the capacious bag she always seemed to view as a necessary accoutrement. Today, it had proven most useful, however, as Jenkins unpacked the little glass jars, setting them on the table.
“Carefully, we don’t want to get covered,” Gideon warned Hetty.
“If you don’t mind me remarking it, my lady, I reckon I’d better do that,” Jenkins said, without an iota of sarcasm.
Hetty sighed, ignoring the amused look Gideon sent her, knowing it was for the best. “Very well.”
She stood back, watching as Gideon and Jenkins worked deftly, replacing each layer of tissue paper and carefully covering each with the powdered paint. It would make a devil of a mess of Gideon’s nice, tidy office, Hetty thought with a grin.
Jenkins had put all the empty jars back in her bag and they had just put the lid back on the box when they heard voices outside the door. A moment later, Mr Ridley appeared.
He stepped inside, his eyes flicking to the now closed crate and away again.
“Mr Ludlow is waiting outside, Mr Bramwell,” he said with a curt nod, and Hetty hoped very much that he was the thief, for she disliked the way he made Mr Ludlow wait outside instead of letting him come in.
“Well, I shall be off then. I do not wish to keep Mr Ludlow waiting for me, for that would be rude. Good afternoon to you, my dear,” she said briskly.
“And to you, my lady,” Gideon said, giving her a fond smile, whilst his eyes danced with devilry.
Hetty followed Jenkins to the door, fighting the desire to turn and look at the crate or to wish Gideon luck. This had been her plan, but it was out of her hands now.
She only hoped the thief was quick off the mark and wouldn’t keep them waiting.
“Damn it,” Gideon cursed, setting down his pen with a scowl.
“Is there aught amiss, Sir?” Ridley asked, looking up from his desk on the opposite side of the hut.
“No,” Gideon said with a sigh, pushing to his feet.
“Only I forgot to tell Ludlow about an important change I made to the plans. I’d best run and tell him before he cocks the whole thing up.
While I’m at it, I think I’ll get Barlow to tidy up that mess by the front gate.
It’s a fire hazard, and it makes the place look untidy. ”
Ridley nodded, his expression thoughtful. “If you don’t mind me saying so, Sir. I’d keep an eye on Barlow. He and Billy Preston seem mighty friendly all at once. Odd, isn’t it, after they wanted to murder each other a short while ago?”
Gideon considered Ridley with interest. “Not really. That’s what fellows are like on a building site in my experience. Once the drama is over, it’s all forgotten.”
Ridley shrugged, his expression neutral. “Well, I’m sure you know best, Mr Bramwell.”
Gideon waited, wondering if he would say more, and when he didn’t— “You suspect him?” Gideon asked, watching him carefully.
Even if it turned out Ridley wasn’t the thief, Gideon realised he did not like him.
Mr Ridley stared at his ledger for a long moment before meeting Gideon’s eyes. “Someone is stealing from you, Sir. From all of us. I’ll not condemn a man with no proof, but… well, I don’t trust him, is all.”
Gideon held his gaze, which Ridley returned unblinkingly.
“Noted,” he said with an agreeable smile, heading for the door and closing it carefully behind him.
He hurried across the site and inside the hotel to what would one day be the grand foyer, where Billy and Larry were waiting for him.
“All set?” Billy asked eagerly.
Gideon nodded. “Now, remember, don’t overplay it. The two of you are tidying up the broken crates and such. It gives you a reason to be in full view of the hut, but don’t stand gawping. The trick is to watch without being seen.”
He regarded Billy a little doubtfully, for the lad was eager but perhaps not the sharpest. Larry, however, laughed and patted his new pal, Billy, on the shoulder. “I got it, Mr Bramwell. We’ll catch your thief, won’t we, Billy?”
“Aye. Reckon so. Come on, then,” Billy said, and dashed off.
Larry hurried after him. “Don’t worry, sir,” he called over his shoulder as he ran to keep up.
Gideon sighed, some hope of that. There really wasn’t much else he could do.
With everything in place, he went to find Hetty, eager to see what she thought of the ballroom.
It took some time, for the men wanted a word with him as he passed, or acknowledgement and approval of the work they’d done.
Impatience nagged at him, but he dared not appear hurried for fear any accomplice might sense that something was afoot.
He finally reached Hetty a good fifteen minutes later in the middle of the grand ballroom, gazing about her in wonder.
“Oh, Gideon, it’s magnificent,” she exclaimed, the pride in her eyes making his chest feel as though it might burst.
He looked around, trying to see it through her eyes.
The room was vast, its noble proportions unmistakable even in its unfinished state. The soaring height of the ceilings, the elegant rhythm of the marble columns marching down each side, and the tall windows admitting shafts of sunlight that turned the drifting dust to gold.
His plans come to life, he realised with a burst of satisfaction, and for the first time, he believed he deserved it, the success and the happiness.
He had earned it. Even though the air still carried the sharp scent of fresh plaster and sawdust, and the stronger odour of paint, it was everything he had imagined it would be.
Scaffolding remained in the centre of the room, rising in a precarious lattice to where men worked on the ornamental mouldings.
Beneath them, acres of canvas protected the freshly laid parquet floors.
Nearly there, he thought, though the enormity of the work that was still required before the grand ball on the 5th of September made him slightly nauseated.
Hetty slipped her arm through his, and he looked down at her.
How and when had his world changed? Had there been one defining moment, or had it happened gradually, inevitably?
Whichever it was, somehow his life had gone from a grey drudge of one working day that bled into the next, where the advancement of his career was the only pleasure he found in life, to something filled with colour and joy and — “Oi, stop thief!”—excitement.
“Gideon!” Hetty exclaimed, clutching his arm.
“Wait here,” he told her, and then shook his head as he realised the futility of that comment. “Nevermind. Come on, then.”
He took her hand, and they ran.