The Confounding Case Of The Carisbrook Emeralds Page 15

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Then you called for a footman and dispatched him with a summons to your son and, subsequently, spoke with Franklin.”

  This time, her ladyship’s agreement was significantly longer in coming, but eventually, she said, “Indeed. I spoke with my son for several minutes over matters of a personal nature arising from his behavior during the evening.”

  Penelope adopted an understanding smile. “We assume that, after your discussion with Franklin, you retired to your bed.”

  Somewhat to Penelope’s surprise, a faint smile touched her ladyship’s thin lips—more a lightening of expression than a true softening—then Lady Carisbrook responded, “Indeed.”

  “Moving on to the morning, the next person we have entering your room is the tweeny, Missy, who came in and lit the fire.”

  Lady Carisbrook, more confident now, inclined her head.

  “And then, we understand that your daughter, Julia, came in to speak with you.”

  Lady Carisbrook blinked; it appeared she’d forgotten her daughter’s visit. “Yes. She did. She asked about the day’s engagements.”

  Penelope nodded. “And then, at eight o’clock, your niece Cara delivered your breakfast tray to you.” Penelope opened her eyes wide. “It seems rather odd that your husband’s ward should need to assist in a household such as this, but apparently, that was the case.”

  She felt not a single iota of guilt for the flush that suffused her ladyship’s face. More, she waited, her unvoiced question hanging in the air, until Lady Carisbrook felt forced to acknowledge the point with a strangled “That’s correct.”

  “I see.” Penelope made sure her tone conveyed that she truly did see all. Then she straightened and briskly summarized, “From what we’ve ascertained and confirmed to this point, any one of seven people might have removed the jewel case containing the emeralds from your dressing table.”

  “Seven?” Lady Carisbrook looked taken aback.

  “Indeed.” Penelope ticked their potential suspects off on her fingers. “Simpkins, Henry, Franklin, Missy, Julia, and Cara.” She waited while Lady Carisbrook took that in, then added, “And, of course, yourself.”

  Her ladyship’s eyes flew wide. “What?”

  Penelope allowed her lips to curve and rose. “You must have realized that accusing someone of removing a case of jewels from your room while you were present would mean that your own name would be on the list of suspects.”

  With that, she inclined her head. “Thank you for your time.” She turned and glided to the door, but paused before she reached it and looked back to say, “Incidentally, although she no longer resides under this roof, you will, no doubt, be glad to hear that Miss Di Abaccio is presently in the company of Lady Guilfoyle and Lady Monk, who, I believe, are making arrangements to take Cara to the theater tomorrow night.” She refrained from adding that, that evening, Cara would be sitting down to dinner with, among others, the Earl and Countess of Cothelstone.

  She was too far away to make out the expression in her ladyship’s eyes, but when, after a farewell dip of her head, she left the room and was closing the door, she thought she heard a muted screech.

  Stokes and Barnaby were waiting in the hall. Stokes waved her to the front door, which Jarvis promptly opened.

  “Anything?” Barnaby took her arm and steadied her down the steps.

  “Nothing as to any jeweler,” she replied, “but I did verify our list of suspects. Lady Carisbrook admitted all had been in her room—and she also confirmed that she has no firm recollection of the jewel case being on her dressing table after she set it there.”

  “That’s useful.” Stokes halted by her carriage.

  He waited while Barnaby helped her in, then both men followed and sat, Barnaby beside her and Stokes facing them.

  “So what did you learn from his lordship?” she asked. “Did he give you the name of the jeweler who last cleaned the emeralds?”

  “No.” Stokes looked less than impressed.

  Barnaby leaned back. “He claimed that it had been so long since they were last cleaned that he couldn’t remember, but that he would check to see if there was any mention of it in his accounts.”

  “And I checked with Bridge,” Stokes said. “No one presently with the company has sighted the set, but Bridge confirmed that it should need cleaning about once a year.”

  She looked from Stokes’s dour expression to her husband’s severe one. “So the likelihood of the emeralds not actually being emeralds increases another notch.”

  Stokes grunted in agreement. “However, I still need to find the wretched things—the commissioner will expect a result, fake stones or not.”

  Barnaby made a derisive sound. “In a way, it’s the principle of the theft—famous jewels taken from a house in Mayfair—rather than the actual damage done that the police are expected to address.”

  “As far as the emeralds are concerned, our hopes now rest with Roscoe,” Stokes said. When Penelope looked her question, he explained he’d already sent a message.

  “Well,” she said, “if anyone can help you locate the set, it’s Roscoe.”

  “On another note,” Barnaby said, “we asked after Franklin—it would have been nice to speak with him—but apparently, he left late yesterday to stay with friends and isn’t expected back until this evening.” He shifted on the seat to better see Penelope’s face. “What did you make of her ladyship?”

  Penelope rapidly replayed her moments with Lady Carisbrook, then grimaced. “Hugo was right in calling her a pompous tartar, and Cara will do much better out from under her wing. But her reaction to my questions was curious.” She met Barnaby’s eyes. “I would take an oath there’s more going on in that household than just a set of missing jewels.”

  After a moment of staring into Barnaby’s blue eyes, Penelope pulled another face and admitted, “I sincerely hope that at the soirée this evening, we can manage to steer well clear of Lady Carisbrook. Being forced to exchange pleasant platitudes with such as she is guaranteed to ruin our evening.”

  Chapter 7

  After waving Cara and Hugo off to a quiet family dinner with Hugo’s and Barnaby’s parents, Penelope and Barnaby grasped the chance of enjoying a quiet family dinner of their own—in the nursery, along with a smiling if sleepy Oliver.

  When, eventually, after tucking their somnolent son into his cot, they headed down the stairs, Penelope glanced at Barnaby. “It’s a pity we decided to attend this soirée. Given all that we learned today and what the others might have unearthed as well, having to wait another day before we can share our findings is…well, annoying.”

  Barnaby smiled. He closed his hand about one of hers and gently squeezed. “Impatient as always.” She threw him a narrow-eyed look, which he pretended not to see. “Nevertheless, we need to hear Julia’s version of events.” A second later, he met Penelope’s eyes. “It would be helpful if you could also draw her out on the other relationships in that family.”

  She arched her brows. “You’re not planning to be there when I speak with her?”

  He allowed his chagrin to show. “Sadly, no. She’ll speak more freely to you alone.” With another, this time fondly amused, look, he added, “Don’t forget, you’re a youngest daughter, too.”

  She widened her eyes. “You’re right—I’d forgotten she and I share that distinction.”

  “Now I’ve reminded you, I’m sure you’ll use it to our best advantage. You might also ask her if Franklin’s returned to town. He’s another we need to catch up with.”

  “True.” Penelope walked beside Barnaby into the back parlor, where they planned to while away the next hour or so until it was time to climb into their carriage and venture out on tonight’s investigative foray. Absentmindedly strolling to her desk, she said, “I wonder if, as in many larger families, Julia, as youngest, will prove to be the quiet but observant type.”

  That hope was high in her mind when, two hours later, she and Barnaby walked into Lad
y Cannavan’s drawing room, occasioning as intense a stir as Penelope had foreseen. She and Barnaby were both connected to many of the premier families in the ton, and their involvement in investigations over recent years had only increased the ton’s interest in them. However, as neither was fond of the social whirl, they tended to appear only at events hosted by a select group of family and friends, thus denying the wider ton the opportunity to draw close and claim acquaintance.

  Consequently, Lady Cannavan beamed as she welcomed them gushingly to her home and preened as, after exchanging the usual pleasantries, they walked into the large room to mingle with her other guests.

  As Lady Cannavan was not one of the premier hostesses, Penelope had feared that she and Barnaby would know few of her ladyship’s guests, but luckily, several of the Cannavan connections who had been prevailed upon to attend were nodding acquaintances; there were just enough of them to provide cover as she steered Barnaby on a circuit of the room.

  They spotted Lady Carisbrook among the crowd, with Julia in her shadow, but passed by with nothing more than polite nods—receiving an exceedingly stiff acknowledgment from Lady Carisbrook in response.

  Since marrying Barnaby, Penelope had mastered the art of appearing politely interested in all about her while inwardly pursuing quite different thoughts. As they passed between two groups of guests, she smiled at Barnaby and murmured, “This is going to be more difficult than I’d thought.”

  His expression deceptively mild, Barnaby replied, “Because Lady Carisbrook has chosen to bruit the loss of the emeralds far and wide?”

  Penelope nodded, severe disapproval peeking through her gracious veil as she glanced between guests to where Lady Carisbrook was dramatically expostulating to an inquisitive circle of matrons and young ladies. “I suppose I should have guessed she would use the incident to make herself interesting. I just hope she has sense enough not to accuse Cara publicly—although I gather from Hugo she’s already done that once, on the porch of St. George’s, no less.”

  “Given the way the Adairs—and all our connections—are closing ranks around Cara, I don’t believe you need to be overly worried on that score.” Taking her elbow, Barnaby steered her on. “Instead, turn your mind to this—given that our connection to Stokes and investigations such as this is widely known, how are you going to approach Julia without drawing the attention of every last gossipmonger here?”

  Drawing her gaze from the spectacle of Lady Carisbrook and her hangers-on, Penelope cast him a wide-eyed look. “Obviously, I’m not going to approach Julia at all—not openly.” She cast one last glance at Julia, all but literally shrinking into her mother’s shadow, then summoned a smile for the next knot of guests. “But the instant Julia heads for the withdrawing room, I’m going to have to move fast.”

  Understanding her intention, while Barnaby steered her through the guests, stopping here and there to chat, but sliding away before anyone could focus on their involvement in criminal investigations, he used his height to keep a distant eye on Julia Carisbrook. He fervently hoped that some distraction would magically occur to cover Penelope’s necessary retreat; sadly, when the moment came and Julia slipped away from her mother’s side, heading for the drawing room door, and no diversion offered, he swallowed a long-suffering sigh, nudged Penelope, then seized on a leading question from an older gentleman as to how he and Penelope spent their time these days to capture and hold the attention of everyone in their group by replying, “Well, our association with Inspector Stokes of Scotland Yard continues to prove…diverting.”

  Their history with Stokes and his investigations gave Barnaby plenty of fodder with which to entertain his now-eager listeners. Although doubtless they hoped he would move on to describing their current endeavors, they were nevertheless keen to hear of past investigations; sacrificing himself on the altar of distraction, he glibly related just enough to whet their appetites and keep all attention fixed on him while Penelope slipped away in Julia’s wake.

  In the hall outside the drawing room, Penelope found a footman who directed her to the withdrawing room; Julia Carisbrook wasn’t the sort of young lady to have made for any other destination. Sure enough, Penelope found Julia seated in what appeared to be glum dejection on a stool in the room set aside for female guests. Glancing around and seeing only a supremely disinterested maid standing, eyes vacant, in a corner, Penelope thanked the gods for smiling on her enterprise and briskly walked forward; with a rustle of fashionable skirts, she sat on the stool facing Julia.

  Julia blinked, then recognized Penelope. “Oh! You’re Mrs. Adair.” Animation returned to Julia’s features. She leaned forward and asked, “Can you tell me anything of Cara? About how she’s getting on?”

  As with her father, Julia’s concern was transparently genuine.

  “Cara is well.” Penelope paused, then added, “I suspect she’s missing you and his lordship, and possibly Franklin as well, but Hugo Adair is…well, more or less courting her, so she has that to distract her.”

  “Oh.” Julia sat back, but there was nothing beyond relief in her face. “I’m so glad. I know she’s drawn to him. I hope she can…find her way to happiness.”

  But what of you? The words leapt to her tongue, but Penelope had sense enough not to utter them—at least, not yet. Instead, she said, “As you know, my husband and I are assisting Inspector Stokes in investigating the disappearance of your family’s emeralds, and we need to clarify several points with you.” The sounds of other ladies approaching reached Penelope’s ears. “I rather suspect,” she said, “that you’ll be more comfortable answering our questions without your mother or anyone else looking on, so might I suggest”—she rose and urged Julia to her feet—“that we find somewhere a little more private in which to converse?”

  Julia looked uncertain. “Mama will expect me back soon.”

  “She’s rather absorbed talking to others at the moment, and this won’t take long.”

  Julia seemed to come to a decision. “All right.” She followed Penelope to the door, then waited with her while four other ladies, chatting gaily, entered the room. After following Penelope into the corridor, Julia asked, “Where should we go?”

  No stranger to the layout of town houses, Penelope found a small parlor at the end of the corridor. It was unlit, but the curtains had been left wide, and sufficient light pooled on the window seat to make it a perfectly viable interrogation spot.

  Once she and Julia were settled on the cushions, facing each other, Penelope said, “The first point we need to confirm is that on Sunday morning at about fifteen minutes past seven o’clock, you went to your mother’s room to speak with her.”

  Julia blinked and nodded. “Yes. That’s right. She…rarely tells me which events she’s accepted invitations for. She likes me to come in and ask every morning, and then she tells me which gown to wear and whose attention I should try to engage.”

  Penelope already knew she disapproved of her ladyship’s managing ways; she suppressed her instinctive reaction and asked, “Did you happen to see if the jewel case containing the emeralds was still on your mother’s dressing table?”

  Julia frowned, clearly wracking her memory, but then shook her head. “I can’t say. I didn’t look at Mama’s dressing table—it’s on the other side of the room to the bed.”

  Penelope nodded. She captured Julia’s gaze and said, “You have to understand that, along with everyone else who ventured into your mother’s room between the time she came home and when she raised the alarm, including your mother herself, you are on our list of suspects.” When Julia recoiled, Penelope held up a staying hand. “That doesn’t mean we’re accusing anyone—merely that we have to look into what each of you did around that time. Apropos of that, after your mother accused Cara, I assume you stayed indoors until you went to church, and after you returned to John Street, you remained there until your papa arrived and Inspector Stokes and my husband and I appeared.”

  Clasping her hands in her lap, Julia nodde
d. “Yes, that’s right.”

  Penelope fixed her with a direct look. “Do you have any notion of who might have taken the emeralds?”

  “No!” Vehemently, Julia shook her head. “And it’s quite wrong for Mama to have said Cara took them. Cara would no more have done that than I would. I mean, what use are the emeralds to us? We couldn’t possibly want to wear such awful things, and neither of us would have any idea of how to sell them.”

  Penelope tipped her head in agreement.

  Julia gripped her fingers tightly. “I should have spoken up—I know I should have. But Mama is so…” She grimaced and gestured.

  “Indeed.” It was hard to fault Julia for not standing up to her overbearing mother. Penelope rapidly reviewed what they knew, then asked, “We know your mother called your brother into her room after you all got home that night. We haven’t yet had a chance to speak with him, but do you have any idea what that exchange was about?”

  Julia looked reticent over speaking of her brother’s affairs, but then her courage firmed, and she offered, “I don’t think Franklin would mind me saying that Mama has strong views about which young ladies Franklin should be spending his time with.”

  “And Franklin hasn’t been falling into line?”

  Julia nodded. “I imagine Mama wanted to…upbraid him over that.”

  “I’ve met your mother. I suspect she would have made her point rather forcefully.” When Julia didn’t respond, Penelope went on, “Our final question concerns a mystery gentleman who leaves his horse in your family’s stable on certain nights.” She kept her eyes trained on Julia’s face. “Do you know anything at all about him?”

  Julia’s expression blanked. Then she swallowed and shook her head. “No. I don’t know anything about him.”

  But you know that he exists. Penelope frowned. She would swear Julia’s words were not a lie. “How do you know—”