Andrea Kane (4 page)

“All he can do is beat me. He can do nothing to my spirit. He expended that power years ago.”

“I’ll do everything I feasibly can to prevent—”

“No. You’ll do nothing.” Daphne pivoted to face her friend. “He’s my father. By law, you have no right to interfere with his treatment or his punishment of me. Please, don’t endanger yourself or your role in the parish. The village needs you too badly.” Briefly, Daphne lay her hand on the vicar’s jaw. Then, she stooped to repack her basket. “The sun is up. The schoolroom awaits us.”

With a deep sigh, he nodded. “Very well. Let’s go, my tenacious snowdrop. At the very least you can see the joyful faces of the children your generosity is nurturing. My only prayer is that you’re not gambling with consequences too dire to withstand.”

An enigmatic smile touched Daphne’s lips.

“And what, might I ask, is so amusing?”

Daphne rubbed her palms together, a gesture the vicar had long-ago learned indicated there was something significant on his young friend’s mind. “Well?” he prompted. “I voice concern that you perpetually risk discovery by your father and you find my worry humorous?”

“No, of course not. Your worry is loving and sensitive, and I’m deeply grateful for it. It was just your choice of the word gambling. It reminded me of something. Someone,” she amended softly.

Chambers blinked in surprise. “Is this someone a gentleman, by any chance?”

Daphne’s lips twitched. “I think not. A gambler, a rogue, and a charmer. But definitely not a gentleman.” Recalling the way Pierce had restored her dignity following her father’s censure, she amended, “Except those times when he chooses to be.”

“I see. And where did you meet this complex stranger?”

“At Newmarket. He joined Father for the races.”

“He’s a friend of your father’s then?” The vicar couldn’t keep the dismay from his voice. He’d hoped that someday Daphne would meet a man worthy of her, not a cad of her father’s ilk.

“No, I wouldn’t say they were friends.” Daphne chewed her lip thoughtfully. “According to Father, they’re business associates.”

“You sound dubious.”

“It’s silly, I suppose.” Daphne shrugged. “I have no reason to doubt Father’s explanation. It’s just that he and Mr. Thornton seem so mismatched—in age, in background, in manner.”

“In other words, this Mr. Thornton is young, unpretentious, and lacking in social position.”

Daphne smiled at the vicar’s accurate insight. “He’s about thirty, I should say. Definitely untitled. My guess is, unpampered as well. While he’s obviously well-to-do, he has a hard edge that leads me to believe his wealth is not inherited but earned, probably through a keen set of wits.”

“You’re right. He doesn’t sound like someone your father would choose to associate with. However, lack of breeding might dim in comparison with shrewd business acumen.”

“Perhaps.” Daphne hesitated, her brows drawn together in a frown. “There’s something more, though—something odd. Father acts so skittish around Pierce Thornton, uncharacteristically off balance and accommodating. I have the strangest feeling that Mr. Thornton has some kind of hold over him. It’s nothing I can prove—just an instinct.” Another faint smile. “According to Mr. Thornton I should look away from those who would thwart me and trust my instincts.”

“Ah, a good man.” The vicar’s relief was evident. “He was giving you spiritual advice.”

“No, actually he was giving me gambling advice. I was placing my wager in the first race.”

“Oh.” The vicar removed his spectacles and began to vigorously clean them with his handkerchief. “It sounds to me as if excitement over our forthcoming visit to the school was not alone in distracting you from yesterday’s races.”

“And what does that mean?”

“This Mr. Thornton appears to have made a strong impression on you.”

“Yes, he did. Not because of his gambling, if that’s what’s concerning you,” Daphne assured him with a twinkle. “But because he’s such an interesting embodiment of contradictions—composed and sure of himself, yet intuitive and compassionate. You must admit that is a rare combination, least of all in a gambler.”

The vicar shoved his spectacles back on his nose, his penetrating blue eyes searching Daphne’s face. “How did you learn so much about the man in one meeting?”

“If you watched the way he assessed the horses, realizing his goals time after time without batting an eyelash nor expecting anything short of total victory, you’d understand what I mean by the composure.”

“And the insight? The compassion?”

An uncomfortable pause. Then, “Father chastised me in public. Mr. Thornton must have sensed my embarrassment. He very intentionally extricated me from what might have been an ugly episode.”

“You’re right. That is both insightful and kind.” Chambers did not belabor the point, knowing how painful Daphne found her father’s bouts of cruelty. Besides, in light of Daphne’s revelation, another, far more interesting, avenue required his attention, and he intended to pursue it, as subtly as possible. Concentrating on the task of adjusting his sleeves, he asked, “What does this Pierce Thornton look like?”

Daphne twisted a lock of hair about her finger, visualizing the man who’d preoccupied her thoughts since yesterday’s races. “He’s tall and dark haired, very impervious looking, almost as if he wants to warn you that he’ll extend himself just so far and no one had better trespass beyond that point. He’s definitely not what you’d call classically handsome. His features are hard, severe, even a trifle forbidding. I sense he’s struggled somehow, and I detect the same in his eyes, which are the darkest green I’ve ever seen, almost like a forest at midnight. Still, beneath that fierceness…”

“Lies the heart of a saint, no doubt,” the vicar chuckled. “Is there no one you cannot find good in, Snowdrop?”

The engrossing memory of Pierce Thornton vanished, instantly eclipsed by the ugly answer to the vicar’s question.

“Daphne, have you been providing charity to those worthless urchins again?”

“No, Father.”

“Then why did Lord Weberling spy you in the yard of the parish church, with that bloody clergyman?”

“The vicar is my friend, Father. I was only
—”

“I’d best not discover you’ve disobeyed my orders, Daughter. For if I should learn you’ve given a single shilling of my money to street scum, your punishment will exceed severe. Do you understand what I’m saying, Daphne?”

“Yes, Father, but I—”

“Perhaps you need a small taste of what I mean. Perhaps then you’ll think twice before squandering your time
—
and my funds—on the vicar’s futile causes.”

Even now Daphne flinched, feeling the sting of her father’s blows as sharply as she had the week before.

Was there anyone she couldn’t find good in?

“Yes,” Daphne whispered, tears clogging her throat. “God forgive me, but yes.”

Chambers went to her then, gathering her hands in his. “Don’t, Daphne. In some men, the good is so deeply buried that one must spend a lifetime digging in order to find it. As for you, no forgiveness is necessary. For, despite this lapse of faith to which you allude, your belief prevails and your search for Harwick’s goodness continues.” He kissed her forehead. “Come. Let’s be off to the school. While we walk, you can tell me all about this mysterious Mr. Thornton. And I shall regale you with the latest deeds of your Tin Cup Bandit.”

Instantly, all else was forgotten. “Tell me,” Daphne demanded, nearly bouncing with excitement. “What has the bandit done now?”

A hearty chuckle. “I thought perhaps that would capture your attention. Now, mind you, it’s still only hearsay.”

“I know, it’s always hearsay. Yet, all the stories turn out to be true, and each and every one of the bandit’s exploits is recounted in the
Times
day after day. So, tell me, Vicar, whose manor was invaded this time? Through which window did the bandit enter? What jewels did he take? How much money did the stolen gems yield? Which stone did the bandit leave behind from the collection he pilfered from the Earl of Gantry’s estate four nights ago? Which workhouse benefitted from the theft?”

Chambers threw back his head and laughed. “Gather up your basket, Snowdrop. I’ll fetch the pile of books I’ve collected for the school and we can be on our way. I shall do my best to answer all your questions while we walk.”

Minutes later, Daphne and the vicar trudged purposefully through the village streets.

“I’m not certain precisely what was stolen or how the bandit gained his entry,” the vicar began. “But I do know that the theft occurred the night before last.”

“Somewhere between two and three a.m.,” Daphne supplied in a reverent whisper. “That’s always when he strikes.”

“Yes. Well, this time it was the Viscount Druige’s estate.”

“I knew it! Remember I told you about the garish ruby-and-diamond necklace the viscount bought for his wife? According to Mama, the entire
ton
was buzzing over it. She said the poor viscountess could scarcely keep her head erect, so heavy were the jewels. The bandit must have heard the gossip—or perhaps he saw the piece himself. Vicar,” Daphne’s voice rose in baffled wonder. “Who is he? How does he know just whom and where to strike?”

“I honestly don’t know. I only know that, because of your bandit, dozens of hungry children will be fed, clothed, and offered hope where none previously existed.”

“Which workhouse received the money?”

“The one in Worsley.”

“Oh, thank God,” Daphne breathed. “That was the workhouse you planned to visit this week, the one in dire straits.”

“Exactly. The poor headmaster there had contacted every parish for miles, begging for assistance. His funds were gone; there was no food. Within weeks, innocent children—little more than babes—would have been forced into the streets, or begun starving to death.”

“The headmaster himself sent you word that the bandit had been there?”

The vicar smiled. “Evidently, your brazen bandit left his tin cup right on the headmaster’s desk. He came and went before dawn, silent and unseen.”

“How much money did he leave them?”

“Just shy of five thousand pounds.”

An awed gasp escaped Daphne’s lips. “The man is a savior.”

“The man is a thief,” the vicar reminded her gently.

“How can you say that? You of all people must see what he’s done for—”

“You needn’t defend him to me, Snowdrop. I bless the man each and every day. Still, facts are facts. And, in answer to your earlier question, the Earl of Gantry’s diamond cuff link was found in the tin cup placed upon Viscount Druige’s pillow—a tin cup that was identical to the one placed on the desk of the Worsley headmaster.”

“Just as always—a jewel from the previous theft left at the scene of the crime. Two identical tin cups, one at the crime, one at the chosen workhouse.” Daphne glowed. “The bandit is brilliant. Not to mention generous and crafty. And I, for one, hope the authorities never catch him. I can hardly wait to read of their stupefaction in this morning’s newspaper.”

“Can you contain yourself long enough to distribute your treasures?” the vicar chuckled, coming to a halt before the village school. “The children are eager to see you.”

“Oh! I didn’t realize we’d arrived.” Daphne scurried forward to peek through the window. “They appear to be immersed in their studies,” she murmured, her voice laden with disappointment. “Does that mean we must delay our visit?”

“Miss Redmund, their teacher, is expecting us. I suspect she’ll be more than delighted to abandon her lessons.” Scowling, the vicar knocked, leaving Daphne no opportunity to question his apparent disapproval of the school mistress.

“Yes? What is it?”

Seeing the tight-lipped woman who filled the doorway with her ample presence, Daphne’s questions vanished.

“Oh, pardon me. ’Tis you, Vicar. Come in.” Miss Redmund’s frigid tone was as unappealing as her demeanor. Stiffly, she stepped aside, gesturing for the vicar to enter.

Her reproachful gaze fell on Daphne.

“Miss Redmund,” the vicar interjected, guiding Daphne ahead of him. “May I present Lady Daphne Wyndham.”

Miss Redmund’s frosty stare became positively glacial.

“Wyndham? Are you, perchance, related to the Marquis of Tragmore?”

Daphne raised her chin. “The marquis is my father.”

“Look around if you wish, but I’ll save you the trouble. If one of your tenants’s children is missing, he isn’t here.”

“Pardon me?”

“I assume your father sent you. Tell him there’s no need. I haven’t allowed anyone from Tragmore into this school since the marquis ordered me not to. Much as I dislike teaching these ruffians, I need my position. So assure your father I’m adhering to his wishes.”

“Miss Redmund,” the vicar began.

With a gentle shake of her head, Daphne silenced her friend. She understood the significance of the school mistress’s assumption—as well as her father’s tactics—only too well.

“I’m not here as my father’s messenger, Miss Redmund,” she refuted, trying to keep the quaver from her voice. “Were I to have my way, all the children living at Tragmore would be among your students. Unfortunately, I have no say in my father’s decisions.” Tentatively, she held out her basket. “However, I am trying to make a difference, in whatever small ways I can. If you’ll allow me, I’ve brought the children some food and clothing.”

“Oh.” Miss Redmund’s mouth opened and closed a few times. “I see. Well, naturally I assumed…Forgive my impertinence, my lady.” The flabby cheeks lifted in a more cordial, if not actually warm, welcome. “Come in.” She turned, her voluptuous bosom nearly knocking Daphne to the floor. “Children, we have guests.”

Two dozen pairs of curious eyes stared at Daphne.

“If we’re interrupting your lesson—” Daphne began.

“Nonsense,” the teacher broke in hastily, as relieved by the interruption as Chambers had predicted. “Put your slates away, children. The vicar has arrived. And he’s brought a very special visitor, Lady Daphne Wyndham. Say how do you do to Lady Daphne and the vicar.”

Two dozen mumbled “ ’ow do ye do’s” followed.

Swiftly, Daphne assessed the boys and girls who filled the benches surrounding the classroom’s long wooden desk. Ranging in age from approximately five to thirteen years old, they were all terribly thin, all dressed in worn clothing, and all staring at Daphne as if the portrait of Queen Victoria that graced the schoolhouse wall had just come to life before their very eyes.