Page 53 of Miss Dauntless
“Harry was a confidence trickster,” Matilda said. “He told me he was a man of business—and he certainly looked the part. I thought that meant he was credentialed as a solicitor. He was making his way to London where all the opportunities were. Within a fortnight of speaking my vows, I realized that I’d made a mistake, but some mistakes can’t be unmade.”
“Ye learn from ’em,” Cook said. “No use crying over spilled milk.”
“If you dropped one of your cream pies,” Amos Tucker said, “I’d cry.”
MacIvey cuffed him on the back of the head. “What are our orders, missus?”
Matilda looked to Tremont, who wasn’t about to relieve her of command, though he would offer suggestions.
“Surveillance?” he said. “Regular patrols? We replaced the key where we found it, and our inspection tour took place at sunset, meaning we probably weren’t observed.”
“Surveillance,” Matilda said, “but also… be on the alert. Listen a little more carefully on darts night. Tell the crossing sweepers to keep an eye out for strangers who don’t sound like they’re from London, but who ask after me or my house. For God’s sake, keep a close eye on Tommie and, for that matter, a close eye on me.”
“Could there be a house-stealing swindle afoot?” Mrs. Winklebleck asked. “The cheats present themselves as the owner of the premises and accept coin for its sale. You are left with a lawsuit on yer hands and squatters in yer house. T’other house-stealing rig sees you snatched off the street. You aren’t set free until you sign the papers giving up the house.”
“Bad business, that,” Cook said, “but London is the place to try such a scheme. Houses come dear here, and there aren’t enough of them for all who need shelter.”
Matilda, clearly, was not shocked by Mrs. Winklebleck’s suggestion. “Harry attempted something like that once. I wasn’t supposed to know about it, but I overheard him berating a… a colleague for bungling some bit of deception. Nobody is to risk injury or worse over this situation, but something is afoot, something unsavory, and I would appreciate your assistance getting to the bottom of it.”
“MacPherson used to make up the assignment schedule for picket duty,” MacIvey said. “We know how to take a gander without drawing notice.”
“In twos, then,” MacPherson said. “Every ninety minutes? That’s once a night for each of us if we start at half past ten in the evening and work in pairs. The crossing sweepers generallywork until ten-ish, and Charles will know who minds the corner nearest the house.”
Bentley sketched a rough map of the neighborhood, and the whole household was soon crowded around the reading table, discussing approaches, places to hide, vantage points, and paths of ingress and egress to the property.
Something of a soldier’s focus on a mission took over the meeting, while half cups of tea grew cold, and the hour advanced. A plan emerged, of surveillance on the house and neighborhood, supervision for Tommie, and intelligence gathering. Tremont hadn’t contributed much beyond a few questions, and he knew the discussion would continue after he and Matilda left the library.
“I must see that Tommie gets to bed,” Matilda said, rising from her place at the reading table. “I thank you all for your concern. This is not a problem I could handle without reinforcements.”
“Won’t be any problem a’tall,” MacIvey said. “The lads will keep a sharp eye out and have a few quiet words in the right ears, and whoever thinks to help himself to your house will make other plans in a hurry.”
If that was the scheme. Tremont thought simple theft might be at the bottom of the matter, though why move the damned key and make those intentions obvious?
“While Mrs. Winklebleck pours the nightcaps,” Tremont said, “I will light Mrs. Merridew and Tommie up to their apartment and then rejoin you.”
A round of good-nights followed, and Tremont tarried in Matilda’s apartment long enough to read Tommie the fable about the tortoise and the hare, while Matilda got ready for bed. Bowing a proper good-night to her took considerable self-discipline, but then, Tommie was on hand to aid the cause of decorum.
Tremont did the pretty, comforted by the knowledge that for Tommie’s sake, Matilda was doing the pretty, too, and someday soon, such strictures could be cast off.
He returned to the library and went straight to the sideboard. “A top-up, anyone?”
Mrs. Winklebleck spoke up first. “I’ll have another nip to ward off the chill.”
“A wee dram for me,” Cook said, brandishing a flask, “and keep yer fancy brandy.”
Tremont served, and the conversation had soon broken up into groups. MacIvey got out his fiddle, and somebody began to sing.
“Nanny,” Tremont said, coming down beside the housekeeper. “What about Mrs. Merridew’s situation made you think about house-stealing schemes?”
She took a dainty sip of her brandy. “I knew a fella who ran rigs like that, but his name were Harry Merryfield, not Merridew. Odd coincidence, but then, London is the sort of place that happens. He were a right handsome corker, were Harry, and didn’t limit hisself to stealing houses.”
She paused for another taste of her brandy. “He were a card sharp, a professional compromiser of innocents—he didn’t ruin ’em in truth, but he did compromise ’em for coin, then he’d blackmail the fellow what wanted the lady ruined in the first place. He could do a lovely thimble rig… Very enterprisin’ was Harry, and charming. Not much of a lover, if you take my meaning. A nibbler and always in a hurry. I cannot abide a man who’s always in a hurry. From time to time, a quick poke has its appeal, but that Harry wouldn’t know how—”
Tremont nearly clapped his hands over his ears. “Could you sketch him?”
Mrs. Winklebleck took another placid sip of her nightcap. “I’m not a Cruikshank, but I can wield a pencil as good as I everdid. Can get you tossed in jail, though, drawing cartoons and such. Being on the stroll is legal.”
“Being a housekeeper is safer and pays just as well.”
