Gather Ye Rosebuds by Joan Smith Page A

reported having seen him hereabouts. You would not know where he lived?”
    “I know it was not right in town,” Bradford replied promptly. “He had a little cottage in the countryside, down toward Ashdown Forest. I was never there myself. He always brought his pieces to me.”
    “You would not have his address in your account book?” Mama asked. “We are so very anxious to find him,” she added, with a sweet smile that would fool Satan himself.
    “I don’t,” Bradford answered. “The reverend was a secretive sort of a fellow. I do not mean sly. Pray do not think I am disparaging him. It is just that he kept pretty well to business. If he had not been a man of the cloth, I would have suspected where he was getting all those fine pieces,” he added with a laugh. “But when I dropped him a hint, he told me about his nabob uncle.”
    “Uncle Barry.” Mama nodded.
    “I don’t believe he ever mentioned the name. I know from experience that many a fine piece comes from India. If you find your cousin, ladies, tell him I am still open for business.”
    “Thank you,” I said, and snatched up my sketchpad. We. escaped into the street, trembling like aspens in a gale.
    “He was a thief!” Mama gasped. “I am so glad Lord Weylin was not with us.”
    “At least he did not steal Lady Margaret’s necklace.”
    “He did not sell it to that nice Mr. Bradford,” Mama countered, “but that is not to say he did not steal it. He knew she came to Tunbridge, you see, so he would have got rid of her necklace farther away, in London, very likely. I must be grateful he did not help himself to my poor chips of sapphire, that your papa gave me as a wedding gift.”
    “We had best get back to the hotel. It is nearly time for lunch,” I said, drawing out my watch to check the time.
    “What shall we tell him?” Mama asked, in a frightened way. She meant, of course, Lord Weylin.
    “Nothing. We had no luck in finding Uncle Barry.”
    “I wonder if he discovered anything of his aunt.”
    We headed back to the hotel, with our heads low, scheming how to hide our disgrace. “We ought to rush straight back to Hernefield, and take these sketches with us,” Mama said.
    “I should like to make a detour to Ashdown Forest, and see if we can find any trace of Reverend Portland first.”
    “Impersonating a minister! That was really too bad of Barry. But not so bad as stealing all that jewelry.” She came to a dead stop. “Zoie! Our wits have gone begging! The money he got from Bradford must be in his house at Ashdown Forest—if he actually had such a house. That might be more lies.”
    “We have found no trace of him at any of the local hotels. It is worth a try.”
    “We shall go as soon as we can be rid of Weylin,” Mama declared.
    When this was settled, we continued on our way back to the hotel, and lunch with Lord Weylin.
     

Chapter Eleven
     
    Lord Weylin had not returned to the hotel when we arrived. We went abovestairs to tidy up for luncheon, and make further plans to delude him. I was sorry to cut Weylin out of our adventure. It was not every day such an eligible gentleman crossed my path. Mama had warned me against setting my cap for him; indeed I knew myself he was above my touch, but common sense never prevented a lady from hoping. If he was interested in me, there was nothing to prevent him from following up the acquaintance after we got back to Hernefield. He had said he wished to see my paintings.
    Weylin had still not returned when we went downstairs. It was well past the time we had agreed to meet. His tardiness suggested he had found some clue that he was following up. We inquired at the desk whether he had left a message.
    The clerk handed me a note. “It is not from his lordship. This arrived with the noon mail,” he said. I recognized Brodagan’s broad fist. Mama and I took it to the parlor.
    “This will be some tale of woe. Brodagan and Steptoe have come to cuffs very likely,” Mama said, ripping the