That Would Be a Fairy Tale - By Amanda Grange Page 0,55

do with you.’

Cicely went on to explain that the attempt had been perpetrated by the Honourable Martin Goss, who had evaded capture by slipping the necklace into Gladys’s apron and thereby framing the girl.

‘Not Gladys Vicars?’ asked Mrs Lessing, startled.

‘Yes.’

Mrs Lessing’s brow darkened, for she had visited the Manor on a number of occasions and knew Gladys and her family well.

‘Gladys Vicars is a hardworking, good sort of girl, you were right to get involved, Cicely,’ she said. ‘We can’t let men like Martin Goss behave in such a scandalous fashion, or where would it end? There is only one place for him, and that is behind bars.’

‘And that is where we intend to put him.’

‘We?’

There was a pause. Then Cicely said, as nonchalantly as possible, ‘Mr Evington and myself. We are working on the matter together.’

Mrs Lessing gave Cicely a penetrating look. ‘Mr Evington is the new owner of the Manor?’ she asked.

Cicely flushed, much to her annoyance, for her aunt was a perceptive woman and sometimes saw more than was convenient. ‘Yes.’

‘I see. He is young?’ asked Mrs Lessing.

‘Not especially,’ Cicely replied awkwardly.

‘How old is not especially?’ asked Sophie with interest.

‘He is about thirty,’ said Cicely, raising her eyes, and looking frankly at her aunt. Fortunately her flush had subsided, and she was once more in control of herself.

‘Is he married?’ asked Sophie.

Cicely felt in danger of flushing again. ‘No. Though I believe he has an . . . attachment.’

‘What a pity,’ said Sophie. ‘I am in need of a husband, and living at the Manor would be just the thing.’

‘You are in need of nothing of the sort,’ snorted her mother. ‘You are far too young to be married. It is hardly any time since you put up your hair and put down your skirts. Mr Evington is far too old for you.’ She gave Cicely another penetrating glance, and the words but not for you, hung unspoken in the air. ‘However, his private life is none of our business, except as it influences the present situation.’ She relaxed her gaze. ‘You have told us that he is to be involved in this venture,’ she said to Cicely, ‘but not why.’

Cicely explained about his sister, and her treatment at Goss’s hands.

‘Mr Evington’s sister is a maid?’ asked Mrs Lessing, startled.

‘Was a maid,’ Cicely corrected her. ‘Mr Evington has only recently made his money, through business, and one of the first things he did was to rescue his sister from service.’

‘Family loyalty,’ said Mrs Lessing, nodding in appreciation of this side of the situation. ‘An estimable quality. Undervalued by the young, but not to be taken lightly nonetheless.’ She was thoughtful. ‘So Mr Evington has a personal interest in catching Goss.’

‘Yes. He has been very helpful with the practical aspects of the plan. In fact I would not be able to carry it out without him.’

‘And now it is time to dress for dinner,’ said Mrs Lessing. ‘And after that, I suggest an early night.’

‘I won’t be able to sleep,’ said Sophie.

‘You had better try,’ said her mother. ‘You will need your wits about you tomorrow, from all I have heard. We all will, it seems.’

The following morning the three ladies rose early, and after a breakfast of coffee and hot rolls they set out for the café where Cicely had already arranged to meet Alex. She had promised Sophie she would explain her plan when they were all together and after many grumbles Sophie had at last accepted it.

Marienbad, unlike many fashionable places at half past nine in the morning, was already busy. The guests, who were there for the good of their health, rose early, taking the waters of the Kreuzbrunnen before walking on the promenade. The delightful sound of splashing fountains could be heard, and the cheerful strains of a band.

‘I’d forgotten how lovely it is here,’ said Cicely appreciatively as they strolled along the promenade.

Suddenly she stopped. A distinguished gentleman was walking towards them, flanked by two other gentlemen. Although there was nothing unusual in his dress, which consisted of a dark blue coat, white trousers and a grey felt hat, there was something in his carriage that commanded attention. One glance at his noble face, with its fine eyes, dark moustache and distinctive white beard, told Cicely that she was in the presence of her king. Yet there was nothing ostentatious about him; no pomp and circumstance. He was strolling along the promenade in the most natural way.

‘Ah! You’ve seen him,’ said Cicely’s