Miss Farrow's Feathers (20 page)

Dinner tasted like dust as Meg tried in vain to continue. Nigel seemed so smug, so sure of himself. What did he have planned? What could he know that they didn't?

Max was in danger—that had to be it. Somehow, even seeing the man in person and finding nothing to convict him, Nigel was still suspicious. The vicious gleam in his eye said he had no doubt that whatever he planned would succeed.

She did not like that one bit.

"Would you care for some fruit?" she asked, forcing herself to play hostess and offer the tray from the center of the table.

"Thank you, Miss Farrow," Nigel said, reaching for an orange. "Your fruit looks quite tempting. I'm surprised there is any left, as a matter of fact, after allowing that parrot trainer at your table all week."

It took everything she had not to throw the tray at him. What a monster he was! Her mouth popped open to give a snippy retort, but the loud pounding at their front door interrupted her. She glanced at Papa. He raised his eyebrows in surprise. Nigel, however, seemed to have expected the disruption.

"Are you expecting someone?" he asked.

"No, I don't believe so," Papa replied.

"Well, I am," Nigel said, dropping his uneaten orange and rising from his chair.

Meg jumped to her feet, as well. Mrs. Cooper scurried past the dining room on her way to the front door and soon they heard loud voices and the sounds of several sets of heavy feet. Meg glanced at Papa. He shrugged at her, just as confused as she was but not nearly so worried.

After all, he would have no idea that Mr. Shirley might be in danger of hanging just now.

Meg gave up the pretense of calm. She darted from the table, rushing to the entry hall where Mrs. Cooper seemed at a loss to deal with the four men who suddenly crowded their home. Meg recognized all of them.

The first two were Mr. Barrelson and Mr. Perkins
, the shifty-eyed steward from Glenwick. They did not look happy. Between them, two other men stood with their hands bound: Mr. Shirley and his companion. Her heart clenched in her chest. What on earth had they been caught doing?

"Well, what do we have here?" Nigel said, coming up behind her. "Could it be someone owes me an apology?"

"I suspected there had been thieves in the area of Glenwick," Mr. Perkins said. "So I convinced Mr. Barrelson to assist me in hunting them and look what we found."

Papa followed Nigel into the hallway and was trying to make sense of the scene. "You found these men at Glenwick?"

"Not only at Glenwick, but inside, ransacking his lordship's personal study," Mr. Perkins replied. "Thieves, no doubt about it."

"It's true," Mr. Barrelson confirmed. "I saw them myself."

Papa stammered in shock. "Is this so, Mr. Shirley? You were found inside the very house?"

"It is, sir," Mr. Shirley replied, not nearly as terrified as Meg felt for him. "My friend
, Mr. Baxter, and I were inside the study."

"I told you!" Nigel fairly sang. "These are the highwaymen who fired at me, now they have broken into my home!"

"And what were you doing there?" Papa asked.

"Looking for something," Mr. Shirley replied.

For heaven's sake, didn't he realize how badly this looked for him? Meg chewed her lip, desperate to think of something to say. But what could she? They'd been caught in the very act.

"Likely looking for more things to steal from me!" Nigel said. "No doubt you are the same ruffians who broke into my home and stole from me some days ago."

Mr. Barrelson seemed taken aback by this. "You had a burglary some days ago? I have heard nothing of this."

"I did not wish to make a fuss."

"But you only just arrived in town this morning," Meg noted. "How could you have been robbed there some days ago?"

"Er, my steward informed me," Nigel said quickly. "Isn't that so, Mr. Perkins? When I arrived, you told me of the breakin and that you suspected a book had been stolen."

"Yes, of course that is true," Mr. Perkins agreed. "I did not go to the magistrate at first because I wasn't certain the earl would want such notoriety."

"
No doubt these are the guilty parties," Nigel said, pointing angrily at Mr. Shirley. "This one seems to be the leader. Search his room and you will likely find my missing book. Search the whole house!"

"I beg your pardon," Papa said. "I see no reason to search my home. Surely Mr. Shirley will tell us if he has your book hidden here."

Nigel rolled his eyes and gave a dubious snort, but Mr. Shirley appeared entirely agreeable.

"Certainly I'll tell you. I've stolen nothing from this man."

"You have my book! I know you do!"

"I have a book," Mr. Shirley
admitted. "But it isn't yours."

"So you are a thief
and
a liar. Magistrate, I demand you search the house."

"No need to overturn this house as you have done to Glenwick," Mr. Shirley said, scowling at Nigel. "The book you
've been looking for is upstairs in my room. You'll find it tucked under the mattress."

"Ah ha!" Nigel said.

"Very well, I will look into the matter," the magistrate said. "Mr. Farrow, if you will accompany me. The rest of you should wait in the drawing room while we get to the bottom of this. Perkins, see that these men do not escape."

"We wouldn't dream of it, sir," Mr. Shirley said
.

The magistrate shook his head, confused by all of this. He led Papa up the stairs while Mr. Perkins ushered the rest of them into the drawing room. Mrs. Cooper waited in the doorway, wringing her hands and watching nervo
usly up the stairs. Two minutes... three minutes... five minutes ticked by slowly before the men's footsteps were heard on the staircase again. By the sounds of squawking and repetitive cursing, it would appear Bartholomew was returning with them.

Nigel had taken a spot on the settee and motioned for Meg to join him, but she'd sooner have faced a roomful of savage tigers before she accepted that. She waited across the room, wracking her brain for some way to get poor Mr. Shirley out of this mess.
It seemed things were getting worse for him by the moment.

"Is this the book?" Mr. Barrelson said when he and Papa returned.

Bartholomew leaped from Papa's shoulder onto Mr. Barrelson's head. He swatted the bird away and held up the book. As expected, it was the book of rhymes. Nigel's eyes grew twice normal size and his hungry grin covered only half of his mouth.

"Let me see it," he said, leaping up off the settee and practically dragging it out of the magistrate's hand. "Yes! This is it! I told you he stole it from me. This was in my grandfather's study, kept under lock and key. The only way he could have gotten it is if he stole it himself."

Suddenly inspiration struck Meg. If the book had been the old earl's, and if Nigel hadn't actually been here to see it before it was stolen... perhaps there was a way to save Mr. Shirley, after all. All she had to do was ruin herself.

"No, he didn't steal it," she announced loudly. "I did. I stole the book."

What the devil was the lunatic woman doing? Didn't she realize what this would do to her reputation, what people would think of her if she made such asinine claims? Max simply wouldn't allow it.

He was, of course, flattered beyond measure that she would do this for him, but it was completely unnecessary. He'd best set things straight before they got even more out of hand. If only Miss Farrow would quit incriminating herself long enough for him to get a word in edgewise.

"I had seen the book once before while visiting the old earl. It, er, fascinated me," she was saying.

Her father gaped in horror and Mr. Barrelson cleared his throat.

"You do know this is a book hardly well-suited for a lady, don't you?" the magistrate asked.

Now Miss Farrow blushed deeply. "Yes, I know what i
t is. They are rhymes of a very, er, evocative nature. I'm sorry, but I've read all of them."

"Why on earth would you take such a thing?" the reverend asked.

"Well..."

Her glanced darted around the room, lighting on anything but Max.

"After I met Mr. Shirley... I wanted to share it with him."

"Good gracious, Meg," her father stammered. "You shared a book like
that
with the parrot trainer?"

"I'm sorry, Papa. I should have had more restraint. Please don't be angry with him. It was never his idea."

"I told you he was taking more than just his meals here," Nigel sneered. "The little trollop has been in league with him since the start."

"That's enough, Nigel," Max demanded, drawing everyone's attention. "I'll not let anyone believe ill of Miss Farrow.
Thank you, my dear, but there is no need to do this now."

"But... they must know you did not steal it!" she protested. "Tell them you aren't a criminal, that it's all a mistake."

He couldn't help but grin. What had he done to deserve this from her? Perhaps he did have much more to hope for than he'd been aware. Perhaps his revelation would not result in instant dismissal by her, after all.

"
She's telling a tale in an effort to save me," he explained to the room. "Mr. Barrelson, if you will be so kind as to look in the book, I can tell you how to ascertain the true and legitimate owner of it."

"And how will you do that, sir?" Mr. Barrelson asked, reaching for Nigel and taking hold of the book. He had to tug twice to get it.

"Open toward the back and you will find a letter tucked there. Yes, that's it. Go ahead and read it."

The magistrate carefully unfolded the letter as Mr. Farrow peered over his shoulder. Nigel sent a questioning glare toward Mr. Perkins, who could do nothing but shrug. Meg watched in breathless curiosity. Concern was written into her delicate features and Max wished she'd glance at him so he could, at least, encourage her with a smile. Her grave concern for him was most heartening.

Now the magistrate's face grew into a dark, questioning frown while Mr. Farrow's went pale and he stared at Max in astonishment.

"How did you get this letter, sir?"

"It was sent to me," Max stated.

"When? When did you receive it?" the magistrate asked.

"Approximately two weeks after the date it was written. I believe you will see that noted at the top."

"But this was just days before the old earl met his end," Mr. Farrow said. "And... it is addressed to his grandson who has been dead two years at least."

"So it is."

"How then did you receive it?" the magistrate asked.

But Max didn't need to answer. He'd been watching Nigel's face and knew the moment realization struck him. His cousin's eyes went huge and a curse slipped past his lips.

"It can't be!" Nigel exhaled.

"Oh, but it is. I'm surprised you don't recognize me, cousin," Max said to him. "And after I went to all that trouble with the towel earlier."

"But you... they said..."

"You thought you succeeded, didn't you?" Max questioned. "I'm sorry to inform you that the scoundrel you hired to do away with me aboard that ship failed. He was quite inept, as a matter of fact."

Here Hugh interrupted with a low, menacing chuckle as he, apparently, relived the events of that terrible night. The man showed entirely too much glee in the recollection. Not that Max wasn't happy to have survived, but things had not ended well for the would-be assassin.

"It was his body they found," Max went on. "I merely allowed them to mistake it for mine while I determined to seek out who had plotted my demise."

"But... you can't be alive!" Nigel insisted.

"I am! And it gave me no pleasure when I realized my own cousin had been behind the attack on my life. And then poor Grandfather... how could you, Nigel? He loved us."

"No, he loved you! You were the heir. Once your father died, everything should have passed onto my father.
He
should have been next then
I
could have inherited. But no, because of
you
I was left out of everything."

Mr. Barrelson stepped in before things got out of hand. "
So this is true; the parrot trainer is the rightful Earl of Glenwick?"

"And my grandfather sent me that book just before he died, with that letter indicating he feared for his life," Max said. "Now, do you think you could possibly untie our hands? The binding isn't nearly as comfortable as one might expect."

The magistrate sheepishly pulled out a small knife to quickly unfasten Max's hands. Hugh cleared his throat when it appeared the man might have been going to forget him. It felt good to be loosened, especially because the way Nigel was glaring at him made him feel he might, at some point, have the need of defending himself again. Hands would be rather useful at that point.

"
But why did you not tell us this?" Mr. Farrow asked.

"I still had no proof to indict my cousin for his acts," Max explained. "As long as he was still preoccupied with hunting the supposed Glenwick Treasure my grandfather used to tell us stories about, I thought he might make some mistakes and I could find the way to bring him to justice.
It appears I was right."