Lord Carisbrook closed his eyes—whether searching for inspiration, patience, or strength, Penelope couldn’t tell—then he opened them and, lips tight, nodded. “As you say, Inspector, the wheels of justice must now turn.” His lordship shot his wife an indecipherable look, then gestured widely, indicating the house. “You and your men may search wherever you wish.”
Penelope caught Lord Carisbrook’s eyes and smiled approvingly. No matter how reluctant, he’d made the right decision. His attempt to discourage the investigation—to rescind his wife’s report—had come as no surprise; gentlemen of his lordship’s ilk always did their utmost to avoid all hint of scandal.
Her ladyship, on the other hand, craved being the center of attention among her peers; Penelope suspected she’d grasped the chance to accuse Cara, believing that would give her what she wanted, without due consideration of any adverse effects.
“I will be in my study, Inspector.” Lord Carisbrook turned away, but paused with his gaze on Penelope and Barnaby. “If you would call on me there when this business is complete, Mr. and Mrs. Adair, I would appreciate a moment of your time.”
Barnaby inclined his head. “Of course.”
Penelope gave his lordship—and Franklin, who, after one hard glance at this mother, turned to walk beside his father—a reassuring smile.
From the corner of her eye, she watched Lady Carisbrook vacillate, then, elevating her chin to a dismissively haughty angle, her ladyship turned and swept to the open doorway of the drawing room.
Julia Carisbrook dithered. She looked longingly after her father and brother, but then reluctantly followed her mother. She went into the drawing room and shut the door.
Penelope looked at Stokes and arched her brows. “So—what’s our plan?”
Stokes turned to the butler—whose name proved to be Jarvis—and instructed him and the footman, Jeremy, to gather all the staff in the servants’ hall, to wait there until they could be questioned. Stokes sent Morgan to oversee the staff. Morgan grinned insouciantly and went. A baby-faced constable who appeared much younger and less experienced than he was, Morgan had the gift of the gab and could charm any maid or cook to divulge her most secret of secrets and was a dab hand at gaining the trust of most men, too.
With the staff out of the way, Stokes led the rest of his company, Barnaby and Penelope included, up the stairs. He sent the younger constables up to the top floor and the servants’ quarters, while along with Barnaby, Wilkes, Fitch, Philpot, and Penelope, Stokes settled to search the rooms on the first floor—those the family occupied and also the empty guest bedchambers.
Penelope immediately wandered down the corridor, searching for Lady Carisbrook’s room. She found it—along with a ferret-faced woman sitting in a chair by the window and busily stitching the seam of a gown sporting an overabundance of frills. Penelope narrowed her eyes on the woman’s face. “Simpkins, I take it.”
Like any experienced dresser, Simpkins cast her eyes over Penelope’s stylish carriage dress in fine plum-colored wool with its matching velvet facings, immediately deduced her station, and rose and dipped into a passable curtsy. “Yes, ma’am.”
“You’re wanted in the servants’ hall.” Penelope held the door open and waited.
Simpkins reluctantly set aside her work. “Her ladyship didn’t say—”
“His lordship has returned to the house and is aware of the directive.” Penelope’s tone brooked no challenge.
Simpkins’s lips thinned, but she bowed her head and went.
Penelope remained in the corridor to make sure the dresser went downstairs, but instead, Simpkins paused and knocked on another door.
A young maid looked out.
Penelope swiftly walked down the corridor.
Seeing her approaching, the maid bobbed a curtsy. “Ma’am?”
“And you are?”
“Polly, ma’am. Miss Julia’s maid.”
“I see. As I’ve just told Simpkins, all the staff have been called to the servants’ hall. You should go there straightaway.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Polly bobbed again, stepped out of the room, and shut the door. Then, looking past Penelope, she gasped and stared. “Oh—what are those men doing up here?”
Penelope turned to see Stokes and Philpot crossing from room to room closer to the main stairs. “They’re policemen. They’re searching for the emeralds.”
She looked back in time to see that the news had come as a shock to both women. They had to have known of her ladyship’s accusation against Cara, but plainly hadn’t foreseen that the result might be this.
Polly turned wide eyes on Simpkins. “Police,” she breathed. “We’d better get downstairs.”
On the one hand, Simpkins didn’t want to go, but on the other, she plainly felt a similar compulsion to retreat to the relative safety of the servants’ hall. She stepped back. After nodding to Penelope, both women turned, walked to the end of the corridor, and descended via the narrow back stairs.
Penelope stood staring after them for a moment, then returned to her ladyship’s room.
She was soon joined by some of the others; they searched diligently, opening every cupboard and drawer, lifting mattresses and piles of clothes, looking behind curtains, and peering into every space. They’d all searched houses before, often for items smaller than a jewel case; they knew the likely spots for concealment, but were thorough in looking absolutely everywhere.
The constables dispatched upstairs returned, reporting, to no one’s surprise, that they’d found nothing in any of the staff’s rooms. With the additional help, the search of the first-floor rooms was soon completed.
The company regathered at the top of the stairs.
“It occurs to me,” Penelope said, “that a parure of jewels like the Carisbrook emeralds would normally be kept in a safe.”
Barnaby nodded. “We’ll need to ask how the emeralds were stored. Her ladyship intimated that they weren’t usually accessible, at least not to Cara.”
Stokes humphed and turned to his men. He delegated Wilkes to take the others and search all the rooms downstairs, barring only the study and the drawing room. “We’ll do those last.”
Wilkes snapped off a salute, and the men clattered down the stairs.
Stokes looked at Barnaby and Penelope. “Meanwhile, I suggest we join Morgan and see what the staff can tell us before we interview the family.”
With an expectant smile, Barnaby waved Stokes down the stairs, then with Penelope by his side, followed.
They made their way to the servants’ hall.
As usual, Morgan had calmed everyone with his easy banter. The staff had assembled around the long rectangular table that occupied the center of the servants’ hall. They’d all taken their no doubt customary seats around the table and, as Stokes, Barnaby, and Penelope walked in, came to their feet.
Stokes halted at the head of the table and let his gaze pass over the company, noting each face.
Beside him, Jarvis cleared his throat. “Inspector. We stand ready to assist you and your colleagues in whatever way we can.”
Stokes inclined his head. “Good. As you can imagine, we have a range of questions, but at present, our focus is on understanding the order of events prior to the emeralds being found to be missing.” With a wave, he indicated that everyone should sit again.
Jarvis and Jeremy gathered three extra chairs that they set around the head of the table, causing everyone to shuffle along, but once Stokes sat, with Penelope to his right and Barnaby on his left, the scrapes ceased, and with Morgan observing from the foot of the table, everyone settled and gave their attention to Stokes.
“First,” Stokes said, leaning his forearms on the table and clasping his hands, “I can tell you that we have searched all the bedrooms in the house, your rooms included, and have confirmed that the emeralds are no longer above stairs. A search of all the downstairs rooms is currently under way, but we don’t expect to find the jewels in his lordship’s study, or the pantry, or
anywhere else.” One of the maids giggled nervously, and the tension in the room lightened. Stokes smiled faintly and continued, “At this point, no suspicion is being directed at anyone at all. As I said, our next step is to learn what we can of the movement of the jewels prior to them disappearing.”
Stokes cut a glance at Penelope. In a situation such as this, her knowledge of ton households made her the most appropriate person to take point.
She caught his gaze, glanced around the table, then focused on Jarvis and the housekeeper, seated next to him. “Perhaps we might start with the last time Lady Carisbrook wore the emeralds. We understand that was on Saturday, when her ladyship wore the emeralds to her evening events. Is that correct?”
“Yes.” The confirmation came from Simpkins, who was seated opposite the housekeeper.
Everyone looked her way, but Simpkins folded her lips and said nothing else.
Penelope arched her brows and calmly returned her gaze to Jarvis. “Was her ladyship still wearing the jewels when she returned to the house?”
Jarvis nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I saw them when I took her cloak.”
“Excellent.” Penelope now turned her gaze on Jeremy, sitting on the other side of Simpkins. “Did you see the jewels, too?”
Jeremy nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I was in the front hall to take Miss Carisbrook’s cloak and Mr. Carisbrook’s coat and hat.”
“All three returned to the house together?” Stokes asked. He was busily scribbling in his notebook.
“Yes,” both Jarvis and Jeremy replied.
“Good.” Penelope turned her gaze on Simpkins. “I take it that when her ladyship reached her room, she was still wearing the emeralds.”
“Of course,” Simpkins said. Without further prompting, she went on, “As usual, she took them off as soon as she’d walked in—she crossed straight to her dressing table and had me undo the clasp on the necklace while she took off the earrings, then she laid all three pieces into the case, shut it, and left it to one side of the dressing table.”
“The case,” Penelope said. “Describe it.”
Simpkins shrugged. “A normal jewel case covered in black velvet.” She held up her hands, indicating a shape about nine inches long and six inches wide. “The necklace fitted around the inside, and the earrings sat in the middle.”
For all her dour attitude, Simpkins seemed willing enough to share what she knew.
“Very well,” Penelope said. “So we have the emeralds in their case sitting on one end of her ladyship’s dressing table. What time was that?”
Simpkins frowned, uncertain, and looked at Jarvis.
After a moment of thinking, the butler offered, “It must have been close to two o’clock. Between half past one and two.”
Penelope looked at Simpkins. “Did anyone else come into the room while you were with her ladyship?”
Simpkins paused as if thinking back, then replied, “No.”
“Was the jewel case still on the dressing table when you left?” Penelope asked. “Did you actually see it there close to the time that you left the room?”
“I didn’t look at it again, not after her ladyship closed it and set it aside, but it must have been there. I know her ladyship didn’t go back to her dressing table, not once she rose from it, and I certainly didn’t.” Simpkins compressed her lips and fell silent.
After a moment of studying Simpkins, Penelope nodded. “Very well.” She looked around the table. “So you left Lady Carisbrook in her room. Did anyone else enter the room before morning?”
Looks were cast across and up and down the table, but no one spoke.
Eventually, all eyes returned to the head of the table, to Stokes, Barnaby, and Penelope.
Stokes inwardly sighed. He was certain the staff were holding back something, even if they hadn’t lied. He took up the questioning. “Who was the first person into the room come morning?”
A nervous clearing of a throat came from farther down the table, then a young maid squeaked, “That was me. I went in to clear the grate and start the fire. Her ladyship’s fire is always the first.”
Stokes wasn’t surprised to hear that. “And what time was that?”
“Sharp on six o’clock, sir.” The maid looked at Jarvis. “Mr. Jarvis saw me go up.”
“Indeed, Inspector,” Jarvis confirmed. “Missy is always reliably prompt to her duties.”
“I see.” Stokes made a point of jotting something down, then without looking up, asked, “Missy, when you went into her ladyship’s room, did you see the jewel case on her dressing table?”
“Oh no, sir!”
Stokes glanced down the table to see that Missy was all earnest eyes.
“I always keep my eyes down,” she assured him. “Just crept in and made straight for the fireplace, did my business, then crept out again.” She glanced at Jarvis. “I never look about.”
Jarvis nodded approvingly, as did the housekeeper beside him. “Quite right, Missy. Exactly as you ought.”
Stokes hid a grimace and looked down at his notes. “So who was next into the room?”
The staff traded glances, then Jarvis spoke. “That would have been Miss Cara, Inspector, when she took her ladyship’s breakfast tray up.”
Stokes arched a brow. “No one else?”
“No, sir.” Jarvis was quite definite.
“Very well.” Stokes looked down the table. “I will ask Miss Di Abaccio whether she saw the jewels—”
“Oh, I doubt she would have, Inspector.”
Stokes glanced at the housekeeper; it was she who had spoken. “And you are?”
“Mrs. Jarvis, sir.” She tipped her head toward Jarvis. “We’ve been butler and housekeeper to Lord Carisbrook for nigh on twenty-five years.”
“I see. Why do you say Miss Di Abaccio is unlikely to have noticed the jewel case?”
“Because with the heavy tray in her hands,” Mrs. Jarvis said, “she would make straight for the bed to set it down, and the dressing table is on the other side of the room in the opposite direction. She wouldn’t have seen it either going in or coming back, not unless she peered that way on purpose, and her ladyship wasn’t one to encourage Miss Cara in that sort of familiarity, if you know what I mean.”
There were nods of agreement from all around the table. Not even Simpkins looked inclined to disagree.
“Very well.” Stokes jotted, then closed his notebook and slipped it back into his pocket. “We will, of course, be conferring with Lady Carisbrook as to when she last remembers seeing the jewel case.”
“One last question.” Barnaby straightened and placed a hand on the table; it was the first time he’d spoken since they’d entered the room, and all eyes swung his way. In a swift survey, he met each pair of eyes, then asked, “Did any of you see, or hear, or do any of you know of anything that might, however distantly, have any possible bearing on what happened to the missing jewels?”
Stokes knew Barnaby’s complex phrasing had been intentional—it made people think. It did not, however, usually result in exchanged glances, at least not of the sort the Carisbrook staff were presently casting—as if asking questions of each other.
Stokes, Penelope, and Barnaby—and Morgan—all waited, but in the end, no one volunteered anything.
Ultimately, Jarvis cleared his throat. “It appears, Inspector, that there’s nothing more we can tell you regarding the emeralds.”
Stokes suspected it would be more correct to say that there was nothing more the staff wished to tell them regarding the emeralds, but after a second’s deliberation, he inclined his head. “Thank you.” He pushed back from the table and rose; Barnaby, Penelope, and Morgan followed suit, which brought the staff to their feet, too. “We may well be back with more questions, depending on what else we learn, but if, in the meantime, anyone remembers something pertinent”—Stokes looked at Jarvis—“please send directly to me at Scotland Yard.”
Jarvis bowed. “Of course, Inspector.”
Stokes suppressed a d
isbelieving grunt and followed Barnaby and Penelope from the room. They climbed a short set of steps to the corridor that led to the front hall. Morgan had followed and joined them as they crossed to the front corner of the hall where Wilkes and the other men waited.
Before they’d reached him, Wilkes was shaking his head. As Stokes and the others halted, Wilkes reported, “Nothing. No sign of the case or the jewels anywhere, nor any sign of a break-in. Only places we haven’t searched are the drawing room and study.”
Stokes noticed a frown in Penelope’s eyes. “What did you think of the staff’s performance?”
Penelope blinked, then pushed her spectacles higher on her nose. “That they—the staff—clearly know more than they’ve told us, but I got the impression they don’t believe Cara guilty of the theft.”
“I have to agree that the staff know something they haven’t yet shared,” Barnaby said, “but I suspect that, whatever it is, they don’t believe the person involved to be the thief.”
Penelope was nodding. “They seem very loyal. If they did have an inkling of who took the jewels, I think they would say.”
Morgan reported, “They’re staunchly defensive of his lordship and the children—not so much with her ladyship, except for her hoity dresser. That said, none said a word against the lady, either.”
“Hmm.” Penelope’s gaze grew pensive. “At this juncture, we have to consider that, for whatever reason, Lady Carisbrook herself has ‘stolen’ the emeralds.”
“Indeed.” Barnaby glanced at the closed drawing room door, then looked at Stokes. “Regardless, as you said, we’re still very much in the early phase of gathering information. While Penelope and I see what Lord Carisbrook will tell us, why don’t you see what you can extract from her ladyship?”
Stokes pulled a sour face, but grudgingly nodded. “Wilkes and Fitch—go with the Adairs and search the room while they distract his lordship. Morgan, stay here in case something happens. Philpott, you’re with me—there shouldn’t be so many places in a drawing room to search.”