her
head. She gave a tiny gasp and stood frozen in the door frame
Her portmanteau, which had been arranged so
neatly along the wall of Colette's room, were now tumbled about the
room. The lids were flung open, the trunks empty except for a few
trifling articles of clothing strewn over the floor. It took
Gwenda's stunned senses a few moments to recover before her mind
assimilated the truth.
"I've been robbed," she said, a sick feeling
striking in the pit of her stomach. But how and when? She could not
forbear a nervous glance about her as though she might find the
thief yet lurking behind the curtains or beneath the bed.
No, she was being nonsensical. The deed had
obviously been done under cover of night. She bent down and righted
the small casket that had contained her jewels, now distressingly
empty.
Her shock slowly faded, with anger taking its
place. "The wretched villain," she cried, "sneaking in here while I
slept but yards away." The mere idea of such a thing caused a
shiver to work its way up her spine.
She turned to glare at Spotted Bert. "And
you, Bertie! A fine watchdog you are! It would not surprise me if
you had licked the villain's hands and then helped retrieve things
to put into his sack."
Bertie cocked his head, appearing confused by
the reproachful tone.
"You might at least have barked. Goodness
knows, you are never quiet on any other occasion."
Gwenda broke off her scolding as a thought
struck her. Perhaps Bertie had barked and she had been so deeply
asleep she hadn't heard him. But what about Colette? Surely she
must have noticed something was amiss.
Gwenda's eyes traveled toward her maid's cot
and she stiffened. So startled had she been upon first entering the
room to find her trunks rifled, she had not noticed the smooth
linen sheets turned carefully back, the feather-tick pillow plumped
to perfection. It was obvious Colette's bed had not even been slept
in last night.
As Gwenda stared at the cot, unwelcome
suspicions began to sift into her mind. The untouched bed, the
odd-tasting glass of milk Colette had pressed upon her, her heavy
sleep that was almost as though she had swallowed a good dose of
laudanum or some other drug.
Feeling much troubled, Gwenda sank back on
her heels and wrapped her arms about her dog's neck. "No, it won't
do, Bertie, to go leaping to conclusions without proof. I know it
looks bad that Colette is not here, but then she never is when I
want her. Why, for all I know the poor girl could have been
kidnapped by the thieves. As Mama would say, a good general would
never court-martial anyone without first obtaining all the
facts."
Gwenda rose thoughtfully to her feet and
walked back to her own room. At least her wrapper was still there,
laid out over the back of the chair. She tugged the soft
peach-colored robe over her linen nightgown and looked for her
slippers, but they were gone.
"I do trust that was the thief at work," she
said sternly to her dog, "and not you, Bertie."
Spotted Bert allowed his tongue to loll out,
assuming his most innocent expression.
Gwenda strode past the dog. Opening her door,
she stepped into the corridor and was fortunate enough to encounter
one of the inn's chambermaids, a strapping country lass with
blooming cheeks and a cheery smile. She bustled past with an
armload of fresh towels. Gwenda, who had a knack for recalling
names, even down to the lowest menial in the kitchens, remembered
that the girl's name was Sallie.
She summoned the girl to her side and asked,
"Sallie, have you seen my maid belowstairs this morning?"
"Mamzelle Colette? No, miss. I'm sure I
haven't." The girl sniffed. There was a disdainful edge in her
voice that Gwenda had oft heard from other female servants when
they spoke of Colette.
"Oh, dear," Gwenda said. "Well, I'm afraid
something dreadful has happened." She beckoned for the girl to
follow her into Colette's room, where she exhibited her empty
trunks.
"You will perceive that I have been robbed,"
she
head. She gave a tiny gasp and stood frozen in the door frame
Her portmanteau, which had been arranged so
neatly along the wall of Colette's room, were now tumbled about the
room. The lids were flung open, the trunks empty except for a few
trifling articles of clothing strewn over the floor. It took
Gwenda's stunned senses a few moments to recover before her mind
assimilated the truth.
"I've been robbed," she said, a sick feeling
striking in the pit of her stomach. But how and when? She could not
forbear a nervous glance about her as though she might find the
thief yet lurking behind the curtains or beneath the bed.
No, she was being nonsensical. The deed had
obviously been done under cover of night. She bent down and righted
the small casket that had contained her jewels, now distressingly
empty.
Her shock slowly faded, with anger taking its
place. "The wretched villain," she cried, "sneaking in here while I
slept but yards away." The mere idea of such a thing caused a
shiver to work its way up her spine.
She turned to glare at Spotted Bert. "And
you, Bertie! A fine watchdog you are! It would not surprise me if
you had licked the villain's hands and then helped retrieve things
to put into his sack."
Bertie cocked his head, appearing confused by
the reproachful tone.
"You might at least have barked. Goodness
knows, you are never quiet on any other occasion."
Gwenda broke off her scolding as a thought
struck her. Perhaps Bertie had barked and she had been so deeply
asleep she hadn't heard him. But what about Colette? Surely she
must have noticed something was amiss.
Gwenda's eyes traveled toward her maid's cot
and she stiffened. So startled had she been upon first entering the
room to find her trunks rifled, she had not noticed the smooth
linen sheets turned carefully back, the feather-tick pillow plumped
to perfection. It was obvious Colette's bed had not even been slept
in last night.
As Gwenda stared at the cot, unwelcome
suspicions began to sift into her mind. The untouched bed, the
odd-tasting glass of milk Colette had pressed upon her, her heavy
sleep that was almost as though she had swallowed a good dose of
laudanum or some other drug.
Feeling much troubled, Gwenda sank back on
her heels and wrapped her arms about her dog's neck. "No, it won't
do, Bertie, to go leaping to conclusions without proof. I know it
looks bad that Colette is not here, but then she never is when I
want her. Why, for all I know the poor girl could have been
kidnapped by the thieves. As Mama would say, a good general would
never court-martial anyone without first obtaining all the
facts."
Gwenda rose thoughtfully to her feet and
walked back to her own room. At least her wrapper was still there,
laid out over the back of the chair. She tugged the soft
peach-colored robe over her linen nightgown and looked for her
slippers, but they were gone.
"I do trust that was the thief at work," she
said sternly to her dog, "and not you, Bertie."
Spotted Bert allowed his tongue to loll out,
assuming his most innocent expression.
Gwenda strode past the dog. Opening her door,
she stepped into the corridor and was fortunate enough to encounter
one of the inn's chambermaids, a strapping country lass with
blooming cheeks and a cheery smile. She bustled past with an
armload of fresh towels. Gwenda, who had a knack for recalling
names, even down to the lowest menial in the kitchens, remembered
that the girl's name was Sallie.
She summoned the girl to her side and asked,
"Sallie, have you seen my maid belowstairs this morning?"
"Mamzelle Colette? No, miss. I'm sure I
haven't." The girl sniffed. There was a disdainful edge in her
voice that Gwenda had oft heard from other female servants when
they spoke of Colette.
"Oh, dear," Gwenda said. "Well, I'm afraid
something dreadful has happened." She beckoned for the girl to
follow her into Colette's room, where she exhibited her empty
trunks.
"You will perceive that I have been robbed,"
she
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