A Dash of Scandal(57)
“It was a small painting, not large at all from what I understand, but apparently priceless. The earl is in a temper, while the countess is having friends in to see the place on the wall where the painting used to hang.”
“Damn, this is disturbing news.”
“Not according to the countess. She’s quite certain Lord Pinkwater’s ghost now has the painting.”
Chandler was resolute. “She’s wrong. A thief has it. Was a Runner there?”
“Yes. He insists he was at his post all evening and no one could have gotten past him with a painting.”
“He would certainly insist that. Can he be trusted?”
“He’s been with me for two years. I’ve never had a problem with him, sir.”
“Until now. Get rid of him and find another to take his place.”
Doulton cleared his throat. “There is hope, Lord Dunraven. The dinner party was a small gathering. Less than one-hundred people. The earl and countess are certain of their guest list. Neither of them saw anyone they didn’t know, and together they believe they saw everyone who attended.”
“Did anyone offer any clues?”
“No, sir. As I stated before, my man swears he was at the front door the entire evening and no one left carrying anything the size of a lady’s small parasol.”
“A parasol?”
“The Countess insists the painting was the size of a young girl’s parasol when it is open.”
“That’s impossible.”
Doulton remained quiet.
“If your man didn’t leave his post, we can assume the thief left by a window.”
“My thoughts exactly. Servants would have seen anyone leaving by the rear door. I don’t have enough men to guard every room at every party.”
“No. I’m not suggesting that, but something more needs to be done. There’s been a robbery a week since the Season began, and we’re no closer to finding him.”
“We’re trying to establish a pattern, but so far there hasn’t been one. He’s taken jewelry, your raven, and now a painting.”
“Keep working on it. He’ll make a mistake sooner or later and we’ll catch him.”
“I’ll be in touch when I have more to report.”
Doulton rose from his chair and laid a newspaper on Chandler’s, desk open to the Society page. “I don’t know if you’ve had a chance to see this. Good day.”
Chandler looked down at the newsprint as Doulton walked out. Chandler’s name jumped out at him and the name beside his.
Millicent.
He picked up the paper and scanned it. How could anyone have seen him blowing her a kiss? They were alone in that darkened hallway, he was sure of it. No one knew about it other than Miss Millicent Blair herself.
Something stirred in the back of his mind. He picked up the article and read it again, slower. Could it be?
“Damnation,” he whispered to himself.
Twelve
“Tempt not a desperate man,” Shakespeare wrote in Romeo and Juliet, and the Society papers are writing it, too, as all of London is buzzing about the news that the Mad Ton Thief has struck again and those on Bow Street have no suspects.
—Lord Truefitt, Society’s Daily Column
“Lord Dunraven,” Millicent greeted as she walked into the front parlor, her modest afternoon dress swishing across the tops of her satin slippers. Glenda followed her into the sunny room but stayed near the entranceway.
“Miss Blair,” he said and strode toward her. “Thank you for seeing me.”
Millicent knew immediately that something was wrong. The earl was his usual handsome self, she thought, but something made him appear different. His hair had been ruffled just enough by the wind to make it attractive, but that wasn’t it. His collar was straight and his neckcloth simply but superbly tied. His lips, those full, masculine lips, were the same as yesterday when he kissed her, so what was wrong?
Ah, yes, she found the problem. The only thing that seemed out of place on the dashing gentleman was the wrinkle of frustration that settled between his beautiful blue eyes.
A hint of worry knocked in Millicent’s chest, but she managed to brush it aside, lift her chin and her shoulders a tiny bit higher.
“I’ve just had another visitor leave, so I’m afraid I don’t have much time.”
“Yes, I saw Lady Lynette leaving as I arrived.”