Bees in the Butterfly Garden (27 page)

Ian turned so violently that Kate took a step backward, away from him. But Ian didn’t apologize for frightening her; it was her fault his thoughts made his mood so ugly. “God let my father, my mother, and my brothers die on that ship! And left me, the most useless of the bunch. Why, Kate? To torment me? Well, He’s done that, all right.”

Kate gently shook her head. “No, Ian. Not to torment you. But to wait until you were ready for Him, the way the rest of your family was.”

If she’d kicked him in his sore rib cage, he wouldn’t have felt less assaulted. The truth, his father had once told him, could cut like a sword.

He turned again, tearing both hands through his hair. It had taken years for Ian to conquer the echo he’d carried with him after the death of his family. Their voices used to haunt him, but his pain over their loss led eventually to associating that pain with God, making it easier to ignore Him as well as his memories.

Somewhere along the way the voices had eased, eventually disappearing. Until lately.

The irony was not lost on Ian: Meg wanted so badly to join her father’s legacy that she was willing to break the law. For Ian to join any legacy of his own family, he must do the opposite.

But if he did, his plans didn’t have a chance—and he wasn’t about to give them up just yet.

Once the concert began, Meg both welcomed and resented the performance. Where was Ian? Her mind was so preoccupied she was barely able to enjoy herself. She gazed as much at the surrounding crowd—looking for just one face—as she did the gazebo where the musicians sat and the soloists came to perform.

Meg was the first to her feet during intermission. Surely he was here somewhere! She might not have specific evidence of how to reach the Pemberton treasure, but she had plenty of suspicion she was eager to share.

“Our Mr. Plowden should be here with the refreshments shortly,” Geoffrey said, referring to his butler. “He knows where to find us.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Meg said, still searching the crowd. She barely listened as Geoffrey went on about which songs thus far had been his favorites, noting various qualities about the vocalists who had performed.

Soon the Mason butler arrived with a basket of refreshments, from rolled cheese-and-cucumber sandwiches and pickled peppers to plum cakes and fresh oranges offered in their own silver bowl, accompanied by orange knives or spoons as desired.

Meg accepted a glass of
tea à la russe
, sipping its sweet, lemony flavor. Everyone chatted around her, Evie demanding Geoffrey’s attention with her questions and, when he drifted away, seeking his mother. Moments went by so slowly Meg could scarcely contain herself from setting out on a search of her own.

“Oh! Look, Meg, there is your cousin.” Evie, facing the other direction, was full of excitement. “And he’s with Lady Weathersfield!”

Meg turned so quickly she nearly spilled her tea. It was true: there they were, as unlikely a couple as Meg had ever seen. Kate was dressed in her trademark red, her hair swept up beneath a matching feathered hat with a lace veil hooked from one side to the other, effectively shrouding her entire face. This time, only her gloves were black.

Her arm was looped with Ian’s, whose image took Meg’s breath away. With neither that dog nor any remnant of his attack, there was nothing to diminish his portrayal of a perfect gentleman. In a light frock coat and vest, tan trousers, and a brown silk top hat, he looked as crisp and fresh as if they hadn’t been seated through the entire first half of the concert. Evidence of her father’s pocket watch glistened from his vest, and she found a surprising sense of satisfaction seeing him wear it.

“There you are, you darling!” Kate greeted Meg. “How many times have I said to this dear boy that I simply will not let this concert end until we’ve found you? I see you’re not alone.”

While Claire made introductions, which not unexpectedly resulted in a trace of awe on Mrs. Mason’s face, Meg found her way to Ian’s other side.

There were plenty of refreshments left to offer, although Meg knew she couldn’t swallow another thing. Ian accepted a glass of sherry while Kate received currant wine, and the conversation picked up again about the music, the city, the state of the park. As they talked, Meg linked her arm with Ian’s.

Mrs. Mason undoubtedly noticed but was clearly so impressed by Lady Kate that she ignored the attention Meg had for her “cousin.”

When the musicians returned to the stage, warning the audience the concert was about to resume, Geoffrey’s father invited Kate to take his seat.

“Oh no, Mr. Mason,” Meg said, knowing she was breaking more than a couple of rules by standing in the way of a gentleman’s offer of a seat. “Lady Kate may have my place. I absolutely cannot sit again, and I’d like to continue stretching my limbs by enjoying a brief walk with my cousin.” Two more rules broken: referencing her limbs and intending to walk away, relatively alone, with a man of mysterious relation.

“But, my dear Meg,” Kate said, “I don’t mind in the least accompanying you and Ian.”

Meg shook her head at Kate’s attempt to save her from such a breach of etiquette, taking Kate’s hand long enough to lead her to the vacated seat. “I insist you enjoy the second half of the entertainment. Ian and I won’t walk far, only down the path toward the shade, where we won’t be in the way.”

Surely Mrs. Mason’s estimation of Madame Marisse’s graduates had sunk a peg or two, but there was nothing to be done for it.

“That’s very generous of you, Meg,” Ian said with a smile. “Lady Kate was just saying how she looked forward to sitting again, after our stroll.”

And so it was done. Meg let Ian lead her away, and she felt nothing but triumph.

Ian’s heart went unexpectedly light, considering his confrontation with Kate only minutes before. For the first time since John’s death—no, Ian couldn’t remember ever feeling this way—he was flooded with hope. His resolution to end any ties to Brewster would come to fruition, mainly because he had more incentive than ever. His partnership with Meg virtually guaranteed it, even if the only job they worked on together was this one.

“Oh, Ian! I have so much to tell—”

“Wait,” he whispered, glancing over his shoulder. That Mason fellow was far too watchful. He was, in fact, observing them now, just as Ian had expected.

A trickle of hope escaped when Ian glanced again at Mason. Who was Ian kidding? He’d once hoped not only to protect Meg from Brewster, but to protect her from herself. Now he was using her, but it still didn’t mean Ian could claim her for himself. A memory of how Mason had made Meg laugh still pricked his pride. While it might be true Mason was the one doing the pursuing, Ian wondered if Meg would stop resisting if he stepped out of the way.

“Is your visit with the Pembertons going well?” he asked at last, once they were well away from the group.

“Remarkably well.” Her eyes were filled with such delight that his stubborn doubts about working with her diminished. “I have information. The Pembertons bank at the Bank of New York—”

Perhaps she’d expected him to be more interested—or at least pleased—by her information. Even though he was careful not to frown, it came as no news. Anyone with an interest in banking knew which institutions the Pembertons used and that they were expanding their interests as far as Chicago, St. Louis, and even Denver.

“Oh,” she said, “did you already know that?”

“Where they do the majority of their banking doesn’t matter,” he said, “because they likely don’t keep all of their gold in one spot anyway.”

Her smile unexpectedly reappeared. “I believe the Pembertons have a safe inside their own home. Perhaps the gold bricks are there—right inside the house where I’m staying!”

This suspicion came as no surprise either, given the relative ease with which so many banks could be robbed. Still, perhaps she’d learned something to confirm what he already believed. “Why do you think so?”

“There’s a mysterious corner in the Pemberton office—a few square feet of space I cannot account for. It would be a perfect spot for a safe.”

He pondered the thought. “If the safe is of any size, it would require a specialized spot. Safes are heavier than you’d guess.”

“This spot is near nothing less than a cornerstone! I’ve measured the office as closely as I can, and I’m convinced the room is not all it appears to be.”

“It wouldn’t be the first hidden closet I’ve heard of,” Ian said. “But even so, it would take some time for me to investigate. Burglarizing a home isn’t what I do.”

Now her lovely, delicate brows came together. “But if I found out how to access the safe—if it’s there—it would be the same as getting into a bank safe! I’m trying to find all the information you need; I’ve even gotten up in the middle of the night to go over every inch of that wall. For the life of me, Ian, I don’t know how the corner is opened. And yet I’m sure, positively sure, something is there.”

Admiration mixed with surprise, and only belatedly did he think to worry she might have gotten caught before this whole thing went any further. “You’ve done that in the middle of the night? Undetected, of course?”

She nodded. “I spent a few nights listening for sleeping habits, to be sure I would be safe. And if I am discovered, the room is next to the library, where I can claim I came for a book.”

“It’s an office, you said. There must be a desk.”

“Yes, a large one near the center of the room.”

“And is the floor bare wood or carpeted?”

“There is a carpet, but only beneath the desk. The floor is tiled.”

“I once saw a design from a safe manufacturer that might be exactly what they have. Look beneath the rug, under the desk, where it would be relatively easy—yet perfectly hidden—to access a small trapdoor. If there is one, it may hide a release lever connected underneath the floor to a door in the wall. It could be beneath the desk or on another wall—anywhere, really, inside the room.”

“I hadn’t considered looking very far from the corner,” she said.

“I wouldn’t ask you to take the risk again, Meg, but I’ll have to know not only that it’s there, but more importantly what kind of safe they have. I need the brand, the approximate size, and what the handle looks like. I’ll know how to open it if I know that much.”

The directions came of long habit, as if there were no doubt about going through with this plan that would forever alter Meg’s life. Even as Ian was certain she would comply to the best of her ability—an ability he found impressive—he squashed the voices that threatened his hope. The doubts, the condemnation that wanted to bombard him from within. The fact was he needed what Meg so freely offered.

He’d just have to forget she was John’s daughter.

The concert soon ended, and Meg and Ian rejoined the group to say polite farewells. Kate grasped Meg’s hand a bit too long, and through the veil covering her face, Meg saw a silent but earnest plea. Meg stared back without flinching, pushing away the warning in Kate’s eyes.

As Ian led Kate away, Meg couldn’t help but pity her a bit. She knew what it was like to feel entirely ignored. Meg had felt the same from her father nearly all her life.

“Let me escort you to your carriage, Miss Davenport,” Geoffrey said.