Jane glanced over the summary page. John’s signature. Blomfield’s. Then a figure caught her eye and she looked again. “Five thousand pounds? But it was fifteen.”
“So Arthur Blomfield led us to believe.”
She stared at him. “But I saw the original loan paper myself, and John’s signature.”
Mr. Welch said, “My theory is that Blomfield embezzled money from the firm. To hide the missing funds from us, he tacked on the sum to your husband’s outstanding loan.”
Patrick nodded. “Blomfield was always dabbling in risky ventures, and my guess is he ‘borrowed’ money to invest, intending to pay it back, but instead lost it all. After John’s death, he thought he was free and clear—as long as a copy showing the original amount didn’t turn up. When I first confronted him, Blomfield denied any wrongdoing. Said it was John’s word against his. Called this a forgery. But we all know it is far easier to add a number one before the five, than the other way around. Later, Blomfield asked me to hand the copy over to him, hinting that in return, he would make me The Bell’s owner by summer’s end. And I admit I was tempted, but only briefly. Since then I’ve been trying to work out how best to proceed. I thought about going to the magistrates, but in the end, I took this to his partners in Salisbury.”
Mr. Welch nodded. “We had suspected Blomfield of mismanaging funds for some time, but never had any proof. Now we do.”
Patrick grimaced. “Unfortunately, I revealed my hand too soon, and Blomfield cleared out and left before his partners could react or involve the law.”
“Is he really gone?” Jane asked.
Mr. Welch nodded. “His apartment upstairs has been vacated and he gave no forwarding address to his housekeeper. The possessions he left behind in his haste will be sold for what we can get, but it will not nearly make up for what we’ve lost. Be glad you demanded what was left of your settlement, Mrs. Bell, or he would probably have taken that as well. Mr. Waters and I will make what restitution we can to those who lost money, but it will take time, and may drive us to insolvency if we’re not careful.”
“I am sorry to hear it, Mr. Welch.”
“Thank you. But that is our problem, Mrs. Bell. Not yours. Allow me to congratulate you on the progress you have made on The Bell so far, and your excellent plan.” He tapped the folder on the desk before him. “On behalf of Mr. Waters and myself, I am happy to grant the requested extension on the five thousand you owe.”
Two-thirds of the weight lifted from Jane’s shoulders.
She managed a shaky smile. “Thank you, Mr. Welch.”
Patrick rose. “May I walk you back, Jane? We have a lot to talk about.”
“If you like.”
They left poor Mr. Welch to sort out the mess of Arthur Blomfield’s making.
They stepped out of the bank and started down the High Street. Jane sent Patrick a sidelong glance. “How long have you known?”
He shrugged. “I’ve suspected something was afoot ever since Blomfield hesitated to tell us the loan amount, at least until he verified we had not seen John’s copy of the papers.”
“Does Thora know?”
He shook his head. “Though she saw me looking in the desk in the lodge and no doubt suspects the worst.”
Jane shook her head, disgusted. “You went through John’s desk and then didn’t tell me what you’d found? When was this?”
“When I offered to fetch John’s keys for the wine cellar. I am sorry, Jane. I took something that didn’t belong to me and was tempted to use it to my advantage, or at least to enjoy watching Blomfield squirm. It was wrong of me, I know. I hope you will forgive me.”
Jane studied her brother-in-law’s face, then drew a long breath. “Well . . . I suppose I understand. Which of us has not been tempted to act selfishly? But you did the right thing in the end, and that counts for something. For today, let’s focus on the fact that we have the license and the extension, so The Bell is safe for now.”
“Hurrah.”
She looked at him closely. “Are you being sarcastic, or are you really happy for me?”
“I am. Truly.”
“Then we shall talk more about the rest later.” She wagged a finger at him and said sternly, “But stay out of the lodge.”
He held up his palm. “I promise.”
“And no more secrets. And no more . . . sneaking,” Jane added. “Thora has had enough heartache. She wants to trust you. And so do I.”
“I know. Which reminds me—we had better hurry back to The Bell.”
“Oh? Why?”
He grinned. “You’ll see.”
Chapter
Forty-Four
When they returned to the inn, commotion from the courtyard drew Jane’s attention. Instead of entering through the front door, Jane and Patrick walked past it, through the archway. Jane halted abruptly at the sight of the beehive of activity before her.
Noticing their arrival, Thora walked forward to meet them.
“What’s going on?” Jane asked her, taking in the hodgepodge of mismatched tables, chairs, and benches, and streams of bunting strung from one side of the courtyard to the other. Ostlers and maids worked together, carrying out platters, spreading cloths on makeshift plank tables followed by vases of flowers. Mrs. Rooke stood at the center of it all, ordering people about in good-natured firmness.
“Why, Jane, can you not tell?” Thora replied. “We’re throwing you a party.”
Jane looked at her in wonder, then surveyed the scene once more.
Mrs. Rooke had performed a loaves-and-fishes miracle with food for the spur-of-the-moment gathering. She had cleared out the larder and bought out Craddock’s bakery shelves by the looks of a buffet table filled with cakes and biscuits along with her own jam tarts. There was also a ham, a joint of cold beef, and a chicken with actual meat on its bones. What the cook lacked in variety of side dishes, she made up for with an abundance of potatoes, cabbage, and pickled cucumbers. To drink, there were jugs of lemonade and pots of tea and coffee.
“My goodness, Mrs. Rooke, you have outdone yourself,” Jane said. “I am astounded at this bounty, and at such short notice.”
“Oh, I collected a few favors. . . . It’s a great day for all of us, and I wanted to do my part.”
Bravely, Jane put a hand on the woman’s stout arm. “And you have done—and then some!”
Mrs. Rooke smiled, and it might have been the first time Jane had ever seen the woman look genuinely kind.
Finishing their tasks, three musicians began to warm up their instruments. Tall Ted on fiddle, Colin on pipe, and Tuffy on sweet mandolin.
Thora pressed Jane’s hand. “Now go and change out of those drab widow’s weeds, Jane. It’s time to celebrate.”
A few hours later, as twilight settled its dusky mantle over the courtyard, the straggling parade of arriving guests finally slowed to a trickle. Jane, in her lavender dress, sat back a moment, her gaze moving over the courtyard, lit by torches, lanterns, and the twinkling lights of stubby candles in glass jars. Her heart felt full. Almost painfully so.
Patrick was in the office, she knew, but there were Thora and Talbot—a black mourning band over his sleeve in honor of Nan. And Jane’s staff: Mrs. Rooke, Tuffy, Tall Ted, Joe and the other postboys. Cadi and Alwena. Colin, Bobbin, and Ned. Old friends from the village, like Mr. and Mrs. Paley, and new friends like James Drake, and Mrs. Klein and the Miss Cooks from the Ladies Tea and Knitting Society, sitting and sipping and laughing together.
And there was dear Mercy along with her aunt. If only Rachel had come to complete the trio of longtime friends. Mercy must have noticed Jane’s disappointed expression when they had arrived without Rachel, for she’d sent her a sad, understanding look.
Neither Mr. Bingley nor Lord Winspear had come, which did not surprise her. But Jane’s heart lifted to see Sir Timothy ride through the archway as evening deepened. Tall Ted set down his instrument and hurried over to take his horse.
“Just tether and water hi
m, if you don’t mind. I won’t be long.” From his saddlebag Sir Timothy withdrew two carefully wrapped bottles.
Jane walked forward to greet him. “Hello, Timothy. I wasn’t sure you would cross Lord Winspear again by coming.”
He smiled. “I shan’t stay long, but I did want to congratulate you. I’ve brought along a few bottles of good champagne for the well-deserved celebration.” He glanced around the crowded courtyard. “But I see I should have brought more. Half of Ivy Hill seems to be here.”
“Thank you. That is very kind.” She hailed the potboy as he passed. “Ned—please take these to Bobbin and ask him to open them.”
Ned nodded and darted off to do so.
“I was proud of you today, Jane,” Sir Timothy said. “You handled yourself well.”
“Thank you, though Mr. Drake and Thora saved the day.”
“But you earned their good opinion in the first place, don’t forget. They only gave testimony to the excellent character you have always had, and your growing competence as a woman of business.”
Warmth flooded Jane at his praise. “Thank you, Timothy. That means a great deal, coming from you.”
He removed his hat. Glancing down at it, he said, “Jane, tell me if I am being impertinent, but . . . is there something between you and Mr. Drake?”
Jane hesitated, surprised at the question, though after Mr. Drake’s effusive praise, what else was he to think? “You are right, Timothy,” she said on a laugh. “You are terribly impertinent.”
She turned and thanked Ned as he returned with two glasses. “Here, have some champagne.” She handed a glass to Timothy. “It was a gift from a wealthy old friend of mine. It’s probably not his best, but . . .” She shrugged, then grinned at him.
He returned her grin, but his sober tone did not match his expression. “Only the best for you, Jane. You deserve every good thing life has to offer.” He lifted his glass. “To Jane Fairmont Bell. An excellent woman and an excellent innkeeper.”
Jane felt unexpected tears prick her eyes and blinked them away. Today was a day for celebration and plans for the future, not to linger on past regrets. “Thank you.” She forced a smile and touched her glass to his. “To old friends.”
She thought again of Rachel. The old friend missing like a piece torn from a family portrait. Incomplete. Was Timothy aware of her absence as well?
The champagne tingled warmly down her throat, the sensation more pleasant than the taste itself. Sir Timothy, she noticed, set down his glass, untasted. He bowed to her, then made his way through the crowd, at his ease as always, confident and comfortable in his role as village squire, known and respected by all. Jane watched him over the rim of her glass as he greeted Thora, spoke politely to Mercy and Matilda, shook Mr. Drake’s hand, joined in the applause as the makeshift band of musicians finished a song, and then with a general wave to the assembled company and another to her, strode back to the stables to reclaim his horse. A few moments later, he rode away through the archway as regally as he’d arrived, and Jane watched until he’d disappeared from view.
Mercy appeared at her side. Her gentle, understanding look threatened to bring tears to Jane’s eyes again—so many emotions swept through her!
“All right, Jane?” she asked softly.
Jane inhaled deeply. “I am more than all right.” She smiled, realizing it was true. “In fact, I am an excellent innkeeper,” she added, echoing Timothy’s private toast.
“I am glad to hear it. It is your night, after all.”
“It’s a night for all of us. Well, almost all of us. . . .” Her heart pricked again. But what had she expected, when she had not attended Rachel’s party at Thornvale?
Mercy said gently, “I did ask Rachel to join us, but she was expecting a call from Mr. Ashford, so . . .”
Jane nodded and asked, “Then who is watching the girls tonight?”
“Martha Bushby offered.”
“Ah. That was kind of her.” Jane handed Timothy’s untouched glass to Mercy. “Champagne from Brockwell Court.”
“I’ve never cared for it, but Auntie will enjoy it.” Mercy accepted the glass, squeezed Jane’s free hand with her own, and returned to her aunt.
Watching her walk away to join the others, Jane suppressed a sigh. She looked around the crowded courtyard once more, reminding herself of all those who had come. She looked again at Thora, her heart warming anew to think of how she had spoken up for her so staunchly that day. She was not only her friend, but her family. At the thought, Jane felt another relaxed smile lift her mouth.
Gabriel Locke was not there. He had gone back to his uncle’s horse farm, she guessed. He should be celebrating with them, since he had helped them win the contest. They would not have beaten Mr. Drake’s team without his hard work in training and admirable skill in leading others. She wished she had more of that skill herself. She would need it to carry out the remainder of their plans and lead The Bell staff in the weeks and months ahead. They had been given a second chance, and she did not mean to waste it.
Gabriel might be absent, but James Drake was there, just across the courtyard. He had been her rival in the contest for the Royal Mail, but her supporter and her bondsman in the licensing hearing. She thought again of what he had said, his warm praise of her as a woman and an innkeeper, and felt a little flutter of . . . what? Happiness? Attraction? Hope? She wasn’t completely certain how she felt about the man. But she felt something. She glanced over and found him watching her, a private smile on his face as his eyes met hers, the grooves in his cheeks emphasized by the flickering candlelight. He looked relaxed. Content. A little removed from the general clamor and conversation all around him, sipping from his glass. She walked over to join him.
“Enjoying yourself?” he asked as she approached.
“I am. You?”
He smiled deeply into her eyes. “I am now.”
Together they found seats at one of the tables and settled in to savor the good food, good company, and merry music. They watched with pleasure and amusement as old couples and odd couples began to dance. Mrs. Shabner and Aunt Matty clapped side by side as young Joe performed a bashful little jig alone. Cadi and Alwena cajoled him and another postboy to join them in a country dance.
Cadi appealed to the crowd, “We need more couples!”
Ned and Dotty joined in. Talbot asked Thora, but she turned him down to refill the tea urn. Patrick emerged from the office and also tried to convince his mother to dance. He soon gave up and danced with Mrs. Rooke instead. Mr. and Mrs. Paley joined them as well.
James looked at her, green eyes warm on her face. “Dance with me, Jane.”
“With pleasure.”
He held out his hand to her, and she placed hers in his.
They walked over and joined hands with the others. In time with the music, they circled one way, then the other. Then the couples “gipsied” around each other shoulder to shoulder, James holding her gaze all the while. Finally, they all circled around, right hand, then left, in a revolving chain.
From the corner of her eye, Jane saw a figure emerge from the shadows curtaining the archway. Her heart leapt. For one foolish moment she thought it might be Gabriel returning. But when she recognized who it was, her disappointment evaporated.
Rachel. She had come after all.
Jane excused herself from James and walked over to meet her old friend.
“Rachel, I am so glad you came.”
“Are you? I wasn’t sure I should.”
“Of course you should. It means a great deal to me.”
“I’m not too late, I hope.”
Jane risked teasing her, “You always did like to make an entrance.”
Rachel tentatively grinned in return. “These days my grand entrances are limited to church and the schoolroom. Your party is the highlight of my social season.”
Rachel surveyed the assembled company. Was she looking for Sir Timothy? Jane wondered. She said tentatively, “Mercy mentioned you were exp
ecting Mr. Ashford to call . . . ?”
Rachel nodded a little sheepishly. “I sent my regrets. I did not want to miss this opportunity to congratulate you on your success.”
“Thank you. We have won the Royal Mail contract and a license, but we still have to become more profitable. Our challenges are not over yet.”
“I hope you triumph over each one.”
“Me too. Thankfully, I am not in this alone.”
“So I see.” Rachel surveyed the courtyard again—the filled tables, musicians, and dancers. “My goodness, this is a much more festive party than my attempt at Thornvale.”
“And I can take no credit for it.” Jane turned, seeking out the people responsible and subtly pointing them out. “Mrs. Rooke, Dotty, Cadi, Alwena, Ned, and Colin, as well as the ostlers, Ted and Tuffy, prepared everything this afternoon, while I was away at the license hearing.”
Rachel said, “And you do know it was Thora who went around the village, inviting everyone?”
“Did she?” Jane asked, looking for Thora in the crowd. “I did wonder. . . .” So that was why she had been late to the hearing.
When Jane turned back, she was surprised to see Rachel’s gaze fastened on her in bemusement. She slowly shook her head. “I can’t get over it. You are so changed. A proper employer you are now, on a first-name basis with your staff.”
Jane was glad to hear no censure in Rachel’s voice. She replied, “I suppose it’s not much different than overseeing menus and servants at either Fairmont or Thornvale once was.”
“True.” Rachel released a dry puff of laughter. “Do you remember when we were girls, sitting in those tall pine trees, the wind swaying our perches, talking about our dreams for the future?”
“Yes, I do.”
“I have been thinking about it a lot lately. Especially since moving in with Mercy. I don’t recall exactly what I dreamt then, but—”
“I do. You said you would marry well and live in a fine house with only two children, because you did not wish to increase your risk of death in childbirth or spoil your figure.”
Rachel chuckled. “Did I? I wonder how I thought I’d manage that. Seems so silly now.”