"Yes, it would. I hope you are not planning to report me?"
"No indeed."
We spoke of other things. Weylin kept returning to the riddle of how Barry came to have the copy of his aunt's necklace. His fear was that she had conned him into believing it was the original, and sold it to him at a criminally high price. At one point he even said he would repay us, if this turned out to be the case.
We parted the best of friends. We were all to regroup at the private parlor at seven-thirty for dinner, before Weylin left to break in to his late aunt's love nest. When Mama and I were back in our room, we agreed we would begin scouring the countryside around Ashdown Forest for Barry's cottage as soon as Weylin left for London in the morning. Meanwhile we had that dinner to look forward to. Weylin was in such a penitential mood that it promised to be an enjoyable repast.
Chapter Thirteen
Since the shroud had been such a success the evening before, I wore it again, with a different shawl to vary the look. Instead of my Grecian coiffure, I pulled my hair all to one side, fastened it with a clip, and let a cluster of curls hang flirtatiously down to my shoulder. The do had looked well in La Belle Assemblée, but when I examined myself in the mirror, I felt I should be simpering. There was something coy in that teasing curl on my shoulder. It looked feminine, however, and I wished to remind Weylin that I was a woman, as well as a lady. We were about to go down to the parlor when there was a discreet tap at the door.
"Weylin is early,” I said, hastening toward the door.
There stood Steptoe, with the slyest look you ever saw on his face. “May I have a word with you, madam?” he asked.
"Why are you not at Hernefield, Steptoe?” I demanded.
"I thought you might require my services here, madam."
"You are mistaken."
"You are not looking for Mr. McShane's residence in this neighborhood then, madam?” he asked, bold as brass.
I opened the door and let the wretched creature come in. Mama had recognized his voice and came forward, staring like a moonling. She did not say a word. I could not let him know we were scared to death of what he might say. I said nonchalantly, while arranging my shawl, “What do you have to tell us, Steptoe? Pray hurry. Lord Weylin is expecting us for dinner."
"About my increase in salary, madam…"
"About Mr. McShane's residence, Steptoe-” I replied.
"An increase of five pounds a quarter would suit me."
"No doubt, but you are not earning it by vacating your post without permission, are you?"
"Five pounds, and I give you the name of the village,” he said, peering at me with his bold, snuff brown eyes.
"For five pounds I will require not only the village, but the house."
"Five pounds for the village, and that is my final offer."
"Then you may go to the devil!"
"His lordship might be interested to hear about your uncle's criminal doings with young Jones,” he said, his smile stretching to a grin.
There was another tap at the door. We all three-Steptoe, Mama, and myself-froze. “That will be Weylin!” I whispered.
"The clothespress!” Steptoe said, and darted into it while Mama and I stood gaping.
The tap came again. I swallowed the lump in my throat and went to answer it. It was Weylin.
He smiled and said, “Very charming, Miss Barron,” while his eyes traveled over my face, lingering in an approving way at the cluster of curls hanging at my shoulder.
Mama came pelting forward and said, “Let us go below. I am famished.” She herded Weylin out the door on a stream of chatter. “I cannot imagine why, because I scarcely moved all day, and had that delicious tea. There is something about traveling that always makes one so hungry."
We got Weylin away without his seeing Steptoe, but I was extremely uneasy to think of that wretch alone in our room, pawing through our belongings. The dreadful word “criminal doings” reeled in my head. I could see no solution but to give him the extra five pounds per quarter. We would be his banker for the rest of our mortal days.
As soon as the waiter arrived, I excused myself to dart upstairs. Steptoe would expect me to return, and be waiting.
"Just order whatever you are having for me, Mama,” I said, while the waiter poured wine and the others examined the menu. “I have forgotten my handkerchief. I shan't be a moment."
Weylin said, “I have a handkerchief, Miss Barron, if-” He noticed my strained expression, and said no more. I think he assumed some feminine need, and was too gentlemanly to press the unwanted handkerchief on me.
I left and hastened up to our room. The lamps were still burning. “You can come out, Steptoe. I am alone,” I called to the clothespress. There was no reply.
The door was ajar. I went and opened it. He was gone. I quickly checked my jewelry box. Mama's small diamond brooch and my pearl necklace were still there. I was about to leave when I espied a note stuck into my brush on the dresser. It said, “Mr. John Brown, Molyneux Park, 10:00 tonight.” Molyneux Park was a small private hotel catering to families and commercial travelers. John Brown presumably was Steptoe, and ten o'clock was the hour at which he would condescend to see us-but why did he use an alias?
I slipped the note into my reticule, wondering about that ominously vague “criminal doings.” Bearing in mind our conversation with Bradford of the Kashmir Jewelry Shop, I could make an educated guess. I had an inkling what had happened to Barry's five thousand pounds, which so mysteriously disappeared as soon as he joined us at Hernefield. He had bought himself a cottage at some village near Tunbridge Wells, from which he conducted his criminal activities. Thank goodness he did not use Hernefield as his base of operation.
The only light in this dark tunnel was that such a thieving scoundrel must have his cottage stuffed full of money. Ill-got gains, to be sure, but the cottage at least belonged to him. Mama could sell it. We must try to learn the names of his victims, and return money equivalent to the value of what he had stolen. The future looked unpleasant, and over it all hung the menacing presence of Steptoe, who would bleed us dry.
I prepared a polite face and returned to the private parlor. Mama looked at me with blatant alarm. To allay her fears of imminent disaster, I said with a smile, “Now I can enjoy dinner. What did you order for me, Mama?"
"Roast pork with prune sauce."
"Lovely."
Weylin said, “We were just discussing Steptoe."
I looked to see if Mama had revealed any secrets. She said hastily, “We were wondering if he meant to be in touch with us, since Lord Weylin saw him near our hotel."
"I expect we shall hear from him later this evening,” I said nonchalantly.
"Very likely,” Mama said, nodding her comprehension.
The meal progressed satisfactorily after that. Weylin joked about the broad criminal streak that ran in his family, with himself no better than he should be, what with breaking into a house that very night.
"Does that make us accessories?” I asked.
"Not unless you choose to come with me,” he said, with an inviting look.
I would have liked to go along, but of course, the meeting with Steptoe took precedence.
He continued his indirect persuasions. “The house belongs to me, by rights. And even if I were caught, the fact that it was bought by my aunt would give some justification."
"You need not worry on that score,” Mama said. She had obviously not figured out that he wanted me to accompany him. “The law would never deal harshly with a lord."
Weylin continued his inviting looks, but when I ignored them, he did not come right out and ask me. He promised to call and let us know what he discovered, if he was back by eleven. If he arrived later, he would meet us for breakfast in the morning. We did not linger after dinner. Weylin was eager to be off on his evening's romp. As soon as Mama and I were in our room, I handed her Steptoe's note.