Minnie's eyes were swimming in tears. 'My pearls,' she whispered, her voice quavering. 'They're gone.'
Vane glanced at Timms, hovering protectively. Grim-faced, she nodded. 'She wore them last night, as usual. I put them on the dresser myself, after we-Ada and I-helped Min to bed.' She reached back, lifting a small brocade box from the side table behind her. ' They were always kept in this, not locked away. Min wore them every night, so there never seemed much point. And with the thief delighting in tawdry glitter, there didn't seem much threat to the pearls.'
Two long, matched strands, with matching drop earrings. Vane had seen them on Minnie for as long as he could remember.
'They were my bride gift from Humphrey.' Minnie sniffed tearfully. 'They were the one thing-the one piece of all he gave me-that was the most personal.'
Vane swallowed the oath that sprang to this lips, swallowed the wave of anger that one of Minnie's charity cases should repay her in this way. He squeezed her hand, imparting sympathy and strength. 'If they were here last night, when did they disappear?'
'It had to be this morning, when we went for our constitutional. Otherwise, there wasn't any time someone wasn't in the room.' Timms looked angry enough to swear. 'We're in the habit of going for a short amble around the walled garden whenever the weather permits. These mornings, we usually go as soon as the fog lifts. Ada tidies in here while we're away, but she's always gone before we return.'
'Today'-Minnie had to gulp before continuing-'as soon as we got through the door, I saw the box wasn't in its usual place. Ada always leaves everything just so, but the box was askew.'
'It was empty.' Timms's jaw locked. 'This time, the thief has gone well and truly too far.'
'Indeed.' Grim-faced, Vane stood. He squeezed Minnie's hand, then released it. 'We'll get back your pearls-I swear on my honor. Until then, try not to worry.' He glanced at Timms. 'Why not go down to the music room? You can tell Patience while I set a few matters in train.'
Timms nodded. 'An excellent idea.'
Minnie frowned. 'But it's Patience's practice time-I wouldn't want to intrude.'
'I think you'll find,' Vane said, helping Minnie to her feet, 'that Patience won't forgive you if you
After seeing Minnie and Timms to the music room, and leaving his godmother in Patience's capable hands, Vane met with Masters, Mrs. Henderson, Ada, and Grisham, Minnie's senior servants.
Their shock, and their instant anger against whoever had dared hurt their generous mistress, was palpable. After assuring them that none of them was suspected, and receiving assurances that all the current staff was utterly reliable, Vane did what he could to bolt the stable door.
'The theft has only just occurred.' He looked at Grisham. 'Has anyone requested a horse or the gig?'
'No, sir.' Grisham shook his head. 'They're not much for getting out an' about, this lot.'
'That should make our task easier. If anyone asks for transportation-or even for a groom to deliver something-put them off and get word to me immediately.'
'Aye, sir.' Grisham's face was grim. 'I'll do that, right enough.'
'As for indoors…' Vane swung to face Masters, Mrs. Henderson, and Ada. 'I can't see any reason the staff can't be informed-the outdoor staff, too. We need everyone to keep their eyes peeled. I want to hear of anything that strikes anyone as odd, no matter how inconsequential.'
Mrs. Henderson fleetingly grimaced. Vane raised his brows. 'Has anything odd been reported recently?'
'Odd enough.' Mrs. Henderson shrugged. 'But I can't see as it could mean anything-not to do with the thief or the pearls.'
'Nevertheless…' Vane gestured for her to speak.
'The maids have reported it again and again-it's making terrible scratches on the floor.'
Vane frowned. 'What's making terrible scratches?'
'Sand!' Mrs. Henderson heaved a put-upon sigh. 'We can't make out where she gets it from, but we're constantly sweeping it up-just a trickle, every day-in Miss Colby's room. Scattered on and around the hearth rug, mostly.' She wrinkled her nose. 'She has this garish tin elephant-heathenish thing-she told one of the maids it was a memento left her by her father. He was a missionary in India, seemingly. The sand's usually not far from the elephant, but that doesn't seem to be the source. The maids have had a good go dusting it, but it seems perfectly clean. Yet still the sand is there-every day.'
Vane's brows rose high, visions of Alice Colby sneaking out in the dead of night to bury pilfered items floating through his mind. 'Perhaps she tracks the sand in from outside?'
Mrs. Henderson shook her head; her double chins wobbled vehemently. 'Sea sand. I should have said-it's that that makes the whole so strange. Nice and silver-white, the grains are. And where, near here, could you find sand like that?'
Vane frowned, and let his fanciful images fade. He met Mrs. Henderson's eye. 'I agree the matter's odd, but, like you, I can't see that it could mean anything. But that's precisely the sort of odd occurrence I want reported, whether it's obviously connected with the thief or not.'
'Indeed, sir.' Masters drew himself up. 'We'll speak to the staff immediately. You may rely on us.'
Who else could he rely on?
That question revolved in Vane's brain as, leaving Mrs. Henderson's parlor, he wandered into the front hall. In his estimation, Patience, Minnie, and Timms-'-and Gerrard-had always been beyond suspicion. There was an element of openness, of candor, in both Patience and Gerrard that reminded Vane of Minnie herself; he knew, soul-deep, that neither they, nor Timms, were involved.
That left a host of others-others he felt far less sure of.
His first stop was the library. The door opened noiselessly, revealing a long room, paneled with floor-to- ceiling bookshelves down its entire length. Long windows punctuated the bookcases along one side, giving access to the terrace; one window was presently ajar, letting a light breeze, warmed by autumn sunshine, waft in.
Two desks faced each other down the length of the room. The larger, more imposing example, closer to the door, was weighed down with tomes, the remaining surface blanketed by papers covered in a cramped fist. The well-padded chair behind the desk was empty. In contrast, the desk at the far end of the room was almost bare. It played host to one book only, a heavy leather-covered volume with gilt-edged pages, presently open and supported by Edgar, who sat behind the desk. His head bent, his brow furrowed, he gave no indication he had heard Vane enter.
Vane advanced down the carpeted floor. He was abreast of the wing chair flanking the hearth, its back to the door, before he realized it was occupied. He halted.
Happily ensconced in the deep chair, Edith Swithins busily tatted. Her gaze fixed on the threads she was twining, she, too, gave no sign of noticing him. Vane suspected she was partially deaf, but hid it by reading people's lips.
Stepping more heavily, he approached her. She sensed his presence only when he was close. Starting, she glanced up.
Vane summoned a reassuring smile. 'I apologize for interrupting. Do you often spend your mornings here?'
Recognizing him, Edith smiled easily. 'I'm here most mornings-I come down immediately after my breakfast and take my seat before the gentlemen get in. It's quiet and'-with her head she indicated the fire-'warm.'
Edgar lifted his head at the sound of voices; after one myopic glance, he retreated to his reading. Vane smiled at Edith. 'Do you know where Colby is?'
Edith blinked. 'Whitticombe?' She peered around the edge of the wing chair. 'Good heavens-fancy that! I thought he was there all the time.' She smiled confidingly at Vane. 'I sit here so I don't have to look at him. He's a very…'-she pursed her lips-'
Vane's fleering smile was genuine. Edith returned to her tatting. He resumed his progress down the room.
Edgar looked up as he neared and smiled ingenuously. 'I don't know where Whitticombe is either.'
