Free Gather Ye Rosebuds by Joan Smith Page A

must have spent the money here,” Mama said. “He certainly did not spend it at Hernefield.”
    “Does something special occur on those dates?” I asked. “I am thinking of some item of interest that could have taken them both from home. Horse races, or meetings of some kind.”
    “There would be no races in the dead of winter,” Weylin said. “We must discover what other treats the area offers. Margaret was fond of the theater, for instance.”
    “Surely she would go to London for that,” Mama said. “London is not much farther from Parham than Tunbridge Wells is. Barry’s only interest in the theater was the green room.”
    Over our chicken and roast beef I mentioned my idea of visiting the various jewelry stores and pawnshops. Weylin said he had planned to do that. “You must have wondered why I wanted the glass copy of the necklace,” he said.
    “Yes; in fact, I went into the hall to ask you for it before you left Hernefield, but when I saw you with Steptoe, I forgot about it.”
    “Steptoe,” he said. “He knows something, I think.”
    “Did he say anything to you?” I asked at once.
    “Nothing of any account, but he wore the same oily look he wore when he told me he hadn’t seen my Tang vase. The dealer he sold it to would not identify him. I suspect they were in collusion.”
    “If Steptoe knows anything, what can he hope to gain by not telling us?” Mama asked.
    “He is waiting for us to bribe him,” I said.
    Weylin shook his head. “I’ve already tried that. If we have no success here, our next move will be to have Steptoe watched, have him followed when he leaves Hernefield.”
    Mama said, “You might insert an advertisement in the Tunbridge Journal, asking any friends of Lady Margaret to be in touch with you. She must have had friends here, since she came so often, and over such a long period of time.”
    “Now, that is an excellent idea!” Lord Weylin exclaimed. Mama blushed and simpered like a Bath miss.
    “And her companion, milord—surely she did not come here unaccompanied.”
    “Her companion was a Mrs. Riddle, an old family retainer. She returned north when my aunt died. I did write to her before leaving Parham, but I do not expect a reply for some time. I did not have her address, and wrote in care of Angus Macintosh. That is my aunt’s stepson, who inherited his father’s estate. Can you make inquiries of Mr. McShane’s valet, or groom, or—”
    Mama shook her head. “Barry used to travel alone, on the stage. He did not have a valet. When he needed a carriage, he used mine, but he did not take it when he left town, of course, for we needed it ourselves.”
    “Pity. Had he any close friends...?”
    “Not in England,” Mama said. “We are from Ireland, and he went from there to India. He stuck pretty close to home when he came to live at Hernefield, except for his trips to London.”
    “Or possibly Tunbridge Wells,” I said. “We shall make inquiries at the desk to see if Uncle stayed here.”
    Lord Weylin said, “If he did, he used some other name. I looked over the registers for the past five years. His name is not there, but there are plenty of hotels in the city. We shall ask around while we are here. A pity we hadn’t a picture of him. I brought an ivory miniature of Aunt Margaret.”
    He drew it from his pocket and showed it to us. I had not realized Lady Margaret had been a beauty in her youth. I gazed at a blue-eyed blond lady with soft eyes and a charming smile.
    “I doubt anyone would recognize her from this,” I said, handing it on to Mama.
    “Not at a glance, certainly,” Lord Weylin agreed, “but an old friend would recognize her.”
    “Oh yes, I recognize her,” Mama said. “She was certainly a beauty. Unfortunately, I do not have any picture of Barry at all.” Then she gave her cheek a light slap and laughed. “Our wits are gone begging, Zoie. You must have taken Barry’s likeness a dozen times. Did you keep any of those