The entire household seemed to have joined in the chase as I heard voices from the hallway beyond, including that of Lady Ambersley as I knelt beside the bed, then threw back the satin coverlet.
I was immediately greeted by a snarling sound as I discovered Bitsy in the looming darkness under the bed with the piece of ham wrapped in a napkin clutched in its teeth amid other ‘treasures.’
Those treasures included a pair of men’s underdrawers, no doubt belonging to Lord Ambersley—they were made of silk, which would not be worn by a servant. There was also a dead bird that had obviously been there for some time as it was quite shrunken, and something wrapped in a dinner napkin.
I retrieved the object rolled in the other napkin. Let Bitsy enjoy the ham, I thought, the servants could attend to the dead bird and underdrawers, as I retreated from under the bed and stood triumphantly with the other napkin in hand.
It was quite heavy, just as Lady Ambersley had told me when recounting that evening when the necklace had dropped into her soup. She had then retrieved it and wrapped it in her napkin, no doubt thinking to have it cleaned after the supper party.
However, covered in a hearty soup then set aside, it had provided a tempting target for a skilled thief with four legs. As I unwrapped the napkin, the jewels gleaming through haze of dried soup, I suspected there were undoubtedly other ‘treasures’ hidden under the bed and perhaps in other places as well.
“My necklace!” Lady Ambersley exclaimed as she hurried across the room. “However did you think to look there?” she inquired.
I didn’t bother to explain that it was experience with another sort of ‘thief’ or that she was fortunate that it was the necklace and not some dead creature left rotting under her bed.
I would have to reward Rupert for the idea. Perhaps a biscuit with jam. He was quite fond of them.
“I am so very grateful,” Kitty Ambersley thanked me once again. “I will speak to the servants. It seems they have been somewhat remiss in their cleaning efforts.”
Of course, I thought, with another suggestion—banning Bitsy to the gardens where he could relieve himself without repercussions. And possibly an encounter with a hawk or other scavenger?
Admittedly, it was dreadful to contemplate, yet the creature was quite deserving.
It was early in the afternoon as I prepared to leave. There had been the usual conversation about the value of the necklace that she would promptly take to her jeweler to be cleaned. I reminded her of the clasp.
Then there was the additional conversation over small finger sandwiches she had served for luncheon. Bitsy was such a rascal, but such a sweet creature, she insisted, extolling his virtues while I glared at him and silently dared him to come near.
And then there was the matter of our fee.
“Of course. I shall have my banker send payment for your services by courier,” she assured me. “I do so appreciate that you found my necklace.”
And Iappreciatedthat I would not be forced to share further company with Bitsy.
Lady Ambersley insisted on providing her driver to take me wherever I needed to go.
I did appreciate the gesture and directed him to the office on the Strand where I hoped there might be some word from Brodie.
Seven
MIKAELA
Mr. Cavendish was not about,and the office on the second story landing was darkened.
It seemed that Brodie had returned at some point, the bedcovers rumpled as if he had been restless. Then I discovered the note he had left for me.
I smiled. It was very much in the style of a police report, much the same as he had no doubt written countless times when he was with the MET.
It was straight forward, an update on his own efforts in the matter of Constable Martin’s death, then a brief inquiry about the Ambersley case.
I may be some time in this matter. I hope this finds you well. B.
So much for endearments.
Never let it be said that Brodie was effusive about his feelings, not even so much as a brief comment that he missed me.
Yet, as I knew only too well, there was always something behind those very business-like comments and lack of endearments if one looked closely. And I did.
“Ye are the one with the skill at words, with yer novels and the reports ye write up on your type writing machine,” he had told me more than once. “Ye are far better at it than m’self.”
