The Confounding Case Of The Carisbrook Emeralds (The Casebook of Barnaby Adair 6)

by Stephanie Laurens

  Penelope nodded decisively. For a second, she studied Hugo’s expression—his close to adoring expression—and found it hard to fault him; Cara Di Abaccio’s stance did her credit. Turning her mind to the issue of the missing emeralds and how what they’d learned might impact on that, she asked, “What of the staff? Did you have any trouble with any of them?” When Cara met her gaze, Penelope added, “Sometimes, being a foreigner can be difficult.”

  “Oh no.” Cara shook her head. “All the staff—well, all except for Simpkins, Lady Carisbrook’s dresser—have been friendly and helpful. And as for Simpkins”—Cara shrugged—“she casts me dark looks when she thinks no one else can see, but other than that, she keeps her distance, and our paths rarely cross.”

  Familiar with the duties of a lady’s maid of the level to be termed “a dresser,” Penelope accepted that Cara and Simpkins wouldn’t often have reason to even exchange words. “Very well. It’s useful that you’ve made friends with the staff—perhaps you can shed light on one possible scenario regarding the disappearance of these emeralds. Given Lady Carisbrook’s reputation, which suggests she would be unbearably arrogant and overbearing to her staff, is there any chance that one of them might have taken the emeralds—perhaps as a means of striking back at her ladyship for some especially hurtful action?”

  But Cara was already emphatically shaking her head. “No—I cannot believe that would happen.”

  “Why not?” Stokes asked.

  “Because all the staff are deeply, deeply loyal to my uncle, and the emeralds are his.” Cara looked at all their faces, willing them to understand. “It is to his lordship the staff owe their allegiance—like me, they revere him because he is always kind, and so they, too, tolerate her ladyship for his sake. None of the staff would have stolen the emeralds.”

  Barnaby pulled a face and shifted, stretching his long legs. “Barring some pressure both unforeseeable and immense, I suspect your assessment of the staff will prove correct.” When Penelope turned to him, he met her gaze. “I can’t imagine any of the staff at Cothelstone stealing from the family, either.”

  Reluctantly, she nodded and looked at Stokes. “I can’t think of anything more we might learn while inside this coach.”

  “Indeed.” Stokes reached for the door handle, but the sound of a carriage rattling up and slowing made him pause.

  They all turned their heads and peered out at an old traveling coach that rolled to a stop before the Carisbrook house.

  Cara swiveled on the seat to look more directly out of the window. “That’s Uncle Humphrey’s carriage. He’s back!” Relief rang in her voice.

  Penelope exchanged a swift glance with Stokes, then reached across and tugged Cara’s sleeve; capturing the younger woman’s gaze, she drew her away from the window. “If it is your uncle, you can’t go and speak with him—not yet. Not until we ascertain what the situation is regarding the emeralds and Lady Carisbrook’s accusation against you.”

  “I’m sorry to say”—Stokes leaned forward to meet Cara’s eyes—“that until such time as Lady Carisbrook withdraws her charge against you, you will officially need to remain in police custody.”

  “That doesn’t mean that anyone is imagining putting you in a cell.” Barnaby caught Hugo’s eye before his cousin could voice any protest. “There’s also the consideration that until we solve the mystery of the emeralds, no matter your supporters inside the Carisbrook house, you might not be safe within its walls.”

  That pulled both Cara and Hugo up short. After a moment of staring at Barnaby, Cara glanced at Hugo, just as he glanced at her. Hugo squeezed her hand. “We need to do as Barnaby, Stokes, and Penelope recommend. They’re used to sorting out situations like this.”

  Cara looked cast down, but then she drew in a breath, raised her head, firmed her lips, and nodded. “Yes. You are no doubt right.” She glanced from Barnaby to Penelope, then looked at Stokes. “So what now?”

  “I’d say that’s his lordship, right enough.” Wilkes’s observation had them all looking across the street in time to glimpse an elderly gent in an old-fashioned coat climb the steps, traverse the porch, and be admitted into the house.

  Stokes reached again for the door handle. “I believe that’s our cue to cross the street and evaluate the scene of the crime.”

  “And,” Penelope said, as she stood and followed Stokes from the carriage, “meet the other major players in this family drama.”

  They left Cara with Hugo in the carriage, watched over by the police driver.

  Penelope took Barnaby’s arm, and alongside Stokes, they crossed the cobbles and halted on the pavement at the foot of the three steps leading up to the narrow porch before the black-painted door of the Carisbrook town house.

  Stokes was signaling to various men, calling them to him. They came running up and collectively reported that no one had left the house since they’d been sent to keep watch. Stokes grunted. “It’s possible we shut the door too late. However, given the apparent unlikelihood of any of the staff being involved, then our principal suspects must be the family, and after coming home so late—or rather early in the morning—and then going to church, it’s unlikely they’ve ventured out again.” He smiled grimly. “At least not yet, and not without the staff or other members of the family being aware of their absence.”

  “Indeed.” Penelope regarded the door with determination. “Shall we?”

  Of course, she led the way up the steps, but she paused on the porch to allow Stokes to do the honors and thump on the door.

  “There is a bellpull, you know.” She pointed to the chain hanging on the wall to the right of the door.

  Stokes eyed it with disfavor. “Everyone expects the police to bang on their doors—they’d be disappointed if we didn’t.”

  A few smothered guffaws came from the men behind them.

  Stokes cast his eye over his assembled force. He’d brought enough men to mount a speedy yet effective search of the premises. As well as Wilkes, Fitch, and four of the six junior constables he’d drawn to keep watch on the house, Morgan and Philpot, the constables assigned to his regular team, had somehow heard that something was up and had reported for duty, day off or not. Stokes was happy to have them; they knew his ways, and he could rely on them to act as he would wish.

  Barnaby and Penelope were both standing with their heads dipped, faint frowns on their faces. Stokes turned back to the still-closed door. His summons should have been answered by now.

  Barnaby caught his eye. “There’s some sort of argument going on in the hall. Knock again.”

  Stokes already had his fist raised. This time, he hammered on the door, then paused and called loudly, “Police!”

  Penelope swallowed a giggle and sent him a droll look. Shouting “Police!” in this neighborhood was a surefire way of ensuring staff scurried to open the door.

  A bare second later, a tall, thin individual, garbed in butler black and with a face blank with shock, swung the door wide.

  Stokes had hoped to overhear something useful—possibly even incriminating—but all the voices in the front hall had abruptly fallen silent.

  Regardless, he didn’t waste the moment. Holding up his warrant card, he declared, “Inspector Stokes of Scotland Yard. I have reason and authority to search these premises.”

  With that, he marched through the door—causing the butler to take a stumbling step back.

  Stokes sensed Barnaby and Penelope close behind him, and his men filed in after them. He halted three paces on and rapidly scanned the tableau before them.

  The frozen tableau. It was as if they’d barged onto the stage of a theater right in the middle of a scene of high drama, and all the players had halted in shock and turned to stare at them.

  Chapter 3

  In one comprehensive glance, Stokes took note of the five people in the front hall.

  The butler stood, stunned and stupefied, by the still-open door, staring in transparent horror at the men massing at Stokes’s back. Lo
rd Carisbrook—it had to be he—stood in the middle of the space, leaning on a cane and half facing a younger gentleman Stokes took to be Franklin Carisbrook. The latter appeared to have been expostulating, conveying fraught news to his father; Franklin’s face had been filled with incredulity and concern even before Stokes had stormed in. In Franklin’s shadow, a young lady, presumably his sister Julia, hovered, all but wringing her hands. Farther down the hall, a handsome footman stood stony faced with his back to the wall; before his gaze had switched to Stokes and company, the footman had been frowning expectantly at his master.

  Then, as if a switch was flicked, life returned to the paralyzed cast.

  The butler leapt to close the front door, plunging the front half of the hall into gloom.

  Blinking in patent astonishment, Lord Carisbrook swung to face Stokes, and Franklin stepped to his father’s shoulder.

  Before his lordship could speak, Stokes said, “Lord Carisbrook.” Stokes half bowed to the older man. “I understand you’ve just arrived home, my lord. I daresay your son”—Stokes glanced at Franklin—“has been attempting to explain the recent events that have occurred in this house. To summarize, a report of the theft of a jewel case containing the Carisbrook emeralds was made this morning, and a Miss Cara Di Abaccio, your ward and resident of this house, was accused by Lady Carisbrook of having stolen the jewels.”

  “So Franklin just said.” An angry flush mottled Lord Carisbrook’s cheeks. “But that’s preposterous! Preposterous! As if dear Cara would do such a thing.”

  Franklin’s and Julia’s faces echoed that sentiment, the expressions in their eyes now tinged with dawning hope.

  Lord Carisbrook huffed and turned. His gaze probed the farther reaches of the hall, then rose over the stairs to the gallery. “But where is Cara?”

  “As to that, my lord,” Stokes replied, “Lady Carisbrook insisted Miss Di Abaccio be removed from this house. She is currently in police custody.”

  Slowly, Lord Carisbrook turned to look at Stokes; his expression was the epitome of aghast incredulity. “What?”

  Then his lordship’s chest swelled ominously. Jaw setting pugnaciously, he struck the hall tiles with his cane and thundered, “Stuff and nonsense! There is no possibility—none, I tell you—that dear Cara is involved.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Humphrey.”

  The words jerked everyone’s attention to the stairs, to the lady of quite remarkably haughty mien who was slowly—with deliberately measured steps—descending.

  “Lady Carisbrook,” Penelope whispered from her position at Stokes’s elbow.

  To that point, Stokes had spoken in discreet tones and his voice was deep, while Penelope had barely murmured and the others of their party hadn’t spoken at all. Stokes looked upward. The floor above overhung the front half of the hall, giving it a lower ceiling and shrouding the space before the door in deep shadow. From the top of the stairs—from where she had no doubt surveyed those in the hall below before commencing her descent—Lady Carisbrook apparently hadn’t seen Stokes, much less the group behind him; she didn’t know they were there.

  Her gaze on the stairs, she continued to descend while her arrogantly strident tones rolled oppressively over them all. “Of course that thieving Italian minx is to blame. Don’t say I didn’t warn you how it would be when you insisted on taking her in. Treating her as if she was one of the family—really!”

  Lord Carisbrook shifted uncomfortably. “Livia, please—this is most unseemly. You know very well that Cara is no thief.”

  “Indeed?” Her ladyship’s tone took on an even uglier edge. “If not her, then whom, pray tell? Are you seriously suggesting that Simpkins or one of the maids, all of whom have been with us for years, suddenly upped and stole the emeralds? Why now? Why wait for years?” Lady Carisbrook halted on the last stair and narrowed her eyes on her husband. “I’ll tell you why the emeralds disappeared last night. It was because that was the first time since that treacherous child came to this house that the jewels were within her reach.”

  Lord Carisbrook opened his mouth, but her ladyship raised a hand and scathingly declared, “There is absolutely no point in attempting to defend her. I told you no good would come of giving house room to your scandalous sister’s whelp, much less embracing her as part of the family—and now look what’s happened.” Dramatically, Lady Carisbrook flung out her hands. “She’s been here mere weeks, and my emeralds are gone!”

  Silence—seething with more emotions than Stokes could immediately identify, anger and resentment among them—fell.

  He seized the moment to calmly walk forward, finally impinging on Lady Carisbrook’s awareness. She blinked, and her expression blanked; her hand tightened on the newel post.

  Stokes halted beside Lord Carisbrook and half bowed to her ladyship. “Lady Carisbrook. I am Senior Inspector Stokes of Scotland Yard. In response to your report, I am here to investigate the disappearance of the Carisbrook emeralds. Your allegations are of interest to us”—with a flick of his hand, Stokes indicated the rest of their group—“and we are here to gather the proof required to substantiate them.”

  Her ladyship recovered her aplomb. “Excellent!” Her eyes—Stokes thought they were black—lit with malicious expectation.

  He turned to Lord Carisbrook. “My lord, allow me to introduce the Honorable Mr. and Mrs. Barnaby Adair. As you might have heard, they act as occasional consultants to the Yard in resolving matters such as this.”

  Lord Carisbrook had noticed Barnaby and Penelope, but until that moment, he hadn’t considered what their presence meant; his expression suggested he didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry—reassured or mortified—to be meeting them in such circumstances.

  A gentle smile on her lips, Penelope glided forward. “Lord Carisbrook—a pleasure, although would that it had been some less bothersome event that brought us here.” She held out her hand, and prompted by ingrained good manners, Lord Carisbrook took it and bowed.

  “Mrs. Adair.” His lordship sounded faintly strangled.

  While Barnaby followed Penelope in exchanging greetings with his lordship, Stokes watched Lady Carisbrook, to whom Barnaby and Penelope’s presence had come as a rude shock. From her ladyship’s stunned and horrified expression, Stokes surmised she hadn’t looked further than accusing her niece-by-marriage and getting her out of the house; Lady Carisbrook hadn’t considered what initiating a police investigation would entail.

  Stokes had no doubt that in her eyes, he and his men were bad enough—minor inconveniences, yet people she could dismiss, whose opinions didn’t matter to her—but the addition of Penelope and Barnaby to the investigation elevated the situation to a very different level.

  Leaving Lady Carisbrook struggling to assimilate a reality she hadn’t foreseen, Stokes spared a glance for Franklin and Julia Carisbrook. Both appeared uncertain as to what reaction they should have toward the unfolding events, yet there was a hint of hope on both their faces—hope for what, Stokes couldn’t yet say.

  “As you might know, sir,” Barnaby replied in response to Lord Carisbrook’s query as to Barnaby’s and Penelope’s purposes in being there, “my father, the earl, is one of the directors who assist the commissioner in overseeing the workings of the police force. Over the years, my wife and I have assisted Inspector Stokes with several cases involving members of the ton, and the commissioner and the directors have concluded that it is very much better for Stokes to have our insights available to him so that he can most appropriately respond to crimes within our level of society.”

  As Barnaby had hoped, Lord Carisbrook read between his lines and was somewhat mollified. “Ah—I see.” His lordship clasped his hands over the head of his cane, hesitated, then raised troubled eyes to Barnaby’s face. “As to what’s most appropriate in this case…I wonder, Mr. Adair”—his lordship turned to include Penelope and Stokes with his gaze—“whether it’s possible to, er, cancel the report my wife made. I’m sure the emeralds will turn up somewhere,
and the accusation against my niece is really beyond absurd—”

  “Oh no you don’t!” Lady Carisbrook stepped off the stair and swept down on them, outrage radiating from every pore. Her eyes blazed as she glared at her husband. “My emeralds—the Carisbrook emeralds—are missing! They were stolen from my room—filched from under our own roof! It is beyond insupportable! Of course, the police must hunt for them—what are the police for?”

  “Indeed, ma’am.” Stokes leapt on the opening. “Given that a formal report of a crime has been made and the emeralds are, as you’ve confirmed, missing, then we at the Yard are duty bound to get to the bottom of it. My men and I—assisted by Mr. and Mrs. Adair—are here to do precisely that. With his lordship’s and your permission, we propose to conduct a comprehensive search of the house.” Stokes tipped his head toward Lord Carisbrook. “As his lordship says, the emeralds might well turn up.”

  Barnaby hid a smile as Stokes’s tone grew chillier and he continued, “In addition, we will need to interview everyone in the household. I’m sure you understand that as a very serious accusation has been made against Miss Di Abaccio, proofs will need to be assembled to either confirm the accusation or show it to be without foundation.”

  Her face a picture of dismayed chagrin, Lady Carisbrook all but rocked back on her heels.

  Didn’t think of that, did you? Penelope thought rather viciously; she’d already taken against Lady Carisbrook, and she hadn’t yet exchanged a word with the woman. Apparently, her ladyship had only just realized that making an accusation against her husband’s ward that was subsequently proved to be false would reflect badly on her. Penelope could find little sympathy for her ladyship’s predicament.