Belle (The Daughters of Allamont Hall Book 2) Page 10

  “Oh, no, no!” he said in alarm. “No, that would never do. And he is not at all a friend, Miss Featherstone. I am trying to find him because…” He hesitated. Should he reveal what he knew? Yet it would surely be wrong to keep such information from one who had entrusted the thief with her books. “He has something that belongs to a lady of my acquaintance.”

  “Oh! A pickpocket? Or… something worse?”

  “I do not quite know how to describe him. He is a man who preys on the gullible and innocent, and persuades them to give him money, and he is not above stealing the spoons, either.”

  “Oh! That is very bad. And he has a number of my books in his possession, Mr Burford, which I might never see again. Yet he looks such a respectable gentleman.”

  “That is true, but I imagine that to be a necessary prerequisite for his career. If he were to look like a villain, no one would trust him with their money or property.”

  “What should I do, Mr Burford? I do not want him on my lists if he might steal my books, for they are my livelihood.”

  “He is an educated man, so I suspect that he respects books more than spoons. Did he give his address?”

  “Yes, now let me see…” She ran her finger down the page of her subscription book. “Oh, yes, I recall now, he is staying with friends. Here it is. ‘Allamont Hall, Lower Brinford.’”

  Burford laughed and shook his head. “The man is a shameless scoundrel! That is the home of the lady whose money he stole. He is certainly not there. But if he comes in here regularly, we may yet find out where he lives. Say nothing to him, Miss Featherstone, but if you see him, let me know.”

  Burford did not account himself a particularly lucky man, in general, for whenever he had laid a sovereign or two on the outcome of a race or a prize fight, the money was invariably lost. Today, however, he was very lucky, for the very person he sought arrived not half an hour later. Burford was engrossed in a book, with several more under his arm, when he felt a little tug on his sleeve. It was Miss Featherstone, winking and raising her eyebrows alternately. At first he was flummoxed, but gradually it dawned on him that she was trying to convey a message without making a sound.

  At once he looked around the room, and there, not ten paces away, was the very man. Mr Alder, he supposed, for the moment.

  Burford nodded an acknowledgement to Miss Featherstone, who crept away. Quickly Burford concealed himself as best he could behind a pillar further away, from which position he could watch the thief without, he hoped, attracting too much attention to himself.

  For some time, the man wandered about, examining books and occasionally selecting one that caught his eye. Then, so abruptly that he took Burford by surprise, he strode off to the desk, chatting amiably to Miss Featherstone while her assistant wrote down the details of his books. And then he whisked out of the door and away up the street.

  Burford trotted across to the desk, dropped his own books there with a hurried, “I shall be back directly,” and rushed out to the street. Mr Alder’s blue coat was still visible, just turning into the square. Burford ran, although the crowded pavement made this difficult and he attracted some black looks. He bumped into at least two elderly gentlemen who were not agile enough to leap aside to avoid him. “So sorry!” he cried, as he raced past. But his efforts were rewarded, for when he reached the corner himself, the blue coat was not twenty paces ahead of him.

  Puffing a little, for it was some years since he had had occasion to run so far, Burford sidled along in his quarry’s wake. At first, they progressed along Brinchester’s finest streets, lined with banks, the Assembly Rooms, the town house and court house, the wool exchange, and all the most stylish shops. Then the blue coat turned into a quieter street and another even quieter, with no pavements and rows of small houses, some in need of fresh paint on doors and window frames. Many had notices in the windows advertising rooms to let.

  The blue coat turned and mounted the steps to a house in the middle of the row. At that moment, hand raised to knock, he looked up the street and his face changed as he saw Burford bearing down on him.

  12: Death And Books

  The man in the blue coat had a very short time to determine his response. Burford expected him to disappear into the house, but to his surprise the man smiled and came back down the steps again.

  “Mr… Burford, is it not? I am very glad to see you, sir.” And to Burford’s utter incredulity, the thief held out his hand.

  Burford stared at him. “You astonish me, sir! After your behaviour, you can hardly expect me to shake your hand.”

  “Ah, indeed, you are quite right to chastise me, for I have been most remiss with my correspondence. I have not yet written to Miss Allamont to explain the reason for my delay in taking up my post at Lower Brinford. Happily, my sister is on the mend now, and I hope to be there within a fortnight.”

  This effrontery quite took Burford’s breath away. “You will understand, I am sure, that I do not believe a word you say. No honest man would steal spoons and ink, and sell them on, and then pretend that all is well.”

  “I have done nothing dishonest, I assure you, sir. I have only borrowed money for a little while. It will all be repaid. My intent was to do everything I told Miss Allamont, but my sister was so ill, and in sore need of medicine—”

  “Tell me no more of your lies! There is a constable’s house just off Withers Street, and the sooner you are arrested and locked away from society as you deserve, the better. Then we shall let the magistrate decide your fate.”

  “No! Not that!” he cried out. “You know how it will be, no one believes the man accused, and I shall be hanged!”

  “You should have thought of that before you began your wickedness. To prey on the innocent as you have done is despicable, and there is nothing can excuse your actions. You are not a labourer, reduced to desperation, stealing bread to feed his starving family. You are an educated man, who could get honest work — indeed, you were offered honest work. You should know better, sir.”

  The man hung his head, as if ashamed, but Burford had not the least faith in his sincerity. A man who would lie to and steal from people as generous and kind as Miss Belle could not be trusted. He was determined to summon the constable, and was looking about for the number of the house in order to direct him there, when the man spoke again, his voice low.

  “You are a man of God, sir, and a Christian, and I know you have it in your heart to forgive a sinner who is repentant. Let me return the fifty pounds to you — or most of it, for I have spent a little — and then perhaps we can go our separate ways, I to learn from my errors, and you to pray for my soul. Sir, I beg you not to call the constable, for then there would be a trial at the assizes, and such public attention! I would not have the young ladies forced to appear before the magistrates to give evidence.”

  Burford had to concede that this was a good point. Trials were a great source of amusement for the public, high and low alike, and were reported in the newspapers. The thought of Miss Belle’s name being spoken in taverns and markets, and becoming the object of gossip, perhaps to have her laughed at as a gullible fool — it was insupportable.

  “Here, sir.” The thief reached into a pocket, and brought out a kerchief, knotted about, the coins clinking inside the little parcel. “Here, this is what remains of the money. I have not spent above a pound or two, and the ladies will not miss that, will they? For they have so much, and I have so little. That is the best I can do, Mr Burford. Pray tell them I am very sorry, and I will never do such a thing again.”

  He pressed it into Burford’s hand, and began to back away towards his house. As Burford made no move to stop him, he bowed. “Thank you, sir. May God bless you for your Christian charity this day. Thank you, sir.”

  And then he skipped up the steps and was gone.

  ~~~~~

  “I daresay you both think me a fool,” Burford said to Mr and Miss Endercott that evening after dinner. “But I did not wish to expose Miss Belle to the ridicule
of the masses.”

  “It was a generous impulse, John,” Mr Endercott said. “But now you have set this man free to carry out as many nefarious schemes as he can contrive. The residents of Brinchester may yet have cause to regret your kindness today.”

  “Miss Featherstone knows his face,” Burford said. “I have made sure she knows his address, also, so if her books are not returned to her, or she hears of someone else being importuned by this man, she will know what to do. He must be on his best behaviour, now.”

  “More likely he will move on to some other town,” Mr Endercott said. “So you have just moved the problem from one place to another.”

  “You think, then, that a man, once fallen into evil, cannot be redeemed?” Burford said mildly. “Our faith is built on the principle of the repentance of sinners.”

  Mr Endercott smiled wearily. “In my experience, a sinner likes to repent only on his deathbed, when the prospect of a meeting with his maker and a full reckoning of his sins is imminent. Then he is very sorry indeed for what he has done. However, a meeting with a magistrate can have much the same effect a little earlier in his life, where perhaps it can do some good over the years yet remaining to him.”

  “Not if he is hanged afterwards,” Miss Endercott said. “Surely you would wish him to demonstrate his remorse, and go on to live a blameless life of charitable works and honest toil?”

  “Personally, I care not what happens to such a man,” Mr Endercott said. “I should wish the good people of this county to be able to go about their honest business without being afflicted by thievery, and whether the thief be hanged or transported or becomes a saint is no concern of mine.”

  ~~~~~

  The following morning was the day agreed upon for Belle to begin examining Mr Burford’s books for suitable materials for the school. There was a light rain falling, but her cloak was equal to it, and the path through the woods provided some shelter. The prospect of an hour or two with nothing to do but look through books lifted her spirits. She had hardly been aware that her spirits needed lifting, but now, as fallen leaves crunched beneath her boots and a pair of rabbits hopped across the path ahead of her, she hummed a little tune and strode on with eagerness.

  She had told herself that it was no more than the preparations for their grand dinner that caused her lowness. So much bustle and agitation over a simple meal! She would be glad when it was over. Or perhaps her foolishness with Mr Oak preyed on her mind, denting her opinion of her own capabilities. Then there was the disappearance of Cousin James to puzzle over. He had not called at all since she had told him of her willingness to accept an offer from him, so perhaps it was all talk and he had no intention of marrying her. But then what would she do? Where would she find a husband? It was disheartening.

  For today, however, she could leave all her worries behind. She smiled as she reached the edge of the village, her pace quickening.

  She had never been inside Mr Burford’s cottage before. It was one of two owned by the church, in addition to the parsonage, but Mr Burford being a single man, he had taken the smaller of the two, and the larger, next door to it, was let to Mr Wills’ estate manager, who had an extensive family.

  Belle knocked tentatively on the door, suddenly struck by the fact that she was about to enter the home of a single man. It had not occurred to her before, for Mr Burford was such a good friend, and being as good as betrothed to Hope, he was almost a brother. Then she smiled at her own foolishness, for what was improper about a parishioner visiting the curate?

  The door was opened by the solid personage of Eliza Wiseman.

  “Good morning, Eliza. I believe I am expected.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Eliza bobbed a curtsy, and held the door open for Belle to enter. Eliza was a well-rounded woman of almost fifty, one of the village’s army of respectable matrons who were largely invisible, yet ensured that the institutions of the village continued to operate smoothly.

  Mr Burford’s smiling face appeared from the back of the house. “Ah, Miss Allamont, do come in. This is my book room, in here.”

  “Oh, Mr Burford!” she cried as she entered the room. “You have a library!” The room was the expected size for the front parlour of a cottage, but apart from a writing desk under the window, every wall was fitted from floor to ceiling with bookshelves. Not all were filled, but numerous crates around the floor showed more books waiting to be assigned their allotted place. The only furniture was a single armchair beside the fire, with a small table next to it.

  “Oh, no, no. Not really. I should never presume to call it so. It is just a book room, although I have been fortunate in inheriting the collections of several of my uncles.”

  “You must have a great many uncles,” she said, looking at the crates.

  “My father is the youngest of seven boys, and all of them great readers. Since my father is the only one with children to inherit, it has been my good fortune to be the recipient of several uncles — five so far. I have had to have additional shelves made, but as you may observe, Miss Allamont, I have not yet managed to sort through my most recent bequests.”

  “That is quite a task,” she said.

  “Indeed, but a very pleasurable one, I assure you. It takes a great deal of time, though, for every time I find a particularly interesting volume, I find myself drawn to read it at once, and so all work is suspended.”

  “And how often do you encounter such a volume?”

  He laughed rather sheepishly. “Perhaps every third book. My uncles had excellent taste. Now, Miss Allamont, Samuel is just building a good blaze for you. We cannot have you taking a chill.”

  “Thank you, Samuel,” she said.

  Samuel, a sturdy man of above forty, looked round from his position crouched before the hearth and nodded to her.

  “That is indeed a splendid fire, Mr Burford, but the day is quite mild. I do not believe my health is in any great danger.”

  “One can never be too careful, especially after you have already suffered a malady so recently. Thank you, Samuel, I think that will be adequate. Now, Miss Allamont, this is my reading chair, which is at your disposal for the morning. You may examine any of the books, and whatever you deem to be suitable, set it aside on my writing desk. I will look at your choices when I return to ensure that nothing too valuable will be subjected to the children’s inky fingers.”

  “Oh, you are going out?” She was unaccountably disappointed at this news. Somehow she had imagined the two of them sorting through the books together in a companionable way. It was not quite the same when she was alone.

  “Unfortunately, I must. The boy came from Garmin’s Farm this morning to tell me that old Mrs Cartwright is very poorly, and may not last the day. Eliza will be here until three, and if you need anything she cannot supply, you may ask at the parsonage. I shall return as soon as I can.”

  “Oh, do not rush on my account, for I shall be very well entertained, I assure you. Poor Mrs Cartwright! Such a kind soul. She always baked gingerbread for the Harvest Fair, and sent a box to the Hall for us. Do send her my regards, if she is well enough to receive them.”

  Mr Burford left on his sad mission, and Samuel had gone out into the small garden behind the house to tend the vegetables and chickens. Upstairs, the floorboards creaked as Eliza moved from room to room, tidying, dusting, sweeping, her broom clunking against the walls occasionally. Belle began to look around the room. So many books! She had never seen any of England’s great libraries, and apart from the circulating library, she had never seen so many in one place. There were almost too many, for she had no idea where to begin. Randomly pulling books from the shelves and flicking through the pages, she had soon forgotten the purpose of her visit and become engrossed in the words on the page.

  ~~~~~

  Burford’s sad task took longer than anticipated, for Mrs Cartwright lingered on for some hours and it seemed to comfort her if he read prayers or psalms at her bedside. He walked home sombrely, for death was no light matter, ev
en for a good Christian like Mrs Cartwright.

  The cottage was quiet, Eliza long gone home, and Samuel, his chores finished, liked to walk the few miles to Higher Brinford for a pie and a glass of ale and, Burford suspected, to enjoy the smiles of the innkeeper’s niece. His first thought was to check the books Miss Allamont had selected, for he was excited to see what she might have found. The door to the book room was wide open, and the first sight to greet him was Miss Allamont herself, sitting on the floor with her back to the bookcase, head buried in a book.

  “Miss Allamont! Are you still here?”

  “Oh, Mr Burford —!” She scrambled to her feet. “Gracious, whatever time is it?”

  “Gone half past four. I imagined you at home long since, and you must have been here all alone for hours.”

  “I did not notice. You have a wonderful collection of books, Mr Burford. Your uncles were splendid gentlemen, I declare, with admirable taste. I should like to live in this room, I believe.”

  He smiled. “Ah, that is exactly how I feel, Miss Allamont. But have you had anything to eat or drink?” She shook her head. “You must be famished. Come through to the back room, and we shall have bread and cheese and a glass of Madeira, and then I shall escort you home.”

  She followed him through, and they sat in matching wing chairs either side of the fire, nibbling and sipping and talking. He told her all about Mrs Cartwright and her grieving family. She told him about the books she had found, and read him one or two passages that she had found particularly effective. He remembered his visit to Brinchester, and gave her the remains of the fifty pounds and an abbreviated version of events.

  “You are quite a hero, Mr Burford,” she said.

  He denied it, of course, but he was pleased all the same, for Miss Belle had, he thought, greater perspicacity of character than her sisters, so her opinion on the matter was particularly valuable.

  Then they walked companionably home through the woods, laden with a number of books she wished to read herself. As they talked, she confided in him all about her father’s natural son, Jack Barnett. He had heard most of the story already, for Miss Endercott knew everything about everyone, even the darkest secrets, but he lent a sympathetic ear, greatly flattered that she trusted him enough to tell him all.