"May I come in?” he asked, and walked past me into the room, before I had the wits to bar the door.
"Oh, you are still here, Lord Weylin,” Mama said. Her face was cherry red with shame.
"Did your daughter not tell you we met at Lindfield?” he replied mildly.
There was something very much amiss with this visit. Weylin should have come in like a lion, snarling and gnashing his teeth. His manner had a definite aroma of the sheep.
"Pray be seated, milord,” I said, but as I looked about the room, it became clear that if he took the other chair, I must either stand or stretch myself out on the bed.
"I came to invite you ladies to join me for tea, as we have all decided to remain another day and continue looking for our shameless relatives. Not that I mean to cast aspersions on Mr. McShane's character,” he added hastily.
This became stranger by the moment. “Mama?” I said.
"I could do with a cup of tea,” she replied.
Weylin accompanied us to the same parlor as before, leaving no opportunity for private discussion between Mama and myself, but mother and daughter do not necessarily require words to communicate. We both realized that Weylin was on the hot seat, and were on nettles to discover why.
He ordered a lavish tea, with enough sandwiches and sweets to feed a parish. He could not have been more attentive to our comfort if we had been a pair of duchesses. Chairs were drawn, and discarded due to an imaginary draft. Shawls were arranged, and at one point he even suggested we remove to a larger parlor. During these ludicrous goings-on, he kept flashing quick looks at me, as if to see whether I meant to attack him.
When he tried to change my chair for the second time, my curiosity could endure no more. “For God's sake, Weylin, what have you discovered?” I demanded. It was the first time I had dispensed with his title when speaking to him. I felt a little forward, but if he noticed, he was too shaken to show it.
His brows rose in a question. “Why, exactly what you discovered yourself, I should think. My foolish aunt had taken herself a young lover, and handed her diamond necklace over to him. Not only her necklace, but whatever monies she had. You are not privy to all the details of her will, ladies. The fact is, Macintosh left her a hefty fortune, which I understood was destined for myself. At her death, it was completely gone. Vanished-along with the necklace."
Mama and I executed one of those tacit communications. I nodded my consent, and she said, “We were wondering if Mr. Jones might be her paramour.” Mama disliked to use the word “lover,” but I think “paramour” was no better. It has a shady sound to it.
"I do not see what else he could be.” Weylin scowled. “The postmistress was quite forthcoming about how fond she was of the fellow. Buying him a gig and watches and I don't know what all. I am sorry I implied your uncle was involved in the theft of the necklace-but it is odd he ended up with the copy."
"What led you to Lindfield, Lord Weylin?” I asked.
"I assume it is the same thing that led you there. I noted your question, at lunch, as to whether I had visited any jewelry shops. I also noticed you did not believe me when I told a bald lie. I hope you can forgive me. It is extremely distasteful to admit one's aunt was such a fool, and a lecher, too, at her age. I hoped to keep it from you. I learned in Krupps Jewelry Shop that my aunt had sold her necklace. I told the jeweler my cousin had married, and I was unaware of her married name, but he recognized your sketch, Miss Barron. She used the name Mrs. Langtree. The address she gave was Lindfield. The postmistress there directed me to the house."
I wondered at her selling the necklace herself, and soon figured out that Barry had demanded cash, which occasioned the sale.
"Perhaps you are too hard on her, milord,” Mama said. “She might have married Jones, for all we know to the contrary."
"That is hardly an improvement, in my opinion!” he said.
We sat with our tongues between our teeth, not revealing by so much as a blink that we were already aware of this story, and certainly not intimating that Barry had been up to tricks of his own. But we were keenly aware of it, and it was this that softened our condemnation of Lady Margaret. She may have been a fool, but at least she was not a thief.
"There is really nothing to keep me in Tunbridge Wells now,” Weylin said. “I got the address of Jones's man of business from Folyot, the estate agent at Lindfield. I mean to find out Jones's address and call on him in London to rattle a few sabers. If he actually married my aunt, of course, there is little that can be done to recover her fortune, but if he was only her lover… well, her will left her entire estate to me."
"Then how did Jones get his hands on it?” I asked. “Mrs. Sangster said Mr. Jones had inherited the house."
"Yes, from Mrs. Langtree,” Weylin pointed out, with a tight smile. “She was not Mrs. Langtree, but Lady Margaret Macintosh. Any lawyer worth his salt could undo such a will with one hand behind his back. Much depends on what sort of fellow Jones is. If he is an out-and-out rotter-and really I do not see how he can be anything else-then I shall set the law after him. When a fellow in his twenties marries a lady nudging sixty, you may be sure it is not her beaux yeux he is after."
"He was passing as her nephew,” I said. “Is there such a relative in the family, even one with a different name?"
"No. I thought of that, of course. There is no nephew except myself. There is her stepson, Macintosh's son by his first wife, but he is a carrot top. No one ever accused him of being handsome, and besides, he has his estate in Scotland. He has not been dashing off to Lindfield four times a year for the past five years. Old Macintosh had no nephews. No, it is some scoundrel who preyed on Aunt Margaret's susceptibility for romance. She was always a fool for a handsome young man. But enough of my problems,” Weylin said. “You have not had any luck in following Mr. McShane's trail, I take it?"
"No. No, we have not,” Mama said warily.
Weylin said, “I spotted Steptoe as I drove into the yard. As he was leaving this hotel, I assumed he had called on you."
"He was here?” I asked, starting up from my chair.
Mama clutched her heart. “It is odd he did not call on us,” she said. “I wager we shall hear from him e'er long."
Weylin drew out his watch and frowned at it. “Since he bothered to follow you here, why did he not call? I begin to wonder if Steptoe knows as much as you think. His sly behavior suggests he is only trying to discover what is afoot himself."
"He came to the wrong place then,” Mama said, “for we do not know what is going on."
Weylin kept his watch in the palm of his hand, glancing at it from time to time.
"Are you in a hurry to get to London, Lord Weylin? Pray, do not let us detain you,” I said.
"I was trying to decide whether to leave at once and make it before dark, or to remain overnight and leave first thing in the morning.” He returned the watch to his pocket and said, “I shall stick around until morning. Mr. Jones is not likely to disappear. He has no idea I am on to him. I could not get much of a look around my aunt's love nest with Folyot at my elbow. I mean to return after dark and break in."
"What on earth for?” Mama demanded.
"My aunt's last illness came on suddenly. She had planned to return to the love nest. It stands to reason she must have left some personal items there. I shall root through the drawers to see if I can find anything to incriminate Jones."
"Surely he would have checked himself before putting the house up for sale,” I said.
"He had no reason to fear I would tumble to his trick. Folyot said a local woman had tidied the place up, but she would not take on herself to throw out letters and such things. I shall make a thorough search tonight."
Mama cleared her throat and said, “That would be against the law, would it not, Lord Weylin?"