The Confounding Case Of The Carisbrook Emeralds Read online

  His expression impassive, Lord Frederick stared at the sketch for several heartbeats, then he reached out and picked it up. Outwardly unperturbed, he studied it at length, then his lips lifted just a touch. “She’s a talented artist. It’s a very good likeness.”

  “A very recognizable likeness, my lord.” Stokes waited. When his lordship set the sketch back down, Stokes retrieved it, refolded it, and stowed it away again. Then, after a glance at Barnaby, who had continued to watch his lordship, Stokes followed his friend’s lead and settled to wait on Lord Frederick’s conscience.

  Eventually, Lord Frederick, who had fallen into a reverie, stirred. He cast a sharp glance at Barnaby, then looked at Stokes. “In answer to your unvoiced questions, gentlemen, I never laid so much as a finger on Simpkins, nor did I touch that blasted necklace.”

  When Lord Frederick sat back, steepled his fingers before his face, and faintly frowned, volunteering nothing more, Stokes glanced questioningly at Barnaby.

  Barnaby noted his look, returned his gaze to Lord Frederick, and after a moment, his tone quiet and even, said, “Inspector Stokes and I have been given the task of determining how Simpkins died. I can assure you that nothing you say to us will be relayed to anyone who doesn’t need to know.” He paused, then added, “We would rather not report our findings to date without hearing what you can tell us about the incident which led to Simpkins falling and breaking her neck.”

  Stokes approved of that speech and was pleased when Barnaby shut his lips and said no more.

  After another taut silence, Lord Frederick’s gaze, which had been focused on some distant prospect, returned briefly to Stokes’s face, then his lordship looked at Barnaby—assessingly, measuringly—then Lord Frederick faintly, somewhat cynically, smiled. “You are a credit to your lineage, Adair.” A second passed, and Lord Frederick more quietly added, “As I hope I am to mine.”

  Stokes told himself to be patient; working with Barnaby had taught him that, when interviewing nobs, silence was often more effective than specific questions in eliciting information. Nevertheless, it was difficult to sit still while sensing such powerful undercurrents swirling around them.

  At last, Lord Frederick sat up, lowered his hands to the desk, looked from Barnaby to Stokes, and said, “Very well. I accept that you do, indeed, need to know, and that I must place my trust in your discretion. That said, I wish to underscore that what I am about to reveal impacts the lives of three others as well as mine—namely, that of my wife, Anne, that of Humphrey, Lord Carisbrook, and of course, that of Livia, Lady Carisbrook.” Lord Frederick paused as if gathering his thoughts, then said, “In order to put the events of Monday night into proper context, you will need some understanding of the history that binds us.”

  Stokes managed not to arch his brows in surprise; he’d thought it a simple matter of an affair, the usual sort of liaison the aristocracy—certainly those of his lordship’s vintage—fell into and out of much like a new suit. He glanced at Barnaby and saw him leaning back in the chair, his blue gaze, acute and sober, trained on his lordship’s face. Again taking his cue from his friend, Stokes settled back and, with greater curiosity than he’d previously felt, waited to hear what his lordship thought they needed to know.

  Lord Frederick clasped his hands on the desk and, with his gaze fixed on his fingers, said, “I should commence by telling you that Livia and I have known each other since our early teens. Her parents’ country property abutted an estate my father acquired, and I often spent summers there. Although we didn’t grow up together, through the time I spent there, we grew to care for each other.” He drew breath, his fingers tightening, and went on, “In short, we developed an understanding—an expectation that, once she reached a suitable age, we would marry. However, I was a younger son with no prospects, and when Carisbrook made his offer, I couldn’t compete. He didn’t love Livia, but in those days, among our class, love didn’t weigh in the scales. Not at all. Livia and I had no option but to accept her parents’ decree and put aside our childhood dreams. She married Carisbrook, and subsequently, she and I met as distant acquaintances, nothing more.”

  Lord Frederick paused. His gaze was locked on his clasped hands, but his mind seemed to be looking far down the years. “After a time, I married Anne, and much the same as with Livia and Carisbrook’s union, ours was one of convenience. But while love was never a part of our mix, Anne and I grew to be, and still are, firm friends—our shared liking of helping others brought us together in the first place, and our ongoing activities in that sphere continue to bind us.” His lordship’s lips briefly lifted. “A shared passion of a different sort, if you will.”

  After a second, he went on, “That situation remained in place for many years, until, well-nigh twenty years ago, some years after the birth of her youngest daughter, Livia and I met again…and I learned that she and Carisbrook had agreed to go their separate ways, at least in private. Anne and I had led separate lives for years at that point.” He paused; when he continued, his voice held a softness, a subtle glow of wonder and joy, he hadn’t allowed to manifest before. “Livia and I discovered that our youthful love had never died—it had simply lain dormant, suppressed by circumstance but very much alive and able to bloom again. We became lovers then, and over the years, I have continued to visit her several times a week.”

  Lord Frederick glanced up, wry self-deprecation flitting over his face as his gaze briefly touched Barnaby and Stokes. “Somewhat to my surprise, not long after our affair began, Carisbrook sought me out and, without actually speaking of it, gave me to understand that he had no objection whatever to me being Livia’s lover—that anything that made her happy was acceptable in his eyes—just as long as she and I maintained the strictest discretion and, as he knew of my own need for that, he had complete faith that we would. Since that time, he and I have met, if not as friends, then certainly as easy acquaintances.” His lordship softly snorted. “Everyone was happy—Anne was delighted for me, too. And so it went…until now.”

  His face hardening, his lordship exhaled, then said, “Simpkins. She was Livia’s dresser from long before I became Livia’s lover. I would have said—indeed, I still believe—that Simpkins was to-the-bone loyal to Livia. My only error was in believing that that loyalty extended to me.” Lord Frederick paused; his guard was down, and his expressions were growing easier to read—he appeared to be examining something in his mind. Then he continued, “I don’t know what got into her—whether she’d realized she was growing old and perhaps didn’t have enough put by, or if some sudden need had surfaced for which she required immediate funds…” He lightly shrugged. “I simply don’t know.”

  He glanced at Barnaby and Stokes, and his features firmed. “But to come to those events you’ve been investigating, when I visited Livia on Saturday—more correctly in the early hours of Sunday—everything went as it usually did. There was no indication of anything being amiss—of course, at that time, Livia hadn’t realized the emeralds were missing. I came and went as I usually did, let into the house via the rear door by Simpkins. When I left, also via the rear door, I told Simpkins, as I’d previously told Livia, that I would next visit on Monday night.”

  When his lordship’s subsequent pause lengthened, Stokes glanced at Barnaby. Seeing his look, Barnaby infinitesimally shook his head, and Stokes resigned himself to more waiting.

  His gaze again on his clasped hands, Lord Frederick’s frown slowly deepened. Eventually, he said, “Anne attends Sunday service at St. George’s in Hanover Square. She heard Livia loudly proclaiming the theft of the emeralds and blaming Carisbrook’s niece, Miss Di Abaccio. I’d briefly met Miss Di Abaccio at some social event, and I suspected Livia’s temper had, as it sometimes does, got the better of her. Once I heard the full story—how Livia had summoned the police and essentially thrown Miss Di Abaccio from the house—I resolved to speak to Livia when I saw her on Monday. I seriously doubted Miss Di Abaccio was to blame and felt that Livia had seized on the situation to
get the girl out of the house and away from Julia, who Miss Di Abaccio completely outshone. Livia tends to get into states, especially over things she cannot control.” His lordship’s expression grew resigned. “Loving Livia has never blinded me to her faults. However, usually she will listen to me, and I didn’t need the note Carisbrook sent me to know I needed to rein her in over this.”

  Lord Frederick straightened, glanced at Barnaby, then looked directly at Stokes. “I’m telling you all this, Inspector, so you will understand that when I rapped on the rear door of the Carisbrook residence in the small hours of Tuesday morning, in my mind, I was rehearsing what I intended to say to Livia about her public denunciation of Miss Di Abaccio. I needed to approach the matter in the right way—Livia has a formidable temper, and I didn’t want her waking the whole house. As usual, Simpkins unbolted and unlocked the door, then locked and bolted it once I was inside. She followed me into the servants’ hall and handed me the small lamp she always had waiting. I took the lamp, walked on into the foyer at the foot of the back stairs, and started climbing.”

  Stokes couldn’t help himself; he opened his lips to ask about Simpkins, but Lord Frederick stayed him with a raised finger and went on, “Usually, Simpkins remained downstairs in the servants’ hall, but this time, she followed me. I was vaguely surprised, but I assumed she intended to fetch something from her room, which I supposed was in the attics. But she hurried up the stairs close behind me—I registered her nearness, but thought it must be because I was the one holding the lamp and the beam didn’t reach far. Without the lamp, the stairwell was pitch dark. She was right on my heels when I reached the landing and turned to go up the second flight.”

  “I was still thinking about what to say to Livia as I started up.” Lord Frederick closed his eyes; his features suggested he was reliving the events of that night as he drew in a tight breath and went on, “Without warning, from close behind me, Simpkins said…no, she hissed, ‘I know you took the emeralds. I know you’re hard-pressed, but you’ll get a pretty penny when you sell those stones—I want ten percent to keep my mouth shut or I’ll tell the whole world what I know.’”

  Neither Stokes nor Barnaby succeeded in keeping their expressions impassive. Lord Frederick opened his eyes, saw their reactions, and grimly nodded. “If you’re taken aback, you can imagine my shock. For close to twenty years, Simpkins has been seeing me into and out of that house, and never did I dream that I—we—stood in any danger of blackmail from her.”

  Barnaby recovered first and asked the obvious question, “Are you hard-pressed? And if so, how did Simpkins learn of it?”

  “I—my wife and I—are perennially hard-pressed, but that’s essentially by choice. My income was never remarkable, but it has always been sufficient to easily cover our needs, and long ago, Anne and I agreed we didn’t need even that much to live comfortably—by our standards, that is. To Livia, I am always one step away from penury.” His lordship’s features softened with fond resignation. “Wealth was always more important to her than it was to me. Anne’s and my stance of sharing our wealth with as many needy souls as possible is literally beyond Livia’s comprehension.” Lord Frederick shrugged. “I expect Simpkins got the idea that I was financially desperate from what Livia no doubt constantly let fall, and when the necklace disappeared after my previous visit, Simpkins decided I was the thief.”

  Stokes had been going over his lordship’s revelations, creating a picture in his mind. He stirred and fixed his gaze on Lord Frederick’s face. “We need you to tell us exactly what happened after Simpkins spoke.” Stokes hesitated, then offered, “You stated you didn’t lay a finger on her, and we’ve discovered no evidence to suggest you did. But we need to learn how and why she came to fall—why she fell as she did.”

  Lord Frederick acknowledged that with a dip of his head. His gaze again grew distant; this time, as he looked on the recent past, his face paled and a fine tremor passed through him. “That was the most shocking thing of all.” He drew in a determined breath and went on, “That stairway is very narrow, and Simpkins was following close on my heels. Her words registered—as you can imagine, I felt stunned. I reached the top of the stairs, stepped onto the floor of the corridor, and swung around to confront her.”

  His voice grew fainter. “She was too close. I didn’t touch her—I don’t think even the skirts of my greatcoat touched her. But she reacted. She sucked in a breath and instinctively stepped back…into nothingness. She fell. It happened too quickly for me even to attempt to catch her—even for her to reach for the bannister and try to break her fall.” He swallowed. “That’s how it happened. I turned. She stepped back and fell…and the next thing I heard was the sickening crack as her head and shoulders hit the wall, followed by the thump as her body landed.”

  “What happened next?” Barnaby’s voice was pitched to lead Lord Frederick without jarring him back to the present.

  “I stood and stared down at Simpkins. It was obvious she was dead. I was…beyond horrified. I was frozen—I couldn’t think. I tried, but my mind…simply wouldn’t work. So I waited. I thought surely someone would have heard and would come…but no one did.” He paused, then said, “I don’t know how long I stood there, at the top of the stairs, staring down at Simpkins’s lifeless body and waiting…but eventually, I realized no one was coming, and it was up to me to decide what to do.”

  Lord Frederick paused, then, with a shuddering sigh, he blinked and refocused on Stokes. “All I could think of was that if I reported the death, quite aside from the difficulties such an act would cause for me, it would also expose Livia to the opprobrium of the ton, and Carisbrook and Anne would be drawn in, too. Against that, if I simply left the house, no one would know I had been there, and some member of the staff would find Simpkins’s body in the morning.”

  Lord Frederick sat back and drew in a huge breath. “The more I thought of it, the more it seemed to me that Simpkins had brought about her own death—if she hadn’t followed me so closely and attempted to blackmail me, I wouldn’t have turned as I did, nor would she have been so close to have instinctively reacted and fallen. If she hadn’t tried to blackmail me, she would have remained in the servants’ hall, perfectly safe, and she would still be alive.” He met Barnaby’s eyes. “I don’t know whether that reasoning is sound or merely self-serving. However, at the time, I acted on it. I slowly walked down the stairs, carefully stepping over and around Simpkins’s body. I went into the servants’ hall, turned out the lamp and set it back on the shelf, and walked out of the house. I went to the stable, took my horse, and rode home.”

  He leaned back, some of the tension easing from his frame. “I thought of sending a note to Livia and another to Carisbrook, but decided I shouldn’t involve them. I could explain later, once the matter blew over.” With faint self-deprecation in his gaze, he eyed Barnaby and Stokes. “I confess that I didn’t expect you to come knocking.”

  Barnaby studied his lordship, then quietly said, “You’ll continue your liaison with Lady Carisbrook.” It wasn’t a question, and he wasn’t surprised when Lord Frederick inclined his head.

  “Once Livia finds someone she trusts to man the door.” Lord Frederick returned Barnaby’s regard, then, his lips easing, asked, “Do you love your wife, Adair?”

  “Yes.” Barnaby saw no reason not to admit that; quite aside from the fact being widely known, he was curious as to where Lord Frederick was leading the conversation.

  Lord Frederick nodded. “Livia isn’t my wife, but…we are what Fate makes of us. I see Livia quite clearly, flaws and all, yet as I discovered long ago, love isn’t blind—it simply has other priorities.”

  Barnaby considered the statement and, after a moment, inclined his head, not just in acceptance but in recognition, too. He glanced at Stokes and saw he’d read the statement in the same way Barnaby had—as a declaration that Lord Frederick was irrevocably in love with Lady Carisbrook, and in whatever followed, that would influence his responses.

  S
tokes cleared his throat, drawing Lord Frederick’s and Barnaby’s attention. Stokes had retrieved his notebook and now held it open on his knee, a pencil in his hand. “If you will indulge me, my lord, I would like to take you through your actions on Monday night—this time, step by step.”

  Resigned, his lordship inclined his head.

  Barnaby listened as Stokes reduced the tale to the bare facts—a process at which Stokes excelled. Lord Frederick gradually relaxed again, finding the recitation of actions stripped of their emotional weight easier than he’d anticipated. Sitting back and listening, not just to Lord Frederick’s words but also to his tone, Barnaby felt certain that his lordship had been, and still was, telling the unvarnished truth.

  Barnaby didn’t doubt that, experienced politician that he was, his lordship could and might prevaricate with the best of them, yet he doubted the man could convincingly tell an outright lie, and Stokes’s questions couldn’t be avoided other than by lying.

  Finally, Stokes reached the end of his interrogation. He studied what he’d written, then shut his notebook, looked up, and met Lord Frederick’s gaze. “Thank you, my lord. For your information, my assessment of the incident that resulted in Simpkins’s death is that no crime was perpetrated. Instead, it appears that, in setting out to commit blackmail, entirely of her own volition, Simpkins set in train a sequence of events that culminated in an accident that resulted in her own death.”

  Relief showed in Lord Frederick’s face. Formally, he inclined his head to Stokes. “Thank you for telling me of your conclusions, Inspector.” He paused, then asked, “Am I likely to hear anything more of this matter?”

  Stokes straightened and glanced at Barnaby. “I’ll need to make a formal report to the commissioner of my findings regarding the mix-up with the Carisbrook emeralds and Simpkins’s death, but that report can and will be made in absolute confidence, for the commissioner’s and the directors’ ears only.” Looking at Lord Frederick, he added, “Any further action will be at their discretion.”