“If you have made only one, you cannot have given the matter much thought!” she answered tartly. “I dread to think the observations that are made in other quarters.”
“One subtle observation, that I doubt has been remarked elsewhere. Since we have leapt, the last few days, to the unfounded conclusion your late husband was a criminal, you appear to have grown fonder of him.”
“I hate the very mention of his name,” she objected.
“I wonder then what accounts for your calling him ‘Andrew’ now, when he used invariably to be referred to as ‘Mr. Grayshott.’”
“That doesn’t mean anything. Merely it is easier to say one word than two, and everyone else in the family calls him Andrew, so I have slipped into the habit without realizing it,”
“DeVigne is actually two words as well,” he pointed out. “The family call me Max, yet I noticed you have not slipped into the habit of calling me Max.”
She waited for him to suggest she do so, but as he did not, she merely agreed it was odd, and inquired when he would remove the incriminating barrels of brandy from the cellars, carefully adding the words “deVigne” in mid-sentence.
“I’ll have the girls who are to help you sent down in a gig, and it can carry the brandy back to the Hall,” he replied. “Shall I likewise remove the incriminating money from the vault, and put it in the bank?”
“If you would be so kind,” she answered promptly, disliking to accept so many favors from him, but assuaging her conscience that if it weren’t for him, she would not be in such a pickle.
The girls arrived before luncheon, the brandy was removed, and Mrs. Grayshott got down at last to the job of cleaning up her home. One girl was assigned to the master bedroom to do what she could with the havoc concealed behind that locked door, and the other was armed with beeswax, turpentine, and a quantity of cloths and brushes, to try to remove several years’ accumulation of dirt from the heavy furnishings of the saloon and dining room. They were young, cheerful, hard-working girls. Already by late afternoon the downstairs was looking better, with the furniture beginning to emit a dull glow, and the musty odor of a closed house somewhat lightened by the domestic smell of cleaning products. Through the front window, Delsie saw her husband’s carriages and horses being led out of the stable and up the lane to the Hall, and wondered how soon she might be expected to be in possession of her own carriage.
She wondered also, when she viewed her dining room, whether it might not be time for her to hold her first dinner party for the family. The only problem was to discover whether Mrs. Bristcombe, with the help of the two girls, was capable of putting on a full meal. Her luncheons and breakfasts did not lead one to suspect much in the way of culinary skills, though Bobbie had mentioned having better fare at dinner. Oh, dear, and the kitchen a shambles! That must be attended to before she invited company.
Dinner that evening was held at the Hall, at which time deVigne told Mrs. Grayshott that he had put her husband’s horses and equipment up for auction. The agent had mentioned a possible nine hundred pounds for the whole, which would provide her with a decent carriage and team for her own use. “I shall attend the auction and try if I can find a suitable turnout for you, if you trust my judgment. It would be ineligible for a lady to attend the auction.”
She agreed to this, specifying only that he must not spend a penny more than Andrew’s carriage and horses brought.
“Did you have any debtors at your door this afternoon, cousin?” he asked next. The notice had appeared in the afternoon paper, informing creditors to apply to her for payment.
“No, not yet, there has hardly been time. By tomorrow they should begin coming. I shall stay home to be ready to receive them.”
“Couldn’t you do that, Max?” Jane asked. “It will be unpleasant for Delsie to have to deal with the local merchants.”
He looked a question at her, but she firmly denied requiring help. This much, at least, she could do herself. “I have been dealing with them for years. They won’t try to pull the wool over my eyes,” she pointed out.
“I had thought you might have the dressmaker in tomorrow to get started on your and Bobbie’s gowns,” Jane mentioned. “I wanted to go to the Cottage and discuss it with you today, but my joints don’t let me about as much as I would like in this cold, miserable weather. We shall arrange it very soon.”
“I shall write Miss Pritchard in the village a note, asking her to come to me soon,” Delsie said, every bit as eager as Lady Jane to see her new gowns made up.
Over dinner, they discussed the various circumstances that led them to believe Andrew had been smuggling. “A scandal and a disgrace,” Sir Harold decreed. “Just the very sort of thing he would have got himself into. His Uncle Clancy over in Merton the same, only of course it is mainly silk he brings in. The ship he bought from Andrew was not large enough for brandy. I wonder it didn’t occur to me sooner.”
“Where did you hear this story, Harold?” his wife asked.
“Everyone says so,” he answered comprehensively, for he had no idea where he had picked up this rumor, though he had a fellow scholar in Merton whom he saw once a week to discuss philosophy.
“Strange we never heard a whisper of it, if it is true,” Jane objected. “How is it possible the servants haven’t been running to us with the story? It must have been done with the greatest secrecy.”
“The Cottage is in an ideal spot for it,” deVigne pointed out. “Well set off from any other houses, and close to the beach. No one would have expected a gentleman of Andrew’s background to lend himself to smuggling. With a really good place of concealment for the goods, he might have done it without too much trouble. He was at pains to be as unsociable as a bear. No one was encouraged to call, including ourselves. What stymies us is where he has been hiding it.”
“Taking it right into his own cellars,” Sir Harold said.
“That is taking more risk than was necessary. There would have been no possibility of avoiding the charge if he was really so foolish as that,” deVigne pointed out. “I cannot believe he took it into his own house.”
“The men I heard in the orchard did not come near the house itself,” Delsie said. “If they were removing the last load, as deVigne thinks, they were removing it from the orchard. I would have heard the commotion if they had been bringing it up from the cellars-the doors opening and so on. This last lot, at least, wasn’t in the house.”
“Right in the cellar,” Sir Harold persisted.
“No, Andrew was a scoundrel, but he wasn’t a fool,” deVigne objected.
“If he was smuggling for three years without anyone tumbling to it, he was sharp as a tack,” Jane declared, with a hint of admiration.
“It was a dashed rackety thing to do, but as I pointed out to Mrs. Grayshott, I almost hope that is the explanation for the bags of guineas, for at least it is over now,” deVigne said. “With Andrew dead, there will be no more smuggling, and she won’t be bothered with anyone in the orchard, or with unwanted bags of guineas.”
“I hope you may be right,” Delsie said.
That night she again had a visit from the pixies.
Chapter Fourteen
Mrs. Grayshott left the Hall early that evening. She had a busy day to look forward to herself, with her housecleaning and her creditors coming, but of more importance, Lady Jane was tired and wished an early night. Nine o’clock was an absurd hour to think of going to bed, but sitting alone in state in the saloon was not preferable. She would go to her room and read. When she passed Bobbie’s room, the lights were not yet put out, so she entered for a talk.
“We have a pleasant job to do tomorrow,” she began cheerfully. “We must go through pattern books and select designs for our new gowns, you and I.”