But then, at least one person did. Mayhap there were others who’d been offered the gem but thought the possession of it too much of a risk.Someonehad to know something.He had a week to narrow his five suspects down to one. Max only hoped that his brother had adhered to his usual habit of taking the easy way out. IfSebidehhad been hawked further afield, he very much feared it was gone forever.
And the marquessate’s fortunes with it.
∞∞∞
‘Well, the Almighty’s most definitely with us on this occasion Percy,’ exclaimed the Reverend as he burst into the church with Freddy dancing friskily behind, obviously picking up on his master’s unexpected good mood. ‘Indeed, I think we have cause for a small celebration before supper. What say you to a stroll down to the Lion?’
‘I haven’t finished yet,’ replied the curate, though his protest was half-hearted at best. It had, in truth, been an unseasonably hot day and a tankard of ale would be very welcome.
‘If you put any more oil on that pew, it’s occupants will end up on the deuced floor,’ answered the Reverend with an airy wave. ‘Besides, I haven’t told you the good news yet. Come along lad, I’ll stump up the coin.’
This was rare indeed, and in itself was enough to convince the curate to put aside his labours. However, the additional possibility that the Reverend might have been given permission to return to his wife’s bed provided Percy with an extra spring in his step, usually absent when on any jaunt with his superior.
Half an hour later, they were seated in their customary seat in the corner of the bar and the Reverend had finished acquainting Percy with the unexpected turn of events.
‘So, the long and the short of it is … we’re going to Bath. I have not yet conveyed the good news to Agnes, but I’ve no doubt she’ll be delighted to have a bit of a splash around in those bathing rooms they’ve got there. Do no end of good for her bunion, I’m sure.’ The Reverend took an enthusiastic sip of his pint. ‘And while she’s having a paddle, we can take care of this deuced hobble with Patience.’
‘Who’s going to conduct the services while we’re away?’ Percy questioned. Reverend Shackleford frowned. Easter was just around the corner, but once that was over, nothing much would happen until Whit Sunday which gave them plenty of time.
‘I dare say old Mr Cobbins will be happy to take the service until our return,’ he decided. ‘Mayhap you can come up with a few sermons for him before we go.
‘I’m not sure whether Mr Cobbins can read,’ frowned the curate.
‘Well, that’ll save you some time then,’ the Reverend responded cheerfully.
There was a short silence as both men took a swig of their ale.
‘Do you have any notion of how you might go about taking care of the err … hobble, Sir?’ Percy ventured with not a little trepidation.
The Reverend shook his head cheerfully. ‘What’s all thisyou,Percy lad?’ he winked wagging his finger. ‘You know you’d be in if you fell in.’ He puffed out his chest self-importantly. ‘The Lord has seen fit to send us on this mission,’ he responded, waving his tankard in the air for a refill, ‘so I think it only fair we trust him to point us in the right direction.’
∞∞∞
Two weeks later, exactly as planned, Patience found herself ensconced in the Duke of Blackmore’s carriage along with Grace, her son Peter who was now approaching four, her six-month-old daughter Jennifer, their nanny Briony and Felicity Beaumont. To say the conveyance was squashed would be an understatement. Luckily, they were not also blessed with Freddy’s presence as the foxhound was in one of the other two carriages following on behind. Nicholas had gone ahead with his valet, Malcolm, to ensure that all was in readiness for their arrival.
Despite her dismay over the whole affair, Patience couldn’t help feeling a small frisson of excitement when the carriage finally entered a small beautifully kept square which contained a terrace of only five town houses, each more than four stories high. As she climbed down and stretched her cramped muscles, Patience stared up at the warm, honey-coloured stone building. The five houses were built in a crescent shape to take full advantage of the delightful park facing them. They sat quiet and sedate in the spring sunshine.
This was the first time Patience had ventured further than Torquay aside from the occasional visit to Temperance and Hope’s homes in Wiltshire, and she felt as though she’d stepped into another world. One in which she had no place. Her heart lurched uneasily. If she felt like a fish out of water in a provincial town like Bath, how much worse would it be in London?
There was no more time for introspection as Grace descended from the carriage accompanied by a flurry of excited childish chatter. Not two minutes later, the two other carriages entered the square, and whatever peace the existing occupants had enjoyed was now irrevocably lost.
As Patience was the sole reason for their visit to Bath, it was decreed that she warranted a room of her own. Especially as Grace decided it would also serve as an area in which to try the various creations that would eventually constitute her wardrobe. As Patience opened the door into the enormous bedchamber, complete with a sumptuous four-poster bed, she couldn’t help a small squeak of surprise. Even when she’d stayed at her married sisters’ houses, she’d had to share her bedchamber with Prudence. To have an entire room to herself felt decadent indeed.
Seating herself on the huge bed, she bounced up and down experimentally before flinging herself back against the plump pillows. Staring up at the canopy above, she wished with all her heart that they were simply here for a short holiday. Left to her own devices, she’d be able to explore to her heart’s content. Her preference for her own company had made Patience a master at slipping away unnoticed whilst giving her family the impression that she was undoubtedly somewhere in the vicinity. A quick hint here and there and she could be gone for hours without anyone the wiser. How she would have enjoyed exploring Bath’s hidden squares and parks on her own.
But she realised that her days of freedom were over - at least while she was at the beck and call of fashionable society. Until fashionable society tired of her of course, which she had no doubt would happen sooner rather than later, no matter how much her sisters wished it different.
Despite the initial excitement of somewhere new, Patience suddenly found herself overwhelmed with misery. If her family had their way, she would spend the rest of her life at the mercy of a man, forever a chattel, entirely dependent on her husband for everything. In short, her version of hell.
Unexpectedly, she felt hot tears of self-pity spill onto her cheeks. Sniffing, she sat up. This wouldn’t do at all. Self-indulgence would not get her out of the basket she was in. And in fairness, her older sisters hadn’t found their lives stifled in any way, and Patience had seen first-hand how they all ran rings around their respective spouses.
Mayhap if the worst came to the worst and she was absolutely forced to choose a suitor, she would manage to find one just as biddable. Swinging her legs off the bed, she ignored the small voice that declared that not one of her brothers’-in-law was remotelybiddable,and the reason they were so indulgent of their wives was out of love.
In truth, Patience couldn’t see anything lovable about herself. Her sisters may have temporarily forgotten, but she was all too aware how perverse, awkward and stubborn she could be.
Miss Beaumont said that good manners were something one learned like painting or playing the piano, but then, neither her artistic nor her musical abilities were any better than her manners. The fact was she simply didn’t think or react like other people did. She had no friends at all save one and was entirely content with the deficiency.
Though she’d always refused to reveal who’d taught her to pick locks, her instructor had, in fact, been the son of a passing pedlar, which was why she dared not divulge his name or indeed his profession which she supposed, given his skill set, could well see him at the end of a morning drop eventually. Still, she owned it her greatest skill, even though, unlike her instructor, she would likely never use it in any meaningful way. Nevertheless, the number of times she’d been locked in her bedchamber to contemplate the error of her ways managed to keep her from getting rusty.
