Bloody Royal Prints

by Reba White Williams

  “Jeb has a lot on his mind,” Heyward said. “What did you think of Lady Jane?”

  “She’s another puzzle. I liked her, but I’m uneasy about her. I enjoyed hearing about her garden, and I plan to visit it. Someday I’d like to have a garden of my own. We have a common interest: She designs and makes her own clothes, too. She asked about my dress, and I told her it was inspired by a picture I saw in Majesty—do you know the magazine? About the Royal Family? I get it for the pictures of the clothes, and so does she! She’s going to e-mail me a list of shops I should visit while I’m in London. She’s lovely, but she’s got some awful relatives! It’s hard to trust her, having met them. Her companion was one of them. I saw him in the Ross office yesterday. He barely spoke to me tonight. He was jumpy and uncomfortable. I haven’t had a chance to tell you about our meeting with the Ross men—”

  “I know all about it,” Heyward said.

  “Who told you?” Coleman asked.

  “The Ross clan has been under suspicion for a long time, for all sorts of crimes. We don’t know whether Lady Jane is involved,” Heyward said.

  “Who is ‘we’? You seem to know a great deal about crime in England,” Coleman said.

  “I’m spending most of my time here these days, and I have major investments here. I’ve met some very intelligent and interesting people. The UK is a wonderful country, but criminals have invaded it. I encountered a criminal organization here having to do with art fraud, with roots in New York, and I helped expose it. I’ve continued to help where I can. I can’t tell you any more than that, but that’s how I got to know Tony.”

  “Do you think Lady Jane is a criminal?” Coleman asked.

  “I really don’t know. Tell me more about the man she brought with her—a cousin?”

  “He barely spoke to me—I don’t have much to report. As I said, he was in that office yesterday. That crowd was threatening. I’m sure they’re guilty of something.”

  “What about Stephanie?” Heyward said.

  “She’s a pathetic little fool,” Coleman said.

  “Yes, I fear you’re right. It’s hard to know what to do about the Stephanies of the world. Well, she’s a good place to end our evening. Are you ready to get some sleep?”

  “Oh, yes,” Coleman said. “Thanks again for a wonderful party. Goodnight.”

  •••

  Coleman went to bed as soon as she was in her room, but she couldn’t sleep. She thought about the evening: what people had said, her impressions of everyone, mostly about Jeb and his new companion.

  She was glad her back had been to the door when Jeb arrived. Her face might have revealed her feelings. She had thought they might meet in London, and pick up where they’d left off in New York. After she saw him with Stephanie, though, she’d dismissed that idea. In any case, he hadn’t shown the slightest interest in her, even though she was the guest of honor, and good manners demanded that he at least exchange a few words with her. That had stung, but her feelings had been soothed by Tony’s attentions. When Jeb arrived, she was talking to Tony, and had, for the moment, forgotten Jeb was coming to the party. That was a sign she was over Jeb. The other good news: Tony was attractive and seemed interested in her.

  “Out with the old and in with the new,” she told Dolly. But Dolly was making little snoring noises, and didn’t open her eyes. Coleman closed her own eyes, and drifted off to sleep a few minutes later.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Dinah

  Friday night, after the party, London

  The house had been stripped of most of its furniture, but the master bedroom was nearly intact. The stuffed chairs, the big bed, and the bedside tables were reproductions, owned by Lady Jane, so Dinah and Jonathan had a place to sleep, and a place to sit and discuss the party.

  Dinah removed the glittery white dress and matching shoes, and huddled by the fire in her cashmere robe and warm slippers.

  “It’s not that cold in here anymore, since no one is turning back the thermostat, but I’m used to my robe,” she said.

  Jonathan, still in his tuxedo, had paused downstairs to pour himself a glass of brandy, and Dinah a glass of sherry.

  He handed her the drink, and said, “This will help you get warm.” He took a deep breath, and let it out. “That was a great party, but it’s nice to be alone with you,” he said.

  “I loved the party, except for Princess Stephanie—she was such a spectacle in that hoop skirt. I’m sure Heyward would never have invited her. Jeb is crazy to be involved with her.”

  “I doubt it’s serious,” Jonathan said.

  “Oh, I know, but he shouldn’t have brought her to Coleman’s party. Coleman really liked him when they went out in New York.”

  “No! How could she? He strikes me as a lounge lizard, good with women like Stephanie, but not good for much else,” Jonathan said.

  “I think you’re wrong. Jeb is good-looking and smart and he works for Coleman’s brother, who’s a genius, who trusts him. I didn’t have anything against him until I learned he was living with Stephanie. Then I lost all respect for him. Coleman’s well off without him. Tony may be the perfect man for Coleman.”

  “Yes, Tony is impressive. But let’s talk about you. I’ve never seen you more beautiful than you were tonight. The dress and the diamonds glittered, but you were glittering, too. I haven’t seen you this happy in a long time,” he said.

  “Yes, Coleman slayed the dragons, rid my house of vermin, and gave me a wonderful way to enjoy my spare time in London, while meeting new and interesting people and learning more about food. If I can do a good job at the museum, and make friends there, too—well, I’ll be happy as a lark. But even if the museum job isn’t fun, I’ll be fine.”

  “What are you doing about replacing the servants for the house?” he asked.

  “We have James, Hamilton, and Franklin, and Heyward’s housekeeper is finding a cook for us. That ought to be enough, but if it isn’t, I’ll hire someone else. Maybe I’ll want a secretary, or an assistant for my writing. Anyway, don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it.”

  “You sound very confident,” he said.

  “I feel confident. I know my life in London is going to be a lot better. I’m even looking forward to dealing with the furniture issues, which are huge. A week ago I would have said I couldn’t do it. Right now, however, I’m looking forward to bed. I’m exhausted.”

  Jonathan laughed, got up, and went into his dressing room. Dinah hung her robe on its hanger, and slipped into bed. She was asleep when Jonathan turned off the lights and climbed into bed beside her.

  •••

  Dinah woke an hour later, and couldn’t go back to sleep. She was still high on the day and night she’d just experienced. Just as Dinah knew she would, Coleman had rid the house of the horrible women who had destroyed her happiness ever since she came to London.

  Everything had changed. She had three dependable allies in James, Franklin, and Hamilton. They had arranged for a cleaning service to come in and clean the rooms the women had occupied, and the rooms where the antiques and paintings had been stored. She would soon have a good English cook. It would be fun to have a cook to help with her column for First Home. She shivered with excitement at the thought of her column.

  Jonathan, contrite when he heard from Coleman just how bad the witches were, had apologized to Dinah. He told her that she should buy furniture for the house, with the thought that they would probably want antiques in New York eventually. If not, they could sell them. Coleman would help her shop, and Rachel said she’d help, too, as would Lady Darny. Meanwhile, they still had a few pieces in the house—all of the beds belonged to Lady Jane, as did some of the dining room furniture, and a few other large, heavy pieces.

  Maybe they could rent some items until she found what she wanted to buy. Coleman had ordered books about antiques for her, some of which Coleman had read. If Coleman could learn about antiques, she could, too.

  Dinah felt like a new person: in
vigorated, charged up. As she’d told Jonathan, she was excited about furnishing 23 Culross, when once she would have thought it was an insurmountable burden.

  She would start her job at the museum on Monday, and she rather dreaded it—the people she’d met had been so unfriendly when she’d dropped in to introduce herself. Well, if they were cold, so what? She had an interesting and challenging task, and was eager to get on with it. She’d absorb herself in her work at the museum, and make sure she did it well. That’s what mattered.

  She’d had a wonderful time at Heyward’s party. She knew she had looked her best, and she loved seeing all the other beautiful dresses. She enjoyed talking to Jane Ross about flowers and clothes. Jane had again apologized for the behavior of her relatives. She was horrified to hear about the cook and housekeeper at 23 Culross, and interested to hear that Hamilton and Franklin were back at the house. She said she had been sorry when they left. She seemed to think they had resigned. Dinah knew Mr. Ross had fired them.

  Coleman seemed to have made a new conquest. That was good. Someone to show her London, see that she had a good time. Coleman deserved to have a good time, and to be happy. Dinah wanted the best for Coleman. She prayed for Coleman’s good health and well-being, and drifted back to sleep.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Dinah

  Saturday morning, May, London

  Dinah was awakened by Hamilton standing by the bed, offering her a tray identical to Jonathan’s. She didn’t have to leap out of bed to serve Jonathan’s coffee and juice, and, joy of joys, Hamilton had brought her the newspapers, including Secrets. For the first time she understood what it was like to have someone working for her who anticipated what she wanted. She thanked him, and he handed her a clipping from a paper they didn’t normally see. It was a picture of Coleman outside Scott’s and a nice paragraph about her discovery of the stolen art and antiques at 23 Culross. Good for Coleman.

  She looked at the bedside clock. Hamilton must have turned off her alarm, but Jonathan’s had rung, and he already had his tray. Perfect. They were awake at the same time, and could lie in bed sipping juice and coffee and enjoying the papers, like they used to in New York. True luxury. She pushed aside the International New York Times and picked up Secrets. Uh oh, Stephanie’s latest print was on the front page and it was much more revealing than the last one: a female nude, standing, facing the viewer. Her head was turned away, obscuring her face, and anatomical details had been deliberately blurred, but an ogling man, obviously spying on the woman, had been introduced. It was pornographic, or close to it. Rachel would be upset. She’d have to call her later.

  It was time to get up to arrange Jonathan’s breakfast, and remove the smelly buffet to the kitchen. Then she remembered: The wicked witches had been banished, and she had no downstairs duties. She could shower and join Jonathan in the dining room knowing that his breakfast and her own would be perfect. Hamilton would see to it.

  After her shower, she put on jeans and a blue turtleneck. She’d work at home today, selecting the room that would be her office, making sure there were bookshelves in it for the cookbooks she would acquire, and for the reference books she’d use for her job at the museum. She’d order office furniture and a fax machine, get Internet installed, set up a computer, and get all the office supplies she needed.

  She’d discuss menus with Hamilton. He would handle the shopping and simple cooking, augmented with take-out, until the new cook arrived.

  She was as happy as a bee—maybe a queen bee?—having rid herself of useless drones, and ready to put the hive in order.

  She skipped down the stairs, and was thrilled to see a brightly colored wrapped package at her place at the table. She tore off the wrapping: a much coveted copy of Gordon Ramsay’s Great British Pub Food. What a marvelous gift! The card read, “Good luck with your food column. James, Hamilton, and Franklin.” She was turning the first pages when Hamilton brought the telephone to the table.

  “It’s Mrs. Carter at Mr. Bain’s.”

  Mrs. Carter, sounding distressed, said, “Mrs. Hathaway, Mr. Bain wants you to come to his house right away. Miss Coleman needs you. Dolly vanished. She may have been stolen.”

  Dinah gasped. Oh, poor Coleman.

  “Please tell Coleman I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  Hamilton said, “James is waiting for you. I put your dark blue coat in the car.”

  Jonathan was descending the stairs as she ran for the door. “Hamilton will explain,” she called, and ran out the door.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Coleman

  Saturday morning, May, London

  When Coleman awoke, she felt wonderful. She pulled back the curtains to see what kind of day it was. Oh, joy! The sun was shining. It was a perfect day. She still felt the glow of the party, and the excitement of meeting Tony. She was looking forward to seeing him tonight.

  She pulled on her green tracksuit and sneakers. She’d take Dolly for a long, brisk walk before breakfast. Dolly had explored Heyward’s tiny garden, but she needed more exercise, and so did Coleman. Coleman attached Dolly’s pink leash to the matching pink collar, while the little dog danced and pranced with excitement, telling Coleman she was eager to go. Coleman was about to head downstairs, when someone slipped a newspaper clipping under the door. Good grief, there was her picture outside Scott’s! That’s why the lights had been flashing! A photographer had been taking pictures of her. The picture was flattering, and a nice paragraph covered her discovery at 23 Culross. That’s why Tony said she’d be the toast of London. He must have known about the article.

  She was already down the steps and on the sidewalk when she realized she didn’t have the house keys Heyward had given her. She told Dolly to wait, she’d be right back. To save time, she decided to take the little elevator up to her suite instead of walking. The elevator worked like a charm, and she quickly found the keys. But when she was in the elevator ready to go back down, the doors closed, and she couldn’t open them. The elevator wouldn’t budge. She rang the emergency bell. She could hear people tinkering with the controls, and talking to each other, but nearly half an hour passed before the elevator delivered her to the main floor. When she reached the steps where Dolly had been waiting, she was horrified to see that the little dog was not where Coleman had left her. She called her, but Dolly didn’t come. Could one of the servants have taken her somewhere? Was she in the house? Coleman went inside and knocked on the library door.

  “Come in,” Heyward called.

  She entered the room, and asked him to check with everyone in the house. Had anyone seen Dolly?

  Heyward, looking as worried as she felt, used the intercom to deal with his inquiries about Dolly. No one in the house had seen the little dog. She wasn’t in the house.

  Coleman was frightened, and angry.

  “You must call the police! Someone must have stolen her,” she said.

  “I’ll call them, but they won’t come. The police will refuse to investigate a missing dog, unless we can prove there’s been a crime. They’ll say she ran away—”

  “Dolly would not run away,” Coleman said, furious.

  “I know she wouldn’t, but the police don’t. I’m on the phone with my office. We’ll put everybody we have on this—we’ll put posters everywhere, starting in this neighborhood. Give me all Dolly’s information—height, weight, microchip, pictures. We’ll offer a thousand pounds’ reward to anyone who’ll see that we get her back today. We’ll ask everyone on the square if they’ve seen her.”

  “If you think Dolly’s in the neighborhood, maybe I should go look for her,” she said. “I can’t stand here doing nothing while someone hurts her.”

  “Coleman, you must stay calm. I need you to make this search work. Listen to me: It’s only eight thirty in the morning. She’s been gone half an hour at the most. Even if someone did take her, we have no reason to believe they knew she belonged to you, or that you were a target.”

  “But they might have,” sai
d Coleman. “The house must have been watched. She was alone so briefly, they must have been waiting for a chance to get her. It could have been the ring connected with the house on Culross, or maybe someone who saw the article in the paper about me this morning.”

  “Or it could have been someone who thought Dolly belonged to me,” said Heyward.

  Coleman closed her mouth abruptly at the thought, which worried her even more. Of course Heyward might have enemies of his own. He was far better known in London than she was, despite the photo in this morning’s paper.

  “Dolly is almost certainly near this house,” Heyward said. “Whoever has her, for whatever reason, they won’t hurt her. If they’ve kidnapped her, they’ll want money. They’ll probably call here asking for a ransom.” He turned toward Mrs. Carter, who was standing in the doorway. “Please telephone Dinah Hathaway. Tell her I want her here as soon as possible—Coleman needs her. Make sure that everyone here knows what we’re doing, and that no one has seen anything suspicious.”

  Coleman stood like a statue, still and cold, her face as white as marble. “This is all my fault. I knew this kind of thing happened in London. I read about a dog being left alone for only thirty minutes, and stolen. I shouldn’t have left Dolly alone,” Coleman said. “You said before I came that she could never be dognapped because she was always with me. But I left her alone. She’s too small and too sweet to fight. She’s never bitten anyone. She’s friendly to everyone; she’s defenseless. She’ll be so scared. I can’t think what to do.”

  Coleman and Heyward were standing outside on the house’s front steps when Dinah arrived. “How can I help?” she said.

  Coleman shook her head. “I don’t know. I’ll never forgive myself. I shouldn’t have brought Dolly to London. I’ve never known anyone in New York who’s had a dog stolen,” she said.

  Coleman looked and sounded terrible, and Dinah didn’t know what to say or do to help her. If whoever took the dog wanted money in exchange for her, it would not be a problem. Coleman had money, and Heyward was a billionaire. But suppose it wasn’t about money? Suppose the 23 Culross witches or their masters had stolen Dolly to get back at Coleman for destroying their racket? Would they kill the little dog? God forbid. She prayed for Dolly and Coleman.