learned she was right as rain, but not exactly where she was. Mrs. Quinn was content to let the matter go. She was ashamed of her own daughter, never wanted to speak of her. Young Mr. Terrance went out to Cambridge when he came back, but too much time had passed. Mr. Braxton was no longer at the house Terrance found. Neighbors said he'd gone north somewhere, with his lady wife. And that was that.'
'If everyone here thought Helena or Mr. Braxton had stolen the silver, why did the magistrates not try to find her?'
'We kept it quiet. The Quinns were so heartbroken. They didn't want anyone chasing after Miss Helena and silver plate no one wanted. They begged us all to keep it quiet. Oh, everyone knew what happened, but we pretended not to, do you see?'
I did see. The plate belonged to the church, not the Quinns, and if Helena had been arrested for stealing it, she would have been tried and possibly hanged or transported, and her solicitor husband along with her. Better to be silent about a chalice and candlesticks no one used than watch a beloved daughter be carted to Newgate. My discovery showed she hadn't taken the things away with her, in any case.
'No one has tried to find her since?' I asked.
Mrs. Landon shrugged. 'Let bygones be bygones. Miss Helena broke her parents' heart, and Mr. Terrance's. Best not to bring it up.' Mrs. Landon creaked to her feet. 'I'll put this lot in Mr. Reaves's study. He'll be surprised to see it, that is if he ever comes back from wooing the gentry.'
I rose, realizing my visit was over. 'Does he woo the gentry much of the time?'
'To be sure. He's not at all right for a country parish, though he tries his best on Sundays. You'll be there Sunday morning, will you? Sitting in the Lacey pew. It's been empty too long.'
I knew a command when I heard one. 'Certainly, Mrs. Landon. And thank you for the repast. It was excellent.'
'You were always were too thin, young master Lacey. I hope that lady you marry has a fine cook who will fatten you up.'
Lady Breckenridge's town chef enjoyed experimenting with odd Continental cuisine, so I wasn't certain about that. The man would never serve something as wholesomely good as toasted bread with butter.
I departed the vicarage, knowing that the silver plate would be as safe with Mrs. Landon as in the Bank of England, and resumed my search for Cooper.
Cooper had disappeared from my house yesterday afternoon about the time Grenville had arrived. I went back to the Lacey house and hunted in a pattern that began there and radiated in an ever-expanding circle.
I found no sign of him anywhere-not stuck in a marsh, buried in a dune, hiding in an outbuilding at a farm, nothing. I began to be annoyed with the man. No farmer had taken a man fitting his description anywhere in a cart, though they were happy to tell me about Brigadier Easton hightailing it to Amsterdam in a fishing boat.
I hoped Easton had landed safely. I'd told him to write to Grenville, so I'd have to wait until a letter arrived at Grenville's London house to be certain he was all right.
In spite of the closeness that Denis claimed with Cooper, I wondered if Cooper hadn't simply returned to London or found something new to do. Perhaps Ferguson had found the artwork in the windmill, and Cooper had knocked him on the head and absconded with it. On the other hand, if Cooper and Denis had such a bond, I could not see the man walking away without word. Something had happened to him, and I hoped it was not something sinister.
I saw no sign of Lady Southwick's horse either. I started assuming both disappearances were not coincidental.
I returned to my house again to find that Buckley had indeed put out the word that I wanted help with the repairs. Several village men had come. It was too late for them to start today, but I told them I would be working on the walls and roof very soon. I sent them and Denis's men away for the night, and Bartholomew and I closed up the place as best we could.
I told Bartholomew to make his way back to Lady Southwick's. The evening was still light and warm, so I turned my horse down the road to Binham.
My route took me past a flint quarry and ruins from Roman times as well as several modern windmills, all pumping, pumping, pumping to drain the perpetually wet land. Some of the windmills were a hundred years old, others built within the last twenty years.
Binham Priory, once the home of Benedictine monks, was now picturesque ruins. Indeed, when I arrived, it was to see that several of the ladies had sketch pads on their laps, drawing the empty stone arches.
I left the horse with one of the Southwick servants and made my way to the waiting group. Before I could reach them, Rafe Godwin stepped in front of me.
'You've been damned insulting, Lacey,' he said. 'I have half a mind to call you out.'
Chapter Ten
I was tired, unhappy with my progress, and at the end of my patience. 'Done. I will meet you in the morning.'
Rafe took a step back, face going white. 'I do not truly mean we need to draw pistols. But I take umbrage at your behavior. You've slighted our hostess-coming and going as you please, sending messages that you refuse to grace us with your presence. Lady Southwick has shown you the kindest condescension allowing you to stay in her house, and you have taken the worst advantage of her.'
I continued walking, planting my stick firmly. 'I spoke to Lady Southwick about my wanderings, and she knows that much business keeps me from entertainment.'
'It is insulting to Lady Breckenridge as well,' Godwin went on. 'She should toss you out and have done with you.'
'I rather believe that is her choice, Godwin.'
Godwin gave me a look of intense dislike. He was a London dandy who'd attained dandyhood alongside the great George Brummell. Brummell, unhappily, had fled to France, ruined by debt, and Godwin had decided he was Brummell's heir. The rest of the world, unfortunately for Godwin, considered Grenville to be Brummell's natural successor.
Godwin, however, did not adhere to Brummell's Spartan dress sense, as Grenville did. Godwin liked bright colors and strange trends in fashion, such as puffed pantaloons and brightly striped waistcoats. Today he wore a waistcoat of loud pink and green and had so many things dangling from his watch fob that he rattled.
'If you find me insulting, then choose your seconds and have them call on mine,' I said. 'But tomorrow. This evening, I have pressing business.'
I knew that Rafe Godwin was, at heart, bone lazy. He often talked about meeting people at dawn or boxing them at Gentleman Jackson's, but in truth, he avoided any activity that made him so much as perspire.
Godwin scowled. 'See that it doesn't come to that.'
Lady Southwick, coming toward me, heard our last exchange. 'I have a better idea, one far less violent,' she said. 'A shooting match. In the garden, tomorrow morning. I will have my majordomo set it up. You will shoot, won't you, Captain? I hear that you are a crack shot.'
I was not certain where she'd heard that. She seized me by the arm and dragged me to where Grenville politely held a pencil box for one of the sketching ladies. Lady Breckenridge was deep in conversation with Reaves and another of the gentlemen a little way away.
'Captain Lacey is going to show us how well he shoots,' Lady Southwick announced to the company, then she drifted determinedly toward Reaves to take him from Lady Breckenridge.
'Ah, Lacey, there you are,' Grenville said in his ennui-filled dandy's voice. 'I'm afraid you've missed the repast, old son. We made short work of it.'
'I found sustenance,' I said. 'Toasted bread and butter.'
'Toasted bread and butter,' Grenville said, with a half-wistful look. 'Takes one back to nursery days.'
'I was visiting the housekeeper at the vicarage,' I said. 'She used to give me bread and butter when I was a lad. Perhaps she hadn't noticed I'd grown.'
