Gather Ye Rosebuds by Joan Smith Read Free Book Online Page B

Pakenhams then. He only came to us three years ago. We cannot blame Steptoe, much as I should like to.”
    “What is the date?” I said, running my eye along the left-hand column. “May the fifteenth, 1811. About the time Lady Margaret’s necklace was stolen. Mama, Uncle Barry bought the necklace! And here we were in a great rush to give it back to the Weylins.”
    She clapped her two hands on her cheeks. “Oh dear, and they will never believe us. I can hardly believe it myself. Five thousand pounds thrown away on that ugly old thing.”
    “And to think I humbled myself to them, apologizing and listening to Lady Weylin accuse me of chasing after her son.”
    “Why did Lady Margaret say it was stolen?” Mama asked. “The thing was not entailed. Her husband gave it to her as a wedding gift, so if she wanted to sell it, she could. Barry must have bought it in all innocence from whoever stole it.”
    “Why would he do that? It is not as though he got it at a bargain price. The necklace would hardly be worth five thousand, and to buy it from some hedge bird on a street corner—it makes no sense. If he wanted a diamond necklace for some reason, he would have bought it from a reputable jeweler.”
    After considerable discussion, we had gotten no further toward solving the mystery.
    “Steptoe knows something about this,” I said, and rose to march downstairs and confront him.
    He was still in the tower room, which struck me as highly suspicious. As there was nothing there worth stealing, however, I only told him his duties were belowstairs, before speaking of the more important matter. I chose my words carefully. It was not my intention to tell him anything, only pick his brains to discover what he knew.
    I jumped in without preamble. “I want to know the meaning of your cryptic reference to Tunbridge Wells, Steptoe,” I said.
    He looked at me with the face of perfect innocence, but with that sly light beaming in his eyes. “Tunbridge Wells, madam? A fine and healthy spot. I often go there to take the waters. I believe I mentioned it to you earlier.”
    “You implied seeing my uncle there. What was he doing?”
    “I did not say I had seen Mr. McShane, madam. You must have misheard me.”
    “Then you did not see him?”
    “Oh, I did not say that either, miss.” The subtle shift from “madam” to the demeaning “miss” did not pass unnoticed. “It might come back to me anon.”
    There was obviously no point quizzing him further. He knew something, but he was holding on to it for future mischief.
    “Why are you wasting your time up here? Go downstairs. That is what we are paying you for.”
    “Certainly, miss.”
    His bow was a perfect model of impertinence. I wanted to run after him and kick him, but uncertainty held me in check. The devil knew something that would redound to my uncle’s discredit, or he would not be so brass-faced. I went back to the attic and reported my failure to Mama.
    My mood could hardly have been worse when Steptoe came tripping up to the attic ten minutes later. His bold eyes took a close look at what we were doing before he spoke. “Lord Weylin to see you, Miss Barron.”
    “Lord Weylin!” Mama exclaimed. “What can he want?”
    “He did not say, madam,” Steptoe said. “Shall I tell him you are indisposed, Miss Barron?”
    It was what I wanted to say, but I would not give Steptoe the satisfaction. “Certainly not. I shall be down presently. Pray show his lordship into the saloon while I wash my hands.”
    “I have already done so, madam.”
    I gathered up my uncle’s papers to take to my room, safe from Steptoe. “Come down with me, Mama,” I said. “I cannot meet Weylin alone.”
    “Why, Zoie,” she laughed, “it is not a courting call. It is only business. At your age there can be no impropriety in meeting a gentleman alone.”
    “Of course it is not a courting call!”
    “Well then—I shall just poke about up here and see what else I can find. Leave those