Past Crimes: A Compendium of Historical Mysteries

by Jennifer Ashley

  I thanked the man and left his shop, which was the last on my list. I took a hackney to Pall Mall, rather short of information.

  I found Grenville already there. He bade the host bring us both a cup of rich, almost chocolaty, coffee while we waited for the footmen.

  Grenville had found out little himself. The Bond Street proprietors had opened up to him, had readily talked of Lady Clifford’s necklace, which was beautiful, they said, but they had no idea what had become of it.

  “The task is a bit more difficult than I expected,” Grenville said glumly. “The thing might already be cut up and in Paris.”

  I had to agree. When Bartholomew and Matthias arrived, however, the blond, blue-eyed brothers were pink-faced and grinning.

  “Matthias has got it, sir,” Bartholomew said. He dragged a straight-backed chair from another table and straddled it back to front. “Clear as day. In a pawnbroker’s near Manchester Square. One large diamond necklace, brought in not three afternoons ago.”

  Grenville leaned forward, excited, but I tried to keep my skepticism in place. Though I hoped we’d found an easy end to the problem, I had learned from experience that solutions did not come so readily.

  We had to wait until the publican had thunked down two glasses of good, dark ale for the brothers and retreated. Matthias and Bartholomew both drank deeply, thirsty from their search, then Matthias began.

  “’Twas not much of a shop,” he said, wiping his mouth. “It’s in a little turning full of horse dung and trash. I told the proprietor that my master was looking for something nice for his lady and sent me to scout, but I didn’t mention who my master was, of course. Would have swooned if I’d told him, wouldn’t he? That someone like Mr. Grenville would even think to soil his boots in such a place would have him so agitated he wouldn’t be able to speak. So I kept quiet, and he came over quite chatty.”

  “Good thinking,” I said, as Matthias paused to drink.

  “What he had in the front was mostly cheap,” Matthias continued. “The sort of thing I’d expect him to show gentlemen of not much means. I said that my master was looking for something better, because he’d just become flush in cash and wanted to please his lady. Well, as soon as I said that, the proprietor came over all secretive. He shut the door of the shop and drew the curtain, and told me he had something special. Something he was keeping for customers who were obviously up in the world.”

  “And did he show it to you?” Grenville asked.

  “That he did, sir. He brought out a necklace. My eyes nearly popped when I saw it. Lots of stones all sparkling. Much nicer than anything in that shop. Out of place, like. I professed my doubts, saying my master wouldn’t have truck with anything stolen. Proprietor grew angry, said he’d never buy from thieves. If a highborn lady wanted to bring her necklace to a pawnbroker’s, why should he mind? He paid her a sum which near ruined him, he said, and would be glad to get it off his hands.”

  I exchanged a look with Grenville. “A highborn lady,” I said. “Not her maid?”

  “Highborn lady,” Matthias repeated. “I couldn’t ask him for a description, because he was already getting suspicious of me. So I thought I’d nip off and tell you.”

  Grenville snatched up his gloves. “Well, if this pawnbroker is anxious to have it taken off his hands, we will oblige him. You’ve done well, Matthias. Lacey, come with me?”

  I went out with him to his sumptuous carriage, and the two footmen pushed aside their ales and followed, not about to let us finish the problem without them.

  When we reached Manchester Square, Grenville was set to leap down and charge into the shop, but I persuaded him to let me have a look at the necklace myself. Matthias was correct—if the grand Grenville walked into a down-at-heel pawnbroker’s, the news would fly around London and be picked up by every newspaper in the land. I, on the other hand, in my worn breeches and square-toed boots, could enter any shop I pleased without all of society falling into a swoon.

  Grenville was disappointed, but he conceded that we needed to go carefully, and said he’d wait in the carriage around the corner.

  I had little difficulty persuading the proprietor to show me the necklace. It was much as Lady Clifford described it—a large stone with three smaller diamonds on either side of it, all linked by a gold chain. When I’d asked Lady Clifford for more particulars, she’d looked blank, as though she could not remember anything else about it. I wondered what it must be like to have so many expensive baubles that the details of them blurred in the memory.

  I played my part as an ingenuous husband, recently come into some money, wishing to ingratiate myself with my wife. The proprietor volunteered that these were the goods, from a lady, in fact. A true lady, well-spoken and well dressed, not a lackey or a tart. I suppose Matthias had made him nervous with his questions, because the proprietor was happy to tell me all.

  Grenville had supplied the money with which to purchase the necklace if necessary. I paid it over and returned to the carriage with the diamonds in my pocket, the pawnbroker happy to see the necklace go.

  Satisfied that we’d found it, Grenville was ready to call on Clifford and confront Annabelle Dale on the moment. I persuaded him to fix an appointment for the next day, saying I wanted to be certain of a thing or two before then.

  Grenville chafed with impatience, but he’d come to trust my judgment. I gave him the necklace to lock up in his house for the night, and we parted ways.

  Once Grenville was gone, Matthias with him, I told Bartholomew to fetch us a hackney, then I returned to the shop near Hanover Square. There, I talked the proprietor down to a price I could afford and took the smaller necklace home with me. Bartholomew was full of questions, but I could only tell him that I did not know the answer to them myself.

  The next morning, I received a note from Grenville that fixed a visit to the Clifford house in South Audley Street for three o’clock that afternoon. Lady Breckenridge, to whom I’d written the previous day, sent me a short and formal reply, as well, also giving me leave to call on her near three.

  I had Bartholomew clean and brush my coat, and I left my rooms in plenty of time to hire a hackney to Mayfair.

  As I walked toward Russel Street, however, a large carriage rolled up to block the entrance to tiny Grimpen Lane, where my rooms above the bake shop lay. Grimpen Lane was a cul-de-sac, no other way out. I halted in annoyance.

  I knew to whom the coach belonged, which annoyed me further. I did not at the moment want to speak to him, but I was unable to do anything but wait to see what he wanted.

  A giant of a man stepped off his perch on the back of the coach and opened the door for me. He assisted me in, slamming the door as I dropped into a seat, leaving me alone to face James Denis.

  Denis was a man who had his hand in most criminal pies in England, who obtained precious artworks—the ownership of which was hazy—from half-wrecked Europe, and bought and sold favors of the highest of the high. He owned MPs outright, and with a flick of his well-manicured fingers, had them manipulate the laws of England to suit him. London magistrates, with only two exceptions that I knew of, answered to him. Denis had the power to ruin many without a drop of that ruin touching him.

  I thoroughly disliked what Denis was and what he did, but I was not certain how I felt about the man himself. I’d never, in the year I’d known him, gotten past his façade. He was so thoroughly cold and revealed so little of himself that anyone could reside behind that slim, rather long face and dark blue eyes. Denis was only in his thirties, and I had to wonder what on earth had happened to him in his short life that had made him what he was.

  The carriage remained squarely in front of the entrance to Grimpen Lane, and I knew it would remain there until Denis had gotten from me what he wanted.

  “The Clifford necklace,” he said without greeting me. “You’ve undertaken to find it.”

  He did not ask a question. That he already knew about my involvement did not surprise me. He paid people in my neighbo
rhood to watch me and report to him everything I did.

  I saw no benefit in lying. “I have. What is your interest?”

  “Let us say I have had my eye on the piece. I would very much like to be informed when you have found it.”

  “Why?” I asked, curious in spite of myself. “It is a Mayfair lady’s necklace. Expensive, yes, but hardly in your league.”

  His expression did not change. “Nevertheless, report to me when you have found it. Better still, bring it to me.”

  I regarded him as coolly as he regarded me. “I know you find this repeated declaration tedious, but I do not work for you. Nor do I ever intend to work for you. Lady Clifford asked me to discover what has become of her necklace, and that is what I will do.”

  Denis did not like the answer no. He’d been known to punish—thoroughly and finally—those who told him no too often. But I could not say anything else. I had pledged myself to Lady Clifford, and that was that.

  “I did not say I would not allow you to return the diamonds to Lady Clifford,” Denis said. “I want to examine the necklace myself first, is all.”

  “Why?”

  “That, Captain, is my business.”

  Meaning I’d never drag the reason out of him, no matter how much I tried. “What is special about this necklace?” I asked instead. “You betray yourself with too much interest.”

  Denis tapped his walking stick on the roof and almost instantly, the pugilist footman wrenched open the door. “That I can determine only when I hold it in my hands. Good day, Captain.”

  The footman helped me climb to the ground. Denis turned to look out the opposite window as the footman closed the door again, finished with me.

  I was happy to go, but he’d started me wondering. Denis did not involve himself in anything that did not bring him great profit. A missing lady’s necklace should be, as I’d told him, far below his notice. I would have to find out.

  The carriage rolled on, unblocking the lane, and I continued on my way to the hackney stand.

  Once I reached Grenville’s house in Grosvenor Street, we rode in his carriage to our appointment with Lord Clifford.

  Lord Clifford’s study, where he received us, was crammed with books up to its high ceiling, the tall windows letting in light. I saw no dust anywhere, but the place smelled musty, as though damp had gotten into the books.

  Lord Clifford was a tall man with a bull-like neck and small eyes. He wore clothes that rivaled Grenville’s for elegance, but he looked more like a farmer in his landlord’s clothes than a gentleman of Mayfair.

  “Lot of nonsense,” Clifford said to us after Grenville introduced me and told him our purpose. “Waters never took the blasted necklace. I told the magistrate so, and he released her. She is home, safe and sound, back below stairs, where she belongs.”

  Chapter 4

  Grenville and I stared at him, dumbfounded.

  “You made your inquiries for nothing, gentlemen,” Lord Clifford said. “All I had to do was have words with the magistrate. If my wife hadn’t gone ranting to all and sundry that the necklace had been stolen, her maid would not have been arrested at all. Serves her right for not leaving me to deal with it. Some housebreaker took it, must have done. The Runner had it all wrong.”

  “I would not say our inquiries were for nothing,” I began.

  Clifford gave me a look that told me I should not speak before my betters. “Of course they were. I told you. The bloody thing’s probably on the Continent by now. Long gone.”

  “What the captain means is that we may have found your necklace,” Grenville said. He removed a box from his pocket and opened it to reveal the necklace Matthias had run to ground yesterday.

  The earl stared at it. “Who the devil gave you this?”

  “I purchased it from a pawnbroker near Manchester Square,” Grenville answered.

  Clifford studied the diamonds a moment, then he snorted. “Well, he played you false, then. This is not my wife’s necklace.”

  Grenville blinked, but for some reason, I felt no surprise.

  “Are you certain?” Grenville asked.

  “Of course I am certain. I gave her the damned thing, didn’t I? My diamonds were of much finer quality and more numerous, the smaller stones surrounded by even smaller ones. I’ve never seen this necklace before.”

  I dipped into my pocket and removed the strand I’d persuaded the proprietor off Hanover Square to sell me last evening. “What about this one?”

  Grenville shot me a look as Lord Clifford examined the stones. “Yes, this belongs to my wife. But it is not the necklace that was stolen. She’s had this since before we married. Bit of trash.” He tossed the necklace onto a satinwood table and did not ask me where I’d obtained it. “Someone has played you for a fool, Grenville. Probably my wife. She is eaten up with jealousy. Her maid never stole the necklace, and neither did Mrs. Dale, as much as she’s putting that story about.”

  “Can you be certain about Mrs. Dale?” I asked.

  “Mrs. Dale was with me at the time the necklace disappeared.” Lord Clifford touched the side of his nose. “You gentlemen understand what I mean.”

  Grenville looked pained. “Quite.”

  “So,” I said, “not at Egyptian House, as she told the Runner.”

  “Well, of course not, but she could hardly confess where she truly was, could she?” Lord Clifford jerked his thumb at the necklace in Grenville’s hand. “Enjoy the bauble, gentlemen. You bought it for nothing. Teach you to go mucking about in a man’s affairs. Should be ashamed of yourself, Grenville.”

  He made no such admonishment to me—whether because he expected someone like me to not know any better or because he caught the angry look in my eye, I didn’t know. Grenville, his sangfroid in place, bade Clifford a cool good afternoon, and we took our leave.

  The sangfroid slipped, however, as the carriage pulled away from Lord Clifford’s door. “Boor,” Grenville said between his teeth. “I’ve never liked him.” He transferred his annoyed stare to me. “Where did you find that other necklace? Why did you not tell me about it?”

  “Because I was not certain,” I said. “It was a pure guess, and I could have been entirely off the mark.”

  “Bloody hell, Lacey, you do play your cards close to your chest. What is this all about?”

  “I am not sure, truth to tell. Lady Clifford sells one necklace and has the other stolen, or so she claims. Too much coincidence.”

  Grenville heaved a sigh. “At least the maid has been cleared. Perhaps Lady Clifford only harangued about the necklace being stolen to push the blame onto Mrs. Dale. For vengeance. Then feels remorse when her beloved maid was accused instead and turned to you to unravel the tangle.”

  “I do not think it is quite so simple.” I thought of Lord Clifford throwing aside the necklace I’d bought, proclaiming it a “bit of trash.” He’d not even asked where I’d found it or why I’d had it. “But I am happy the maid was allowed home.”

  “And what has the second necklace to do with anything?”

  “I am not certain. I need to think on it.”

  Grenville put the pouch containing the wrong necklace we’d bought into his pocket. “I suppose I can find a use for this,” he said.

  I doubted he meant to give it to Marianne. He’d buy her something new, something another woman hadn’t already worn. Marianne might not appreciate it, but Grenville treated her better than she deserved.

  “Can you ask your coachman to let me out here?” I asked, glancing out the window. “Lady Breckenridge answered my request to call on her, and her house is only a few doors down.”

  I knew Grenville was irritated with me, but he agreed. As I descended at Lady Breckenridge’s door, Grenville gave me a pointed look. “We will speak later.”

  Which meant I would have to confess everything. I tipped my hat to him, he muttered a goodbye, and the carriage rolled away.

  Lady Breckenridge, cool in a gray so light it was silver, her dark hair threaded
with a wide bandeau, regarded me from beside the fireplace in her very modern drawing room.

  I’d sat in this drawing room amongst the highest of the high a few weeks ago, when the double doors between this chamber and the next had been pulled open, the room filled with chairs and people. We’d listened to a tenor make his London debut, and while I’d not thought much of the young man as a person, his voice had filled me with joy.

  The drawing room had been restored to its former arrangement of sofas and chairs, footstools and side tables, grouped together under a chandelier dripping with crystals. The chandelier was dark today, the room illuminated by sunlight streaming through the two front windows.

  Lady Breckenridge did not sit down, so I remained standing.

  “Business, your letter indicated,” she said.

  “Indeed,” I said. “I thank you for agreeing to admit me.”

  She lifted one dark brow. “Gracious, Lacey, your conversation has become as stilted as your letters. I had half a mind to ignore your request on that transgression alone.”

  The note I’d dashed off to her yesterday afternoon, written on a scrap of paper I’d torn from a letter she’d sent me during my sojourn in Sudbury, had requested a half hour of her time and said nothing more. I suppose it had been a bit abrupt.

  “Forgive me,” I said, giving her a half bow. “I ran away to the army before I was able to complete my upbringing and learn the gentlemanly art of entertaining letters. I was in a hurry.”

  Lady Breckenridge did not smile. “It was not so much the form of the letter, you know, as the request within it. If you wish to see me only in a matter of business, I hire gentlemen to take care of that for me. I can give you their direction.”

  I’d offended her, I realized. Not long ago, in this very drawing room, I’d told her that I counted her among my circle of close friends, of which I had few. I realized that my hasty missive yesterday must have seemed brusque, demanding, and nothing to do with friendship.