Deliciously Wicked (9 page)

She'd never before dismissed her friend. But she'd said far more than she intended and now she needed, very much, to be alone. Bless Charlotte's heart, she understood, because she nodded, gathered her stuff, and left after giving Meg a tight squeeze.

 

He watched the tall brunette leave Piddington Hall. Meg and her silly friends. She would not have as much freedom once she belonged to him. He would be her only confidant then. The only one for her to turn to. His hand clenched tightly around a rose blossom.

No need to be frustrated. All was not lost yet. He would figure out a way to work this situation to his benefit. But so far blaming the thefts on that lowly Irishman was not working. Without evidence, nothing could be brought to the authorities' attention. And now Miss Piddington had tangled herself further with the Irish bastard, and that would ruin everything. Months of planning and years of hard work. He couldn't allow that to happen.

He needed more time. More time would produce the perfect plan, and then all would fall into place.

M
eg settled in her seat in Amelia's parlor, waiting anxiously for the meeting to start. She'd received a post that morning for an emergency meeting. She was as grateful as she was curious. It had been a day since she'd dismissed Charlotte, and she wanted to ensure all was right between them. She tried to catch her eye, but Charlotte was not looking in her direction. Perhaps her friend was angry with her.

“Let us recite our oath,” Amelia said.

“We solemnly swear to unravel mysteries by ferreting out secrets at all costs,” they said together.

“Now, then, let us begin. I called this meeting today because Willow has some information to share that she believes will be most useful to Mr. Mandeville's case. Willow, proceed.”

Willow sat at the edge of her seat and pushed her spectacles farther onto her nose. “Now then, I was
speaking with Edmond last night about things going on in his life, and he mentioned a particular fellow he ran into recently at a gaming hell.”

“Edmond was at a gaming hell?” Charlotte asked, clearly surprised.

Willow frowned. “I was shocked and disappointed in my dear brother as well, but he assured me he had good reason. In any case, he was there playing cards with some fellows, and this one, in particular, was bragging about a recent purchase he made. A rather pricey purchase.”

“Willow, where is this going?” Meg sat up straight. She felt excited and slightly annoyed, all at the same time.

“I shall arrive at the point shortly, if you would but give me a moment. As I was saying, this particular gentleman, who is actually not a gentleman at all, recently purchased a racing horse.”

Charlotte frowned. “What do racing horses have to do with anything?”

Willow shrugged, then smiled. “Only that this man is none other than Mr. Munden.”

“My Mr. Munden?” Meg said. “I mean, the Mr. Munden that is employed by my father?”

“One and the same,” Willow confirmed.

Meg shook her head. “But he does not earn enough to make such a purchase.”

“Precisely.” Willow pointed a finger at Meg. “Where do you suppose he got the funds for such a large purchase?”

Meg felt her eyes grow round. “From stealing and selling those chocolate boxes? Surely they wouldn't earn quite that much.”

“They might if you sold them to a competitor who was trying to produce similar products,” Amelia offered.

“That's what I was thinking,” Willow said.

“Surely he wouldn't dare,” Meg said. That would be terrible and grossly unfair to her father.

“Or perhaps this isn't the only thing he's stolen,” Charlotte suggested.

“Excellent point,” Amelia said.

“So he stole the boxes himself and has been trying to blame Gareth for the crime,” Meg said, indignation on Gareth's behalf rising within her. “But why would he do that?”

“His motive is unclear at this point,” Willow said.

“This is terrible,” Meg said. “What should we do?”

“You need proof that he took those boxes before you can do anything,” Charlotte said.

“She's right,” Amelia said.

“Well, I believe it's safe to assume that he wouldn't keep any such proof at the factory,” Willow suggested.

“Perhaps he has some kind of record at his residence,” Amelia said.

“That certainly presents a problem,” Willow said.

“Do you know where he lives, Meg?” Charlotte asked.

“No, but my father keeps a file on each of his employees, so the information would not be too difficult to come by.”

“Perfect,” Charlotte said, a mischievous smile creeping across her face.

“Why do I get the feeling you're about to suggest something that I am not going to approve of?” Willow asked. “You always get that look on your face.”

“What look?” Charlotte asked innocently. “I was merely going to suggest that Meg sneak into Mr. Munden's residence and dig around a bit. See what she can find.”

Willow put her head in her hands. “I knew it,” she said with a muffled voice.

“Then you thought of it too?” Amelia asked.

“Well, of course I did. It's the logical choice to find such evidence. But it's far too dangerous,” Willow said.

“Not if you help,” Meg said.

“You want me to go with you?” Willow asked.

“Of course not. I need you to help divert Munden's attention. Have Edmond send him an invitation for another hand of cards. Men love those sorts of things. While he's gone, I'll sneak in and poke around and see what I can discover.”

“This sounds very dangerous,” Amelia said.

“Not any more dangerous than the escapades you went on last year,” Charlotte pointed out.

“Yes, but I nearly got killed. And I was going to add that it sounds very dangerous, and exciting,” she said with a laugh.

“All Meg needs is a disguise. She's so tiny that with the right clothes, she'll look like a young boy and no one will bother her,” Charlotte said.

“Where am I supposed to get the clothes for that?” Meg asked.

“From me,” Charlotte said. “Mama has put up trunks of Anthony's clothes; I'm certain we could find something that would work.”

Meg's stomach fluttered.

Willow released a great sigh, then leaned forward in her chair. “If you're going to do this, wear dark clothes
so you'll blend in more with the dark night,” she said. “But I am not approving of this,” she added with a point of her finger.

“Do you really think your brother's clothes will fit me?” Meg asked.

“Something of his will. Mama keeps everything, so we have years' worth of clothes. Most of it in browns and blacks, so we can abide with Willow's suggestion.”

“You also want to put your hair up,” Amelia said. “No young boy I know has flaming curls the likes of yours. You can hide it beneath a hat of some sort.”

Meg's hand went to her hair. “Yes, good reminder. Will you help me?” She directed her question to Willow. “Ask Edmond to send an invitation to Mr. Munden? Then you can send me a note to let me know the date he's settled on, and I'll make my plans accordingly.” Meg eyed her friend and watched the myriad of emotions cross her face. Helping her do this went against Willow's strict code of propriety and rule following, but she was also a loyal friend, and saying no would be difficult.

Willow's lips went thin, then she gave a brief nod. “I will ask Edmond to send a message to Mr. Munden.”

Meg popped out of her seat and raced to embrace Willow.

“If he receives an acknowledgment,” Willow continued. “I'll notify you. You will need to go in and out quickly, Meg. And don't speak to anyone. If he catches you, there is no telling what he might do to you. You must take extreme caution.”

“Yes, of course.” The more Willow talked, the more Meg's nerves raged inside her. But the stakes had risen. Not only was Gareth's innocence at stake, but if Munden
was the thief, Meg needed to find out so they could dismiss him from his position.

Her father would never question her ability if she succeeded in this.

“I promise I will take great care. I will stop by later to find some clothes,” she said to Charlotte.

Meg looked around at each of her friends and felt nothing but gratitude. People went a lifetime without making one genuine friend, and here she was blessed with four.

She needed to speak with Gareth. Give him this information and see what he suggested they do. She stood. “Thank you, Willow. Thank you to each of you. And Edmond too. I should be going. Mr. Mandeville will find this information all too interesting. See you at the next meeting.”

 

Meg paced her father's office, impatiently waiting until she and Gareth could speak privately. Surely this information about Mr. Munden meant he was the true thief. It all made sense. If he wanted to continue working at and stealing from Piddington's, he had to blame the theft of the boxes on someone else. Gareth was a convenient choice since he was the newest employee and, for the most part, kept to himself.

She stood at the windows overlooking the factory floor and watched the men filter out the front door. She'd been waiting for nearly three hours to speak with Gareth, and the moment would be here quickly now. On her way into the factory, she's stopped by his machine to tell him she needed to see him at the close of the day. He'd looked rather irritated by the whole scene.

Meg stepped back to the desk, then walked over to
the bookshelf. She ran her hand across one shelf of books. Some of her mother's favorite volumes, worn-out, well-loved leather-bound books. Kept here in her father's office because ordinarily he spent so much time here. And he always needed a piece of her nearby. At home in his bedchamber, he had a handful of other editions.

She picked up the framed photograph that sat on the shelf next to the books. The image in her palm did not do her mother justice. Without color in the picture, the vibrancy of her rich auburn hair wasn't accurately portrayed, nor was the softness of her skin. But if Meg closed her eyes, she could almost remember the sound of her voice, almost recollect the joy in her laugh. A wave of longing washed over her.

“Oh, Mama,” she said softly.

A knock at the door startled her.

Meg jerked her hand away from the photograph as if caught doing mischief, then she chided herself. No, sentimentality was not mischievous. Nor was it the proper business countenance she wished to convey.

She allowed her hand to drop to her side, straightened her shoulders, and turned her back on the photograph.

“Come in,” she said.

A few seconds later Mr. Munden stepped into the office. Her stomach flipped over. “Mr. Munden, I wasn't expecting you,” she said.

“I saw you up here and wanted to come ask about your father. How's he doing?”

What did he care how her father was doing? He was stealing from the man. She set her chin and met his
eyes. If he was going to be dishonest, then she'd force him to do it to her face. “He's well, recovering quite rightly, I do believe,” she said.

He nodded. “That's good.” He glanced over to the windows, then slid his hands into his pockets. “When are you expecting he'll return to work?”

“Shouldn't be too much longer.” She actually didn't know that for certain, but perhaps his pending return would spur Munden to confess.

“That was a nasty fall he took,” Munden said. She thought she detected a slight glimmer in his eyes.

Meg frowned. Nasty fall, indeed. Oh, gracious, was it possible that Munden had caused her father's accident to get him out of the way at the factory? Without her father's watchful eye and daily management, Munden's duties had increased, as had his freedom. “Yes, it was a nasty fall.”

Munden nodded. “Give him my best. I'll be off now,” he said, then turned and left the office.

Meg watched him leave and clenched her fists at her side, then caught herself. She was not a violent person, and even if she were, what could she do to him? He was more than twice her size. She ordinarily didn't mind the fact that she was so small, but only a moment before it had seemed a serious hindrance.

Granted, even if she were as tall as Charlotte, she probably could not do much to defend herself against the bulky Mr. Munden.

“What the hell did he want?” Gareth said from the door.

She hadn't even heard him open it.

Gareth must have read the momentary confusion on
her face because he continued without giving her a chance to respond. “Munden?” he repeated. “What did he want?”

She shook her head. “He was asking about my father. He wanted to know when he was coming back to work.”

Gareth nodded. “What was it you wanted to discuss with me?”

Seeing Munden had rattled her, and she'd nearly forgotten what she needed to tell Gareth. Nearly forgotten that they had the first clue in the case.

“I've discovered a bit of information. Helpful information,” she added, then sat behind the desk.

He followed suit and sat across from her. “And?” he asked.

“It appears that our Mr. Munden made a hefty purchase recently. One he could not afford with his salary.”

“What sort of purchase?”

“A racing horse.”

Gareth released a low whistle. “I've never been in the position to investigate the price on such a creature, but I suspect you're right and they're not cheap. How did you find this out?”

“Willow's brother. Apparently he saw Munden at a gaming hell and the man was bragging about it.”

“So you have no other proof than the man's own boasts?” Gareth asked.

Meg frowned. “No, I suppose not. Edmond, he's Willow's brother, is a fine fellow, very honest, you see, and he would never make up something of this sort.”

“I didn't mean him. I meant Munden. He seems precisely the sort to invent such things to make himself
appear more important than he actually is.” Gareth rubbed his one forearm and then the other. No doubt working those machines all day made his arms ache.

She didn't miss that his sleeves were rolled to his elbows, revealing well-formed arms smattered with dark hair. “You certainly have a point there. But it seems to make sense. He steals the boxes, sells them and pockets the cash for a later purchase, then blames you for his crime to deflect suspicion from himself.”

His eyebrows raised. “You've certainly figured all of this out, haven't you?”

She shrugged. “With the help of the society.”

Gareth leaned back in the chair, arms rested behind his head. “Do you believe those boxes are worth that much?”

“I asked the same question.” She relayed the potential plan of selling the concept to another factory.

“That would make him a thief and a traitor,” Gareth said. “Weighty accusations, Miss Piddington, with no actual proof.”