‘That’s enough!” Thorpe said, putting his hand in the center of Mr. Grenshaw’s chest.
The rich color ebbed from Mr. Grenshaw’s face, leaving behind traces of fear. “I meant... I meant my twiddly-kitty no harm,” he said, a coaxing tone squeaking in his throat. “Anybody’d get a bit tiffed, hearing things like that. ‘Course she didn’t mean to lie ... just telling a good story on her old grandfather. You had a bad dream, eh, lambsie-bambsie-boo, and just thought you saw me leaving here with the necklace?”
“I’m not a baby!” Addy proclaimed, taking her father’s hand.
Thorpe knelt and looked into Addy’s gray eyes. “Now, Addy, this is serious. Tell me what you saw, as exactly as you can. Don’t be frightened.”
She nodded eagerly to each word, only frowning when he cautioned her against being afraid. Lillian came closer, amazed at the utter ease with which Addy spoke, ignoring as she did the furious adult standing only paces away. “I wanted to play. Everyone was downstairs, then I heard somebody. I looked out the door and over the railing.”
“You were upstairs?” Thorpe asked.
The child nodded. “I saw Grandfather come in here. He had a candle. I waited, hoping he’d come out to play or talk to me. Then he came out.”
“What did he do then?”
“Really,” Mr. Grenshaw said, the sweat starting to bead on his broad forehead. ‘This is ridiculous. The child couldn’t have seen anything. She was dreaming.”
“What did he do then, Addy?” Thorpe prompted.
“He held something up. Like this.” She demonstrated, pretending to hold a candle in one small hand and lifting the other hand to above the level of her eyes. “It shone like the frogs when they’re wet. That’s how I knew it was Great’s necklace. Then he laughed and stuck it in his pocket. I wanted him to come play Rajah, but he didn’t hear me calling. He walked awfully fast.”
Thorpe said, “Thank you, love.”
Deliberately, uncoiling his long legs, he stood up, turning at the same time to face Mr. Grenshaw. Lillian caught a glimpse of his eyes, the same color as malachite and as hard. Though the glance was not directed at her, she shivered at its coldness.
Thorpe extended one broad, bronzed hand. “Give it to me,” he said in a tone that boded ill to anyone unwise enough to offer an argument.
Mr. Grenshaw stared at Thorpe’s hand, as birds stare at dancing cobras. As though he hated to do it, Mr. Grenshaw raised his eyes a scant inch at a time. Meeting the full force of Thorpe’s anger, he visibly blenched. Then, with an attempt at a carefree shrug, he reached into the pocket of his dressing gown and handed Thorpe a soft white roll of cloth. “I say, you don’t need to open it. Anyone would think you don’t trust me.” He began edging toward the door.
“Stay where you are,” Thorpe said. The cloth lay empty in his hand. “Where is it? And don’t try any more tricks; I’m simply in no humor for them.”
Mr. Grenshaw’s face, little by little, had lost all its jollity. “They’re where you won’t find ‘em. If you’d been reasonable and given me the money like I asked, civil like, or if you’d wanted to marry the gel, there wouldn’t have been any need for unpleasantness.”
Thorpe ignored him. “Becksnaff, search his room ... and his wife’s.”
“Yes, sir. I shall ask one of the others to help me, sir.”
“You go, Gilbert,” Nora said. “I don’t want the other servants to know about... this. And I’ll help Mr. Becksnaff with my aunt’s room.”
“Thank you, Miss Ellis,” the butler said. He and the two young people went out of the room. Nora never glanced back.
Mr. Grenshaw looked furtively around as though searching for an escape. Then he sank into a chair and put his head in his hands. Lillian almost felt sorry for him, perhaps because all his troubles were his own fault. He asked without looking up, “What—what are you going to do now, Thorpe?”
“Do?”
“With me. of course,” Mr. Grenshaw sounded, if anything, slightly insulted. “Are you going to turn me over to the Runners? It’ll mean the nubbing cheat for me if you do. Hanging,” he translated, seeing that everyone looked blank.
“That’s probably true,” Thorpe answered.
Giving the impression that she would explode unless she let out some pressure, Mrs. Grenshaw darted forward. “You’re being ridiculous, Thorpe. What are those emeralds to you? You’re so rich you could lose a dozen like them and never miss them. They should have been my Emily’s, anyway.
She
wouldn’t begrudge her own father the sort of small sum you’ve refused to give him.”
“I will not be stolen from.” Thorpe turned away, his lips moving as he whispered something. Only Lillian and Addy stood close enough to hear, “Surely every man ...”
Though they seemed familiar, Lillian could not place the words, and anyway she was immediately distracted by Mrs. Grenshaw screeching, “How dare you turn your back on me! May I remind you that I am still the mother of your wife! If she were alive—”
Lady Genevieve spoke up. “If your daughter were alive, I for one would not be living in this house. She gave no thought or consideration to anyone save herself.” Mrs. Grenshaw tried to break in, but Lady Genevieve continued as though she were giving a long-rehearsed speech. “Her morals are best not mentioned, but after this behavior of yours tonight, I can see how she came by them. Did you think my grandson would be taken in again by your foolish trickery? Did you think I would allow him to be so blind a second time?”
Mrs. Grenshaw took in two or three gasping breaths as if the air had suddenly grown too hot for her comfort. “Of all the... When have you ever cared for anyone or anything outside your own precious Everards? You hated my Emily because she wasn’t your handpicked bride for him. You didn’t choose her the way you chose your sons’ wives. Well, she at least loved him!”
“She loved his fortune!”
“She had a baby for him!”
“Speaking of whom,” Lillian said, rapidly interrupting. She indicated Addy by a gesture. The girl stood watching the two women shouting like a pair of low-bred harridans, her head swiveling between the speakers as though she watched court tennis. Both women clapped their mouths closed, though they continued to glare. Lillian added, “You were right, my lady. It is high time she was in bed. Come along, Addy. Say good night to everyone.”
Despite the drama she’d witnessed, Addy could still smile as she bobbed her childish curtsy. “Good night. Great and Papa, Grandmother and Grandfather.” As Lillian escorted the girl from the room, Addy said, “Is Grandfather really going to be hung?”
“No, dear, of course not.” Lillian felt, however, as if she were about to be placed in that unfortunate position. Though Lady Genevieve had hidden the sapphires from all other gazes, Lillian did not for a moment assume that the older woman had forgotten about them. As soon as the matter of the Grenshaws was shelved, Lady Genevieve would come demanding answers.
Lillian tucked the child into her small white bed, searching for the words of wisdom that would calm any fears Addy might be harboring. As she sat on the edge of the bed, she tried to think how to begin. The silence needed to be broken before it became permanent. Seeing on the table a tray holding an empty bowl, she asked, “Did you enjoy your custard?”
“Oh, yes. Did they give you some at the party?”
“No, I didn’t have anything to eat.” She’d been too busy drifting in a dream with Thorpe. Concentrating on the small face at her elbow, she began haltingly, “Addy, I—I don’t want you to feel worried or upset by ... anything. Adults are sometimes confused and do silly things. But, all will be well in the morning. I think so anyway.”
“Miss
Cole ... would you ...”
“Yes, Addy?”
“Would you tell me about Chani and Noorina again?”
“Again? I’ve hardly had the chance to tell you any other of my Indian stories.” Could it be that the child did not understand any of the scene she’d just watched, that the expression of heated emotions had passed over her head like a flight of noisy geese?
“I like that one best,” Addy said, snuggling down beneath the blanket.
“You never stay awake for all of it.”
“I will this time. I promise.”
“Very well.” Once again, Lillian began the tale of the handsome prince and the serving maid. Addy’s rosebud lips moved soundlessly, repeating Noorina’s testament of faith in her beloved. “ ‘I know my Chani will always be faithful.’
“The city was full of golden spires and silver walls. Sweet smells and happy music filled the air. His companions urged Chani to visit. It would be impolite to ignore the rulers of such magnificence. Listening to his friends, Chani wanted very much to see the city.”
“He shouldn’t do that,” Addy said, half singing the words.
“That’s what Noorina thought. She told Chani about the evil queen’s promise. Chani laughed and said, ‘Indeed, I will be faithful. I shall kiss no one but you and that at dawn when I return.’ He rode away.”
“And Noorina cried,” Addy prompted.
“Not yet. First, Chani was greeted by the rajah and his rani who were all resplendent in silks and—and cloth of gold.” The last time, Lillian had said diamonds and pearls, and she’d seen the result of that flight of fancy. “Behind them came a nursemaid carrying their infant prince. Thinking of the children he hoped to have someday, Chani held out his arms for the child. As they laughed and played together, Chani kissed the baby before giving him back. Instantly, all memory of Noorina left his mind, though he’d not changed outwardly. By some chance—”
“Which was no chance,” Addy said, one second faster than Lillian.
‘That’s right. The evil queen arrived at that same moment. Bringing wine, she gave it to Chani, and the love charm she’d slipped into the cup took hold of him.
“Noorina waited beneath a bountiful bo-tree and ate nothing, though the branches were bent by the weight of the figs. When dawn came without Chani, she sent her maids to find him. But, beguiled by the city’s wonders, they did not return either.”
“Noorina cried ‘cause she thought Chani didn’t love her anymore.”
“Exactly. Next time, you can tell this story to me. She waited for three days, crying all the time. She cried so much that she dwindled down into a white flower in the dust by the side of the road.” Addy’s eyes were as big as eggs at the recitation of this miracle.
“Soon after, an old man, bowed down by hard work, passed by and, stopping to eat the figs, saw the flower. It was so beautiful that he dug it up and took it home to cheer his loneliness. Noorina found her sorrow lessened if she helped another. So every day when the old man went out, she cleaned his house and cooked him fine meals without revealing herself. The old man enjoyed this until he thought perhaps there was some evil spirit behind it. He went to visit a wise old woman who said, ‘When you awake tomorrow, lie still. Seize the first thing in your house that moves and it will answer all your questions.’ “
“And it did.”
“The old man did as she told him. His eyes wide, he saw the white flower bend and stretch in its pot. When he took hold of it, Noorina became herself again. She told him her sad tale—just as I’ve told it to you—and he said, ‘Your rajah marries the queen tomorrow. But no one goes near him until after the wedding, not even his friends.’ “
“Then Noorina cried. She does that a lot.”
“But she stopped in time, before she turned again into a pale flower. She made a plan to win back Chani. She went early on the morning of the wedding to the palace and said to the chief cook, ‘I am the finest baker in the world. I have come to bake a wedding cake for the rajah and his bride.’
“At first, the cook laughed, but when Noorina made a cake so light and sweet that it floated in the air, he agreed at once. The chef himself carried the cake in before Chani, who at once cut it open. To the guests’ amazement, two white birds flew out, and one said to the other, ‘Do not fly on so fast, my beloved, lest you forget me as Chani forgot Noorina.’ ” Lillian stopped to see if Addy had fallen asleep.
“What happened then?” Addy demanded, sitting up in bed.
“Why, Chani cried out, leapt to his feet, and ran to where his lovely maid awaited him. But the evil queen was there first, reaching out with sharp nails to rend the girl in pieces. Out came Chani’s sword, and he cut the queen in two with one flick of the blade.”
“Hoorah!”
“Embracing Noorina, he saw the evil queen shrivel and change into a hideous harpy. He loved Noorina all the more for her wisdom in saving him from the evil creature’s clutches.”
Addy clapped her hands, and then a frown came into her smooth forehead. “What happened to the old man? And did the other rajah mean to make Chani forget about Noorina? And what about those maids?”
Unfortunately, the story ended as Lillian had told it when an aged ayah of her friends, the McGiverns, had repeated it to a group of enraptured children. When Lillian had told it herself on the ship returning from India, none of the children had asked any such questions, and Addy herself had been too sleepy last time to do more than smile at the happy ending. Lillian was tempted to merely answer that she didn’t know, but looking into Addy’s solemn face, she decided to make up another ending, one which wrapped up all loose ends. Addy had seen enough doubtful conclusions for one night.
“Oh, yes. Well, after promising friendship to the rulers of the marvelous city, who were as surprised as anyone to find the queen was really a monster, and after showering the kind old man with enough gold to make his life pleasant ever after, Chani and Noorina took up their followers and traveled safely to their home where . .. where they and their many children lived in peace and harmony for the rest of their days.” Lillian drew a long breath. ‘That’s the end.”
Addy nodded. “Much better. Don’t you think that’s a good ending, Great?”
When Thorpe had listened to her tell this tale, Lillian had known by some other sense than the five usually counted that he was there. The presence of Lady Genevieve came as a shock, though she’d half expected her. Lillian turned her head quickly.
Lady Genevieve stood in the doorway, her emeralds gleaming once again about her throat. Lillian, however, hardly looked at the recovered gems. Around and around her forefinger Lady Genevieve swung the sapphires, blurring the distinct light of each stone into an insubstantial disk of blue. She did not need to speak; her raised eyebrows said enough.