Two weeks later the invitation to the ball at Varangian was delivered at Applegarth. Jessica put the gold-edged card beside the pile of beans on the table and Tamsin looked at her.
“Shall you be going then?”
“I don’t think so.”
Tamsin looked at it, reading slowly. “ ‘Please come, Jessica, for I think it would be the best course, both for Henbury and for you. Francis.’ Well, happen Sir Francis do think you should.”
“I couldn’t.” The recent disaster of her visit to Henbury was too strong and painful.
“Listen, Miss Jess, ‘tis time the folks hereabouts realized you’m not one of them ladies’ entertaining different men each night, and sometimes in the day as well! You made a mistake—and mistake it were, so don’t go pretending it weren’t—and now ‘tis all done with. A start has to be made somewhere and this ball do seem as good a spot as any.”
“I could not endure so embarrassing an evening, Tamsin. Truly, I couldn’t. They would all stare and whisper, and only the most lecherous of the men would offer to partner me. It would all be too much. And Rosamund would be there.”
“You always could handle that one. Ignore her, Miss Jess. Pretend she don’t exist. Balls is for enjoyment, for prettying yourself up and having a good time. You think on it a little. Old Tamsin knows what’s best for you, and skulking here all the time ain’t right at all.”
“I will think about it, but I don’t really want to go. Francis means well, but it wouldn’t be right for me to foist myself on Henbury society when that society most plainly does not want me.”
Tamsin went on slicing the beans, glancing out of the window. “Someone’s paying a visit. I wonder who he be?”
A man with a thin, nervous face rode a stout gray cob across the orchard toward the cottage. He was dressed in a brown cloth coat of a good cut without being too fashionable, and as he dismounted he wiped his forehead with his kerchief, as if unsettled, or even shocked. Jessica opened the door to him, rather alarmed at the pallor of his face.
“Er, Miss Durleigh? Miss Jessica Durleigh?”
“I am, sir. Please come in. Are you all right?” She drew a chair quickly and motioned him to sit down.
“Thank you kindly, madam. I fear I have had something of a fright. I was just leaving the Feathers when there was a commotion outside. It appears some mail from a lost mail bag was at last being handed out to the various people whose letters had gone astray, and Sir Francis Varangian was passing. There was a letter for him. He took one look at it, went as white as a sheet and drove his curricle blindly forward without looking. He almost drove over me. I am not a fine rider at the best of times, and it gave me such a fright. Dear me, I have never seen Sir Francis in such a way before. He did not halt to apologize, nor even say anything. He just drove on over the ford and away. So unlike him—oh, dear me, yes. Now then, Miss Durleigh, allow me to introduce myself. I am Jethro Slade, the jeweler of Bath. My card.”
She took the little card. “Mr. Slade?” Why had he come to see her?
“I was beginning to be concerned as to what I should do, and then the letter arrived yesterday and set my mind at rest.”
“I am afraid, sir, that I do not understand.”
“The necklace Mr. Philip Woodville commissioned.”
Slade’s of Bath. Suddenly she remembered the receipt Nicholas had shown her. “But Mr. Philip is. . . .”
“Oh, I realize he cannot be here, for indeed the letter came from London only yesterday.”
Her face was still. “Is this some joke, Mr. Slade?”
“Joke? Oh, dear me, I hope not. I have the letter here. It is Mr. Philip’s writing, is it not?” He took a creased envelope from his waistcoat pocket and handed it to her.
“Yes, yes, it is his writing.” Her hands shook a little and she gave it back quickly. “But, Mr. Slade, the letter cannot have come only yesterday, for Philip has been dead for some months now.”
How terribly cold and detached the words sounded. Suddenly she thought of the stolen mail bag. “Could it perhaps have been in the mail bag which was stolen at Hangman’s Cross?”
The jeweler was blinking as he absorbed the news of Philip’s death. “Dead you say? Oh, dear me, dear, dear me. Stolen mail bag? Yes, I suppose that it could. Sometimes my mail is re-routed this way. It is possible. Oh, my dear Miss Durleigh, I trust that I have not caused you any distress by my visit, but truly I did not know.”
“Of course you did not, Mr. Slade. Please do not concern yourself so.”
He polished his glasses busily on a cloth, looking shortsightedly at her. “I had had the necklace for so long that I had begun to worry over it—it is so valuable, don’t you see. Most definitely the finest piece I have ever created—from the finest stones, of course, but nonetheless I am very proud of it. The letter told me to deliver the necklace to Miss Durleigh at Applegarth, and so here it is.” He took a long, red leather box from his pocket and laid it in her hands.
She opened the box and saw the necklace resting on its cushion of black velvet. It was so magnificent that she caught her breath, and Tamsin set down her vegetable knife with a clatter as she, too, stared at the flashing, brilliant beauty of the diamonds. They were large and clear and perfectly matched, and an exquisite adornment for any woman’s throat; but all Jessica could think of was the enormous price Philip had paid for it.
Mr. Slade cleared his throat. “I must confess to being somewhat relieved at having discharged my duty in this. I confess also that such a necklace deserves so beautiful an owner.”
“It is mine?”
“Oh, yes. It was commissioned simply and solely for you. Mr. Philip was quite adamant, and the letter was confirmation of that. I shall be proud indeed when next you attend a ball and my creation draws the admiration of one and all.”
A ball. Jessica looked quickly at Tamsin. Was this perhaps a sign that she should go to Varangian after all?
“Mr. Slade, do you know the nearest posting inn?”
“Why, yes. The Feathers is one such now, for there are postboys in their yellow jackets, and this afternoon I saw a post-chaise in the yard.”
Jessica came to a sudden decision. “Then, Tamsin, I shall go after all.” She lifted the necklace from its box. “Can you imagine anything finer to set off the yellow silk evening gown?”
“No, Miss Jess, nothing finer on earth. And now, Mr. Slade, shall you take a glass of Madeira before you return?”
“Why thank you, thank you kindly. I am still a little unnerved by my encounter with Sir Francis.”
Tamsin smoothed her apron and brought some sparkling glasses from a cupboard. The amber-colored wine made a pleasing sound as it was poured, and the jeweler watched appreciatively. “There are few finer wines, Miss Durleigh. I’ve always had a taste for good Madeira.”
He drank, almost smacking his lips with pleasure. Tamsin’s nose twitched; the jeweler tried to act like gentry, when he was no better than she was.
The Madeira, however, proved stronger than the unfortunate Mr. Slade had imagined, for after the second glass he was smiling genially, his cheeks red and his eyes bright. He stood to take his leave, reaching unsteadily for his hat, and his glance fell upon the necklace’s box.
“Strange thing that, it’s been puzzling me. I always thought they couldn’t stand the sight of each other.”
“Who?” Jessica handed him the hat.
“Mr. Woodville and Sir Francis.”
“Why do you say that?”
He patted the hat on his head. “The necklace. Paid for by Mr. Woodville with a draft from Sir Francis.” His smile faded uncomfortably. “Upon my word, Miss Durleigh, again I must ask your forgiveness. My last comments were indiscreet and not at all what should have been said. Don’t know what came over me.”
“You say that Sir Francis put up the money for the necklace?”
He cleared his throat. “Not exactly. The money came originally from Varangian—more than that I cannot say. See, it is here in my little book.” He fished a small leather book from his pocket and flipped the pages until he came to the one he sought. “There.”
She took it and saw the neat writing. There was no mistake—Philip had indeed paid with money from Francis. But why? Why on earth would Francis have dealings with Philip whom he neither liked nor respected? And why so vast a sum for such a purpose? She closed the book thoughtfully.
The newly raddled floor was slippery, and Mr. Slade’s equilibrium most certainly suspect now. He took a step toward the door and his boot slid alarmingly. Tamsin squeaked as she reached out to steady him, and Jessica forgot the book as she accompanied the jeweler to his patient cob.
He had left Applegarth on his return journey when she realized that she still had the book. Neither she nor Tamsin spoke in the quiet kitchen where the only sound was the steady slicing of the beans. A sense of unease pervaded Jessica as she looked at the book and the necklace. How much was there that she did not know? She locked them both in a cupboard and put the key in her reticule.
“Tamsin?” She turned to look at the older woman.
“I don’t know, Miss Jess, I just don’t know. And that’s a fact.”