“They’re both in season.” MacNeil held the leashes of two pretty lady hounds as I approached him on the path to the village. “This one’s Aphrodite, the smaller is Athena. Mrs. Ladron made me promise we’d let nature take its course if we found Thales.”
I extended a gloved hand, and both canines reciprocated with a polite sniff. “Thales will doubtless be willing to cavort with the local goddesses. You take the home farm, and I’ll start with the estate proper. Silforth can’t have hidden the dog at any distance, lest he be seen coming and going to tend to Thales’s needs.”
MacNeil passed me Athena’s leash. “The stable lads mighta done the tending, my lord. They all favor the dog.”
“But Silforth knows better than to trust them. Told me himself spies have no honor.”
“One little duel…” MacNeil stroked Aphrodite’s head. “A single shot, and yet, you refuse.”
“Even the best shot can miss, and the worst can find the target occasionally. This way is better.” Duels meant scandal, regardless of the outcome, and neither Lizzie nor her children deserved that.
We set off in opposite directions as the ducal traveling coach rumbled up the Bloomfield carriageway, raising a plume of dust in its wake. I dodged behind a handy tangle of yew and watched as Arthur, Lady Ophelia, and Hyperia emerged.
“His Grace will make an interesting addition,” I muttered to Athena, who looked up at me with a question in her eyes. “Come along, my dear. I know a fellow who would enjoy courting you. We’ve only to find him.”
We had no luck in the stable, the laundry, the summer kitchen, or any point along the foundation of Bloomfield itself. The manor was sizable enough that Silforth might have had the audacity to keep Thales on the very premises in some unused cellar.
“What am I doing wrong?” I muttered as we rounded the final corner of the springhouse.
Athena dropped to her haunches and waited with the composed air of a well-trained canine.
At the manor house, lunch would be well under way, with the usual talk of harvest plans, Town gossip—Lady Ophelia could be trusted to report on that topic at length—and how the children were coming along with their studies. Silforth might assay some bloviations in Arthur’s direction about the need to build a bridge at the site of the ford.
Arthur would pretend polite interest, and Hyperia would do her best to look impressed.
Thanks to my rear guard, I had some time to search without Silforth seeing me, but not an eternity.
Athena and I ambled along the line of trees that kept the working portion of the property from the view of the stately home portion. She sniffed at the occasional clump of grass or tree root, but hadn’t found much of interest.
My next move wanted some thought, or a lot of thought, and yet, no inspiration befell me.
“Let’s have a rest,” I said to the hound, who’d been accompanying me for better than an hour. One lovely aspect of the foxhound personality was the ability to run for miles on end, or to doze placidly for much of the day, and to enjoy both rest and exertion equally.
Rather like soldiers. Glad to be on the move, glad to have some respite.
I led my canine friend to the steps of the dower house, which had a good view of much of the estate proper. Lizzie’s former home, a symbol of her childhood freedoms… and her covert, according to Silforth.
I sat on the top step, sipping from my flask—Mrs. Gwinnett’s recipe—and turning possibilities over in my mind, while the dog panted gently beside me. The last place I’d expect Silforth to hide Thales would be in the very building where Lizzie occasionally sought refuge, but the dower house was larger than many country manors, and hiding valuables in plain sight was an old and often effective tactic.
Unless Lizzie routinely did a top-to-bottom search of the premises, Thales might well be secreted within its cellars.
“Come along,” I said, getting to my feet. “And you needn’t be polite. If you catch a hint of Thales’s presence, feel free to go into raptures.”
I started on the front terrace, which was probably pointless, but reconnaissance often came down to the art of investigating the seemingly obvious. As Athena and I began to work our way around the foundation of the dower house, lunch might well be concluding. Lady Ophelia could entertain the Regent by the hour with her on-dits and asides, but Silforth would want to stuff his callers back into the coach at the first opportunity.
Though, technically, they were Banter’s callers.
We rounded the first corner, and I beheld what I expected to see—nothing out of order. When a building was unused, keeping it safe from the intrusions of wildlife became a priority. Every window at ground level would be firmly closed against presuming squirrels and hedgehogs, every chimney capped against nesting birds. The smallest gap beneath a door would be sealed against mice…
The dower house was in that shuttered and sealed state, and yet, to my hopeful eye, Athena appeared to become more focused in her sniffing. Maybe Thales was not hidden inside, but he might have been led along this side of the building, out of sight of the manor and the stables.
When I wanted to hurry, I instead let the hound take her time, sniffing and even whining a bit. Foxhounds were bred and schooled not to react to what might interest other dogs—rabbits, rats, deer. A hound who ran riot was quickly demoted from the pack.
A foxhound’s quarry was the fox, and vulpine instinct would have been to skulk along the side of a building rather than cross open ground.
Athena sent me a glance, and I wished Mac were with us. “We’re not looking for foxes today,” I said, feeling inane. “We’re looking for love’s young dream.”
She resumed sniffing, and we rounded the second corner. We were now at the back of the house, where the ground around the half-sunken foundation fell away to allow for direct ingress and egress to the dwelling’s lowest level. Athena whined just as I spotted an encouraging sign.
A window to what might have been the housekeeper’s parlor or servants’ hall had been cracked. Athena all but dragged me to that window and gave a little yip when we reached her destination.
An answering yip came from inside the house, and I wanted to hug my canine goddess.
“Found him, bless your doggy heart. You found the captive, and you and he are due for a bit of a celebration.”
Getting into the building proved simple enough, the key to the kitchen entrance being located exactly where any crook would have looked for it—beneath the boot scrape. I opened the door and was greeted with a strong odor of dog.
Thales was whining and pacing behind the closed door of the servants’ hall. I opened the door—more parfum du chien—to find that blankets had been folded up in a corner to serve as a dog bed, and a large crockery bowl of water sat beneath the window. Two desiccated and well-gnawed hambones graced the carpet.
Despite these amenities, Thales was nonetheless an agitated fellow, alternately hopping about and sniffing Athena’s quarters.
I got out my watch, prayed that Lady Ophelia was in excellent form, and unfastened Athena’s leash.
“You two have fifteen minutes to perpetuate a champion’s legacy,” I said. “Do the regiment proud.”
I left the courting couple in privacy for the stated quarter hour, though it counted among the longest fifteen minutes of my life. I dearly hoped it counted among the happiest fifteen minutes of theirs, for which I tried not to envy them.
Thales and I left Athena in the care of the stable lads, one of whom had been sent to retrieve Mac and Aphrodite from the home farm. To a man, every person in the yard had to pat Thales on the head, tug his ears, or otherwise rejoice in the prodigal’s return.
Thales bore it all graciously and accompanied me to the manor house like the gentleman he was—the satisfied gentleman.
I’d considered various approaches to the coming confrontation.
Silforth, admit to your crimes. Short and to the point, though he wouldn’t admit to anything, of course.
Silforth, behold the evidence of your perfidy. Though a sated hound wasn’t very dramatic evidence.
Silforth, what have you to say for yourself? Too vague, and Silforth would say a great deal, all of it accusing me, the cook, the vicar, or Banter of stealing his puppy.
I had to run another gauntlet of fussing footmen, a beaming butler, and one teary maid to get Thales up to the dining parlor. All the goodwill Silforth should have inspired as the de facto lord of the manor was instead earned by his hound, who wagged his tail and sniffed fingers with unabashed good cheer.
I stood outside the dining parlor at an angle that allowed me to see Silforth seated at Lizzie’s right hand, like a male guest of honor, despite there being a duke at the table. Banter, at the head of the table, had his back to me, while Arthur, Hyperia, Lady Ophelia, and Eleanora were seated along the sides.
Silforth was holding forth about some foal expected in the spring—a champion among hunters, given the bloodlines—while Eleanora toyed with her fruit tart, and everybody else tried to look interested.
If the celestial powers were kind, these would be the last moments Nax Silforth enjoyed holding center stage under another man’s roof, the last time he could look around and see innocent victims forced to tolerate his criminal aspirations.
I let Thales off his leash, and the hound, loyal to the last, trotted into the dining parlor and straight to Silforth.
“Thales!” Silforth was out of his chair and hugging the dog in the next instant. “My boy, my beautiful boy, you’ve come home. Thank the Deity, you’re safe and sound.” Thales bore a fierce embrace with noble patience, while I strolled into the parlor.
“My darling fellow, where in the world have you been?” Silforth went on, kissing the top of Thales’s head. “I was so worried, so worried.”
Lizzie watched this outpouring with a pained smile. Eleanora’s expression was easier to read: Had Thales descended from the heavenly realm sporting wings and a halo, he still had no business in a dining parlor, ever, much less without benefit of a recent bath.
Which he did need.
“This is good news,” Lady Ophelia said. “Julian, wherever did you find him?”
Silforth noticed me for the first time, though his smile did not dim as he rose and extended a hand. “You found him? My lord, I thank you. Where on earth was he?”
I did not accept the proffered handshake. “Right where you left him, in the servants’ hall of the dower house.”
“Where I left him?” Silforth seemed genuinely confused. “I haven’t seen Thales since he ran into the undergrowth more than a week ago. What on earth are you talking about? Clearly, somebody stole my dog and then left him in the dower house when it became obvious that I’d never, ever stop searching for him. Thales means the world to me.”
And yet, Silforth had all but booted my humble self from the property when I was arguably his best hope of finding Thales.
“Have you been searching, Mr. Silforth?” Hyperia asked quietly. “I labor under the impression you emphatically called off the search.”
Silforth resumed his seat, Thales at his side. “Of course I did. Lord Julian had a look around, found nothing, and would have simply muddied the waters with further bumbling. He doesn’t know the terrain, doesn’t know the locals. Somebody put Thales in the one place I’d never think to look for him, and when I find out who, I will not mince words.”
Banter took a sip of his wine using his left hand, his right being wrapped in a white bandage. “You’ll be returning any funds to Dewey and Blaydom, then?”
The last ounce of incredulous rejoicing drained from Silforth’s countenance. “Have you been reading my mail, Banter?”
“Anybody can read the directions on mail left on a sideboard,” Lady Ophelia remarked. “They’re an insurance firm, aren’t they?” She likely knew who their directors were and whether their wives were in charity with them.
“Thales has tremendous value,” Silforth said, stroking his hound’s shoulders. “Enormous value. Of course I insured him.”
“And you apparently reported him dead when he wasn’t,” Eleanora observed. “Was such precipitous action that wise?”
Silforth’s head came up, his eyes narrowed. He seemed to finally realize that the pack had picked up his scent. “I thought the dear creature had expired. I believed he was dead.”
I used the washstand and took a plate from the sideboard. “How did you reach that conclusion?” The offerings included a Welsh rabbit-y sort of casserole, toast with a cheese sauce that was probably supposed to go with the sausages warming in the next dish. I limited myself to the toast and cheese dish and helped myself to some shortbread as well.
“Reach what conclusion?” Silforth asked, watching me fill my plate.
“How did you conclude that your dear creature, the beloved hound who means the world to you, your darling boy, had gone to his eternal reward?”
I took the seat meant for the footman beside the buffet and tried a forkful of the cheese toast. Hot, savory, substantial… good fare.
Silforth’s gaze went to Lizzie, whose expression was difficult to read.
“Explain it to him, Nax,” Lizzie said. “If you made a mistake, then we simply give the money back and hope the courts don’t get involved.”
“Oh dear,” Lady Ophelia murmured. “Please not the courts. Insurance companies are forever trying to drag some hapless fool to the assizes. They see fraud and embezzlement lurking behind even fire and flood.”
Bless Godmama’s thespian skills.
“I could have sworn…” Silforth said. “I thought Thales was lost to me.”
“And you did swear,” I noted between bites of my belated lunch. “You swore out an affidavit and ceased all efforts to locate Thales. You then received the proceeds of his insurance policy almost by return post. What made you so sure Thales was no longer extant?”
Eleanora sipped her wine. “When he was very much extant? Why presume a healthy, tame dog known to all was forever lost to you?”
“Because I thought he was. Thales would never run off. He’s a good dog, the leader of his pack; therefore, somebody must have stolen him.”
Hyperia passed me a half-empty bottle of wine. I poured myself a glass and found it a trifle sweet.
“Agreed,” I said. “Somebody made it appear as if he’d been stolen—though an owner cannot steal his own goods—and then you recovered the insurance proceeds. You might be interested to know, Silforth, that I can tell a bitch from a hound.”
“Really, Julian,” Lady Ophelia muttered. “There are ladies present.”
Silforth met my gaze, and in his eyes, I saw all the fury of the thwarted bully. “What are you talking about, my lord? Has your memory been playing tricks on you again? More tricks?”
“Do be clear, Julian,” Arthur drawled. “Lady Ophelia’s reference to insurance fraud is, alas, not entirely irrelevant.”
“Insurance fraud?” Lizzie’s voice was a trifle faint. “Nax, explain to these people that they are mistaken. Tell them you were merely a bit hasty, that no criminal intent could possibly be found.”
“I have committed no crimes, and I expect my wife, of all people, to show a bit more loyalty.”
“The indignation is a nice touch,” I said, finishing the last bite of toast. “You do it very well, but before you invest in further protestations of innocence, please be aware that the remains you claim to have mistaken for Thales’s were first interred on Mrs. Ladron’s property, in a spot at the foot of her garden, which she personally showed you.”
Silforth’s mouth worked, but nothing came out.
“With apologies to all for the indelicacy of my recitation,” I went on, “I will further inform you that though the markings on Thales’s littermate were a very close match for his own, the pattern of the hair coat, the swirls and cowlicks on the forehead, were different, as were the external indicators of gender. Then too, Thisbe was a smaller specimen than her brother. The details condemn you, Silforth.”
“You have no witnesses,” Silforth spat. “You have only an overactive imagination, wounded pride, and—”
“Lord Julian is right,” Arthur said mildly. “The appearances are damning. To any fraud investigator worth his salt, you took out an exorbitantly expensive policy on a hound in his prime. You were the last person to see the dog, and we have only your word for the fact that Thales went missing. Perhaps you already knew Mrs. Ladron’s Thisbe was ailing, perhaps you poisoned Thisbe—you’d know how to make a dog very, very sick, in any case.”
“This is preposterous,” Silforth said, springing to his feet. “You threaten me with a tissue of lies and innuendo. What sort of man would I be if I stole my own dog?”
Banter spoke gently from the head of the table. “The man you are doesn’t matter, Silforth. It’s the man those insurance lawyers will make you out to be to the jury. The man Society will delight in ruining. The lawyers will claim that whether you poisoned Thisbe or simply gave her a merciful nudge toward eternity, you saw her as your means of collecting on a large policy without sacrificing Thales. You are known to be clever and ambitious, and whether the scheme is yours or not, everybody in this shire will say you are shrewd enough to have concocted it.”
And—such a pity—they’d say so loudly and with heaps of false regret.
“Nax,” Lizzie said, rubbing her forehead, “what are you to do? Even if you don’t hang, the scandal… and Hera will make a come out in a few years, and I still have hopes for Eleanora.”
“Hang?” Silforth croaked.
Interesting, that when faced with the prospect of her husband’s ignominious demise, Lizzie’s thoughts were for her daughter and her sister.
“Surely transportation is more likely,” Banter murmured. “A pillar of the community, a future alderman. Loving father and devoted husband?”
I mentally amended the list: cheating husband, liar, fraud, bully, arrogant papa, extortionist, and lousy horseman.
Eleanora sent Lizzie a glance that bordered on furious.
“This is wrong,” Silforth said, resuming his seat. “I thought my treasured friend was dead. I notified the insurance company promptly, as the policy required me to do. I don’t know anything about Thisbe’s situation, and I don’t want to know.”
Silforth was clearly still counting on being able to bully MacNeil into some sort of complicity with that taradiddle. How are the mighty fallen…
“The jury will want to know all about Thisbe’s situation,” Arthur said, “and they will be most interested in the fact that you were shown the exact location of the grave in Mrs. Ladron’s garden, and that you sold Thisbe to that lady, so you’d be intimately familiar with the dog’s markings.”
“What damned jury?” Silforth wailed. “This is all just a misunderstanding, and I refuse to be taken advantage of by some greedy insurance company.”
Lizzie seemed to come to some silent conclusion, because she spoke next. “You were gone overnight, Nax. You think nothing of covering fifty miles between dawn and dusk, though it might take you three horses to do it, but you didn’t come home when Thales had been missing for two or three days. I recall that—others will, too—and you also spent a night attending Lady Patience, though I’m sure Mac was with her the whole time too. People who don’t know you, people who don’t respect you as I do, might conclude you were grave-robbing.”
“Mac and I took turns,” Silforth retorted. “He napped, I watched. I went for a stroll to clear my head. He watched…”
Silforth looked around the table, doubtless hoping for sympathy, understanding, loyalty, support…
He found the ladies were unwilling to look him in the eye, while Arthur and Banter were both sipping their wine.
“You have a choice,” I said, because nobody else was willing to state the obvious. “You can take your chances with the tender mercies of the courts—the insurance company will prosecute rather than be seen to ignore attempted fraud—and risk transportation, if not worse.”
“I am not a criminal.”
Oh yes, he was.
“Of course you’re not,” Lizzie said. “But let’s hear Lord Julian out. What other option do you see, my lord?”
“Silforth can bolt for the nearest covert.”