“It’s deafening,” Claire winced, clapping her hands over her ears.
“And dirty,” Evie complained, lifting her skirts out of the mud.
“It’s exciting,” Joanna corrected. Pulling a crinkled piece of paper out of her purse, she squinted at her own messy handwriting. Their grandmother had given them directions to a very old and very highly regarded jeweler on the corner of Bridge Street and…
“Is that a J or a T?” she asked, shoving the paper underneath Evie’s nose.
“I don’t know,” Evie said, pushing Joanna’s arm away with a grimace. “You’re the one who wrote it.”
“We need to find Truman Avenue.” Stopping in the middle of the busy sidewalk, Claire flattened a hand against her temple and stood up on her toes in an effort to see above the crowded swarm of pedestrians. “I see it!” she said, her face brightening with relief. Unlike Joanna, who loved the business of the city, and Evie, who was in awe of the fashion, Claire much preferred the quietness of Somerville. She’d been visibly overwhelmed ever since they’d arrived, and was eager to have the ring appraised as fast as possible and return home. “Right over there, beside the bakery, just like Grandmother said.”
“Then over there we shall go,” Joanna announced, barely contained excitement adding an extra bounce to her step as she linked arms with her sisters and half-walked, half-dragged them past the bakery and into a small, narrow shop with a gold sign above the door that read Bernard’s Fine Estate Jewelry and Antiquities.
In the two days since they’d decided to have the ring appraised and possibly sold, Joanna had felt light as a feather. Finally, finally, there was a potential solution to her dilemma of marrying to save her family instead of marrying to fulfill her heart’s desire. Because if she had to—if she really had to—she would accept Charles’ proposal. Or the one that had come before it. Or the one that had come before that. Somerville had plenty of men from wealthy families, with no exceedingly remarkable traits to distinguish them from each other. Oh, John Yardley preferred fishing to hunting and Henry Wellsboro had never met a deer he didn’t want to kill, but in their bones and their blood they were all cut from the same cloth.
Except for Charles, who preferred silk.
If she said yes to any of them, she’d be saying yes to all of them. It wouldn’t matter which suitor she chose. But with the ring and the money it brought, she wouldn’t have to. With the ring, she could pursue her dream of traveling the world without being weighed down by the guilt of letting her family down. With the ring, she could fall in love with whomever she wanted. With the ring, she could choose someone because of who they were instead of how wealthy they were. With the ring, she could be free.
A plush green carpet muffled her footsteps as she followed her sisters into the jewelry shop and allowed the door to swing closed behind her. At once, she was assailed by the overwhelming scent of a heavy floral perfume. The kind their grandmother kept on her dressing table but never used.
At first glance, there was no one about. As Joanna’s eyesight adjusted to the dimly lit interior, she noticed a long, glass case that ran the entire length of the back wall. Inside the case was jewelry of all sorts, from necklaces to earrings to an enormous sapphire brooch that immediately captured Evie’s attention.
“Oh,” she sighed, pressing her face to the glass, “it’s gorgeous.”
“You’ve an excellent eye, Miss. That particular piece belonged to the Duchess of Knoxleigh,” said a short, middle-aged man as he stepped out from behind a velvet curtain on the other side of the case. Wearing a pleasant smile and an old-fashioned waistcoat with a gold pocket watch tucked in the front pocket, he inclined his head in greeting. “Mr. Bernard at your service, young ladies. How can I help you today?”
As the eldest, Joanna was accustomed to taking the lead. “We’ve come to have a ring appraised. It belonged to our mother.” Opening her purse where she’d carefully secured the ring inside a leather pouch, she placed it in the middle of her palm and held out her arm. Evie and Claire crowded on either side of her, and all three sisters held their breath as Mr. Bernard leaned forward to examine the ring.
“Exquisite,” he murmured. “Positively exquisite.” His head lifted sharply. “How did you say the ring came to be in your possession?”
“It was our mother’s,” Joanna repeated. “I found it in the attic a number of years after she had passed.”
“I am sorry for your loss,” said Mr. Bernard without taking his eyes off the ring. “You’d like to know its worth? Are you interested in selling it?”
“We haven’t decided,” Claire said with an anxious glance at Joanna, who took her sister’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
She knew Claire still harbored some reservations about parting with the ring. She also knew why. While Joanna and Evie still retained some memories of their mother, however obscure and fleeting they may have been, Claire had none. The ring was an attachment to the woman who had given birth to her. The woman she was incapable of remembering. The woman she’d always yearned to know.
If Claire did not want to sell the ring after they learned its monetary value, then they wouldn’t sell it. It was as simple as that. In the Thorncroft family, sisters came first. No matter how much they bickered on small matters, they always presented a united front on the things that were most important.
While selling the ring was the easiest and simplest solution to all of their problems, if one of them didn’t want to do it, then none of them would do it.
They’d find another way.
They always did.
“We’d like to have it appraised first,” Joanna said matter-of-factly. “Then discuss possibly putting it on consignment. Our Grandmother, Ruth Thorncroft, told us you sold several pieces of jewelry for her.”
“Mrs. Thorncroft. Yes. I remember her very well. Very well, indeed. Lovely woman. Drove a hard bargain, I will admit.” Mr. Bernard rocked onto his heels and tucked his hands into the pockets of his waistcoat. “Her granddaughters, did you say?”
“I am Joanna, this is Evie, and Claire.” Joanna’s eyes narrowed as she studied the jeweler. She didn’t know why, exactly, but she didn’t like the way his gaze kept darting to the ring. Or how his tongue ran across his bottom lip every time he stared at it. “Can you tell us anything about the ring?”
“I’d have to examine it, naturally. May I?” Opening a drawer, Mr. Bernard removed a square piece of black velvet and laid it flat across the top of the glass case.
After a moment’s hesitation, Joanna placed the ring in the middle of the velvet and then watched, nibbling on her bottom lip, as the jeweler slipped on a pair of heavyset spectacles with what appeared to be miniature magnifying glasses attached to the ends.
“What are those?” Claire asked, nodding at the unusual spectacles.
“These,” said Mr. Bernard as he grasped the ring with a pair of tweezers and held it up to his right eye which appeared comically large, “are called a jeweler’s loupe. Think of them as a telescope, except they’re used to look at gemstones instead of planets and stars. Interesting.” He turned the ring from side to side. “Quite interesting.”
“What is?” Evie said breathlessly.
Carefully returning the ring to the velvet, Mr. Bernard pushed his jeweler’s loupe to the top of his head. “Your mother’s ring was undoubtedly custom made and in pristine condition for its age.”
“Its age?” Joanna’s brow creased. “How old is it, precisely?”
“Given the type of setting, my best guess would be the mid-18th century.”
The sisters exchanged a startled glance, and Joanna knew they were all thinking the same thing. How in the world had their mother come to be in possession of a ring that was nearly one hundred and twenty years old?
“The ruby itself is likely to be much older than that,” Mr. Bernard continued. “It’s a marquise cut, four carats, framed in twelve half-carat diamonds. Absolutely top grade. What’s interesting is that the designer
of such a magnificent piece of work would usually leave a signature mark. Not unlike an artist signing his painting. What makes this ring very unique, aside from its size and clarity, is that there is no such signature mark. It is, for all intents and purposes, anonymous.”
“And that’s rare?” said Evie.
“Exceedingly so.”
“Then you don’t know who made the ring?” asked Claire.
“No, I am afraid not,” Mr. Bernard said quickly.
Too quickly to Joanna’s way of thinking.
As the fine hairs on her nape stood straight on end, she snatched up the ring and closed it protectively in her fist. She still couldn’t pinpoint the source of her uneasiness, but she’d learned to trust her gut a long time ago. And right now, it was telling her something wasn’t right.
“What is it worth?” she asked.
“I…” Removing a linen handkerchief from his pocket, Mr. Bernard ran it across his temple. “I would need more time to do a thorough exam. Standard procedure, you understand. It should only take a day or two, three at the most.”
“What sort of exam?” she asked suspiciously.
“Tests,” he mumbled vaguely. “Standard procedure, as I said.”
“What sort of tests?”
Again Mr. Bernard swiped his handkerchief along his forehead, which was now beginning to gleam with sweat beneath the soft glow of the light hanging above their heads. “The—the usual sort. Nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Jo, just give him the ring,” said Evie, her voice tinged with exasperation. “It’s not as if Mr. Bernard is trying to steal it from us. He’s a highly respected jeweler! Aren’t you, Mr. Bernard?”
“H—highly respected,” Mr. Bernard stuttered.
“There, you see?” Then she frowned. “Mr. Bernard, are you well? You’re turning rather red.”
“Very red,” Claire agreed.
The jeweler tugged at his necktie. “I…I…oh, to hell with it. Just give me the ring!”
Evie shrieked when Mr. Bernard lunged across the counter at Joanna. “Bad jeweler!” she cried, striking at him with the parasol she always carried with her regardless of fair weather or foul. “Bad jeweler!”
As her sister bludgeoned the jeweler over the head, Joanna leapt nimbly out of reach of his waving arms. Her heel caught on a fold in the carpet, and she nearly fell. Catching her balance, she tightened her grip on the ring until the point of the ruby cut into the palm of her hand, but she hardly registered the pain over the sound of her heartbeat roaring in her ears.
“We’re leaving,” she announced. “Claire, Evie, let’s go.”
“Wait!” Mr. Bernard cried after them as they hurried out the door.
But the sisters didn’t stop. Not before they’d raced around the corner and slipped into an alley carved between two towering brick buildings. Spying a mountain of crates, Joanna ducked behind them and motioned for her siblings to do the same.
Claire immediately followed suit.
But Evie stopped short.
“It’s dirty,” she complained. “Isn’t there someplace else we can go? A nice pastry shop, perhaps?”
Joanna gaped at her sister. “Mr. Bernard just tried to physically assault us in order to steal our most valuable possession, and you want to eat pastries? Get down here before he sees you!”
“I didn’t say I wanted to eat pastries,” Evie grumbled as she crouched gingerly beside Claire. “I’d just prefer a place to hide that wasn’t infested with rats.”
“There are rats?” Claire squeaked in alarm.
“No,” Joanna said firmly. “There aren’t any rats.”
At least, she hoped not.
Still, a rat or two would be vastly preferable to a crazed jeweler.
“I knew something was wrong with him.” She shook her head. “As soon as he saw the ring, his entire demeanor changed. Almost as if…”
“He recognized it,” Claire whispered. She raised wide, fearful, blue eyes to Joanna. “I found his behavior peculiar as well. But how could he have seen Mother’s ring before? It was in that attic for years and years.”
“I’m not sure. But he seemed to know an awful lot about it.” Uncurling her fingers, Joanna studied the ring with a renewed sense of interest…and wariness. What secrets were embedded within the ruby? Why had their mother kept it hidden for their entire lives? And why had Mr. Bernard tried to steal it from them?
For once, Joanna didn’t have any answers.
It wasn’t a good feeling.
As the oldest, she was accustomed to fixing things. To solving problems. To righting wrongs. But there was no easy solution to be found in any of this.
Only more questions.
Carefully slipping the ring back into its leather carrying pouch, she put the pouch in her purse and slipped her wrist through the leather handles.
“What do we do now?” Claire asked, unknowingly echoing Joanna’s exact thoughts.
“I’m not sure. Take it to another jeweler, I suppose. Someone who doesn’t know anything about us, or our family, or the ring.” Slowly standing, she peeked around the corner of a crate. When she didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, she waved her arm to indicate the path was clear.
“Finally.” With a huff, Evie used her parasol to push herself to her feet and then gave a gasp of outrage when dust rose in a billowing cloud of red from her skirts as she spun around in a circle. “Look at this! I told you we should have gone to a pastry shop. Do you know how hard it is to get stains out of bombazine?”
“God bless you,” Claire said politely.
Joanna rolled her eyes. “We’ve more to worry about than a little dirt on our dresses.”
“Easy for you to say,” Evie scowled. “You never care what you look like.”
“It’s served me well this far.” Not wanting to go back the way they’d come in case Mr. Bernard was still after them, Joanna crossed the street and turned left. Thankfully, Boston was a large, sprawling metropolis, and the chances of crossing paths with a single person out of thousands was incredibly slim. “There should be another jeweler near the commons. If not, we can double back to our carriage and return home.”
For the journey into the city they’d borrowed a square gig from a friend in the village, which Claire had driven. While timid with people, she’d always had an affinity for animals, and had handled the three-hour trip with remarkable ease, particularly given the condition of some of the roads.
“I hope we can find someone reputable to appraise the ring,” Claire said fretfully as the sisters pressed up against the side of a store to make room for two men carrying a large crate between them. “I shouldn’t like to come here again.”
“We could always spend the night,” Evie suggested, her gaze lingering on the display of colorful shawls hanging in the window. “Start fresh in the morning.”
“How are we to afford lodging?” Joanna asked.
Tearing her gaze away from the window, Evie kicked at a pebble with her shoe. “I despise being poor.”
“It is not ideal,” Claire agreed. “Still, we have each other, don’t we?”
“Of course. And we still have the ring,” Joanna pointed out. “Which means our plan remains the same as it did before. We just need to find another jeweler.”
“Preferably one I don’t have to beat over the head with a parasol,” said Evie.
Joanna grinned. “Excellent work, by the by. Mr. Bernard quite literally did not know what hit him.”
“Thank you,” said Evie, appearing pleased by the praise.
They rounded a busy corner. Joanna began to search the signs hanging above the various stores, looking for one that could provide them the service they required. “I’m certain Mr. Bernard was nothing more than a stroke of bad luck. I know we can find—oompf!”
She was nearly knocked off her feet when a boy, a tuft of black hair sticking out from beneath an oversized hat, slammed into Claire, who in turn crashed into Evie, who bumped hard into Joanna.
“I never,” Evie sniffed as she patted her hair.
“He was in a very big hurry.” A bit wobbly on her feet, Claire leaned against the lamppost. “I wonder where he is—”
“The ring.” As a pit opened up in her belly, Joanna yanked her purse off her arm and began to feverishly sift through its contents.
There wasn’t much.
An ivory comb.
A small mirror.
A pencil.
Noticeably missing?
A leather pouch with their mother’s 120-year-old ring.
“It was right here!” Her heart pounding, she whirled in a circle and jabbed a finger at the harbor where billowing white sails snapped in the wind and, somewhere, a pickpocket was making off with their inheritance. “That little thief stole the ring!”
“No,” Evie gasped.
Claire paled. “What do we do?”
“We go after him. Follow me!” Filled with determination, Joanna took off like a thoroughbred who had just heard the toll of a race bell. Her height gave her a stride advantage over both her sisters and, within seconds, she had outdistanced them considerably. Dimly, she could hear Evie calling at her to wait, to stop, but she was not about to allow someone to escape with their fortune…and their future.
She knocked into a man with a dark beard. He yelled angrily at her and waved his fist. She shouted an apology over her shoulder, but didn’t slow down. The street narrowed, then widened as it approached the harbor. Large factories puffing black smoke out of tall, brick chimneys gave way to long docks and even longer ships. Joanna ducked under the arm of a sailor carrying an enormous coil of rope, then nearly collided with another as he rolled a barrel along the pier.
“Watch where ye’re going,” he snarled in a heavy cockney accent.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” Panting, Joanna leaned forward and braced her hands on her knees. She’d lost her hat somewhere along the way, and her hair spilled over her shoulders in a wave of red. “Did you see a boy come through here? Lean as a whip. Black hair. Large hat.” Dragging in a lungful of air, she managed to stand upright despite the vicious cramp piercing her left side. “He stole something very valuable from me and my sisters.”
Bewitched by the Bluestocking Page 5