“Please, Dr. Trent. You have to believe me. I didn't have anything to do with this.”
“You can understand why I have a difficult time believing that, Dr. Mitchell.”
“I—”
“I cannot convey how disappointed I am. How angry I am.”
“I know it looks bad. I do. But you have to believe me,” she said, swallowing her tears, “I had no part in this.”
Dr. Trent glared at her over the wire rims of his glasses. “Then who did?” His voice stayed calm … level … unnerving.
“I don't know!” Exasperated, Abby lifted her arms and then dropped them to her side.
Daniel Wallace pushed his way through the crowd, glowering at Abby as he approached. “Dr. Trent, have you made your decision?”
Abby looked back and forth between the two men. “What decision?”
“You must understand that this is very difficult for me, Abby.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It all looks very bad, and the Board of Regents is already pressing me for action.”
“I don't understand. What are you trying to say?”
Daniel broke in and spoke for Dr. Trent. “What he's trying to say is that someone needs to be held responsible for this, and that someone is you, Dr. Mitchell.”
“Me?”
“You were wearing the diamond when it disappeared. All signs point to your involvement.”
The edges of her face hardened, and she stood up straight, shoulders squared. “Is that so?”
Dr. Trent looked as though he was in pain, while Daniel appeared to be enjoying every moment.
“Yes, Dr. Mitchell, it is.”
“Let's be honest, gentlemen,” she said. “I made a ghastly mistake. But I'm not the only one who used poor judgment.”
“Do enlighten me,” Dr. Trent said.
Abby turned to Daniel, her fists clenched. “What about you, Daniel? This happened on your watch.”
Daniel jerked. “Now wait a minute!”
“It was my understanding,” she said, her voice rising above his, “that you spent the last twenty years in security management. Why couldn't you manage this?”
“I argued against letting you wear the diamond.”
“This entire event rested on the assumption that you were fully capable of protecting that diamond, Daniel. I understand the situation that I'm in, but you screwed up too.”
Daniel pulled a pair of handcuffs from his belt, shaking with anger. “This is a conversation we can finish later, Dr. Mitchell.”
Her instinct was to pull away, but she remained where she stood and eyed the cuffs with disdain. “You're arresting me?”
Peter Trent pulled at his collar. “This is difficult, Abby, I know.”
“And what are you arresting me for?” The question was simple, but both men shied away from the obvious answer.
“For stealing the Hope Diamond,” Daniel said.
Abby laughed, her voice sounding harsh to her own ears. “For stealing the Hope Diamond! I assume you have some proof.”
“You were wearing it when the lights went out, Abby,” Dr. Trent mumbled.
“Yes, I was, on your orders. And I was searched just like everyone else.” Abby met Daniel's gaze with fierce determination. “Did you or your security team find it on my person?”
“No.”
“Did you find it in my belongings?”
“No.”
“Tell me, Daniel, did you find that diamond at all?”
He flushed with anger.
Abby turned to her boss. “Dr. Trent, if you're accusing me of felony theft, I hope you have the proof to back up that accusation.”
Trent hesitated, unable to meet her eyes, and spun his wedding band around his finger.
“Those are details we can attend to later,” Daniel spat into the silence.
Abby shrugged. “Perhaps it will buy you some time. But it will also buy you the biggest headache you've ever experienced.” She kept her eyes on Dr. Trent and weighed her next words carefully. “If I were you, I would remember the reason you hired me, Peter. I have certain connections you felt would be a great asset to this museum. I will not hesitate to use those in my favor.”
A glance passed between them.
“Is that a threat, Dr. Mitchell?” Daniel asked.
“Yes, it is, but not in the way that you think, Daniel. As Dr. Trent would tell you if he could muster the courage to speak, I am fully prepared to defend myself.”
“She's right,” Dr. Trent whispered. His voice was barely audible above the clamor.
“Excuse me?”
“We don't have the grounds to arrest her.”
“I beg to differ,” Daniel insisted.
“You can beg what you like, but you will not be putting those cuffs on her, Daniel.” Dr. Trent deflated like a circus balloon.
“You're making a huge mistake.”
“Please don't tell me how to do my job. I'm not an idiot. Had you found that diamond in her purse I would be more than happy to let you take her to jail. But the fact is, Daniel, you have not found it at all.”
Daniel's face contorted with rage.
Abby breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Peter. Thank you. Now we can turn our attention to retrieving the stone.”
“We?”
“Well, yes. I think I can be of assistance.”
Dr. Trent placed a hand on her arm. “Abby, dear, I'm afraid you don't understand what's happening here. You won't be helping with anything.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just because I don't have the evidence to have you arrested doesn't mean you are not the prime suspect.”
“But that doesn't make sense!”
“The fact remains, my dear, that you were wearing that stone. You are the only person who had access to it. You are, unfortunately, at the top of the suspect list, and as such I will need your key card and all of your access codes.”
“Please, Peter. You're making a big mistake. I can help.”
“You are officially on administrative leave, without pay.”
“This is the wrong move, Dr. Trent,” she said, eyes narrowed.
“You haven't left me any choice.”
“I don't have that diamond!”
“That remains to be seen.”
“You can't be serious.”
“Don't tell me what I am, Dr. Mitchell. I believe it is time for you to get your things and leave. You've done enough damage for one evening.”
She grabbed her purse from the table and turned on her heel.
“Dr. Mitchell?”
“Yes?” she asked.
“Don't expect to get your job back.”
Abby clenched her jaw. She dug through her purse and handed her badge to Daniel.
“Your security code, Dr. Mitchell.”
“One nine seven eight.”
Daniel spoke into his headset, “Security, this is Daniel Wallace. Eliminate code one nine seven eight from the system.”
“I believe you were leaving,” Dr. Trent said.
“Yes, Peter, I believe I was.”
“Abby.” Daniel addressed her for the last time. “If I were you, I wouldn't leave the country.”
Her voice broke. “And why would I do a thing like that?”
“Just don't.”
Abby brushed past Alex, tears pressing into the corners of her eyes. “Please, take me home.”
22
SILENCE PERMEATED THE CAR AS THEY DROVE BACK TO ABBY'S APARTMENT. Alex kept his gaze on the road while she looked out the window, eyes red and swollen.
After what seemed like an interminable amount of time, he came to a stop before her building and walked her in. Abby stood before her door, turning the keys over and over between her fingers. She wiped a stream of makeup away from her eyes.
“I'm sorry all this happened,” he whispered. “It's not your fault.”
“Even so, it isn't likely to matter. I will forever be known as the wo
man who lost the Hope Diamond.”
Alex slid his arms around her waist and nuzzled her cheek. He pressed his lips to her temple and then pulled away. “Get some sleep.”
She nodded.
He tipped her chin with his fingers. “I'm here if you need me.”
She sniffled, wiping her face with the back of her hand, and offered him a weak smile.
“I'll call you in the morning.”
“Okay,” she whispered, then put her key in the lock and left him standing on the doorstep.
Alex left the building, guilt brewing beneath the surface. He knew quite well that he would never be calling her again.
Abby entered the silence of her apartment and took a deep breath as she walked to the window. She stared into the empty parking lot until Alex got into his car and left. He didn't look back. Raw emotion assaulted her when he pulled out of the parking lot, the wheels of his Mercedes spinning slowly at first, and then picking up speed
23
VERSAILLES, FRANCE, JUNE 23, 1789
“WHAT RIGHT DO THEY HAVE TO REVOLT?” MARIE A NTOINETTE SCREAMED, her voice shrill and hawkish like a bird swooping on its prey.
Her intended target was the rotund form of Jacques Necker, minister of finance. The statesman had been a member of the King's Privy Council for a number of years, but recently assumed the role of minister of finance amidst the turmoil caused by the Estates General. Although his mother was of French nobility, thus ensuring his power and title, his father was Swiss, giving him a distinct edge of indifference to traditional royal ineptitude.
“This is not some heathen republic like that of barbaric America. This is France for God's sake. The people have no right to dissent. And you,” she said, pointing a bony finger at Necker, “have no right to suggest the king of France live on a budget like a common pig!”
Jacques leveled an unwavering gaze at the queen. “The people are starving, Your Majesty. Will you live in such opulence while they suffer?”
“Starve! How can that be?”
“There is no flour with which to make bread.” His words were measured and careful, each syllable pronounced with marked impatience.
Marie Antoinette turned to him, her heavily painted lips parted slightly. She shrugged, “Qu'ils mangent de la brioche.”
“Cake? Let them eat cake!” Necker gasped. “And just where do you presume they will find flour for cake when they cannot find it for bread? Much less the eggs and sugar to go along with it?”
Marie Antoinette crossed her arms across her chest and lifted her chin. “The dietary concerns of the common man are not my concern.”
Jacques Necker would have responded most unwisely had the king not stepped forward, placing a white-knuckled hand on his wife's shoulder. She felt the icy grip and went silent immediately. Although turning to face her husband, she still held Necker with an aggressive stare, daring him to disagree with her.
Not one to be intimidated, even by the queen of France, he held her gaze until she averted her eyes and implored her husband, “It is obvious that Monsieur Necker is sympathetic to the Third Estate. He is the one that convinced you to give the bourgeoisie double representation during the Assembly. And with that privilege they have rebelled against us!” Without glancing at Necker she suggested, “Perhaps we need a new minister of finance. Our current one seems incapable of the job.”
“May I remind you that Monsieur Necker is the third minister in two years? I hardly think it appropriate to replace him given the current circumstances.”
“Circumstances that he brought upon us! He is sympathetic to common peasants! How can he possibly be of use to us?”
“It is the very fact that he is sympathetic to them, and the fact that they know it, which requires his presence here. They trust him, and we can use that to our advantage.” Louis turned to Necker, a smile still toying with his mouth. “I hear that the National Assembly has drafted a constitution?”
Marie snorted, “National Assembly. What a preposterous name. Estate. They are the peasant estate, nothing more. And they claim to represent the people!”
Necker ignored the queen and replied, “Yes, Your Majesty.”
Louis took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “I am afraid that my only recourse to this little mess is becoming quite obvious, if not somewhat distasteful. Please summon Bertrand Laurent. I wish to make a declaration.”
Necker nodded and gave the king a short bow as he left the chamber in search of the royal secretary. He found Bertrand Laurent cowering over a table of delicacies in the dining hall. The secretary followed Necker back to the king's chamber, somewhat reluctantly, as he crammed his mouth full of cold turkey and cake.
“I suggest you make yourself presentable,” Necker said over his shoulder. “The king is in a foul mood … and the queen is with him.”
Laurent hastily swallowed and wiped his mouth on his shirtsleeves. Before entering the room, he adjusted his wig, straightened his coattails, and took a deep breath.
“Ah, so glad you could join us Monsieur Laurent,” Louis whined, motioning him to sit behind the large desk. “I wish to make a declaration to the National Assembly.”
Bertrand Laurent hastily arranged parchment, inkwell, and pen. He seated himself and raised the feather pen as though holding a cup of tea, with his pinky erect.
Louis dove immediately into his declaration: “The King wishes that the ancient distinction of the three Orders of the State be preserved in its entirety, as essentially linked to the constitution of his Kingdom.” He paused for a moment until he heard the scratching of Laurent's pen. “That the deputies, freely elected by each of the three Orders, forming three chambers, deliberating by Order can alone be considered as forming the body of the representatives of the Nation. As a result, the King has declared null the resolutions passed by the deputies of the Order of the Third Estate, the seventeenth of this month, as well as those which have followed them, as illegal and unconstitutional.”
Necker gripped his hands behind his back and lowered his eyes while the king completed his declaration. He paced the outer reaches of the chamber, keeping near the wall as he listened to words that would no doubt herald the end of the monarchy as they knew it.
The queen, on the other hand, stood triumphantly beside her husband, head held high, a garish smile spread across her pale face.
Louis grasped the Golden Fleece in his right hand, thumb brushing across the inset blue diamond.
Three years later…
PARIS, FRANCE, JUNE 21, 1791
The heavy berlin coach came to a stop at the south end of the Tuileries Palace promptly at ten o'clock. History would note that it was the first of many mistakes that King Louis XVI made in his attempt to flee France. Although he had not sent for the royal carriage, he had nonetheless acquired one that hinted as to the importance of its occupant. Four white horses, each over sixteen hands high, snorted restlessly in front of the ornately decorated coach. The wooden doors and sidepieces were painted gold, while the steel frame was a deep burgundy. Thick velvet curtains covered the windows, while leather seats and padded silk walls embellished the interior.
The coach waited for just a moment when what appeared to be a Russian baroness and her butler made their way down the steps and nervously entered the carriage. Once inside, the butler pulled the heavy velvet curtains across the windows and ordered the coach to depart. It rolled away quietly, leaving the baroness within to remove her feathered cap with shaking hands.
“Do you think we were noticed, Your Majesty?” She whispered, fear evident in her voice.
“There is no need to whisper, Joséphine. Our detractors cannot hear us in this coach,” responded the king as he settled into the seat.
“I still do not understand why we could not all leave at once.”
“That is much too risky a proposition, Joséphine. Do you not think the king, his queen, his sister, his children, and their governess would be noticed leaving together? It is much safer this way. After circling the
Tuileries once, we will return for my sister and son. On the last pass we will retrieve Marie and my daughters. And then we shall be off to Montmédy where we will be met by Austrian troops, courtesy of my wife's cousin. Only then will I be able to crush this cursed revolution and return power to the monarchy. So you see, this flight we take tonight is not just for our own deliverance, but for the good of the people. France will thank us in the end.”
Joséphine nodded, but did not ask any more questions. A short while later, the carriage once again stopped at the south end of the palace, and the King's sister, Madam Élisabeth, dressed as a maid, and his only surviving son, Louis-Charles, slipped through the heavy double doors. They quickly descended the steps and did their best not to run for the carriage. The driver barely jumped down in time to open the door. Élisabeth and Louis-Charles scrambled into the coach as quickly as they could.
Once again the berlin pulled away and the governess began to look ill. No one spoke as they rolled through the grounds of Tuileries. It finally occurred to each of them just how close they were to escaping, and the anticipation of fleeing their captivity rendered them speechless.
At eleven-thirty, the carriage pulled to a stop one last time, and the occupants sat expectantly, curtain pulled aside as they peered out, waiting for the queen and her daughters to descend the steps. Several minutes passed with no sign of Marie Antoinette.
The summer evening grew still as the palace settled into sleep for the evening. Only a few windows glowed yellow with light, and even as they waited in the courtyard, those dimmed one by one.
“Something is wrong,” Joséphine hissed. “We have been discovered.”
“Do not come to such hasty conclusions,” Louis dismissed, looking bored but unperturbed. “This is my wife we are speaking about. When have you ever known her to be punctual?”
“Given the circumstances you would think she would at least attempt to be on time,” Élisabeth said.
Even as they debated the queen's chronic habit of keeping others waiting, she glided down the steps, looking every bit the queen of France, despite being dressed as a common maid. Each of her young daughters held a hand and struggled to keep up.
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