What Would Jane Austen Do? (29 page)

   "So… you don't think an author must experience everything she writes about?"

   "Absolutely not. Daniel Defoe was not shipwrecked on an island for years as was his character in
Robinson
Crusoe
, although it is known he interviewed sailors who had been shipwrecked. Jonathan Swift, as he portrayed through Gulliver, did not actually find on his travels tiny Lilliputians, giants, immortals, or a utopian society built by horses endowed with reason. Now that's imagination."

   "Of course, you must be right," Eleanor said. After all, logic dictated Tolkien couldn't have visited Middle Earth, Mary Shelley hadn't built a Frankenstein from body parts, and the Baroness Orczy hadn't been an English spy during the French Revolution like her Scarlet Pimpernel. "Although I'm disappointed because that means there probably wasn't a real Mr. Darcy or Mr. Knightley."

   "Live heroes have the distinct advantage of being able to… dance with you." Jane glanced obliquely at Shermont, conversing with Cassandra at the other side of the terrace. "Perhaps you have found your own version of a male protagonist better than any novel could portray."

   Eleanor smiled sadly and shook her head. "He's some lucky girl's Mr. Darcy, but unfortunately not mine. I must return to my… home soon."

   "Then I wish you a good journey," Jane Austen said. "And, if you will excuse a bit of advice from a stranger, life is short, and the opportunity of love rarely comes around a second time."

   Was she referring to the plot of a book? In
Persuasion
Anne Elliot was given a second chance at love with Frederick Wentworth eight years after turning him away. Or was she just referring to the fact that she thought Eleanor was a widow? Did it make a difference?

   Was
Persuasion
a bit of wishful thinking on the author's part or simply a big dose of what would never be? To ask her was not only impossible because the novel would not be published for another three years, but it would be an impertinent invasion of privacy she most likely would find abhorrent.

   "Thank you for the advice," Eleanor said. "I'll remember our conversation."

   
Forever.

   Jane must have somehow signaled her sister because Cassandra excused herself and approached. "I you will excuse us, we should let Edward know we've found Jane's necklace."

   "Of course," Eleanor said politely, even though she would have liked to prolong the conversation.

   After again thanking her, Jane and Cassandra left. Eleanor walked back to join Shermont.

   "Do you want to explain what just happened?" he asked.

   "Nope. You have to trust me. Everything is as it should be."

   "But you gave her your—"

   "Trust me."

   The music ended and flushed dancers flooded the terrace, including Deirdre and Mina. They spotted Shermont and headed directly toward him, their partners in tow.

   Shermont leaned over and whispered in Eleanor's ear. "Meet me in the library in fifteen minutes." Then he swung his long legs over the balustrade, pushed off with his hands, and landed on the shell path below with a crunch. He turned and gave her a deep courtly bow before disappearing into the darkness.

   "Where's Shermont?" Deirdre asked as they approached.

   "He was right there a minute ago," Mina said.

   Eleanor simply smiled. Who could blame the guy for escaping after the mess the girls had nearly incited the night before? "I suppose he had an errand."

   "Let's go for a walk in the garden," one of the dancing partners eagerly suggested and offered his arm to Mina, who giggled her response as she placed her hand on his arm.

   "It will be much cooler there," the other youth said, and Deirdre laid her hand on his forearm.

   "Ahem." Eleanor cleared her throat, but neither girl took the hint. "Not without your chaperone."

   "We thought you were on our side," Deirdre said.

   "You're supposed to be our friend,' Mina added.

   "I am. That's why I don't want you to ruin your reputations before you get to London. I mean, I don't want you to ruin your reputations at all. Propriety is important if you want to have a wonderful, successful Season. Do you want to ruin any possibility of that?"

   "Then you come with us," Mina said.

   "No, thanks," Eleanor answered. "Not only have I been told I do not qualify as a chaperone, I can't think of anything I'd like less than the responsibility of keeping you two in check." And keeping track of them was a near impossible task—something she knew from experience.

   She took Deirdre by the shoulders and turned her toward the ballroom. "You know I'm right, so let's go find your Aunt Patience." Eleanor gave the girl a gentle push. She snagged Mina's elbow and pulled her after her sister. "Come along." Then she added, "How will new dancing partners find you if you're outside? Did you think of that?"

   Mina stopped struggling. The boys followed with sour faces, their amorous plans foiled.

   They found Patience holding court with three older women. "And believe you me, I told him exactly what he could… oh, here are my darling nieces. Come sit by me. You know everyone, don't you?"

   But she made a point of introducing poor, unfortunate Eleanor to everyone. The boys excused themselves, leaving her standing alone in front of the others.

   Two young men arrived to ask the girls to dance, and they jumped up eagerly. A third man showed up and offered his arm to Eleanor. She declined, explaining with real regret she didn't know the steps. She didn't want to make a fool of herself stumbling and bumbling through the complicated dance maneuvers.

   "You'll never find a new husband like that," Patience said much too loudly.

   Eleanor forced herself to nod politely. "If you will excuse me, my toothache has returned with a vengeance," she lied. "I'm going upstairs to have a cup of willow bark tea and a bit of rest."

   "Put a dollop of rum in it, my dear," one of the gray-haired women advised. "Quicker with liquor," she added with a giggle.

   "Brandy is better," another said.

   "Where are you getting brandy with a war on? Bourbon is best."

   Eleanor left, unnoticed by the women as their argument continued. She went to the library.

Shermont circled around the moon garden and joined Carl on the other side. They spoke in hushed tones as they walked around to the back of the mansion.

   "What was so important that you had to throw a rock at me?" Shermont asked. A ping on the back of his neck had caused him to turn and catch sight of his valet, who motioned for him to follow.

   "You didn't respond when I whistled."

   "That was you?"

   "Apparently you were so preoccupied, a rock to your head was the only way to get your attention."

   "Fine. What do you have?"

   "You were wrong about Digby. While everyone else's servants were running around readying fancy clothes for the ball, his valet was cleaning and pressing traveling clothes."

   "So I'm right, and he's planning on leaving tonight," Shermont said.

   Carl shook his head. "His valet hinted at a trip to Gretna Green. That validates my theory that the oak tree was a trysting spot."

   Shermont avoided contradicting Carl for now. "The best time for him to leave would be just before supper is served—no, during the fireworks."

   "There's going to be fireworks?"

   "It's supposed to be a surprise. I was out in the gardens this afternoon and saw them setting up the displays. I talked to one of the workers, and he said they were to start firing the rockets at eleven o'clock."

   "I love fireworks."

   "And they provide an excellent distraction." Shermont shook his head. "I know I'm right about Digby."

   "Then let's take him into custody."

   "Not yet. We can't arrest a peer of the realm without solid evidence."

   "What about the female?"

   "Not her either. I never tip my hand until all the cards are dealt and the bets are on the table."

"So now what do we do?"

"We check his rooms for evidence."

   They entered by a back way and took a deserted servants' stairway up. The lock on Digby's door proved only a moment's delay against Carl's lock picking acumen. Moonlight flooded through the windows, and Shermont used the night lantern on the hearth to light a candle.

   "Nothing seems out of place," Carl said. "Maybe he really is just going on a trip."

   "In secret."

   "Eloping to Gretna Green is not usually announced ahead of time."

   "Details," Shermont reminded him. He pictured the way the room had looked several days earlier when he'd joined Digby for a drink before the card game started. The first objects that struck him as out of place were the works of art on the walls. "Those two paintings used to be in the hall." He pulled out a chair that had been shoved back, and two empty frames fell forward. "The Gainsborough landscape and the Rubens unicorn have been cut out of their frames. Probably rolled up and packed into a small trunk."

   Carl threw up his hands. "How can you know the trunk size?"

   "Because the large Reynolds over the fireplace would be of equal or even greater value, so there must be a reason it was left behind—hence, a small trunk."

   Carl could only shake his head.

   Shermont went to the desk and flipped open a case that had been left out. "If a man leaves his jewel case accessible it means there is nothing of value left to steal."

   "Or he trusts his servants."

   He flicked though the items lying on the velvet lining before closing the lid. "Not in this instance." He stared at the top of the desk. He remembered Digby fondling a letter opener with a diamond- and emerald-encrusted handle before placing it in a leather sleeve in the first drawer, using a tiny key on his watch fob to secure it. The drawer was no longer locked, and the leather sleeve was empty.

   Shermont checked every drawer in the desk, exam ining for false bottoms or secret hidey-holes. Then he picked up the candle and carried it into Digby's dressing room. Two large armoires flanked a cheval mirror. Both were still crammed full of clothes.

   "Interesting."

   "What? It's clothes. Oh, I know. He hasn't taken his clothes, so that must mean—"

   "But he did."

   "There's so much. How could you—"

   "If you were in charge of this wardrobe, wouldn't you keep the number of clothes in each armoire relatively equal?"

   "You don't think the valet is in on—"

   "Actually, no. Look here. Every hook has three or four items, except this one on the far left. And every shelf is crammed full, except for one. This tells me Digby planned carefully what he wanted to take and placed those items together. He could grab them and pack quickly without help. My guess, based on what appears missing, is two changes of clothes and four shirts."

   Shermont looked around the room. Luggage would have been stored in the attic until needed. If the valet wasn't part of the plot… "Aha! The play! Digby had a servant fetch a portmanteau from the attic to use as a prop in the play, and then, none the wiser, it would be available for his trip. Clever."

   "Then let's arrest him."

   "Unfortunately, this is all circumstantial. A man can't be arrested for keeping plans for a trip secret or for stealing his own paintings."

   "So… now what?"

   "We wait. Our one advantage is that he doesn't know we're onto him. We watch and wait for him to make a move that will convict him."

   "And hope we don't lose him."

   "That will be your job. Find him and stick with him."

   "What are you going to do?"

   "Look for evidence."

   "Oh, I almost forgot," Carl said, turning back. "I heard from our contact in the Admiralty. They have no record of a Captain Pottinger in the United States Navy. He suggested Pottinger may have sailed under letters of marque."

   "A pirate?"

   "A privateer. A private ship, outfitted at the owner's cost, whose captain is authorized by President Madison to take our ships as spoils of war. Lucrative if they are successful. However, a number have disappeared without a trace under fire from British warships."

   That made sense. If Eleanor's husband had invested everything in such a risky venture, she would have been left penniless when he failed.

   "Thank you," he said to Carl. "Since that line of inquiry has hit a dead end, let's concentrate on Digby."

   Shermont scanned the room one last time before blowing out the candle and leaving Digby's suite. There was still a missing piece to the puzzle. Minimal clothing, jewelry, and two rolled up paintings. Not enough to fill the luggage piece he remembered. What was Digby leaving space in the portmanteau for?

Eleanor paced the library, trying not to watch the clock. Not wanting to appear anxious, she sat on the settee, carefully arranging the skirt of her dress. She checked her breath and armpits. Should she be waiting in a seductive pose? She put up her feet and laid back, one arm over her head. But unless she scrunched up her legs, her head had to rest on the arm of the settee. After a few minutes, the position gave her a cramp in her neck. She tried a stance near the fireplace, but that felt pretentious. She wandered around the room.