Henry, in the next chair a
long, looked up as he sat. "Dashed odd business, last night. The mater's still shaken. Hate to say it, but I really do feel young Gerrard's gone far enough with this 'Spectre' nonsense."
Vane raised his brows. "Actually-"
A snort from the door cut him off; Whitticombe entered. The young bounder should be thrashed-scaring gently bred females like that. Needs a firm hand applied to his reins-he's been left in the care of women too long."
Inwardly, Vane stiffened; outwardly, not a ripple marred his habitually urbane expression. He swallowed an impulse to defend Patience, and Minnie, too. Instead, he manufactured an expression of boredom only mildly piqued. "Why are you so sure it was Gerrard last night?"
At the sideboard, Whitticombe turned, but was beaten to speech by the General. "Stands to reason," he wheezed, stumping in. "Who else could it have been, heh?"
Again, Vane's brows rose. "Almost anyone, as far as I could see."
"Nonsense!" the General huffed, leaning his stick against the sideboard.
"Other than myself, Minnie, Timms, Miss Debbington, Angela, and Mrs. Chadwick," Vane reiterated, "any one of you could have been the culprit."
Turning, the General glared at him from under overhanging brows. "You've shaken a screw loose with too much racketing about. Why the devil would any of us want to put the wind up Agatha Chadwick?"
Gerrard, bright-eyed, swung through the door-and came to a dead halt. His face, initially filled with boyish anticipation, drained of expression.
Vane trapped Gerrard's gaze, then, with his eyes, indicated the sideboard. "Indeed," he drawled as Gerrard, now stiff and tense, moved to serve himself, "but, using precisely the same reasoning, why would Gerrard?"
The General scowled and shot a glance at Gerrard's back. Carrying a plate piled high with kedgeree, the General pulled out a chair farther along the table. Whitticombe, tight-lipped, censoriously silent, took a place opposite.
Frowning, Henry shifted in his seat. He, too, looked at Gerrard, busy at the sideboard, then studied his now-empty plate. "I don't know-but I suppose boys will be boys."
"As one who used that excuse to extremes, I feel compelled to point out that Gerrard is several years past the stage where that explanation applies." Vane met Gerrard's eyes as he turned from the sideboard, a full plate in his hands. Gerrard's face was lightly flushed, his gaze watchful. Vane smiled easily and waved to the chair beside his. "But perhaps he can suggest something? What say you, Gerrard-can you give us a reason why someone might want to scare Mrs. Chadwick?"
To his credit, Gerrard didn't rush into speech; he frowned as he set his plate down, then shook his head slowly as he sat. "I can't think of any reason why anyone would want to make Mrs. Chadwick screech." He grimaced at the memory. "But"-he flicked a grateful glance at Vane-"I did wonder if the fright was incidental and the person at the door was really the thief."
The suggestion made all at the table think-after a moment, Henry nodded. "Could be-indeed, why not?"
"Regardless," Whitticombe put in, "I can't conceive who this thief could be either." His tone made it clear he still suspected Gerrard.
Vane directed a mildly questioning glance at Gerrard.
Encouraged, Gerrard shrugged. "I can't see what any of us would want with all the knickknacks and fripperies that have disappeared."
The General gave one of his distinguishing snorts. "Perhaps because they're fripperies? Just the sort of things to woo a flighty maid with, heh?" His penetrating stare again fixed on Gerrard.
Ready color rose to Gerrard's cheeks.
"Not guilty! On my honor, I swear it!"
The words came in ringing tones from the doorway. They all looked around-on the threshold, Edmond stood poised in the attitude of a supplicant pleading for justice from the bench. He broke from his pose; grinning, he bowed, then straightened and loped to the sideboard. "Sorry to disappoint you, but I feel obliged to puncture that fantasy. None of the maids here would accept such tokens of esteem-the staff have all been alerted to the thefts. And as for the surrounding villages"-he paused dramatically and rolled an anguished eye at Vane-"believe me, there's not a likely miss within a day's ride!"
Vane hid his grin behind his coffee cup; over the rim, he met Gerrard's laughing eyes.
The sound of briskly swishing skirts drew all eyes to the door. Patience appeared in the doorway. Chairs scraped as they all made to rise. She waved them back. Pausing on the threshold, she swiftly scanned the room, her gaze fixing at the last on Gerrard. And his affectionate smile.
Vane noticed the way Patience's breasts rose and fell, noticed the light blush in her cheeks. She'd been scurrying.
She blinked, then, with a general nod, headed for the sideboard.
Vane redirected the conversation to matters less fraught.
"The Northants Hunt is the nearest," Henry replied to his question.