The Debutante's Code, page 24
“Come, Lady Juliette. We must go now.” Detective Swann had his cloak, hat, and his brass-capped walking stick and shifted his weight from boot to boot beside the hunt club’s front door.
“Of course I’m coming. I’ll get my wraps.” She hurried up the stairs to the ladies’ dressing room, with Agatha following, protesting all the way. Inspiration dawned as she accepted her cloak.
“Miss, would you be willing to accompany me to London tonight? I’ll pay, of course, but I need a maid for the evening.” She addressed the young woman who had been looking after the dressing room. “I know you’ve been hired here, but I will pay the hunt club for your time, and I’ll pay you an additional fee.”
Within moments the head waiter had struck a deal that allowed Juliette to take Miss Fischer, the maid, with her to London and to put her up for the night. Juliette would arrange the maid’s transportation back to the village tomorrow.
The four of them—Juliette, Daniel Swann, the office boy, and Miss Fischer—piled into a carriage that now waited in the front drive.
“Evening, Cadogan. Fast as you can.”
“Aye, sir. Lola and Sprite will get you there.” He shook his reins, and they were off.
“Lola and Sprite?” Juliette asked as she rocked back in the seat.
“The horses. Cadogan is a familiar cabbie, usually hanging around Bow Street or Drury Lane looking for fares. I travel in this carriage often.” Detective Swann settled himself next to his coworker. “Lady Juliette, this is Owen Wilkinson, who works at the magistrate’s court.”
“Mr. Wilkinson,” she said. “What can you tell us about what happened at my home?”
The young man knuckled his forelock. “Milady, I was tidying the office, preparing to go home for the night, when a man rushed in. He said there had been a break-in at a house on Belgrave Square and that there were injuries. I told him someone would be there soon, and I went to Mr. Beck’s house. His place is closest to Bow Street. Together we went round to the address. Mr. Beck took one look and sent me to fetch Mr. Swann.”
“Do you know who was hurt?” Mr. Swann asked. “And how badly?”
“I dunno. I didn’t even make it into the house before Mr. Beck sent me on my way.”
Mr. Wilkinson sounded defensive, as if he wasn’t to blame for not having all the answers Mr. Swann sought. Juliette sensed tension between the two, but she held her tongue, her mind on her home.
The carriage rocked and jolted, and they made good time in spite of the lateness. In just over an hour they had reached the Chelsea Bridge and trundled over the Thames. In Belgrave Square, lights blazed from the Thorndike house windows, and Juliette hurried up the stairs as Mr. Swann paid the driver.
The front hall looked as it should, nothing missing or damaged. Light spilled from her father’s library, along with the sound of voices.
She stopped on the threshold. The room was a shambles. Books had been tossed from shelves, paintings ripped off the walls.
“Ed, what do you know?” Mr. Swann tugged off his gloves and tucked the walking stick under his arm.
“Looks like they were after a safe or strongbox.” Mr. Beck indicated a walnut panel that had been swung open behind the desk. His gaze swept over Daniel and Juliette in their eveningwear, his brows rising. “Lady Juliette.” He inclined his head.
Juliette hadn’t even known that panel existed.
“They went at it but didn’t get it opened. Looks like an axe maybe?” Mr. Beck fingered one of the gashes in the paneling.
Juliette studied the iron-banded door that had been built into the wall. Several shiny gouges and dents decorated the front, but the Vexier combination lock still clung to the hasp, foiling the robbers. The strongbox safe was nearly four feet tall and two feet wide, and it must weigh several hundred pounds. What did Father keep in there?
The Thorndike sapphires, among other things?
“Who was injured?”
“The butler and the housekeeper. They were the only ones here at the time.”
“How badly?” Mr. Swann’s voice sharpened. “Where are they? Have you questioned them?”
“Easy there.” Mr. Beck made damping motions with his hands. “There’s someone with them downstairs.”
“I want to talk to them.” Mr. Swann turned so quickly, he nearly bumped into Juliette, his cape swinging and the hem wrapping around her briefly.
“I’ll come with you.”
Though it was her house, the detective went ahead of her to the doorway to the servants’ area on the ground floor. She remembered that he’d been in the house before and must have been brought through this way.
When they reached the servants’ dining room, Juliette stopped. The butler, Mr. Pultney, sat with his head in his hands, his collar open, his hair disheveled. He murmured something, but Juliette didn’t catch what it was. Mrs. Dunstan, the housekeeper, had a towel to her lip. The towel was splotched with blood, and Juliette’s knees wobbled. Mrs. Dunstan looked up, her white cap askew and eyes staring.
Across the table from them, with one booted foot on the seat of a chair, a man leaned. Juliette knew him. That hair was distinctive. It was the Duke of Haverly.
“Good evening, Your Grace.”
He straightened and put his foot on the floor. “Lady Juliette. I was supposed to meet your uncle here tonight, but he’s late. As usual. When no one opened the door, I grew worried and let myself in. I’m glad I did, since it seems the household was in need of aid.”
Mr. Swann approached, but stiffly, as if his knees had lost their bend. “Did anyone see who did this? What happened?”
The duke explained. “I found the place empty and the library is a mess. Seems thieves broke in. They found only the housekeeper and the butler in residence. They roughed up Mr. Pultney here and tied him up, shoving him into the wine cellar. They forced Mrs. Dunstan to show them where the valuables were kept. When she wouldn’t, they encouraged her to comply with their fists.” He indicated the bloodied towel.
Juliette looked at the far wall and took some deep breaths.
“That’s fine, Your Grace, but I’d like to hear it from them.” Mr. Swann had a notebook and pencil in his hands, but he looked at the butler. “Mr. Pultney?”
“There were two of them. Big men. Bigger than me by a fair bit. I opened the door because I knew the duke was expected tonight, and they rushed right by me.” He sounded ashamed. “I couldn’t stop them. The door hit me in the shoulder, and I fell.”
“Where is everyone else tonight? The footmen, the maids?” Juliette asked. She went to the sideboard and filled two glasses of water from the pitcher there and brought them to the table.
“Sir Bertrand gave the rest of the staff the evening off. He’d purchased tickets to a minstrel show at a theater in Covent Garden, and he wanted everyone to go. Mr. Pultney and myself could look after his lordship ourselves for a few hours, especially as he intended to be away for part of the evening.” Mrs. Dunstan lowered the cloth and revealed a split and swollen lip.
Juliette closed her eyes, nausea gripping her. She groped for a chair and sank onto it.
“Here, let me,” Mr. Swann said, his voice gruff. He took the cloth from Mrs. Dunstan and dampened it in cold water from a pitcher on the sideboard. He sat beside the housekeeper and dabbed at the cut.
Juliette’s insides shook as she watched him, his hands tender, though his expression was fierce. Her house had been broken into. Her staff had been injured. With everything in her she wanted to run upstairs and see if the sanctity of the War Room had been breached, but with detectives and dukes running about the place, she had to wait.
Where was Uncle Bertie now? He had been intending to procure two more items from the art gallery list. What if he waltzed in unaware, holding a carved eagle and a scrap of Egyptian papyrus that by tomorrow would be reported stolen? How could she warn him?
“They ran past you, sir?” the detective asked.
“It was like they knew there were only two of us here. They didn’t ask about anyone else.” Mr. Pultney ran his hand over his sparse hair, and his fingers trembled.
“Do you think they were watching the house?” the duke asked.
Mr. Swann’s mouth tightened, as if he didn’t appreciate being interrupted, but he said nothing. What did one say to a duke, after all?
“Perhaps. It was not half an hour after everyone left for the theater that they barged in.”
“They locked you in a room down here?” Mr. Swann picked up the small notebook and stub of pencil he’d laid on the table to help Mrs. Dunstan and made notes, barely looking up when he talked.
“One of them did. The other shouted at Mrs. Dunstan. ‘Where’s the safe? Where’s the safe?’ And he grabbed her by the arm and hauled her down the hallway.” The butler took a sip of water, nodding his thanks to Juliette. “The one tied my hands behind my back, shoved me into the wine cellar, and put a chair under the knob so I couldn’t get out.”
The detective raised his eyes but said nothing to the housekeeper, letting the silence lengthen.
She finally stirred. “When they had Mr. Pultney locked up, they made me show them the safe. I didn’t want to tell them, but one of them had a knife, and he said, did I want to die for another man’s belongings? I tried to think what Himself would want us to do.”
Himself was Juliette’s father, a term of respect her mother had given leave for her staff to use.
“I took them to the dining room. I showed them the silver safe hidden in the wall there.” She touched her lip and winced. “That’s when one of them hit me. Said not to be daft, they didn’t want teapots and platters. They were after bigger treasure. Where was the earl’s personal safe?”
Thieves not wanting silver? They must not have known what else the dining room safe held. There was a complete dining service for twenty-four, all rimmed in gold. A former Earl of Thorndike had commissioned the set when he had entertained King William and Queen Mary at Heild House in Worcestershire more than a century ago.
“I told them I didn’t know where any other safe could be. I’d never seen it.” Her tongue came out to explore the split. “That’s when one of them hit me again. I know sometimes people say they see stars when they take a blow to the head, but it’s true.”
The pencil snapped, and everyone startled. Fury blazed from Mr. Swann’s eyes.
Juliette took Mrs. Dunstan’s hand, hoping she didn’t think the detective was angry with her. “What happened next?”
“They dragged me with them into the library. I couldn’t see well with my eyes tearing up, but they started throwing books off the shelves and banging on the walls. They found a second safe.” She turned to Juliette. “I swear I didn’t know it was there.”
Juliette squeezed her hand, her mind taken off the blood and centered solely on the remorse in the woman’s eyes. “I believe you. And don’t worry. My father will not blame you for any of this. He would much rather give away all he owned than have one of his staff put into harm’s way.” Though she’d never heard him say it, she believed it was true.
“When they couldn’t get the safe open, they marched me upstairs. They went through your parents’ bedchambers and Sir Bertrand’s. Sir Bertrand’s room looks out onto the street, and they must have seen the duke’s carriage arrive. The one with the knife pushed me into Sir Bertrand’s dressing room and pushed a dresser in front of the door.”
“I came inside then.” The duke put his foot up on the chair seat again. “Though it took a bit of searching, I eventually heard Mr. Pultney kicking the door down here and released him, and we located Mrs. Dunstan. I sent my driver to Bow Street, and the three of us”—he indicated the butler and housekeeper—“did a quick walk through the house to make certain no one else was here and to try to ascertain what might have been taken.”
Mr. Beck called down the stairs to the servants’ dining hall. “Sir Bertrand Thorndike has returned. He’s coming up the front steps now.”
“Will you be all right?” Juliette asked the housekeeper. She must warn Bertie, if possible, not to show the items he’d stolen tonight.
“Yes, milady. The rest of the staff will be home soon. If Sir Bertrand needs anything, ring the bell.”
“If he needs anything, I’ll tend to him myself. You have the rest of the night off. When the cook gets home, have her make you some tea, then get some rest.”
She led the way upstairs, and when she reached the entrance hall, Bertie leaned against the doorframe in the open doorway, his hair hanging in his eyes, and his lips slack. He raised his chin a fraction and winked at her before dropping his head again.
“Well, aren’t you a pretty sight?” She put her hands on her hips, playing along. “Here we’ve been in crisis, and you’ve been in your cups.” She checked his person, but she could see no evidence of the items he had gone out to retrieve. Had he stashed them somewhere?
“Wha’ crishish?” He wobbled.
“Our house was burgled. The police are here, Mrs. Dunstan is injured, and you’re staggering drunk. I despair of you, Uncle Bertie.”
“Injured?” He blinked, waving his arm weakly. “Bad?”
“A split lip.”
“Wha’ got nicked?” He hiccupped.
“I don’t know. I don’t think anything was taken, but I haven’t had time to do any sort of investigation into what might be missing.” She spoke slowly and with intent so he should know she’d had no time to check on the War Room.
The duke strode over to Bertie’s side and put Bertie’s arm over his shoulder. “You need a cup of strong coffee.” He sniffed and winced, leaning away. “Several cups, I think.”
“I wouldn’t bother trying to sober him up tonight. Can you help me get him to his bed? He can suffer the consequences of his debauchery in the morning.”
“Who are these people?” Uncle Bertie waved toward Owen Wilkinson and Miss Fischer, who sat beside each other on straight-backed chairs in the foyer.
“They came home with me. Don’t worry about them. Worry about getting yourself upstairs. I’ll be up directly.”
Weariness she didn’t have to fake washed through her. The day had started bright and early. She’d had a full day of hunting, an evening ball, a cross-country rush in a carriage, and a burglary. She didn’t think she could take much more today.
“Gentlemen,” she said to the Bow Street detectives, “perhaps you might return in the morning? We’ll be better able to assess any damage done, as well as provide an inventory of what might have been stolen. I must attend my uncle in the absence of his valet.”
“Of course, Lady Juliette. Please lock the doors after us.” Mr. Swann flipped his notebook closed, watching the duke and Uncle Bertie stagger up the staircase.
“Miss Fischer can stay here tonight, and I’ll see she’s returned home to Ash Valley in the morning.”
He nodded. “Wilkinson, go fetch us a cab.”
The young man eased to his feet, glanced at Miss Fischer as if reluctant to leave her company, and in a breach of protocol, sauntered out the door without so much as a by-your-leave in Juliette’s direction. Detective Swann’s mouth hardened, but he didn’t reprimand Mr. Wilkinson in front of her. Juliette shook her head. Was the boy careless, or was he impertinent? Did he display bad manners to offend her or, as she suspected, to needle his boss?
“I’ll be by in the morning,” Mr. Swann promised. “Thank you for your company earlier in the evening. I’m sorry your day had to end this way. I’ll let the night watchmen in this district know to look in on the house frequently throughout the night, but I don’t expect any further trouble, especially not once the rest of your staff returns.”
He and Mr. Beck left, and Juliette locked the front door. She leaned against it before remembering Miss Fischer.
“If you’ll go downstairs to the kitchen, you’ll find some remaining staff to assist you. Thank you for coming to my aid.”
Juliette hurried upstairs once the girl had gone. She reached Uncle Bertie’s room, tapped on it, and when beckoned, entered.
Bertie sat at his desk, his hair combed and his eyes bright. “Well, we seem to have kicked a hornet’s nest, haven’t we?”
Her gaze flew to the duke, but His Grace merely remained silent, leaning back against the mantel and crossing his arms.
“Don’t worry about him. He’s my supervising officer, and consequently yours.”
“What? The Duke of Haverly is a spy?”
“You might want to keep it down,” Bertie said dryly. “He’s held on to that particular secret for a number of years, and I’d hate for it to get out now.”
Juliette covered her mouth, her mind racing. One question that popped into her head that she just had to know the answer to or perish.
“Does your mother know?”
Marcus and Bertie broke into laughter. “No, Lady Juliette, and we must keep it that way. My mother couldn’t keep a secret if promised the Crown Jewels.”
Juliette subsided onto the foot of Bertie’s bed. “If you’re Bertie’s supervisor, are you also my parents’?”
“I am. It’s a recent promotion, with the retirement of my supervisor. And before you ask, no, I do not have any news as to their whereabouts. However, I am not worried.” The duke’s calm, rational manner soothed Juliette. He seemed in perfect control. “They will turn up when and where they are needed, and they have always enjoyed a certain amount of latitude to maneuver.”
Could she trust the duke? After this would she be able to trust anyone? When and if her parents returned, could she truly believe anything they said? She was alone, though surrounded by people encouraging her to believe them.
God, what should I do? Where can I turn?
“We should concentrate on finding who is chasing the imported artwork besides us, because clearly someone is in possession of at least a partial list of artifacts.” Bertie fisted his hand and tapped his thigh. “Not only did someone know in advance that the jade dragon would be up for auction at Barrett’s, they sent thugs to steal it from whoever purchased it. Now that they know it was Juliette, they’ve sent more reprobates to burgle the house, ostensibly to retrieve it.”
