Delsie

Chapter Eleven

Delsie awoke in the morning to her troubling memories, and to lead-gray skies, from which a cold rain streaked down. It was Sunday. Rain had never deterred her from attending church when she had had to walk, and it did not occur to her that it would be a reason when there were carriages to transport her. She dressed in her black gown before joining Bobbie and Miss Milne to descend to the breakfast table. In an effort to enroll herself in her mistress’s good books, Mrs. Bristcombe actually attempted a smile when she served the meal. Her wide girth was encased in a clean white apron, and her hair had been brushed. Taking these changes for tokens of obedience, Delsie said, “You and your husband have a bad day for your visit, Mrs. Bristcombe. It is a pity.”

“It may let up by noon,” the dame answered, still smiling. The widow’s surprise was great when the woman next asked in quite a civil tone if there was any errand she could do while passing through the village. Delsie first said no, then changed her mind and gave her the letters to her former pupils to whom she was offering positions. She even condescended to tell her housekeeper the contents of the letters, assuring her that the girls were good, reliable workers, who would be a help to her. She thought the smile on Mrs. Bristcombe’s face wore a different character than before, but it was so new a sight to see any upturning of the woman’s lips that she could not be sure.

“I’ll deliver them for you. Right on my way,” she said agreeably, and waddled from the room.

“We shall wear our new bonnets, even if it is raining,” Delsie said to Roberta. “We can take an umbrella.” She wished to have some visible sign of her new status on this first trip up the aisle of the local church.

“We don’t go to church when it rains,” Bobbie stated simply.

Roberta seldom attended at all. Delsie tried to remember whether the others stayed away when the weather was bad. They were frequently absent, but they were sociable, often away visiting or in London, and she could not be certain Bobbie was correct. She made her own preparations to attend in any case, then went below to sit in the saloon and wait. Church began at eleven. She watched as the hands of the clock showed her ten-thirty, ten forty-five, ten-fifty, at which time she put aside her bonnet. Clearly there would be no church for her today. Before she had decided what to do, there was a knock on the front door. Bristcombe came to tell her deVigne’s carriage was waiting. It was too late. They would miss half the service. With a tsk of annoyance she hastened to the door herself, to give deVigne a gentle hint that a half-hour drive should be begun at least thirty minutes before the function was to begin. There was only a footman at the door. A glance beyond showed her a perfectly empty carriage.

“Sorry we’re late, ma’am. The master don’t go to church when it pours so. He didn’t think to send the carriage to see if you’d like to attend, till just a minute ago.”

“Pray thank Lord deVigne, but I do not plan to attend either when it has got so late,” she answered coldly, then went back into the saloon, miffed. The next preoccupation was how to pass the morning indoors, for the rain made going out impossible. She was eager to begin searching in earnest for further stores of hidden canvas bags. Lady Jane was not there to join her, but she would start anyway. Mr. Grayshott’s room seemed a likely spot.

“I told you we don’t go to church when it rains.” Bobbie danced out the door to inform her as she passed down the hall. “I don’t have to study on Sunday either. What shall we do, Mama?”

“We are going to tidy up your papa’s room,” she told the child, who dangled along happily at her heels. She would say nothing about the money if she found any, but set it aside for concealing in the vault later.

“It certainly is untidy, isn’t it?” Bobbie asked her.

The room had become Mr. Grayshott’s main living quarters during the last few months, and was cluttered with personal objects. Books, cards, games, old papers, and magazines abounded, littering every surface. No dusting or cleaning appeared to have been done since his death, or some weeks preceding it, by the quantity of dust everywhere.

She looked systematically through the dresser, the clothes-press, the night table, under the bed, explaining to Bobbie that she was looking for dust.

“There’s lots of it under the bed,” Bobbie pointed out.

“Indeed there is. I shall be sure to tell the maids about it when they come. We are getting two girls from the village to help us. You will like them-young, jolly girls.”

With a sigh and a last look about the room, she concluded there was no hidden wealth here. Then it occurred to her that a well-established place for hiding things was under the mattress. She was just considering how to hide any possible find from Bobbie when the governess tapped at the door.

“There’s a message from Lady Jane, ma’am,” she said. “She’d like you to take Miss Roberta to her this afternoon after luncheon to spend the afternoon and stay to dinner. She doesn’t go out herself in the damp because of her joints aching. Shall I tidy her up? It’s nearly time for luncheon.”

“Yes, thank you. Oh, and Miss Milne, as the Bristcombes are leaving this afternoon, you might like to come with us. You will not want to stay here all alone.”

“I was going to suggest it, ma’am. My cousin Betsy works at the Dower House, and I thought I might have a wee visit with her.”

“Excellent. You can come in the carriage that will be sent for us.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Grayshott.”

She took Roberta away. Delsie quietly closed the door after them before tipping back the mattress. Mr. Grayshott had liked his comfort. A soft, bulging feather tick rested on top of the firmer straw-filled one. Removing them posed a difficult problem. The feather tick she finally managed to push off, listening closely for the telltale tinkle of coins from within. There was none. The firmer straw-filled one was more difficult to remove. In order to be rid of it, it was necessary to shove it aside, then climb up on the springs to complete the job. She was panting with the effort, and lay back a moment to rest.

Casting up her eyes, she saw that the canopy sagged unevenly in the center, as though some weight bore on it. Her heart quickening, she leapt from the bed, dragged a chair to allow her a better view, and saw a whole heap of the canvas bags. She reached in for them, pulling them down and tossing them on the bed, one by one, counting each. There were an even dozen. Another twelve hundred stolen guineas! The feeling that settled over her was close to gloom. Was there no end to it? Was every nook and cranny of the house to yield more evidence of criminality on her husband’s part?

She clambered down, felt under the straw mattress from both sides instead of trying to remove it completely, and satisfied herself that she had got them all. The feather tick was returned, then she went like a thief with her twelve bags down to her own room. Better secrete them in the vault. She wrapped them up in her pelisse to conceal them from the eyes of the Bristcombes, should they be skulking below. With trembling fingers, she shoved them into the vault, which would hardly hold such a cache. If she found any more, she would have to discover a new hiding place. She felt as guilty as if she had stolen them herself.

Her upset continued throughout luncheon. She could hardly eat a bite, listened with only half an ear to Bobbie’s excited chatter about visiting Aunt Jane. The discovery even wiped from her mind the preceding night’s episode, which had been much with her throughout the morning. It was deVigne who came to take them to the Dower House in his carriage. With Miss Milne and Roberta present, the news could not be relayed to him. She regarded him surreptitiously, trying to read whether he was showing any discomfort or guilt over last night. He looked impassive, as ever. It seemed suddenly impossible to credit that it had been he. Any number of gentlemen possessed an evening suit. The watch fob need not have been a wishbone. It might have been any small object. He suddenly spoke, interrupting her line of thought.

“I’m sorry if I caused you to miss church this morning. I don’t know whether it is your custom to attend in such inclement weather. It is not my own, but I know you are fond of church. I didn’t think of it till too late, I’m afraid.”

“Yes, I always attend church on Sunday. I used to walk in the rain, and should certainly have gone had the carriage been there on time. But I hope by next week I shall not have to trouble you, deVigne. I hope to set up my own gig as soon as you manage to sell Mr. Grayshott’s carriages and horses.

“Gig?” he asked, in a loud voice.

“Yes, gig,” she answered firmly. There would clearly be an argument over this point, but, like the new discovery of money, it must await more privacy.

“The Bristcombes have got a gig,” Bobbie announced. “I like it. It’s so nice and jiggly.”

The rain had let up during the morning, and a weak ray of sunlight was attempting to force its way through the. curtain of lingering mist. Bobbie was taken into the saloon and made a fuss over by her great aunt, while Miss Milne went to visit with her cousin. The family business could not be discussed in front of Bobbie. Lady Jane soon surmised from the impatient movements of Mrs. Grayshott that there was news to be relayed, and said after half an hour, “You’ll never guess what cook is doing, Bobbie. Making gingerbread. Would you like to pop down to the kitchen and help?” Indeed she would, and scampered off in high spirits.

“What a treasure that child is,” Jane said fondly, “but, as we mentioned t’other day, one cannot forever have the children present. I know you have something to tell, Delsie, and have been on thorns this thirty minutes to hear it. Do tell me, have you had your search without me, and found more gold?”

“Twelve bags!” she exclaimed, unable to hold in the news another moment. She outlined amidst excited questions the details of her find. “And you may be sure that is not the end of it.”

“We must definitely go over the whole place tomorrow,” Jane declared, her eyes shining with eager anticipation.

“I have been doing a little peeking here and there. I think the saloon is clean-of money, I mean, for of course it is filthy. The Bristcombes took my message to the village for me, for the two maids I hope to hire. They asked me for the afternoon off today.”

“They often take a Sunday afternoon off,” Jane confirmed.

“How have they been behaving?” deVigne inquired.

“Respectfully. They are trying to improve, I think. What are your feelings on my latest discovery, deVigne?”

“That makes it twenty-five hundred guineas. It is beginning to become serious.”

“Yes, grand larceny is hardly a joking matter.”

“Let us conduct the search and see how much the total amounts to before we decide what to do about it. Any pixies in the orchard last night?” he asked next, in a spirit of civil inquiry only, as far as the widow could tell.

“As a matter of fact, there was one, which quite slipped my mind with the more important news,” she answered offhandedly. She risked a close scrutiny of deVigne, but could read nothing except interest on his face.

“What happened?” he asked.

“I heard a noise, and took a look out. I could only see one man.”

“What was he doing?” Lady Jane asked.

“Just snooping around, I believe. He didn’t try to come in, at least,” Delsie answered, feeling very warm at the memory of what had really happened.

“Ha. Maybe he left you another present. Have you taken a look around outside today?”

“No! I should have done so!”

“It’s a nasty, miserable day,” Jane consoled her. “No one else will have been there before you. You can have a look early tomorrow.”

“I shall, certainly.”

Sir Harold, who had been listening to all the talk, suddenly pushed himself to speech. “Andrew was up to some monkeyshines,” he said, impatiently eyeing a book that lay on the table beside him. “Not a doubt of it. Where else would he have got ahold of twenty-five hundred guineas? A small fortune. And kept it around the house in cash too, instead of putting it in the bank like a Christian, or into the funds. A pity the fellow was ever let into the family.”

“Good gracious!” Lady Jane shrieked, and turned pale around the edges of her rouge. “He wouldn’t have invented a counterfeiting machine, would he? The man has turned coiner on us.”

“The ones I saw were the real thing,” deVigne assured her.

“Was certainly up to something crooked,” Sir Harold insisted mulishly. “Running a gambling hell right under our very noses, likely as not.”

“He wasn’t well enough for that,” deVigne explained. “And in any case, the amount of traffic entailed would not have escaped our notice these last three years.”

“If it were that, he’d have lost his shirt,” Jane said more bluntly. “Lost every penny he played on the market, and always lost at cards too, as far as I can remember. Never backed a winning horse in his life. Whatever it was, I wish we knew. Twenty-five hundred guineas. If it weren’t actually illegal, we might continue with it. Well, Delsie, you are twenty-five hundred guineas to the good. What do you mean to do with the money?”

“Save it and make restitution when the case comes to court. I hope the judge will deal leniently with me if I can return most of the money.”

Lady Jane sat mute at such innocent honesty as this. Sir Harold nodded his head in approval. “An excellent notion,” he agreed. Then he gave in to temptation and picked up the book.

“I trust our cousin is funning,” deVigne stated. “As I trust you were also joking about setting up a gig.”

“I am not joking about either one.”

“There is no way they can take Delsie to court, is there, Max?” Jane asked.

“Of course not, and there is no way Mrs. Grayshott is setting herself up a gig either.”

“I believe I can manage it on my new salary,” she countered.

“With the sale of Andrew’s cattle and stable equipment, you can do better than a gig.”

“A carriage and team would be very expensive. The horses must be fed, you know, and two horses eating their heads off day after day will soon eat up my two hundred and fifty pounds. Then too, it requires a driver, whereas I think I could handle a gig myself, with a little practice.”

“Why not make it a dog cart and have done with it?” deVigne asked angrily.

“My dear, I cannot think you would wish to appear in the village in a gig,” Jane said, frowning. “If your own money is insufficient for a carriage, and nothing can be spared from Bobbie’s portion, you would do better to just use my carriage or Max’s when you wish to go out, I should be very happy to share mine, and you, Max, have several. One would always be free.”

“It is understandable that Mrs. Grayshott wants to set up her own, especially when mine are in the habit of arriving late to deliver her, but I should dislike excessively to see her set up a gig, like a-”

“Schoolmistress?” she asked with a pugnacious light in her eye.

“That was not what I meant to say.”

“That’s good, for I don’t know of any schoolmistress fortunate enough to set herself up with a gig, and it is plenty good enough to suit me.”

“But it is not, my dear,” Jane contradicted baldly. “It is only useful on a fine day for a short jaunt. Why, even if you had your own gig, it would have done you no good today, in the rain. You need a proper covered carriage. It rains at least three times a week, and is too cold half the year to go anywhere in an open gig, as well as looking so very shabby. Really, I think it a waste of money.”

“The sale of Andrew’s effects will allow you to set yourself up a creditable carriage and team, and I shall be happy to undertake fodder for the team,” deVigne said.

“There is a fairly good crop of hay in my own yard,” Delsie said, as a jesting way of indicating her acquiescence in the matter, without actually saying so.

This was not good enough for Jane, who wished to have it settled. “Does this mean you have decided against the gig?” she asked.

“I shall reconsider it,” she allowed. The objections raised had weighed heavily against the gig. Her wishes too were not averse to procuring a more dashing and prestigious means of conveyance.

“It would look so very odd to see you in a gig,” Jane continued. “Bobbie too. For a child of the deVigne family to be transported in such a manner, like the Bristcombes.”

“If it is not good enough for a deVigne, then I suppose I must not get it,” Delsie said, becoming annoyed. “As far as that goes, Roberta bears the same name as myself, and I would not be ashamed to be seen in a gig.”

“It is nothing to be ashamed of,” deVigne allowed.

“Louise once spent a summer jogging along the roads in a whiskey, and appeared to derive considerable pleasure from it too, but as Jane pointed out, it would be useless three quarters of the time, and it seems a shame to spend good money on a toy.”

After this interlude, the afternoon passed quietly and agreeably. Roberta returned to the family circle, replacing Sir Harold, who slipped away to his library, without being missed in the least. Those remaining gathered around the grate to talk and play a few games of jackstraws to amuse the child (and Lady Jane, who was an adept at this diversion). Neither did she consider a game of all fours beneath her dignity. With jackstraws, cards, and magazines, a quiet afternoon was enjoyed. Dinner was served earlier than usual because of Roberta’s presence. She was allowed to eat with the adults for a treat. Similarly, the evening broke up early, at eight o’clock.

As they were driven home by deVigne, he said, “It is a little early to call it a night yet. May I prevail on your charity to invite me in for an hour, cousin? Harold tells me you are a fair hand at chess. If my conversation fails to hold your interest, I hope my skill at the game may be a compensation.”

She had not been looking forward to a long night alone, and was pleased at the question. Her talks with deVigne more usually occurred in the midst of the family. She was happy at the prospect of becoming more intimately acquainted with him. “An excellent idea, but even poor conversation sounds more appealing to me than good chess.”

“Thank you. I feel my conversation to be no worse than poor.”

“I didn’t mean that!”

“Can I conversate with you too?” Bobbie asked.

“No, ignoramus, you can study your grammar,” her uncle replied blandly. “With two teachers, one hopes for some better progress than you are showing.”

“How can I progress if you don’t let me talk?” she asked artfully.

“I see you have progressed to sophistry already.”

Mrs. Grayshott entered the house with a high heart, looking forward to the visit. Her spirits plunged with the first words she heard from Bristcombe, who was there with lamps lit to admit them.