‘It was so embarrassing; I did not know where to put myself.’ Bessie had adopted her mistress-to-servant voice.
‘What was I supposed to do?’ Jack answered reasonably. ‘I could not say that it was a tissue of lies.’ He ruefully held up his prized jacket. There was a red stain down one sleeve and the gold cuff was now maroon. His fall had been so spontaneous that he hadn’t noticed the servant coming up behind him with a tray of drinks. The servant had been bowled over along with the glasses, all full.
‘Could you have not made up some story? You are very good at that!’ Bessie too was undressing. She was not so peeved that she had banished him to his room. They had gone straight up to her bedroom as soon as they had entered the house. ‘I hope Captain Hogg does not demand recompense for his broken glasses and that clock; those French ones are most expensive.’ The servant’s flying drinks tray had done that. Christ, more money I owe, Jack thought dejectedly.
He had started to plot his escape as he lay on the floor feigning illness. Courtney had rushed over and roughly loosened his choker – now that was ruined, too – and others had lifted him into a chair. He gave it a few minutes before he came round. Manfully, he recovered – ‘must be the heat’ – and, with Bessie as support, departed quickly. Fortunately, everyone was too drunk to notice or worry except Catherine who, behind Bessie’s back, indicated a bag of coins. Money was available. He had decided to take up Catherine’s offer despite his feelings for both her and Bessie. Admiring them from the grave was not as romantic as lovesick poets might lead you to believe, Jack concluded. In disgust, he threw his ruined jacket over the large clothes chest in the corner.
‘Why do you chase after that doxy Balmore when you have got me?’ Bessie was standing naked by the bed. The flickering candlelight played tantalisingly over her body, accentuating the roundness of her young breasts, still-flat stomach that would soon disappear with children, and the smooth curves of her thighs. She was very beautiful in her own way, and highly desirable. And he was going to leave her behind! He must be mad. ‘And will you wear this for me?’ she said, producing that awful wig. ‘You know what it does to me.’
How could he refuse? His clothes were off when he suddenly stopped. It must have been the reference to Catherine that sparked it off.
‘What is the matter?’ asked Bessie, who was now demurely sitting up in bed, though her bosom hung seductively over the sheet.
‘Bowser. I have just remembered what Catherine said.’
Bessie petulantly covered up her breasts and huffed. ‘Her again!’
‘No, you do not understand. It was a remark she made. She had heard through Hogg that Bowser’s men were searching for something that had been stolen. Now we know the only thing I took was the tea caddy. Is it worth going to such an effort to recover?’
‘Tea is an expensive item.’
‘Possibly, but surely not so expensive that Bowser sends his men out to find it.’
‘That is strange. Bowser called yesterday. No, he did not try anything,’ she answered his unspoken enquiry. ‘He appeared too preoccupied for that. He did ask where you were that night. I repeated what I told him at the time, that you were out drinking with Southby.’
‘Did he believe you?’
She was shocked. ‘Of course he did. I lie better than you.’
‘We must look at that tea caddy again.’ Jack sprang back into his breeches, scooped up a candle and rushed out of the door, ignoring Bessie’s cry of, ‘Not now, Jack, wait until after.’ And then a plaintive, ‘Do you not want me?’
‘Lord love us!’ exclaimed Jack. He stood just inside the parlour door. Even by the limited candlelight, he could see the mess. Acorn’s chest had been smashed open, its contents of documents and letters strewn over the floor. There were even some women’s knick-knacks – handkerchiefs, baubles, a lace cap; Acorn must have loved his wife enough to have kept them. Every drawer and cupboard had been opened and ransacked. On further inspection, both the drawing room, which was only used for special occasions, and the dining room had been subjected to the same rigorous attention.
Back in the hall, he met Bessie, who was now in her nightgown. ‘I am afraid Bowser did not believe you.’
Bessie went into the parlour and gasped. ‘Oh no, what have they done? All this for a tea caddy?’
‘Presumably, they have got it back.’ The last time he had seen the object, it had been hidden behind the chest.
‘Not unless they searched the kitchen. When I saw Bowser approaching the house yesterday, I hurriedly put it in there, just in case. It would have been difficult to explain if he chanced upon it.’
‘More than that, I suspect. If it is still here, I would gamble we will find more than best Indian. If his roughnecks have found it – and he thinks we know what it contains – we had better go and dig our own graves now.’
This hurried them into the kitchen. The tea caddy was still where Bessie had hidden it – in the cool pantry.
‘What I do not understand is how they could have searched the house without Hilda hearing them.’
‘Hilda.’ Bessie said in alarm. ‘Goodness, they may have…’ She didn’t want to take her train of thought any further. ‘You take the caddy to the parlour. I will see if Hilda is all right.’
It took Jack twenty-five frustrating minutes to try and work out how to find what he was sure were the hidden contents of the caddy. He turned it up, this way and that. He pressed every part of the sides, the top and the bottom in the hope of setting off a spring that would open up some secret compartment. He even unscrewed every piece of brass – handle and all. Then, in exasperation, Bessie suggested he lift up the trays of tea inside the box. Typical of a woman to suggest the obvious.
She was already in a foul mood. She had discovered a drunken Hilda slumped across her bed. On waking her roughly, it transpired that some fellow had appeared at the kitchen door and asked the maid out for a quick ale. With Hilda’s looks, invitations of this kind were few and far between. She didn’t remember much else. Bessie would sort her out in the morning when she sobered up.
But then Bessie cheered up. There was something underneath the tea. ‘This must be the letter,’ he said, passing Bessie a musky, faded piece of paper. The writing was in a woman’s hand.
‘Yes, this is it. What an odd place to keep it. Why did he not lock it away somewhere safer?’
‘It was safe. Is it not the last hidey-hole one would look for important papers? Bowser was not to know some lunatic would be stupid enough to steal it.’
Bessie flashed an apologetic grin. ‘I am sorry for being so cross with you. Yet surely you cannot blame me.’
‘At least I did not risk my life in vain.’
‘All right, you are my brave Leonidas. Now, what else is in there?’
Jack reached in and pulled out a batch of papers tied round with a piece of blue ribbon. There was nothing old about this little lot.