65 A Heart Is Stolen Read online

There was an expression on her face that he knew was one of obstinacy and at the same time of fear.

  She remained silent and after a moment the Marquis said,

  “I gather you do not intend to confide in me?”

  “No, my Lord. It’s impossible!”

  The Marquis drew two guineas from his vest pocket and put them on the table.

  “Spend it on luxuries for your uncle,” he said, “but not on drink of any sort. Is that understood?”

  “Aye, my Lord, and thank you.”

  She curtseyed again as the Marquis and Anthony left.

  They rewarded the small boys who had held their horses and rode away in silence.

  Only when they were clear of the village did Anthony say,

  “What do you think all that meant?”

  “I am not certain,” the Marquis replied, “but it has certainly given me much to think about.”

  They rode back into the Park and Anthony instinctively turned his horse in the direction of Flagstaff Manor, but the Marquis held up his hand,

  “I don’t wish to see Ivana today. I want to sort out my ideas and try to find out more about Bateman.”

  “All right,” Anthony conceded with an ill grace. “Where next?”

  “I think Grimshaw, my Head Gardener,” the Marquis replied. “At least he has not been deposed or retired.”

  “I cannot imagine he is short-handed,” Anthony said, “I have never seen a garden kept better except perhaps that of Flagstaff Manor.”

  “I hope Grimshaw can enlighten us on that,” the Marquis reflected.

  They rode back towards the house and the Marquis led the way through the fields behind the stables to where a quarter of a mile from Heathcliffe, hidden behind the high walls of the kitchen garden, was a red brick house which had always belonged to the Head Gardener.

  Once again they dismounted and now they saw a man wheeling a barrow loaded with rubbish out towards a dump outside the walls and called him to attend to their horses.

  One look at him told the Marquis that he was a Naval type and it was also obvious that he walked with a limp.

  He did not intend, however, to question any of the under-gardeners until he had talked to Grimshaw and, walking into the large walled-in-garden, the Marquis saw him at the far end of it.

  He certainly had no complaints about the garden itself. It was a model of neatness with every possible inch cultivated.

  Even the panes of the greenhouses seemed to gleam in the sunshine as if they were exceptionally clean and the fruit trees looked as if they were regimented into producing larger and more colourful fruit than any trees the Marquis had ever seen before.

  Grimshaw looked much older than the Marquis remembered, but he was obviously pleased to see him.

  “It be a sight for sore eyes, my Lord, a-seein’ you after all these years!” he said, speaking his soft Sussex accent.

  “I am glad to be back,” the Marquis replied simply, “and I must congratulate you, Grimshaw on the garden. I have never seen it look more beautiful or in better trim.”

  “I’m glad your Lordship be pleased.”

  “I cannot think how you have managed it when I understand for the last year or two of the war it was very difficult to find men.”

  “That might be true for some, my Lord, but not for us.”

  “Why not?” the Marquis enquired.

  “Mr. Markham has managed to provide me with workers, one way or another.”

  “How did he manage to do that?” the Marquis asked.

  “At first, my Lord, they were always incapacitated. ‘The ’alt, the lame and the blind!’ I used to say, laughin’-like. Even so, I gets some good work out of ’em.”

  “Are you telling me,” the Marquis said, “that the men you have been employing are men who have been wounded in the war?”

  “Yes, my Lord. Sailors, but they be willin’ to work rather than starve and work I managed t’ make ’em do!”

  The Marquis did not reply and Grimshaw went on,

  “Of course, since the peace, my Lord, we’ve ’ad whole men, so to speak. Nothin’ wrong with them, except many as never seen a spade nor an ’oe in ’is life. I teach ’em first and though they sometimes grumbles at becomin’ landlubbers, as they calls it, they be too glad to be employed to be particular.”

  “I must congratulate you once again on what you have achieved,” the Marquis said. “Thank you, Grimshaw.”

  He was turning away when a thought struck him.

  “By the way,” he said, “how many men have you working under you at this particular moment?”

  “Sixteen, my Lord.”

  The Marquis walked back along the neat path between the vegetable beds with Anthony beside him.

  “Cast-offs from the Navy!” he remarked in a low voice. “First those who had been wounded, then since April the men who are being made redundant.”

  “I have heard there are plenty of those,” Anthony said. “In fact someone at the Club was saying only last week that we are disarming at an almost indecent speed.”

  The Marquis nodded.

  “I heard Lord St. Vincent speak in the House of Lords,” he said ruminatively. “He was absolutely insistent on drastic economies in Naval administration.”

  “I heard a worse story, now I think about it,” Anthony said, “I was told that, while all our ships are crying out for repairs, the dockyard hands have been dismissed, contracts with private yards withdrawn and surplus stores sold off – in some cases to French agents!”

  At this the Marquis stopped still to stare at his friend.

  “And it was you who told me the other day that we need not be afraid of Bonaparte!” he said accusingly. “I am sure he is replenishing his empty dockyards and building ships at all possible speed.”

  “Now you are trying to make my flesh creep,” Anthony retorted. “Go back to your sleuthing and remember you, at any rate, have benefited by having almost a ship’s company working on your garden!”

  The Marquis did not reply. He was obviously deep in thought as they walked back towards the house.

  By now it was luncheontime and, before they went into the dining room, the Marquis said,

  “Not a word in front of Travers of what we have discovered this morning.”

  “To hear is to obey!” Anthony replied lightly, “and when can we call on our new-found beauty?”

  “When I am ready to do so,” the Marquis replied almost irritably.

  “And when will that be?”

  “When I have enough evidence to put her in the dock!” the Marquis answered.

  “If I thought you meant what you said, I would feel inclined to knock you down!”

  “You are welcome to try,” the Marquis answered, “but remember we are very equal when it comes to pugilistic efforts, although I am quite prepared to offer you a little swordplay or, if you prefer, pistols at ten paces!”

  “There you would undoubtedly claim an unfair advantage,” Anthony smiled, “so I shall merely try to outwit you in some other way!”

  “Stop fighting against me. I want you with me,” the Marquis said. “You must realise by now, Anthony, that something fantastic is happening. If we don’t get to the bottom of it, I swear it will leave me curious to the end of my life.”

  “I am curious too,” Anthony admitted. “I wonder what her husband is like.”

  The Marquis picked up a cushion from the chair and flung it at his friend’s head. Anthony caught it deftly and threw it back, but at that moment Travers announced that luncheon was served.

  After an extremely good meal, they went back to the library and Anthony, walking to the window, asked,

  “What now?”

  As he spoke, the Marquis made a sound that was almost a cry.

  “What’s the matter?” Anthony enquired.

  “I am crazy!” the Marquis exclaimed, “and I certainly should have thought of it before.”

  “Thought of what?”

  “Looking at Markham’s a
ccounts!”

  “What will they tell you?”

  “A great deal,” the Marquis said. “Every month I have the accounts from all my estates sent to London. Sometimes I go through them personally, but otherwise I leave it to my secretary to see that there is no unusual expenditure.”

  Anthony was listening intently as the Marquis went on,

  “I distinctly remember looking at the accounts of Heathcliffe two, or was it three months ago, and thinking that despite the rise in prices during the war, the expenses had remained more or less the same as when my father was in residence.”

  “What does that prove now?” Anthony asked.

  “You must realise that these new men, and I swear that there are more of them than were ever here before, have had to be paid.”

  There was silence for a moment. Then Anthony said,

  “I see your reasoning. Unless the ‘halt and the lame’, as your gardener referred to them, were paid less money than those who were in good shape.”

  “Even so, they should have been listed,” the Marquis insisted. “So should the change of footmen.”

  “Well, let’s find the ledgers and see for ourselves.”

  “That is just what I am thinking,” the Marquis agreed. “Equally I think it would be a mistake to ask Markham to bring them to us.”

  “Why?”

  “He might easily alter them or say they were mislaid or even that the highwaymen had stolen them.”

  “I see your point,” Anthony answered. “Then how do you intend to go about getting hold of them?”

  The Marquis thought for a moment and then said,

  “We are now going, you and I, to make a tour of the house. We will saunter into the hall and I shall say to you, ‘by the way, Anthony, I have not been in the orangery since I returned. I am sure that Grimshaw has some magnificent plants there if the rest of the garden is anything to go by’.”

  “Go on,” Anthony prompted. “What then?”

  “The orangery is in the direction of the estate office. We pass the ballroom, which has been shut up ever since I can remember, reach the gun room where, of course, we will look at the guns and pistols, then automatically walk into the estate office because it is next door. If Markham is there, it will seem quite natural that we should call in in passing. If he is not, we will find what we want.”

  “Excellent!” Anthony approved. “You are wasted in your present position. You should be head of the Bow Street Runners or take on the organisation of a national Police force.”

  “That is something that may happen one day. They have talked about it long enough,” the Marquis replied.

  “One thing is quite certain,” Anthony replied. “No one in Parliament will vote any money for a new service at this moment.”

  “That is true,” the Marquis agreed, “with the national debt standing at double its pre-war figure.”

  Like two small boys playing a game they set off to act the parts the Marquis had suggested.

  There were two footmen in the hall to hear them say that they were going to the orangery, but the Marquis had the idea that Travers might be hovering somewhere within earshot.

  The orangery was, in fact, just as he had expected. The flowers and plants his father had collected were all in good order, but, although the Marquis could not be sure, he thought that there were no new additions.

  The gun room in its turn was clean and tidy, but the sporting guns were out of date and the pistols almost ready for a museum.

  They did not stay long here and then, as they moved into the passage, the Marquis said in a loud voice,

  “While we are here, I want you to look at an old map of the estate that hangs in the estate office. It might show us where the Admiral’s border lies.”

  “I would like to see that,” Anthony replied.

  The Marquis opened the door.

  To his relief the office was empty, although there was a large ledger open on the desk with a quill pen beside it.

  It looked in fact, as if Mr. Markham had been called away unexpectedly.

  The Marquis went to the ledger and turning over the pages found it was the one what he wanted.

  All the expenditure for the last four years was neatly listed and it was exactly as he had seen it when it had been sent to him in London.

  He put the ledger under his arm and he and Anthony hurried back down the long passages that led into the library.

  There the Marquis sat down at his desk.

  “Now we shall see for ourselves,” he said, “exactly what has been happening.”

  He opened the ledger and turned back two years.

  “Here is the household,” he said. “And among the other names are Bateman, Cobbler, Wilkins, James and Nicholson.”

  “When is that?” Anthony enquired.

  “The beginning of 1800.”

  The Marquis made as if to turn back a page and then said,

  “I do not know when Cobbler, Wilkins and the other two left, but Bateman said he was short-handed before he retired, so we can start by seeing who replaced him.”

  He turned over the next few pages one by one until he came to the tail end of Markham’s neat writing.

  Then an expression on his face made Anthony ask quickly,

  “What have you discovered?”

  “According to the ledger,” the Marquis said. “Cobbler, Wilkins, James and Nicholson are still in my employment.

  “They have been paid regularly and their wages are listed month by month!”

  “Then Markham has been cheating you!” Anthony observed.

  “Exactly!” the Marquis replied, “and this is where I start my enquiries. Pull the bell!”

  The note of command in his voice made Anthony realise how angry he was.

  He knew if there was one thing that really infuriated him it was to think that he was being crooked or deceived in any way by those he trusted.

  Neither man spoke until Travers opened the door.

  “Tell Mr. Markham I wish to speak to him immediately!” the Marquis ordered.

  “Very good, my Lord.”

  Again there was silence and Anthony moved towards the window and, feeling the atmosphere was oppressive, he opened one of the long windows which, like those in the drawing room, led directly onto the terrace above the lawns.

  Then he turned back towards the Marquis.

  “Do you wish me to stay?”

  “Of course!” the Marquis replied.

  The door opened and Mr. Markham came in.

  It was obvious that he was apprehensive and the Marquis saw the fear on his face when he walked across the room to stand in front of the desk.

  “I have been looking at your ledger, Markham,” the Marquis began, “and I want an explanation as to why four footmen who are no longer in my employment are still listed here.”

  “It may have been remiss of me – my Lord,” Mr. Markham replied in a voice that shook, “but as the other footmen – I engaged in their place were taken on a temporary basis and received the same wages – it seemed unnecessary to change the names each time.”

  That was almost plausible, the Marquis thought, but he did not approve of such slipshod methods.

  “How is it that the men were only temporary and why?”

  “It is not easy to find men in this vicinity, my Lord, but I had to take what I could get and most of them were unsatisfactory.”

  The Marquis looked at his agent. While Markham was very pale, he was also sweating and the Marquis was experienced enough in the handling of men to know that, while he had a tight control on himself, he was in fact very frightened.

  “I also see,” the Marquis continued, “that you have not put on record when Bateman retired and Travers took his place.”

  “No, my Lord, for the same reason.”

  “But surely Travers seems a very experienced man and you hoped he would stay?”

  “I was not certain that he would do so, my Lord.”

  The Marquis turned over th
e pages.

  “Now we come to the gardeners. Grimshaw tells me that he has sixteen men working for him at the moment. Surely that is an abnormal amount?”

  “Grimshaw has not complained that he is over-staffed.”

  “That is not the point,” the Marquis snapped. “The wages you have drawn for the gardeners every week have been for ten. How do you account for the extra?”

  “Some are newcomers, my Lord, and I did not expect to pay them as much as those who have been with us for many years.”

  The Marquis looked at the names and turned back the ledger to its beginning.

  “Again the names have not been changed.”

  “No, my Lord.”

  “There is something going on here,” the Marquis said. “Something I don’t like and it points unpleasantly to fraud.”

  “No, my Lord. That is not true, my Lord!”

  Mr. Markham was now shaking and, as if Anthony found the interrogation too uncomfortable, he rose and walked from the library.

  The Marquis brought his fist down suddenly on the desk so that the inkpot rattled.

  “I want the truth,” he asserted angrily, “the whole truth!”

  Mr. Markham drew in his breath.

  At that moment from the open window a voice said,

  “And that is what you shall have, my Lord!”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The Marquis stared in astonishment as Ivana Wadebridge walked into the room.

  She was wearing the emerald green gown in which he had first seen her and it made her look very picturesque besides accentuating her white skin.

  As she came nearer, he thought that she looked unnaturally pale, in fact frightened.

  He was so astounded at her sudden appearance that he did not rise but remained sitting at his desk.

  Then Markham who was standing in front of him exclaimed,

  “No, no, Miss Ivana. Leave this to me. You must not be involved.”

  Ivana smiled at him.

  “But I am involved, Marky, and we cannot go on pretending. His Lordship had better know the worst.”

  “No, please,” Mr. Markham pleaded.

  ‘Leave it to me,” she insisted firmly, “and I prefer to speak to his Lordship alone.”

  Mr. Markham seemed about to go on protesting and then, as if he felt helpless, he merely made a gesture with his hands and went from the room.