Rakes Vow

so her expression declared, behind her drive with him.

It was her 'dutiful' stance that did it-pricked his temper anew. Fighting to keep a scowl from his face, he nodded curtly and held out his arm. 'Ready?'

Something flickered in her large eyes, but the hall was too dim for him to identify the emotion. Lightly, she inclined her head and glided forward to take his arm.

Patience sat, stiffly erect, on the box seat of Vane's curricle, and struggled to breathe through the iron cage locked about her chest. At least he couldn't disapprove of her appearance; she'd been assured, both by Celestine and Honoria, that her new pelisse and bonnet were all the crack. And her new gown, beneath it, was a definite improvement over her old one. Yet from his reaction, it seemed her appearance was of little consequence. She hadn't, she reminded herself sternly, really expected it would be. She'd bought the gowns because she hadn't refurbished her wardrobe for years and now seemed the perfect opportunity. After they caught the thief-and the Spectre-and Gerrard had acquired sufficient town bronze, she and he would retire once more to Derbyshire. She would probably never come to London again.

She'd bought a new wardrobe because it was the sensible thing to do, and because it wasn't reasonable to force Vane Cynster, elegant gentleman, to appear in public with a dowd.

Not that he seemed to care either way. Patience suppressed a sniff and tilted her chin. 'As I told you, Mrs. Chadwick and Angela visited Bruton Street on our first afternoon. Angela dragged us into every modiste's establishment, even those designing for the dowagers. And asked the price of everything in sight. It was really most embarrassing. Luckily, the answers she received eventually took their toll. She seems to have accepted that it might be more practical to have a seamstress in to make up some gowns for her.'

Eyes on his horses, Vane humphed. 'Where were Angela and Mrs. Chadwick while you were in Celestine's?'

Patience colored. 'Honoria came upon us in Bruton Street. She insisted on introducing me to Celestine-and things'-she gestured-'went on from there.'

'Things have a habit of going that way once Honoria's involved.'

'She was very kind,' Patience retorted. 'She even engaged Mrs. Chadwick and Angela in conversation all the while I was with Celestine.'

Vane wondered how much Honoria was going to make him pay for that. And in what coin.

'Luckily, being able to haunt Celestine's salon and talk to a duchess quite buoyed Angela's spirits. We went on to Bond Street without further dramas. Neither Mrs. Chadwick nor Angela showed any hint of wanting to speak to any of the jewelers whose establishments we passed, nor in meeting anyone else along the way.'

Vane grimaced. 'I really don't think it's either of them. Mrs. Chadwick's bone-honest, and Angela's too witless.'

'Indeed.' Patience's tone turned ascorbic. 'So witless nothing would do but she must cap the afternoon with a visit to Gunter's. Nothing would dissuade her. It was full to bursting with young sprigs, too many of whom spent the time ogling her. She wanted to go again yesterday afternoon-Mrs. Chadwick and I took her to Hatchards instead.'

Vane's lips twitched. 'She must have enjoyed that.'

'She moaned the whole time.' Patience shot him a glance. 'That's all I have to report. What have the gentlemen been up to?'

'Sight-seeing.' Vane uttered the word with loathing. 'Henry and Edmond have been possessed by some demon which compells them to set eyes on every monument within the metropolis. Luckily, Gerrard is happy enough to go along and keep a watchful eye on them. So far, he's had nothing to report. The General and Edgar have settled on Tattersalls as the focus of their daily interest. Sligo or one of his minions follows and keeps watch, so far to no avail. I've been arranging their afternoons and evenings. The only ones who've not yet stirred from the house are the Colbys.' Vane glanced at Patience. 'Has Alice emerged from her room?'

'Not for long.' Patience frowned. 'She may actually have been the same at Bellamy Hall. I'd imagined her in the gardens, or in one of the parlors, but she might have stayed in her room the whole time. It's really rather unhealthy.'

Vane shrugged.

Patience glanced sideways, studying his face. He'd headed his horses down a less-frequented drive, away from the fashionable avenue. While there were carriages about, they didn't need to exchange greetings. 'I haven't had a chance to speak to Sligo, but I presume he found nothing?'

Vane's expression turned grim. 'Not a thing. There was no clue in the luggage. Sligo's surreptitiously searching all the rooms in case the stolen items were somehow smuggled in.'

'Smuggled? How?'

'Edith Swithins's tatting bag springs to mind.'

Patience stared. 'You don't think she…?'

'No. But it's possible someone else has noticed how deep that bag is, and is using it for the pearls, if nothing else. How often do you think Edith empties the bag out?'

Patience grimaced. 'Probably never.'

Vane came to an intersection and turned smartly to the right. 'Where is Edith now?'

'In the drawing room-tatting, of course.'

'Does her chair face the door?'

'Yes.' Patience frowned. 'Why?'

Vane shot her a glance. 'Because she's deaf.'

Patience continued to frown, then understanding dawned. 'Ah.'

'Precisely. So…'

'Hmm.' Patience's expression turned considering. 'I suppose…'

Half an hour later, the drawing-room door at Number 22 opened; Patience looked in. Edith Swithins sat on the chaise facing the door, tatting furiously. Her large knitted bag sat on the rug beside the chaise. There was no one else present.

Smiling brightly, Patience entered, and set the door to, ensuring the latch did not fall home. Just how deaf Edith was they didn't know. With determined cheerfulness, she swept down on Edith.

Who looked up-and returned her smile.

'I'm so glad I caught you,' Patience began. 'I've always wanted to learn how to tat. I wonder if you could show me the basics?'

Edith positively beamed. 'Why of course, dear. It's really quite simple.' She held up her work.

Patience squinted. 'Actually'-she looked around-'perhaps we should move over by the window. The light's much better there.'

Edith chuckled. 'I must confess I really don't need to see the stitches, I've been doing it for so long.' She eased off the chaise. 'I'll just get my bag…'

'I'll get it.' Patience reached for the bag-and inwardly conceded Vane was right. It was deep, full, and surprisingly heavy. It definitely needed to be searched. Hefting the bag, she whirled. 'I'll pull that chair into place for you.'

By the time Edith, cradling her work in progress, had crossed the room, Patience had a deep armchair positioned facing the window, its back to the door. Placing the tatting bag beside it, hidden from the occupant by the overhang of the arm, she helped Edith into the chair. 'Now if I sit here, on the window seat, there'll be plenty of light for us both to see.'

Obligingly, Edith settled back. 'Now.' She held up her work. 'The first thing to note…'

Patience gazed at the fine threads. At the edge of her vision, the door slowly opened. Vane entered, and carefully shut the door. On silent feet, he drew closer. A board creaked under his weight. He froze. Patience tensed. Edith blithely chatted on.

Patience breathed again. Vane glided forward, then sank out of sight behind Edith's chair. From the corner of her eye, Patience saw Edith's tatting bag slide away.

She forced herself to listen to Edith's lecture, forced herself to follow enough to ask sensible questions. Beaming with pride, Edith imparted her knowledge; Patience encouraged and admired, and hoped the Almighty would forgive her her perjury, given it was committed in the pursuit of justice.