It was half past one when they were through, and Delsie was beginning to think she would be very hungry indeed before she got back to the Cottage, but there was another delight in store for her. They repaired to the inn for luncheon, there to meet deVigne and Sir Harold. Delsie had partaken of an occasional repast there with her mama, on special occasions, but she had never before been shown to the best table, with half a dozen waiters nipping smartly about, filling glasses, and pressing a variety of dishes forward. It was a banquet. She was nearly as excited as Bobbie, who said happily that when she was grown up, she would eat all her meals at inns. “I love eating away from a house. Isn’t it fun, Mama?”
“Great fun,” Delsie agreed warmly, feeling as young and inexperienced as the child, and blushing when she saw deVigne regarding them with an amused smile.
She soon learned that in the view of the other adults, taking a meal at the inn was in the nature of a vile necessity. “I believe this is old mutton,” Lady Jane complained, shoving it aside. “Pass that pigeon along, Max. Let us see if it is edible.”
“This is a bad claret,” Sir Harold proclaimed, shaking his head sadly. “I would have done better to have an ale, like you, Max.”
After dinner, Sir Harold and deVigne left in the former’s carriage, and the ladies continued their shopping for household items. “There is no reason you should be sunk to making such purchases as beeswax and turpentine yourself, Delsie, but that Mrs. Bristcombe, you know-I doubt she has ever heard of them. We shall have this lot delivered. I don’t plan to carry a jug of turpentine in a carriage with me. I like to get into the everything store from time to time. I find my servants will go on buying the same things forever, and never bother to try the new products. Now just take a look at this! Dr. Cropper’s New Patching Cement, for mending broken china without leaving a trace. I threw out a very nice vase last week, only because the patching cement left yellow smears all over it, and when we tried to get them off, the vase fell apart in our hands. I’ll try a bottle of this.”
A great many fairly useless items of this sort were selected, before the ladies had their carriage called to return to the Cottage. Lady Jane entered, and over a cup of tea they proceeded to have their parcels brought in for a leisurely inspection, the most enjoyable part of any shopping spree, to compliment each other on their sagacity, and wonder whether the mother-of-pearl buttons bought at the Venetian Shoppe were not exact replicas of those seen at Bolton’s at a fraction of the cost.
“Yes, I think we have paid double for the pleasure of having our buttons sewed onto a cardboard, instead of left in the box. Next time we shall know better,” Delsie said,
It was pleasant to consider that such extravagant outings as this were now a part of one’s life.
Chapter Eight
While the ladies were still engaged at their happy, feminine chore, deVigne came in unannounced. “I didn’t bother to knock, fearing the butler would be tired from her shopping,” he said.
“What is this?” Jane asked. “Delsie is surely not acting as her own butler. What is amiss with Bristcombe?”
“Mrs. Grayshott’s house is not yet in order,” deVigne told her. “She has a severe servant problem. Do you happen to know what happened to Betsy Rose, Aunt? We can discover no servants in the house but the Bristcombes-and the governess, of course.”
“She left a year ago, Betsy Rose,” Jane answered promptly. “She got married to a local layabout. I made sure she had got herself a bad bargain, but have seen her since in the village looking fine as a star. A silken gown the hussy had on her back. Baggage.”
“She must have nabbed herself a smuggler. The silken gown sounds like it. They bring in a good deal of silk here, as well as brandy,” deVigne thought. “Andrew didn’t replace her?”
“Lord only knows!” She threw up her hands. “I was here very little more than yourself, Max. Only to visit Bobbie. I don’t believe she ever was replaced. And are the Bristcombes jogging along with no help at all, then? No wonder the place is gone to rack and ruin. Still, I don’t know what Bristcombe can be doing if he is not working inside the house, for it is clear as glass he hasn’t touched the lawn or flowers.”
“The apples were allowed to rot. They were not picked at all,” Delsie added.
“This business must be settled at once,” deVigne stated. “Can you recommend a couple of village girls for us, Jane? For maid’s work.”
Delsie felt the old familiar annoyance at being relegated to an onlooker in her own life. “You forget, deVigne, I am more fully acquainted with the village girls than anyone else here. I have in mind a couple of my old students who will do very well. We had a few girls at the Parish School in the winter, when they were not needed at home for farm work.”
“Sorry.” He bowed his head to indicate his error. “I seem always to seek your approval for the wrong things. You will hire two girls yourself, then, I assume?”
“Certainly I shall. Did you put the ad in the paper about Mr. Grayshott’s debts?”
“Yes, and also inquired discreetly about any burglary in the village. There was none.”
This last statement had to be explained to Lady Jane, who was thrown into a tizzy of delight at the unexpected finding of a bag of gold in one’s orchard. She declared that she would run home that instant and have a look under her own trees. Her parcels were taken to her carriage by Lord deVigne, turned footman for the occasion. “My place for dinner tonight, Delsie,” the dame called as she left. These reminders always raised a glow of happiness in the widow’s bosom. It was so novel and pleasant an experience to belong to a family, and such a jolly, happy family too.
When she was gone, deVigne said, “Might this not be a good opportunity to discover the key of Andrew’s vault? It must be looked into for the settling of his estate.”
“Where should I begin to look? I haven’t a notion where he would have kept it.”
“Let’s start with his desk.’“
They went to the study and looked through drawers, which yielded a welter of papers, but no keys. “Here is something-the receipt for the Bristcombes’ wages for the last quarter of this year. He paid them two hundred and fifty pounds! You told me two hundred, deVigne.”
“Servants do get an increase from time to time,” he pointed out.
“Usually for improved service. They aren’t worth half that.”
“You are mentally comparing to your own salary as a teacher,” he said, correctly.
“They got room and board as well.”
“Along with all the sheets and towels they could carry off.”
“You may laugh at me all you like. They are overpaid, and I will be rid of them.”
“That is your affair. Now, about the keys-his bedroom very likely. He seldom left it the last few months.”
“There is a table covered with medicine bottles and things just by his bed. It may be there.” She excused herself and went to the room. She returned with not only the key, but another bag of gold.
“I found the key at the very back of the little drawer, hidden in a bottle under some pills,” she explained.
“You’re a sharp observer. How did you come to find it?”
“I pushed aside the papers-designs for some sort of an engine he had in mind, they looked like-and there was this one bottle. When I lifted it, it seemed very heavy, and then I saw the key, and at the very back of the drawer, this bag. It is just as I said. The pixies have been coming here for years and leaving bags of gold.”