Murder and Misdeeds by Joan Smith Page B

place up, but she hasn’t her mama’s knack for it. She is happy to sit with her nose in a book or magazine. I’ve been looking for someone to replace Mrs. Malboeuf. She was supposed to be temporary when Mrs. Acton retired, but we never found anyone suitable. Susan’s money is in Consols,” he said distractedly, hopping from subject to subject. “Do you think I ought to cash them in to be prepared? How long do you figure it would take to get the money?”
    “For such an emergency, a bank would take them as collateral and give you the cash at once, I should think. You might have a word with your banker here and make sure he has that much cash on hand. In a small village like East Grinstead, it might take him a day to accumulate twenty-five thousand.”
    He shook his head. “To see her dowry fly away in such a manner. What sort of husband can she hope for without a dowry? Well, that is something I can be doing, going to the bank. It’s the waiting that kills you. Where could she be?” He dropped his head in his hand and sat, a very model of anguish.
    “We’ll find her,” Luten said, with more sympathy than conviction. “Is there any chance she ran off with a beau?”
    Again Otto looked surprised. “She doesn’t have one. She had an offer from Blackmore, but she put her little foot down at that.”
    “Stockwell seemed to think Jeremy had offered for Susan.”
    “It never came to an offer. Susan walked out with him for a week or so, but she found she couldn’t care for him. He began telling her how she should run Appleby and that she should hire a house in London and such things. He’s a climber, I fear, but he was fond of her. He thought to please her, no doubt.”
    Corinne listened with interest. “How did he take it when she turned him off?” she asked.
    “He was pretty cut up about it, but he settled down in the end. Where can she be? Susan would not be so cruel as to run off without a word to her old uncle and all her friends. She is a good, kind soul, despite her little ways.”
    Had Jeremy, in a fit of anger, kidnapped her to bring her to heel? No, it was too implausible.
    “How did Blackmore take being rejected?” Corinne asked. “Is it possible he might have abducted her? Had her kidnapped, I mean, as he was at the fair that day himself.”
    “I doubt he’d go that far. It’s not as though he were mad for her. ‘Twas her blunt he had in his eye, I believe.”
    “But if he is in dire need of blunt ...” Luten said, and looked a question.
    “He ain’t. He was short last winter when he offered, but he came into an inheritance from some aunt in Scotland and has begun repairing his estate. No, money seems no object to Blackmore these days. He bought a new carriage and team this spring, and speaks of going to London in the autumn Little Season to find a bride. No one who knows Susan would harm a hair of her head. It has to bea stranger who has got hold of her. He might have taken her off to London or Scotland or America by now. Will I ever see my little niece again?” he asked, with tears starting again in his eyes.
    Luten saw that the man needed something else to occupy his mind, and said, “Let us go into your study to go over the accounts. We should take the Consols to Grinstead and arrange for the ransom, should it be necessary.”
    “I sit, waiting for a message to come. What is he waiting for?”
    When he reached for the bottle, Luten said gently, “Come, let us go, Otto. The note might have come by the time we return.”
    Otto rose slowly, like an old man. He was only fifty-five, but he looked twenty years older.
    After they left, Corinne went up to Susan’s room to search the desk and for a closer examination of the whole room by daylight. If the desk had contained any secrets, Luten or Simon had gotten them. She noticed a shawl thrown over the window seat and lifted it. Beneath it sat Susan’s writing box. It was a lap box, broad and shallow, whose lid provided a writing surface