Suitors and Sabotage(27)
When Imogene had dressed for the outing, she had chosen to adorn her gloves with her turquoise ring—a little accent of blue-green. As a gift from her grandmother, the finely worked silver and stone held tremendous sentimental value.… But now that she thought upon it, it had monetary value as well.
“Would you say topaz or turquoise more precious?” Imogene turned to Emily beside her, interrupting her friend’s observation that the buttercups were particularly yellow this year.
For several minutes, the only sounds in the carriage were the crunch of the wheels on the road and the clop of the horses’ hooves. Emily blinked, frowned slightly, and glanced to the other side of the vehicle, where the Steeple brothers were seated.
“I’m not entirely certain,” she said. Though it was clear Emily was not certain about the question, either.
Following her friend’s gaze, Imogene observed that Ernest and Ben were looking at her as if her conversation was odd … which it was since they were not privy to her thoughts. And yet, even as she watched, Ben glanced down at her ring and nodded—clearly perceiving the source of her non sequitur.
“If I were to hazard a guess, I might say the turquoise.” Ben nodded in the direction of her hand.
“And that is relevant in what manner?” Emily asked.
“Ah yes.” This time it was Ernest who nodded. “Yes, why would a thief take a topaz necklace when there was a turquoise ring sitting next to it?” It was clear that Ben had shared the incident with his brother, as Imogene had done with Emily.
“Or both?” Ben observed. “It was but a moment’s work—no need to choose one over the other. Both would have brought the thief some reward.”
“Or the entire box, for that matter.” Emily touched Imogene’s skirts to garner her attention. “Your jewelry case is not large, it could easily fit beneath a coat … or in a reticule. And my case was in the same room—a different drawer, but to a thief, what is that?”
“Exactly,” Ben said. “And yet this person took only the topaz necklace. And then after going to the effort, dropped it in my room. A very inept thief, to my way of thinking. Are we quite certain this was not a prank?”
Imogene appreciated Ben’s avoiding her brother’s name outright, but it was clear to all to whom he referred.
“I cannot be sure, but Percy’s protest rang true. He and Jake derive their amusement from watching the discomfort of others—not kind, very immature, and incredibly irritating—but…”
“Might they not have found amusement when I was accused of theft?”
“Too far, even for Percy and Jake.”
Ben lifted his brows. “Really?”
“You are not convinced.” Imogene sighed. Unfortunately, she could not defend her brother any more than she already had; she was doubtful as well. She was going to have to make further inquiries downstairs. Silent and often ignored by the unwise, one of the housemaids might have seen someone in the vicinity of her room, someone who had no business there. She could but hope it was Percy; a nasty practical joke was preferable to thinking a thief, or worse, was in their midst.
The journey to Foxhill was not onerous to the passengers; a mere half hour took them to the base of the mountain and an additional quarter hour saw them wind back and forth to the top. The horses, however, were tired and glad of the rest. Mr. Fowler had wisely brought feed bags and led them to a small pond, where they could drink and enjoy the shade.
Arm in arm, the two couples crossed the open meadow and approached the precipice. Emily swayed her skirts as she walked, twirling her parasol ever so slightly; she leaned in Ben’s direction. Imogene followed with Ernest at a respectable distance. Her skirts did not sway. Imogene had no idea how to—perhaps longer steps …
“Oh dear,” Imogene gasped as she tripped, glad to have Ernest’s arm for support. Pitching over the cliff would have put a decided damper on the day.
“Careful,” he said kindly, offering her a wink.
Imogene tried not to blush and stared after Emily and Ben once again. She did her best to ignore the bright smile Ben offered Emily as they chatted quietly. Emily laughed, and Imogene swallowed in discomfort, changing her focus to the glorious view.
Now standing ten feet or so from the edge, Imogene marveled, as she always did, at the distance that could be seen. While the angle did not offer a bird’s-eye view of Gracebridge, the church steeples of Fotheringham and—off to the south—the oast houses of Cuppard were clearly visible.
The patchwork of fields, hedges, and lanes inspired, and Imogene felt a yearning to commit the scene to canvas—which she had not brought. It had been a conscious decision not to do so. She could hardly stand there painting while requiring Ben to sketch his next lesson. His frustration would have sapped him of his creativity. Hardly helpful.
*
“IT’S A CHILD’S BLOCK,” Ben growled, as Imogene had expected.
“Three actually,” Imogene said as she pulled two more from her satchel and laid them on the blanket. They were seated, as they had been the day before, Ben sharing the blanket with Emily and Imogene. Ernest lay in the grass on his side, slightly set off from the group, reading.
“You would do well to stop arguing with your teacher, Ben. She knows what she is about.” Ernest’s eyes never strayed from his book.