The Deception of the Emerald Ring Read Online Free

screamed for mercy, but there wasn't much more left to pinch.
    In the hall, the crooked grandfather clock emitted the high-pitched whine that passed for a ping. Beneath its nasal wheezings, Letty heard a strange rustle and rattle, followed by a click.
    Letty froze, suspended awkwardly on her elbows.
    That click had not come from the clock. In the stillness that followed the twelfth chime, Letty heard it again, this time accompanied by a scramble and a shuffle, like movement hastily muffled. Someone was scurrying about in the room next door.
    Burglars? If they were, they were going to be very disappointed burglars. Her mother's jewels sparkled nicely by candlelight, but they were nothing more than paste. Anything real had long since disappeared into the gaping maw of household expenses. Her sister Mary had one pair of genuine pearl earbobs left, and Letty had a rather pretty pair of enamel bracelets—at least, until the next butcher's bill came due.
    On the other hand, burglars might turn vicious if they didn't find what they were looking for. And that was Mary's room they were in. Mary was not likely to submit docilely to the extraction of her last pair of genuine pearls.
    Folding the sheet carefully back, Letty lowered herself to the ground. Her toes curled as they touched the cold boards, but luck was with her. There was no telltale squeak.
    Letty groped for her candle, and then thought better of it. There was no need to advertise her presence. As a weapon, the candleholder was too short and stubby to be of any use. It was more likely to irritate than stun. Instead, Letty gently eased a poker from the iron stand beside the fireplace. The slight clink as the tip caught on the edge of the stand reverberated like a dozen crypt doors clanging. She froze, both hands on the shaft of the poker. Deadly silence assaulted her ears, a listening sort of silence. And then the scrambling started again. Letty's breath released in a low sigh of relief. Thank goodness.
    With her weapon clenched close to her side, Letty crept out into the corridor. Like everything else in the house, the hallway was small and narrow, papered a serviceable brown that trapped the shadows and turned them to mud. A triangle of light, like a large wedge of cheese, extended into the hallway from Mary's half-open door.
    "Put that there." A woman crossed the room in a swish of blue skirt. From somewhere behind the door, a rustle of fabric followed, and the chink of the wardrobe door being shut. "No, not that green. The other green."
    Letty's grip on the poker relaxed. That wasn't a burglar; that was Mary.
    What Mary was doing wearing her best driving dress at midnight was another matter entirely. As Letty watched, Mary turned and deposited a pile of scarves in the arms of her maid, filmy creations of gauze designed more to entice than warm. Their purchase had set Letty's housekeeping accounts back at least two months.
    "Pack these," Mary directed. "Leave the wool."
    Clutching the pile of scarves, Mary's maid looked anxiously at her mistress. "It's past midnight, miss. His lordship—"
    "Will wait. He does it so well." Bending over her dressing table, Mary opened the lid of her jewel box and contemplated the contents. Closing it with a decisive click, she thrust the box out to the maid. "I won't be needing these anymore. See that Miss Letty gets this. With my love, of course."
    There was only one possible reason for Mary to bequeath her bagatelles. And it wasn't love.
    Taking care not to let the poker scrape against the floor, Letty tiptoed back into her own room, leaning the unwanted weapon carefully against the wall. She wouldn't be needing it. At least, she didn't think she would. In the course of her long career as de facto keeper of the Alsworthy ménage, Letty had confronted all manner of domestic disruption, from exploding Christmas puddings to indignant tradesmen, and even, on one memorable occasion, escaped livestock. Letty had bandaged burns, coaxed her little