At the sight of Oliver, Megan shrieked, wriggled free of her father’s arms, and rushed across to hug and be clumsily hugged by Oliver. Everyone smiled. As coats and bonnets were surrendered and taken, Penelope greeted her guests. Both she and Griselda crowded around Violet to admire and coo at Martin, who, for a wonder, was awake and lazily batted at their fingers.
Summoned by the noise in his hall, Barnaby, smiling, came walking out from his study as Hattie, Oliver’s nursemaid, descended the stairs.
After several more minutes of extended greetings and fond exclaiming over the three children, the nursemaids gathered their charges and whisked them upstairs to the nursery.
The six proud parents watched them go, then the three ladies uttered identical sighs, exchanged glances, smiled, and at Penelope’s all-encompassing wave, turned and headed into the drawing room.
Barnaby introduced Hugo and Cara to Griselda, Violet, and Montague, then everyone claimed what had become their customary seats—Penelope in the corner of one sofa closer to the fireplace, with Griselda beside her, Violet and Montague on the sofa opposite, Stokes in the armchair between Violet and the fireplace, with the second armchair, between Penelope and the fireplace, being Barnaby’s habitual spot.
Penelope waved Hugo and Cara to the love seat. “This,” she informed them, “has become our preferred way to approach our joint investigations. We spend the time before dinner reporting and reciting all we know—all the facts we’ve gathered to this point. Then once dinner is served, we go into the dining room and all mention of the case is suspended.” She smiled determinedly. “We’ve discovered that the time spent discussing other things allows the facts of the case to settle and sort themselves in our minds. After dinner, we return here and focus on defining what we can deduce and what our best way forward will be—what trails there are that we might follow in order to identify our villain.”
Violet had hunted in her capacious reticule, drawn out a notebook and pencil, and settled the book on her lap, pencil poised over a fresh page.
“And”—with a wave, Penelope indicated Violet’s preparations—“Violet takes notes, which is invaluable in keeping us all on track.”
“I’ve explained to Cara,” Hugo said, “that as a group, you’ve solved several thorny cases over recent years.”
“Indeed.” Penelope inclined her head to Cara. “And you may be sure we’ll get to the bottom of this one, too. Our aim is to find who took the Carisbrook emeralds and, thus, to exonerate you.”
“You’re getting ahead of yourself.” Griselda smiled, taking any sting from her words. “Some of us as yet have no idea what the Carisbrook emeralds are.”
“Good point.” Penelope straightened in her seat. “Right, then. At present, the situation before us is this. Lady Carisbrook wore the Carisbrook emeralds to her Saturday evening’s events. From memory, the parure consists of a very old necklace and earrings of large rectangular emeralds in heavy, ornate gold settings.” Penelope arched a brow Cara’s way. “Is that a reasonable description?”
Sitting rigidly upright beside Hugo, with her hands clasped tightly in her lap, Cara nodded. “Yes. They are as you say. Quite…” She searched for the right word.
“Ugly,” Penelope ruthlessly supplied. “However, I suspect Lady Carisbrook sees them as an emblem of her status, and from what little I’ve seen and heard of her, she wears them frequently.”
Cara nodded again. “I have only been in the Carisbrook house for the past four weeks, but from all I have seen, that is true.”
“So,” Penelope went on, “Lady Carisbrook returned to the Carisbrook town house in John Street at about half past one on Sunday morning. The butler, Jarvis, and the footman, Jeremy, saw the emeralds around her neck when she came in. She went upstairs to her room, and her dresser, Simpkins, confirmed that her ladyship removed the necklace and earrings, set them in their case—the usual black-velvet-covered affair—shut the case, and placed it on one side of the dressing table.”
Penelope paused, then went on, “Simpkins left, and Lady Carisbrook went to bed. The next morning, at six o’clock, the household’s tweeny, Missy, crept into her ladyship’s room and tended and lit her fire. Missy didn’t look toward the dressing table and can’t say whether the jewel case was there or not. Subsequently, Cara here took up her ladyship’s breakfast tray.” Penelope glanced at Cara. “What time was that?”
“I was to knock on my aunt’s door at precisely eight o’clock, as the clocks struck the hour,” Cara said.
Violet looked up, puzzled. “Why didn’t a maid take up the tray?”
Cara colored.
Hugo growled, “That was one of the nasty ways Lady Carisbrook attempted to, as she put it, keep Cara in her place.”
Violet’s gaze hardened.
Griselda humphed. “I can’t say I’m feeling all that partial to Lady Carisbrook.”
“Indeed,” Penelope said. “I doubt any of us will feel much sympathy for her. However, to continue, Cara took in her ladyship’s breakfast tray.” Penelope fixed her dark eyes on Cara’s face. “Did you, by any chance, notice if the jewel case was still on the dressing table?”
Cara shook her head sadly. “No. I didn’t look in that direction at all.”
Barnaby nodded. “The staff explained that the dressing table sits in the opposite direction to the bed and that unless you made a point to look in that direction, you wouldn’t have noticed.”
Violet had her head bent, scribbling in her book. “So what happened next?”
“Lady Carisbrook noticed the jewel case was gone.” Penelope looked at Stokes. “Did you ask her when she noticed?”
Stokes had his own notebook open on his knee. “She said it was just a few minutes before she came downstairs and accused Cara in the breakfast parlor. Jarvis put the time at just after eight-thirty.”
“So,” Griselda concluded, “the last person known to have seen the emeralds is Lady Carisbrook herself, at about two o’clock in the morning when she climbed into her bed.”
Barnaby and Penelope both nodded.
Montague, who until then had sat back and listened without comment, studied Barnaby’s, Penelope’s, and Stokes’s faces, then asked, “What else do we know that’s relevant?”
“Well,” Penelope said, “the first thing that struck me as odd was that the thief, whoever they were, took the jewels in their case. The case is about nine inches long, five inches wide, and would likely be at least one inch deep.” She glanced around. “That wouldn’t fit in most pockets. The necklace and earrings by themselves, although heavy, would.”
Barnaby narrowed his eyes. “The loose jewelry might have clinked. Perhaps the thief needed to be certain he wouldn’t make the slightest sound.”
Penelope nodded. “That’s certainly possible, especially as it seems the jewels were stolen while Lady Carisbrook was in the room, but a jewel thief would still have got rid of the case as soon as he was out of the room rather than try to carry it. It would have no value in his eyes and would just make the jewels harder to conceal.”
Stokes was tugging at his lower lip. “I agree. It is odd.” He looked at Cara. “And surely if anyone within the household had intended to steal the jewels, they would have carefully extracted the necklace and earrings and left the case where it was. Who knows how much longer it might have been before Lady Carisbrook picked up the case and noticed the jewels weren’t in it?”
“Judging from what Lord Carisbrook told us of what would normally have occurred,” Barnaby said, “Lady Carisbrook would not have noticed until his lordship arrived home and she picked up the case to return it to him for placing in the safe.”
In a small voice, Cara said, “I didn’t know that.”
Stokes looked at her and smiled one of his rare smiles. “Perhaps not, but you didn’t have the jewel case in your room, nor had you hidden it anywhere else in the house, and you didn’t have time to slip out and pass it on to anyone.”
Cara frowned, then ventured, “Perhap
s I had a…what is the word? An accomplice? And I tossed the case out to them through my bedchamber window. It faces—faced—the street.”
Stokes’s smile deepened. “I would take an oath the windows in your room haven’t been opened since last summer—I checked.” He held up a hand to stay Hugo’s imminent protest. “And as Hugo and no doubt your uncle will point out, you haven’t been in the country long enough to have made the right sort of contacts to pass on stolen items of this ilk.” Stokes paused, then stated, “All in all, your uncle’s description of her ladyship’s accusation against you seems entirely justified. He labeled it preposterous, and preposterous it is.”
“Forgive me for asking”—Violet bent an apologetic look on Cara—“but it needs to be asked. What on earth prompted Lady Carisbrook to make such a wild accusation?”
Penelope made a face. “I strongly suspect the answer has something to do with Cara outshining Julia, her ladyship’s daughter. If I understood correctly, Lord Carisbrook insisted Cara join the family and that she goes with Julia to all social events. I can imagine that grated on Lady Carisbrook—who clearly feels no responsibility toward Cara, especially not at the expense of her own daughter. However, all that said, I feel there is more to it.” Penelope looked at Cara. “Lady Carisbrook said something about Cara being the offspring of Lord Carisbrook’s scandalous sister.”
Cara elevated her chin and met Penelope’s gaze. “My mother was Uncle Humphrey’s younger sister, and she met and fell in love with an Italian painter—my father. My mother was adamant that she would marry her love even though her family wanted her to marry another—an older English lord. Mama and Papa eloped and went to live in Italy. That is the scandal.” Cara shrugged. “Some see it as romantic, while others call it scandalous. But they were happy, and to them, that was all that mattered.”
Penelope nodded. “Indeed. And it’s hardly anything new, which is why I feel there is something still more behind her ladyship’s animosity that we’ve yet to learn.”
Silence descended.
Barnaby broke it. “To return to other things we know, one point that struck me about the jewels going missing was that them being left out on her ladyship’s dressing table was a rare event. Normally, on returning from her evening’s entertainments, Lady Carisbrook would hand the jewels directly to his lordship, who would lock them in the safe in his study. In general, the emeralds would not have been upstairs at all, but last night—or rather, early this morning—they were.” Barnaby glanced at Stokes. “The only people who would have known that was what happened on the rare occasions when his lordship was from home were the staff.”
Stokes nodded. “There’s no chance at all that the emeralds were taken by some burglar who just happened to choose early this morning to visit her ladyship’s room. Quite aside from there being no evidence of a break-in, nor any whispers of burglars operating in the vicinity, it’s simply stretching credence too far.”
“That would have been one very lucky burglar,” Griselda observed.
“Which,” Penelope said, “brings us back to the family and the staff.” She regarded Cara, then asked, “Cara, do you think any member of the staff, or Franklin or Julia, might have taken the emeralds?”
Cara’s eyes opened wide. “Oh no.” She shook her head emphatically. “I cannot imagine it. The staff—they are all very kind and helpful. They are nice, almost like a part of the family, and I believe all have been with my uncle for many years.” She spread her hands. “Why would any of them do such a thing?”
Stokes leaned forward. “Sometimes good people get into trouble and find themselves forced by circumstance into doing things they wouldn’t normally do. Think of all the staff—have any of them seemed under pressure lately? Frowning, unhappy, short-tempered?”
Cara’s brows knitted, but eventually, she shook her head. “I can think of no one who has behaved like that. Everyone seemed…content.”
Penelope grimaced. “Lady Carisbrook also made that point—that the staff had all been with them for years and why would they turn to stealing now. Nevertheless, it’s possible that knowing the emeralds would be left out over the early hours of Sunday morning proved too much of a temptation to someone in unexpected and urgent need.”
Cara’s head tipped up. “I cannot believe it of any of the staff.” She frowned, then reluctantly added, “Not even the so-horrible Simpkins.”
Penelope studied Cara’s face, then hid a quiet smile and inclined her head.
Barnaby tapped his fingertips together. “We have yet to canvass the possibility that Lady Carisbrook herself has the emeralds.”
All fell silent as they considered that.
Eventually, Penelope mused, “The supposed disappearance gave her an excuse to accuse Cara of a sufficiently serious crime to get her out of the house—and her ladyship did rush to notify the Yard before his lordship returned…” Penelope’s voice trailed away, then she sighed. “Regardless, I’m having a hard time seeing her giving up her emeralds—which is what such a scheme would amount to—simply to achieve that.” After a moment, she added, “Viewing matters from her point of view, it’s hard to see the result being worth the sacrifice.”
“True.” Stokes stirred. “One other thing. We—Barnaby, Penelope, and I—would all take oaths that the staff know something they’ve yet to share, but whether whatever it is has any relevance to the emeralds going missing…” He shrugged. “Who knows?”
After several seconds of contemplation, Violet looked up from her notebook. “So what we have is that the Carisbrook emeralds, case and all, went missing from Lady Carisbrook’s bedchamber sometime between the hours of approximately two o’clock and eight-thirty this morning, and everything points to the thief being a member of the household—either family or staff.” Brows arched, she looked around at the others, but no one was inclined to disagree.
Then Penelope held up a finger. “The only member of the household who couldn’t have been involved is Lord Carisbrook. He wasn’t in town.”
Stokes frowned. “We should note that, when his lordship arrived at his house just before we did in the early afternoon, he was horrified that his wife had called in the police. However, I can see multiple reasons why he would wish she hadn’t, not least because of her accusation against Cara, his ward.”
“So his lordship doesn’t believe Cara is involved?” Griselda asked.
“Not in the least,” Hugo stated.
Barnaby nodded. “None of the staff or other members of the family believe Cara was involved. Her ladyship appears a sole voice on that point. As for Lord Carisbrook’s reaction, although not wanting the police to investigate the disappearance of a very valuable set of emeralds sounds strange, I suspect he would have been much more inclined to hire a private inquiry agent to pursue the emeralds rather than involve the police.”
Penelope waved dismissively. “His reaction was totally understandable—gentlemen of his age and station abhor scandal of this sort. They see it as terribly tawdry.”
The drawing room door opened to reveal Mostyn. He bowed to the company, then looked to Penelope. “Dinner is served, ma’am.”
“Thank you.” Penelope rose, and the others joined her. In a loose group, they ambled into the front hall and around into the dining room.
There, Penelope directed her guests to their seats. Normally, there were six places set, but with eight tonight, she placed Cara and Hugo at the middle on either side, facing each other, while Montague sat on her left and Griselda on her right, with Stokes to Barnaby’s left and Violet on his right. Satisfied with her arrangement, Penelope slipped into her chair at the table’s foot. “Now don’t forget—no talking about the case.”
Everyone grinned, then addressed themselves to the mock-turtle soup and, in between sips, exchanged comments on their children and households, on the comfortable minutiae of their lives.
As soon as the soup plates were cleared, Penelope turned to Cara. “Tell us about your life in Italy. Where did you and your pa
rents live?”
Now significantly more relaxed in their company, Cara was happy to oblige. By dint of subtly leading questions, Penelope drew Cara into giving them a detailed picture of her life—up until her parents had fallen ill and, soon after, died. Cara confirmed that she’d initially been taken in by her father’s family, but as soon as Lord Carisbrook had been informed of his sister’s and her husband’s deaths and that Cara was now his ward, he had written asking Cara to join his family in England and had made arrangements for her to travel with an English couple returning home after serving at the embassy in Rome.
Cara shrugged. “It was all made easy for me, and although my aunt does not like me, Franklin and Julia have been welcoming and kind, as has my uncle, of course.”
Violet reached out and patted her hand. “You’ve done very well settling into a new country, and your English is polished even though it’s not your native tongue.”
Cara smiled shyly.
The main course was served, and once they’d all made decent inroads, Penelope turned her attention to Hugo. She caught his eye and remarked, “Your mother mentioned that you’ve given up the habit of smoking cheroots.”
Hugo shuddered. “After that moment in the Fairchilds’ garden, I haven’t been able to take a cheroot between my fingers without seeing…” He blew out a breath. “Well, you know what I saw. You saw it, too.”
Cara, however, opened her eyes wide at Hugo, clearly wanting to know.
Hugo shot Penelope a glance, but when she refused to come to his aid, he mumbled, “Smoking cheroots was a habit I picked up while in the army. Last year, at the first ball of the Season, I went out on a balcony to smoke one and tripped over a dead body.”
Cara’s eyes couldn’t get any wider. She leaned forward. “Truly?”
Hugo nodded. “I don’t recommend the experience.”
“So”—Penelope artfully leapt in—“what have you been doing since? We all noticed you’d vanished from the ballrooms—did you hie into the country?” By “we” she meant the grandes dames and major hostesses with whom she was closely in league—a fact Hugo knew.