Bobbie was playing about, looking for edible apples
on the ground. “Why are those two trees smaller than the others, do you know?” Delsie asked her.
“Those are the pixie trees,” the child answered.
“What do you mean?”
“That’s what Mrs. Bristcombe calls them, the pixie trees. They are the best ones in the orchard too, even
though the smallest. She says they are worth more than
all the others put together.”
Again Delsie looked at the apples still remaining on
the dwarf trees, comparing them to those on the others.
She picked one in better preservation than the others
and tasted it. It was a plain pippin, tasty but not de
licious. She walked to the other small tree and exam
ined it. It too was just an ordinary tree, dwarfed for
some reason. The soil perhaps was not good in these two spots, though it seemed odd, right in the middle of the small orchard, that some different soil should occur.
Rocks beneath the ground, she thought, might account for it. The roots could have hit rock and not been al
lowed to flourish properly.
She was just turning to leave
when her eye fell on a small canvas bag. Thinking she
had discovered some clue left by the intruders, she
picked it up with great curiosity. It was heavy and
jingled with pieces of metal. Opening it, she was
stunned to see it held a quantity of guineas. Bobbie
was off throwing apples at a tree. Delsie decided to keep
her discovery a secret from the child. She concealed it
under her pelisse, but was highly curious to get to her
room and count the guineas. What could account for it?
What sort of intruders came and took nothing, so far
as she could see, but left a bag of gold worth a great deal?
“Shall we pick some of these pretty ox-eye daisies
and corn marigolds before we go in?” she asked. To
gether they went to the orchard’s edge to gather these late-blooming wildflowers, before going inside for
breakfast. They took them to their rooms to arrange
in a vase. Once she achieved privacy, Delsie emptied
the canvas bag on the counterpane, marveling at the quantity of gold pieces—one hundred in all. One
hundred gold guineas—more than a year’s salary. Her
first inclination was to run to deVigne with the bag
and ask his opinion, but Lady Jane was coming to call
for her soon, and it would have to wait till after the
shopping trip.
Afraid to leave such a fortune in her room, where she was by no means sure it would be safe from prying eyes after her departure, she put it in her reticule and took it to the table with her. Miss Milne and Bobbie soon joined her. The three were in no hurry
to dispatch their breakfast, but could not make it last
till nine-thirty, at which time Lady Jane was to arrive.
Bobbie was taken, unwilling, to the schoolroom for a
lesson, while Mrs. Grayshott sat going over her list, adding a new item at every spot where her eye fell. Beeswax and turpentine to remove the dust and grime from the saloon, more candles, a great deal of them as
the house was so gloomy, embroidery woolens, and
backing for her tambour frame. The items wanted
seemed endless. She was still busy at this chore when
the knocker sounded. As Bristcombe was still invisible,
she went herself to answer it. DeVigne stood at the
door, his carriage waiting on the roadside.
“Good morning, cousin,” he said brightly. “Still playing butler, I see. Did you speak to Bristcombe about
leaving lights burning for you at night?”
“No, I spoke to his wife—but I never see him. I’m
not sure I want to. Come in.”
“He was in the orchard just now as I came along the
road. I made sure you had set him to gather the with
ered apples. They won’t be good for anything but pig
feed, but I know your aversion to waste.”
“I must speak to you,” she said, ignoring this banter.
She took him to the saloon, with a question as to why
it was himself who had come in lieu of Lady Jane.
“We are to meet her in the village. With five of us,
one carriage will not hold all your purchases on the
return voyage, if you are the enthusiastic shopper most
ladies are. I have business there, and shall bring Sir
Harold back with me, leaving you three ladies to shop
to your hearts’ content. But surely that is not what you meant to ask me. From the size of your eyes, I hoped
for missing knives or forks at the least.”
“Nothing is missing,” she said with an air of vast
importance.
“Au contraire.”
“You have found the vanishing linens?” he asked,
taking up a seat on the sofa.
“Nothing so paltry. I have found a bag of gold!” she announced.
“Congratulations. Was it a
large
bag of gold?”
She fished it out from the bottom of her reticule and handed it to him. “It is one hundred guineas!” she said
importantly.
‘That should take care of the butcher,” he said, heft
ing the bag, and shaking a couple of pieces out into his hand. “They seem genuine. Where did you find them?”
“You will think it incredible, but it’s true! I found them under an apple tree in the orchard this morning.
What can it mean?”
He looked at her, not at all so impressed as she had
thought he would be with her find. “There haven’t been
any rainbows lately, so that cannot account for it—the pot of gold.”
“Do be serious!”
“Perhaps Andrew, in one of those drunken ambulations you spoke of, dropped it one night, though I still can’t credit he ever left the house, with Samson and Bristcombe here to watch him.”
“They would not let him take so much money out with him in any case. What should I do? Ought I to advertise it, do you think? Oh, and I forgot to tell you, I know where it came from.”
“An advertisement seems superfluous in that case,”
he suggested.
“Well it is not, because I don’t know
who
was there,
but
someone
was in the orchard last night very late, with a horse or horses. At least two men. I heard them talking.”
“After you returned from the Hall?”
“Much later—not long before one o’clock, I think.
I made sure it was only someone stealing the apples, and hardly gave it a thought, till I went into the orchard this morning and saw how far the fruit had deteriorated. Besides, it stands to reason anyone reduced
to stealing half-rotten apples would not have a hundred
guineas to lose.”
“Are you quite sure you heard someone?”
“Absolutely. I am not at all imaginative. Bobbie
heard them too. She thought it was the pixies.” She sat thinking about it, then went on. “So it seems the pixies
she was told about were not her papa in a drunken
stupor after all. And
that,
you know, was the reason I
held to account for her being put on the west side of
the house, so she would not hear her father ranting
about. DeVigne, is it possible there has been someone coming regularly into the orchard for years, ever since Bobbie was removed from the nursery? Only think, if
they have been leaving bags of guineas for all that
time, there must be a fortune about the house somewhere. I shall institute a search the moment I get back from the village,”
“You do rather leap to conclusions. Still, it is mighty
curious. In the orchard, eh? Let’s have a look.”
“It’s no good. I went out bright and early, and
couldn’t find a single thing, except the bag of gold, that
is. But what shall I do about it? I cannot keep it.”
“Keep it for the time being. If it was lost by any innocent person, he won’t be long coming to look for
it.”
“The horrid thought raises its head that innocent
persons do not lurk about gardens and orchards that
do not belong to them, carrying large sums of money.
It must have been a criminal, and I know he will come
back for it too. Have you heard any account of a robbery
in the neighborhood?”
“No, nor can I conceive of any reason he should be
in your orchard. Still, I’ll inquire in the village this
morning—discreetly. It will be best to keep this to our
selves.”
“You
do
think there’s something odd going on, don’t you? Oh, what have you gotten me into?” she worried,
wringing her hands.
“To date, the worst I have gotten you into is a bag
of gold guineas. That should merit gratitude, not a
scold. The only inconvenience to yourself has been a night’s disturbed sleep. You make too much of it,
cousin.”
“Yes, a bag of gold belonging to some cutthroat bur
glar or smuggler, who will doubtless come after it in
the night with a knife between his teeth. A mere baga
telle. I can’t imagine why I tremble every time I think of it. I must put them somewhere for safekeeping. Will you take charge of them for me?”
“Not at all imaginative, you say?” he asked, with a quizzing smile. “The knife between the teeth, surely...”
She stuffed the bag into his hands, for he had placed
it on the sofa between them after examining it. “There
is a vault in the study. Let us put it there for the pres
ent.”
When they went to this room, there was no key in the vault, so deVigne carried the money into town, in
a pocket of his carriage. This was done surreptitiously
to keep it from Bobbie, who went with them. The child
regaled her uncle along the way with the story of the
pixies, while the widow stared at him with an “I told
you so” look.
Delsie felt very much like a princess from a fairy tale when she first wafted into the village inside the
crested carriage, with every head turning toward it.
The carriage stopped outside the Venetian Drapery
Shoppe, the one good store in the village. It was fre
quented only by the gentry, as the articles within and, more particularly, their prices were beyond the range
of mere working mortals. Delsie had occasionally en
tered to buy a bit of lace or ribbon, and to admire the
larger items. Her real purchases were made at Bolton’s,
a less-elevated emporium across the street. She always
felt she was encroaching to enter the former establish
ment. On her few forays, the salesman had looked down
his nose at her and demanded in a supercilious tone if
she wanted anything, or was “just looking.” Today the same toplofty person was bowing and simpering, for
deVigne had said at the carriage he would just step in
with her and Bobbie and wait till Jane arrived.
“Mrs. Grayshott will be opening an account here. Will you see she is taken care of?” was all he said. It
was enough to set the clerk fawning on her in a manner
that was every bit as jarring as his former neglect. His
compliant voice was at her shoulder, pointing out a fine
bit of imported lace, calling her attention to other wares. She was happy when Lady Jane arrived and
told him they would take care of themselves. DeVigne
then took his leave, and the two dames got down to
rooting through the store in good earnest. They wanted first to obtain Bobbie’s materials, as the child was pes
tering them on this point.
Lady Jane, an inveterate bargain-hunter, com
plained about the price of everything, in no low tone,
and indeed her complaints seemed well taken. For the honor of residing on the shelves of the Venetian Drap
ery Shoppe instead of Bolton’s, muslin was doubled in
price. It was hastily decided between them that the
more mundane purchases would wait for Bolton’s, and
only the luxuries be purchased here. And what luxuries
there were! Silk stockings, the finest of crepes and vel
vets for gowns, laces, ribbons and buttons of unimag
ined splendor, every one a jewel. With Bobbie’s mate
rials selected, Delsie began the joyful chore of choosing
her own. She had intended having three new gowns
made up for her role as Mrs. Grayshott, but, with such
a display of exotic goods before her, she could not limit
herself to less than four—two afternoon outfits and
two gowns for evening. The selection of accessories for the gowns too was pure pleasure. Mechlin lace, mother-of-pearl buttons, ribbons so narrow and dainty, a bottle of black bugle beads to decorate her finest gown. She began to wonder how they would transport all the purchases to the carriage, but discovered, before she ex
posed her ignorance, that they would be picked up by
a footboy.
There was no mention of paying. The bill would be sent. Then they were across the road to Bolton’s. Here she had only Lady Jane to lend her conse
quence; she proved to be enough. On to the millinery
shop for two delightful bonnets. How she regretted she was in mourning, but even a mourning bonnet, she
discovered, could be flattering when one was willing
to pay a small fortune for it. A black glazed straw with
narrow black velvet ribbons lent her an unaccustomed
dash, and a high poke bonnet too with a lifted brim
would, as Jane practically pointed out, look well after
she had put off her crepe.