“Thief!”
The dancers grew still, turning to the growing spectacle.
Panic crossed the marquess’s face, and he froze in place. “I’m not trying to rob you, madam. My cuff is caught!”
Katherine took advantage of the moment to leap into the fray. “Allow me to help.” She took her time unhooking Lord Bath’s sleeve. The shadows cast by Lady Dalhousie’s hair made it difficult to tell if the diamonds on the earrings were at all similar to the ones on her necklace. Finally, reluctantly, Katherine ruled that they were not.
Nevertheless, as Lady Dalhousie huffed over the indignity and the marquess ushered her and her partner off of the dance floor so the gathering might resume the festivities, Katherine took the opportunity to tap the woman on the arm. “I found this in the hotel earlier this evening,” she whispered, angling her hand to display the earring. “Mrs. Oliver thought it might be yours.”
Lady Dalhousie scoffed. “As if my tastes run so ugly. No wonder you found it tossed away. Even the thief wouldn’t want it!”
It seemed Mrs. Oliver had been wrong. Katherine bit the inside of her cheek. How was she supposed to find the rightful owner and return it?
The matron added, “Perhaps you’d do better to keep it for yourself. You could do with a little adornment. Has your family fallen on hard times?”
“No,” Katherine bit off. “I left my jewels at home.”
“Whyever would you do that?”
Perhaps because there is a thief about town!
Katherine didn’t have the chance to answer, for the moment they were safely out of the way of the dancers, Lord Bath took Lady Dalhousie in hand. “My lady, I assure you that you are perfectly safe while in my town. You will not be robbed, certainly not in plain view of five hundred people! I have the best investigators looking into the matter of the recent misfortunes, and patrols around town are stringent. Come, perhaps if you have a sip of our fine healing waters, you’ll feel better.”
Lord Bath cast an apologetic look over his shoulder as he led Lady Dalhousie, who pretended a fit of vapors over the “sudden fright,” and her escort toward the entrance. The matron’s penchant for exaggeration was perhaps the best stroke of luck Katherine had yet had this evening. At last, she had time to investigate, and she’d eliminated half the women at the hotel as the owner of the earring.
All she had to do now was find the other half. With that aim in mind, she toured the perimeter of the room. Grandma Bath had disappeared from her pedestal, which gave Katherine a frisson of trepidation. Had she spotted her grandson leading Lady Dalhousie out of the room? If so, Katherine suspected the old woman had pursued the pair with the aim of throwing Lord Bath into Katherine’s path once more.
Spotting no one familiar from the hotel, Katherine ducked into the Octagon. To her astonishment, she didn’t spot Pru at any of the cloth-covered tables. Where had she run off to? Katherine wove between the tables, smiling to the men and women playing whist and quadrille as she passed. On the far wall, the door to the tearoom was shut, indicating that no one was permitted inside. A glance toward the card room to her left rewarded her with a glimpse of peach-colored fabric.
Katherine stepped closer. As she lingered in the doorway, Pru didn’t appear to notice her. The young woman took a swig from a flask. Tarnation, was that spirits? They were forbidden in the Assembly Hall, but it seemed that hadn’t hindered some opportunistic young fop. Katherine thanked her luck that Mrs. Burwick hadn’t accompanied them to Bath. She would not approve in the least.
Pru, on the other hand, seemed to be having the best night of her life. She was seated in front of the biggest pile of fish tokens, and her cheeks were rosy as she passed on the flask with a triumphant glint in her eye and a wide smile. At ease with herself and the cards in her hand, she looked radiant. Not that Katherine would dare utter such sentiment aloud. Pru might box her ears at such a pronouncement.
Lord Annandale sat to her left, squinting at his cards. On his far side was Sir Hugh. Among the others gathered around the table, one gentleman in particular caught her eye. Unlike the others at the table, he wore nearly as much jewelry as the women in the ballroom. His coat was a brilliant scarlet, but not in the military style. His golden hair flopped in a devil-may-care fashion over his forehead and onto his high cheekbones, some strands kissing the top of his square jaw. Whereas Sir Hugh and some of the others assessed their cards with all seriousness, this particular gambler tossed his fish onto the table as if he had hundreds more of the metal tokens in his pockets.
Katherine stopped a passing debutante. “Excuse me, but do you happen to know who that is?”
The young woman smirked. “Reaching a bit above yourself, aren’t you, miss? That’s Prince Karl of Prussia, and if you’re hoping for a ring, the only ones I hear he’s inclined to give out are at the card table.”
With his lackadaisical approach to gambling, Katherine could only imagine he was a rake of the highest caliber. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise her to learn that he’d been the man to smuggle in the flask of spirits. She frowned. “A prince, in Bath?”
The debutante shrugged. “I think he arrived at Bristol during the Season. Who am I to dictate the whims of royalty? Perhaps he has need of the healing waters.”
“It’s a wonder he’s stayed in town with a thief on the loose.”
She laughed. “It’s a wonder he hasn’t been one of the victims, with the way he flaunts it. One more reason for these haughty Londoners to brag. The thief chooses their jewels over those of a prince.”
She must live locally, to have so much disdain for those choosing to vacation in the city. Not that Katherine blamed her — in fact, she shared the sentiment. Blind fools, the lot of them. What sane person hoped to be robbed?
“I think it likely has more to do with the accessibility of the jewels.”
The debutante shrugged. “That would require an ounce of forethought on their part. Ever since the second theft, there have been wagers over whose jewelry is likely to be snatched next. They got so up in arms over the notion that when a few weeks passed after the second theft, some took it as a personal affront and returned home! The rest might have as well, if the robberies hadn’t resumed.”
“Senseless. Have they all been robbed from the same place?”
“Hardly. Each one seems to be in a different location, and the Londoners are always the victim. Yet still, they continue to come in droves.”
Katherine leaned closer. “I overheard the Marquess of Bath tell a lady that he’s hired the best investigators to find the burglar.”
“The best?” The woman hid a delicate snort behind her hand. “It’s not my place to judge the decisions of His Lordship, but if you ask me, he’s daft as well.” The girl made a face as she peered across the room. “Forgive me, that’s my mother. I have to go.”
She left Katherine with much to think about.
Chapter Four
As the debutante hurried across the room, Katherine continued to walk, mulling over that information. She spotted one of the women from the hotel playing whist and made a show of leaning over that woman’s shoulder while she checked the diamond earring. No match. She continued on into the entrance room, hoping that Lord Bath and his grandmother had continued on to a different room to search for her. There, she stumbled into another group. They were snickering behind her back by the time she detached herself, and she thought she distinctly heard a scathing comment regarding her dancing.
If nothing else, that minuet must have frightened off any gentlemen wishing to further their acquaintance.
Katherine frowned at the profile of a matron on the arm of a portly older gentleman. She was tall and regal, with steely gray hair, and there was something about her that niggled at the back of Katherine’s mind. Had they met? As the woman glanced over her shoulder before beginning the painstaking task of helping the gentleman into the ballroom, recognition surged. Katherine had crossed paths with Mrs. Julien frequently almost a decade ago, near her father’s country estate.
Shortly thereafter, her sisters had taken their bows in society, and the family had spent a great deal more time in London.
Eager to renew the acquaintance and curious at finding them in Bath, Katherine followed the pair into the ballroom. Mrs. Julien helped the man, presumably her husband, onto a chair at the edge of the nearest row. Katherine stepped closer.
“Mrs. Julien?”
The old woman’s face lit up. “Lady Katherine, darling.” She reached forward to clasp both of Katherine’s hands. “It’s so good to see you. What brings you to Bath?”
“I might ask you the same question. I’ve been tasked with finding a young woman a husband.”
“Ah, yes.” Mrs. Julien’s eyes crinkled in the corners. “I’d heard you’d acquired a bit of a romantic eye. You matched your sisters with their husbands, did you not?”
“I did.” That had been before she had taken up the ruse of matchmaking to facilitate her investigations. At that time, she had only sought to further her sisters’ happiness, and they, unlike Katherine, had viewed marriage as an essential part.
“But no one for yourself?”
Katherine took a deep breath to ward away the mounting frustration that accompanied that particular question. When she had herself under control, she answered, “No. I’m far too busy to think of marrying and giving up my independence.” Proud of herself for maintaining an even tone, she changed the subject. “You haven’t answered why I find you so far from home.”
Mrs. Julien glanced at her husband. The weight of the day seemed especially heavy at that moment, deepening the lines in their faces and making them appear a decade older than Katherine’s estimate of late sixties or seventies. Mr. Julien looked solemn.
“It’s Scottie, I’m afraid.”
“Oh yes. Your grandson is about my age, isn’t he? Is he here?” Katherine frowned. She resisted the urge to look. Not only would it be a futile effort in such a crush, but after so long, she doubted that she would recognize him.
Mrs. Julien’s face fell. Mournfully, she shook her head, lowering her gaze and worrying her lower lip. “He went into the army, you know. After the Battle of Toulouse… Well, I reckon we’re lucky to have him alive.” She blinked rapidly, the light glinting off of moisture gathering along her eyelashes.
After clearing his throat, Mr. Julien took up the tale. He reached out to squeeze his wife’s hand. “He took a bullet to the thigh. Can’t walk anymore, let alone dance. Spends most of his days inside the house.”
Mrs. Julien plucked at a stray thread in her brown gown. As Katherine’s gaze was drawn to her weathered fingers, she noticed the worn state of her dress. A hole was darned near the cuff of the sleeve. It looked a bit thinner in places than in others, showing more of her plain under gown. The state of Mr. Julien’s clothes was no less shabby. How could they afford to visit Bath?
In a soft voice, Mrs. Julien confessed, “We hope that the curative powers of the water here are more than myth. Perhaps if they can bring some relief to the pain we know he endures…”
Katherine touched her arm. “I’m terribly sorry. If there’s anything I can do…” Unfortunately, there wasn’t. She couldn’t eliminate another person’s pain.
As she thought of the earring in her reticule, she fished it out again. “Are you staying at the Sydney Hotel? I found this…” If it belonged to the Juliens, perhaps they could sell it. They seemed to have done everything else possible to see that their grandson got the care he needed.
Unfortunately, Mrs. Julien pursed her lips and shook her head. “No, dear. We’re letting a house not terribly far, but the earring doesn’t belong to us.”
Tarnation! It had to belong to someone. Emma couldn’t have left the hotel in order to find it. She hadn’t had time to leave the floor! If not anyone Katherine had encountered this evening, then who…?
Katherine’s gaze lit upon a woman she had hoped not to see for the rest of the year. Perhaps the rest of her life. Inwardly groaning, she excused herself from Mr. and Mrs. Julien and hoped to make her escape before the wicked woman in question noticed her.
Mrs. Fairchild was a short woman about ten years Katherine’s senior with a generous figure, a reddish tint to her brown hair, and an air of superiority. Tonight, she wore a garish white gown, the color of which seemed to imprint itself on Katherine’s vision even when her eyes were shut.
She could not be missed, nor the biddable young debutante at her side. Although Mrs. Fairchild had lost her matchmaking client a few weeks before when the young woman had fled home in fear of being attacked by the Pink-Ribbon Murderer, this defeat didn’t appear to have hindered her matchmaking business at all. Already, she seemed to have found a new client.
Which, when she learned of Katherine’s ruse to conceal her investigation, would only instigate a rivalry Katherine didn’t want or need. Pru didn’t care to be matched with Lord Annandale, so if he was the husband Mrs. Fairchild’s client hoped to marry, then Katherine wished them well of it. Preferably from afar, where the bitter woman couldn’t drag her into a nasty battle of wills.
As the debutante tilted her head to speak to another matron, presumably her mother, Katherine glanced skyward. She recognized them from the hotel, which could mean only one thing: They were the last people who might own the stray earring Emma had pilfered. Katherine couldn’t simply offer it to them. Last month, Mrs. Fairchild had accused her of murder — Katherine wouldn’t put it above her rival to accuse her of theft next. That was the very last thing she needed. In fact, she would rather find a way to sneak into their chambers and leave the bauble as if they’d lost it.
When she opened her eyes again, she found Mrs. Fairchild glaring at her.
I’ve done nothing, you wicked woman.
She glanced around the room, searching for any excuse not to speak with her. She frowned as she spotted a familiar figure standing stiffly next to the hearth as if he, too, were made of marble.
“Lyle?”
He was too far away to hear her. He stood, in a fresh jacket and cravat that couldn’t hope to match the expensive high fashion of the others gathered, perfectly still but for his eyes. They darted every which way as if he were trying to catalogue each and every person. The oddity of finding him at such a genteel event was matched only by his obvious distaste for attending. Why was he there?
Katherine glanced at Mrs. Fairchild, hoping she hadn’t seen the Bow Street Runner. So different was his demeanor tonight than it had been when he’d taken charge at Lord Northbrook’s house party that he might as well have been two different people. Katherine knew him to be in a delicate enough state at such times without the added acerbity of the gentry toward him.
Fortunately, Mrs. Fairchild seemed engrossed in instructing her charge. She whispered madly in the young woman’s ear. A moment later, the brunette turned her head to look where the matchmaker pointed. A stir started in the ballroom from that direction, the door to the Octagon, and Katherine squinted to make out the reason behind it.
Prince Karl. Excellent. If he was the man Mrs. Fairchild hoped to match with her mousy, forgettable client, then all the better. Katherine wasn’t setting her cap for him in any way. They would be unlikely to cross paths at all, with any luck.
Before the matchmaker noticed her in the crowd again, Katherine hastened to the side of her dearest friend. Up close, Lyle looked to have no more color than the white marble hearth. His hair looked unnaturally dark in contrast.
“What are you doing here?” When Lyle jumped and whirled on her, his eyes wide, Katherine raised her hands. “It’s only me. My, you’re easily startled tonight.”
“This isn’t my sort of event. I prefer a gathering of minds, not” — he waved his hand to indicate the dancers gliding past — “this.”
Katherine pressed her lips together to contain a smile. “Precisely why my surprise at seeing you is justified. What possessed you to attend if it’s so torturous an event?”
Lyle’s shoulders slumped as he sighed, defeated. “The Dow
ager Marchioness of Bath.”
As a giggle bubbled to the surface at the thought of the little old lady sinking her hooks so far into Lyle as to entice him to a soiree, Katherine recalled the dance through which she’d recently suffered with Lord Bath. Her mirth faded. Grandma Bath was a force to be reckoned with.
Lyle added, “She was very taken with my invention and insisted that I attend. I didn’t want to insult the resident Marquess or his family by refusing.”
Katherine patted his shoulder in comfort. “It’s only one evening. You’ll survive.”
With a grimace, her friend added, “I hope that it will only be one.” His expression smoothed as he turned to his left. He bowed. “My lady.”
Grandma Bath nodded her head brusquely. “There you are, Mr. Murphy. I’d begun to think you’d run off. Lend me your arm a moment. I’ve been walking for a while.”
Concerned, Katherine offered, “Why don’t we find a place to sit for a moment?”
The old woman waved away the suggestion as she leaned heavily on Lyle’s arm. “No, no. I’ll be happy to stand just as soon as I catch my breath.”
Katherine frowned. “Where is your grandson?”
As she scanned the knot of people nearby, she spotted Lord Bath with his wide cuffs flapping as he spoke to a taller gentleman. For a moment, Katherine couldn’t breathe. It can’t be.
She hadn’t seen Captain Dorian Wayland since he had departed Lord Northbrook’s house party with Lyle and the Pink-Ribbon Murderer in their custody. That silhouette was unmistakably him — broad shoulders thrown back in a straight, military posture, head and shoulders taller than everyone else in the room, Katherine included. His short-clipped brown hair was a bit longer in the front, curling across his forehead. Why was he now here of all places?
A sly expression crossed Grandma Bath’s face. “Are you missing him already?”
Wayland? Not sarding likely. Ever since he’d returned from war, he was her father’s foremost rival in detective matters. Papa didn’t approve of Wayland’s methods of closing cases, and neither did she. She’d managed to outwit him during her pursuit of the Pink-Ribbon Murderer and solve that crime first. Would she be able to do it again this time?
The Baffling Burglaries of Bath Page 5