Unmasking the Thief, page 2
On the thought, he strolled across to the couple, offered them a brilliant smile, and pulled out the chair opposite them. “May I?”
Since he already had, there was little they could do except gaze at him through their mask slits like a couple of wide-eyed children caught in some naughtiness.
“Do we know you, sir?” the boy asked. Judging by his voice, he was even younger than Francisco had guessed.
“Oh, everyone is a friend at Maida.” Francisco hid his fresh burst of shame and anger in his best reassuring and yet intriguing smile. Without conscious thought, his speech had slipped into the accents of a Spaniard speaking good English. He stopped a harassed-looking waiter and ordered a bottle of wine with fresh glasses. “I hope you will be my guests,” he added to the couple, “rather than risk whatever dubious substance you have before you.”
The boy let out a hiss of laughter. He was ridiculously young. Francisco doubted he had ever even shaved. More interestingly, he appeared to be wearing a wig, for although his eyebrows were fine and dark, his hair was fair, long, and tied behind his head in the old-fashioned style. He really was in disguise, Francisco mused with his first hint of humor this evening.
The pair seemed slightly bemused by him as he explained how to be served the decent wine at Maida. The girl’s attention kept slipping to the dance floor, perhaps wondering if she should dance with her companion in order to receive the ring, since Francisco had made a discreet gift impossible.
“Ah, here is the wine.” Francisco poured a glass, passing it to the young lady with an inclination of the head, before pouring a second, which he pushed across to the table toward the youth’s left. As he’d hoped, the boy wrapped his left hand around it uncertainly.
“That is a very handsome ring,” Francisco observed. It was also too big for the slender finger it adorned. Casually, he reached out and grasped the hand the young man was already withdrawing in an instinctive rush. Not a working man’s hand, it felt smooth and childish, almost girlish to the touch—a schoolboy’s, perhaps, or a clerk’s. Francisco didn’t much care.
He ran his finger over the valuable opal, thinking how little of this case made sense, while he smiled at the startled girl and asked her to dance.
“D-dance?” she repeated in dismay.
Francisco’s lips twitched. “It is a ball,” he pointed out.
The girl’s wild gaze sought her companion’s.
“Even masked,” Francisco pursued, keeping his voice low and blatantly seductive, “you are easily the most beautiful lady present. I would count it the chief pleasure of the evening.”
Predictably, the boy sprang to his feet. “Unfortunately, the lady has promised the first dance to me,” he said firmly.
Francisco, his hand resting over the ring on the table, inclined his head. “Then I must wait my turn,” he said graciously and watched with amusement as the pair almost scuttled past him onto the dance floor.
Francisco didn’t wait to see them dance. He slid his hand back to his own side of the table and slipped the opal ring into his pocket before standing, abandoning his wine, untouched, and strolling out of the pavilion.
*
On the dance floor, after a brief period of confusion as they worked out whose hand went where, Hope, in her brother’s clothes and an old wig, glanced around to be sure they were nowhere near the Granton-like gentleman dancing with the beautiful lady. The last thing they needed was to be recognized. She just hoped the annoying intruder would be gone from their table.
“Hope, your ring!” Catherine hissed.
Hope blinked at her left hand holding Catherine’s. There was no ring there. “Drat, I knew it was too loose to wear! Come on, we’d better find it, or Rollo will murder me.”
To the best of their ability, they retraced their steps across the floor, weaving between couples. Of course, it could have been kicked by any number of dancers and be anywhere by now.
“At least he is gone,” Catherine muttered as they moved toward their now empty table where a bottle of wine and three glasses still remained. There was, fortunately, no sign of the stranger.
Hope recalled his insolent grip on her hand as he examined the ring, even while he made eyes at Catherine, inviting her to dance.
Hope’s jaw dropped. “He was distracting me by flirting with you. He thought I’d be jealous enough not to notice when he stole my ring. And I didn’t!”
*
Francisco returned to his discreet rooms in Covent Garden and threw his black mask and domino cloak on the armchair. Then he took the opal ring from his pocket and sat down at his desk, looking for the catch that would open it. Close examination revealed no such thing, nor any sign of interference with the setting.
Annoyed all over again, he took a small tool from his desk drawer and set about prying the opal free of its setting. It was a large stone, handsome and no doubt valuable, but it was solid, covering no hidden compartment, no place for any note of names, contacts, or intentions.
It was just a ring.
“A broken ring,” Francisco said aloud, tossing the bits across his desk. It appeared he had just stolen from a perfectly innocent pair of young strangers. “Which really just rounds off my day.”
Chapter Two
Miss Matilda Mather, Matty in her childhood and again to her charges in the Dove household, abandoned her letter for the third day running. Since it was Sunday, there were no lessons, and she was able to devote her whole day to it. So, she took herself to the deserted library, hoping a change of scene would help. But the words merely tied themselves in knots before her eyes. She would have thrown the wretched thing in the fire, except paper was expensive, and Mrs. Dove was already generous in her allowance of its use.
The impossibility of the task pressed down on her. There was nothing she could write that could possibly help the situation. She could not in sincerity congratulate her little sister on her betrothal to a man who could not be trusted. Nor could she advise against the marriage. For one thing, she did not want to explain exactly why Sir Anthony should not be trusted. She was not even sure it would be right to do so if her sister was happy. And perhaps Sir Anthony had changed, though she doubted it.
She could not ask why he had offered for Marion either, not without provoking a storm, for Marion was a pretty, if suddenly wealthy, young lady, and it was no doubt as abundantly clear to her as to their mother and all the neighbors exactly why Sir Anthony Thorne had offered for her. Obviously, it was nothing to do with Marion’s money. Clearly, he was in love with her.
And perhaps he was. After all, he was eight years older now, and Marion was not Matty. But Matty had good reason not to trust Sir Anthony, and she didn’t want her sister’s trust betrayed either.
Perhaps she should simply obey her mother’s summons and go home. Not forever as Mama demanded, now that Marion was about to marry an important man. There was no way on God’s Earth that Matty would be beholden to Anthony Thorne, let alone live in his house. But she could stay long enough to persuade Marion and their mother against the match.
And if she had to explain…
The eruption of Catherine and Hope Darblay into her private hell was a welcome relief. They were talking together so animatedly that they almost fell through the door of the book room and for several moments did not even notice Matty’s presence.
“I could swear it was not in the ballroom,” Catherine was saying.
“Of course, it wasn’t,” Hope said impatiently. “He took it! Everyone says the place is full of thieves.”
“Will Rollo notice?”
“Notice what?” Matty asked, mainly to point out her presence to the young ladies.
They both swung on her with almost identical expressions of surprise and alarm.
Oh dear, thought Matty, replacing her pen in its stand with something approaching relief.
The girls glanced at each other, and Catherine closed the door.
“What have you done?” Matty asked with resignation.
“I borrowed my brother’s ring,” Hope said. “Not exactly with permission. And I lost it. That is, we think it was stolen.”
Matty regarded Hope’s slender hands and thought of Mr. Darblay’s large person. “What in the world did you want with a man’s ring that wouldn’t even fit your thumb?”
“We were dressing up,” Catherine said uncomfortably.
“But not with your sisters,” Matty guessed. She waved them to the sofa and turned her chair to face them. “You had better tell me everything.”
Catherine shifted uncomfortably beside her friend, seeming to struggle for words, much like Matty with her letter.
“It’s about Mr. Granton,” Catherine said at last.
Matty nodded. “The gentleman who has been showing you attention and whom you are inclined to encourage.”
Catherine blushed but did not deny it. “Well, at the theatre party last week, I overheard some talk about him attending one of the masked public balls at Maida Gardens. And someone else said people only go there to…misbehave.”
“We know that isn’t necessarily true,” Hope spoke up. “Because my sister has been, and so has Viola. But then so has my brother Rollo, and he pretty much misbehaves wherever he goes. So, we decided to see for ourselves. Incognito,” she added, as though that were a matter for congratulation.
Which it might have been, although Matty doubted it. “You went last night, didn’t you? When you had cried off Lady Marshall’s ball.”
Catherine nodded in a defensive kind of way. “Hope wasn’t going to the ball, and this seemed more fun.”
“Since Mr. Granton was not to be at Lady Marshall’s,” Matty said pleasantly.
Catherine blushed.
“I see I need not even begin to point out how wrong you were to deceive your mother and Hope’s over this or anything else. I hope I need never be ashamed of you again. So how exactly were you disguised?”
Both girls had the grace to look stricken with guilt at this scolding, though Catherine roused herself enough to answer the question. “With a mask and my oldest evening gown from before the Season. And a very enveloping domino cloak.”
Matty’s gaze shifted to Hope. “Forgive me, but where does Mr. Darblay’s ring fit into all this?”
Hope blushed. “I wore my brother’s old clothes and an old wig from the dressing-up box.”
“So, it would look as if I had a gentleman’s escort,” Catherine explained.
Matty refused to let her eyes close as they wished.
“I thought Rollo’s ring would complete the picture,” Hope said, “but it was far too loose. Even so, I’m sure someone stole it.”
“Is it valuable?” Matty asked.
“I don’t know, but he must like it, otherwise he’d have pawned it along with everything else.” Hope frowned. “I need to get it back.”
“I’ve said we can buy it back with all my pin money,” Catherine said. “Only we’re not sure that would be enough, and in any case, we’ve no idea how to find this man again.”
“Or if he’s sold it already,” Hope added. Her eyes began to brighten. “I think we have to go back to Maida and hope to see him there. Only this time, I’ll have to tell Rollo and make him escort us. He won’t be happy, but if you came, too, Miss Matty—”
“He won’t do it,” Matty interrupted. “And even if he went alone, Mr. Darblay does tend to draw the eye, if not a good deal of trouble. Tell me exactly what happened and why you think this particular man stole the ring.”
Matty listened to their tale. In any other circumstances, the mingled shame and relief in their expressions might have amused her. But the relief was clearly due to depositing the youthful mess in the lap of a supposed adult who could solve the problem. It was as well they didn’t know she couldn’t even write a letter to her family to prevent her sister from making a disastrous mistake.
In many ways, Hope’s ridiculous dilemma was a blessed, if guilty, relief. Matty could focus on a problem that was not her own, right someone else’s wrong, and save reputations. If she could only find the culprit.
“How would I know this man?” she asked. “Did he stand out?”
“Oh, yes,” the girls said at once with such fervency that Matty raised her eyebrows.
“He had only one eye? A wooden leg, perhaps?”
“No, but he was foreign. He spoke with an accent that might have been Spanish.” Hope, becoming aware of Matty’s gaze, explained, “Rollo had a Spanish friend. This man spoke English in much the same way.” She frowned. “Actually, he sounded almost gentlemanly in speech, but I expect that was the fault of the accent, for he certainly didn’t behave in such a way.”
“Spanish,” Matty repeated. “Was he tall? Short? Thin? Fat?”
“Not fat,” Catherine said. “And I don’t think he was short, but we never stood beside him, so it’s hard to tell.” She frowned. “He seemed to have a kind of…presence.”
“Threatening?” Matty asked sharply.
“Oh, no,” Catherine assured her, then looked less certain. “That is, I didn’t see him as such until we worked out what he’d done.”
Matty let that go. “Was he dark or fair?”
“Dark,” they both said at once. Catherine continued, “Very dark. Black hair. And I think his complexion was dark, too. His hair was wavy, almost curly, and he wore a black mask and domino.”
Matty sighed. “I wish he did only have one eye. I’d have some chance of recognizing him. But perhaps I have more chance of being noticed by him. What exactly were you wearing, Catherine? And when is the next wretched masquerade?”
“An old pink domino.”
“With a red tulip,” Hope added. “And the next ball is on Tuesday evening. But if he connects you to us, will he not rather avoid you?”
Matty nodded thoughtfully. “Perhaps. But maybe so obviously that I will notice.”
“You can’t go alone, Miss Mather,” Hope said. “You would not be safe.”
“I shall be perfectly safe,” Matty said robustly. “I have my governess’s repelling stare. As a matter of interest, was Mr. Granton present?”
“Yes, with a party of his own.” Catherine frowned, then smiled apologetically. “I’m not even sure why I was so eager to go now. I find I care a good deal more for the return of Rollo’s ring.”
Well, that, Matty supposed, was something.
*
The letter remained unsent. In fact, so far as possible, it remained unthought of as Matty planned her avenging trip to Maida. To the pooled money of Catherine and Hope, she added the savings she had to hand and prayed it was enough. At least together with the threat of informing the management of the Gardens against the thief. She had heard somewhere that Maida’s owner was not a man to be crossed.
Of course, guests had their pockets picked all the time there, by all accounts, but she was quite prepared to imply a connection between herself and the owner, and pray the thief did not have a better one. Her main difficulty, she suspected, would be in finding the right man. And she had no guarantee he would even be there.
In the meantime, she threw herself into teaching the younger girls and taking the family’s enormous dog for walks.
“It’s a pity you can’t take Pup to Maida for protection,” Catherine said with regret as she and Matty left him in the schoolroom on Monday afternoon. “Now that he behaves so well, he could just sit beside you and look huge and threatening.”
“He would certainly draw attention to me,” Matty admitted. “But sadly, he has become rather well known as the Dove family dog.”
“I have been thinking,” Catherine said in a rush. “I am going to tell Dominic everything and ask him to go with you. Viola might even go, too.”
“Lord Dominic is a friend of Mr. Darblay’s, and I think we should try and do this quietly. If I fail tomorrow evening, then we will just have to confess all and let Mr. Darblay take whatever action he considers necessary. But Catherine? If I have not said it before, please never do anything like this again.”
“I won’t,” Catherine said fervently. “I promise you!”
*
On Tuesday evening, once dressed for her own party, Catherine rustled into Matty’s chamber. She helped thread a red tulip through the domino fastenings, as she had worn it, then pressed her hand in thanks.
“I don’t like to think of you there alone,” Catherine said, clearly still troubled.
“I shall be perfectly fine,” Matty said impatiently. “The greater danger is that I will achieve nothing, and you and Hope will just have to confess to her brother. Now go and forget about it, and I shall see you when we both return.”
An hour later, the hackney dropped her at the gates of Maida Gardens, and she no longer felt quite so bold. The masked people clustered about the gate were undeniably vulgar. She suspected at least one of the women gathered there, she of the particularly penetrating, screeching laugh, was drunk.
It took more courage than she had expected to walk past them, even with her face masked and her hood up, and buy her ticket. Ignoring their ribald comments, she walked through the gates and up the lantern-lit path.
Nervous and determined as she was, she could still acknowledge the enchantment of the gardens, lit by the stars and myriad lanterns and flaming torches. Here and there, water glistened from ponds, streams, and even waterfalls. She caught a glimpse of a fairytale castle on a hill and a Grecian temple between the trees. Distant music filtered through the noise of mingled chatter and laughter. Just as she began to think it was not so very bad, she saw a couple kissing against a tree and hastily averted her eyes.
The pavilion Catherine had described came into view as she rounded a corner. As she approached, two masked young women ran giggling across the path in front of her into the trees beyond, hastily pursued by three men.
