She overslept the next morning, much to the chagrin of Aunt Fanny. Aunt was always hoping someone would call but no one came to Bramble Cottage. There was no risk in being late to dress.
Helena heard the viscount’s horse near noon and her hopes of company rose, but he rode past their gate. By the time Helena reached the hedge, he was no more than a silhouette in the distance—though she knew it was him. She told herself that he was late for an appointment, and that he would undoubtedly halt on his return.
“But you soldthem to me, my lord,” the silversmith said, his manner puzzled. He and Joshua stood in the man’s shop in Haynesdale Hollow, the silversmith wearing his apron and spectacles.
“I most certainly did not,” Joshua replied. “When was this?”
“A few days ago.” The tall and angular smith pulled out a ledger and adjusted his spectacles. There was a precisionabout his manner that Joshua liked. “Monday April 21,” he read. “A fine pair of sterling candlesticks from Lord Addersley, hallmarked Fraser & Sons London.” He turned the ledger so Joshua could read it.
“And yet I have never stepped into your establishment before.”
The silversmith frowned and turned the pages of the ledger. “I must disagree, my lord. You tried to sell me a clock not a fortnight ago. I did not buy it, for the sole potential customer for such a token would be the duke, and I know His Grace prefers to acquire his timepieces in London.” He shook his head. “I made no note of it, alas, but it was during that stint of rain we had of several days running.”
Joshua remembered the rain, and the missing clock. “And you are certain it was me?” He watched the other man, wondering whether he frequently traded in stolen items and was covering for the thief.
The silversmith removed his glasses and scrutinized Joshua. “To be sure, my lord, now that you stand before me, I can see that it was not you. The man who presented himself as you shared your coloring and had your height, he might even have worn that coat or one similar, but it was not you. I recall now that he was inclined to keep his face turned away and he did not remove his hat.” The silversmith frowned as he considered Joshua’s hat. “It was less fine than yours, to be sure.”
The conclusion was evident. Someone in his household or near to it was stealing from Addersley Manor and impersonating Joshua to sell the items. Who could it be? He would ask Fairfax to line up all the staff and judge which of the men was of similar height to himself.
It could be a maid and a man working together, though, in which case the man might not be employed at Addersley. Somehow he would find the villain and put an end to this.
He bought his own candlesticks back, the silversmith offering him the same price he himself had paid to the villain. Joshua thanked him, thinking that more than fair. “Where else might he have tried to sell the clock?”
The silversmith shrugged. “Nowhere in Haynesdale Hollow, my lord. I reckon he would have to go as far as Colsterworth. There is a goldsmith there who sells watches and clocks as well.”
Did the thief have a horse or access to one? Joshua could not say. For the moment, he would return home and strive to identify the villain.
Someone must have seen something. A stranger could not enter his home without being observed.
He thought of the notes and wondered if the two might be linked.
Lord Addersley did not haltupon his return that day.
Helena abandoned her tea at the sound of hoofbeats to hasten to the door. But the viscount rode past, seemingly without even a glance in her direction. He certainly did not slow his horse.
Helena was disappointed, for he always brought tidings to them.
She sat up watching for her champion until well after midnight, but he did not appear either. She heard no horse. She saw no shadow in the distance.
It seemed her curiosity was to be punished—as the curiosity of every heroine in every fairy tale was inclined to be. She winced, remembering the viscount’s comparison. Had she not touched her champion’s face and discovered the cleft in his chin?
She had strayed from the path to wander in the forest, curious to know its hidden charms. She had looked inside the locked cupboard forbidden to her. She had lit a candle to look upon the face of her mysterious lover.
And in so doing, she had lost his regard. Helena knew that as well as she knew her own name. Curiosity was always punished in such tales.
Helena had to find a way to set matters to rights, but if her champion no longer came to her, she could not see how it might be done.
She had a will, though, so there had to be a way.
She thought about that cleft in his chin, and in the middle of the night, she began to wonder. Lord Addersley said it was impossible for her champion to be his lost brother. His conviction of his brother’s death had been unshakable. Undoubtedly, he had more evidence than he wished to share, evidence that proved to him that his brother was dead.
Her own brother, of course, might have taken an opposing view to tease her, but Lord Addersley had always told Helena the complete truth, even when it was unwelcome. If he said his brother was dead, she should believe him.
But if her champion was not the viscount’s brother, who might he be? It was true that he might be a former soldier, reduced to poverty by the loss of his commission, but Helena doubted such a man would share any traits, even size, with the viscount.
How many men had she ever encountered with a cleft in their chins? Of similar height and breadth? With such elegant manners? At such ease on a horse? Possessed of fine clothing and boots?
Helena frowned at the ceiling. In this region, there was only one man who fit that description. Though she fought against the conclusion, she could not evade it.
