Any Old Diamonds

by KJ Charles

“I gave the word of a Pyne-ffoulkes,” Alec said. Voice and body were shaking, but he was flying too, with a dizzy feeling of not quite being in control. “What’s that worth, Father? What’s that worth when your daughter is dead by your negligence, and your wife is dead by your hand?”

  That got an audible gasp from the watchers. The Duke’s face was a bad, congested colour. “Have a care, boy. The laws of slander—”

  “Try it. Bring suit and let’s do this in public, I’ve nothing to hide. We could call Sir Paul in witness. Do you remember, Sir Paul? That my sister Cara was ready to swear my father left Mother dead? That Hartington came to you for help, and you sent him away for a whipping without so much as investigating his concerns? And here you are now, dining with the Duke. Do you feel you earned your dinner?”

  Sir Paul’s mouth was open. The Duke said, “You will be silent!” It was clearly intended to thunder; it came out a little weakly for that.

  “I won’t,” Alec said. “I’m tired of being silent while you shout. Do you think, if you make enough noise, it will drown out the sound of a woman with a pillow over her face, struggling to breathe?”

  “Lord Alexander,” Sir Paul said. “I must advise you to consider your words. This extraordinary accusation—implication—”

  “We told you. Nearly two decades ago, we told you and you didn’t listen. He can’t even look at her picture!”

  “As if that proves anything but that your father is exhausted by his children’s scheming, plotting, and resentment,” the Duchess said. She was at the door, two footmen standing behind her. They were both a good six foot four. “Their cruelty and malice has blighted a good, noble man’s life. It has been like this since the day we married, and I will not have one more minute of this insolence. You will leave this house or John will remove you as he would any common brawler.” John apparently encompassed both footmen. “Take him out.”

  Alec backed away. The Duchess came into the room to allow the two burly men access. Her eyes flickered down to Alec’s abandoned sketch pad; she walked over to it, tore out the picture, and ripped it up into deliberate strips. Sir William made a stifled noise.

  “You can keep on tearing them up,” Alec said. “And I’ll keep drawing.”

  “Get him out,” she said, voice icy. “Out of my sight and my house. Ilvar, my dear, pray be seated.”

  “You needn’t worry,” Alec told the two footmen, as the Duchess went protectively to her husband’s side. “I’ll go. You know, if she’s told you to manhandle me on the way out, I really wouldn’t. She won’t protect you if it comes to a lawsuit. I expect you know that.”

  “Nonsense,” the Duchess said furiously. “How dare you.”

  Alec waved that away without answering. He could feel the rush of fury draining as quickly as it had come, leaving him exhausted. He picked up his pencils, paper, spectacles, watched by the fascinated crowd. There were people in the hallway too; it seemed that all the guests had gathered to hear the shouting match, even Susan. All except Jerry.

  “Have him pack his things,” the Duke said, his voice sounding old and thin. “Ring the bell for Merrow, my dear. Let the rail carriage be prepared.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Alec made his way to his room flanked by the silent footmen, followed by stares and an appalled hum of conversation that began as he ascended the stairs. He kept a stiff back and a stiffer upper lip until he got to his room, then he shut the door on his guards, attempted to turn the key, and realised he couldn’t manage it because his hands were shaking so hard.

  Christ, what had he done?

  He wondered if Jerry had had enough time to finish his work and get away. It was almost twelve; he’d had an hour and ten minutes, and he’d surely have heard the commotion downstairs. He probably wouldn’t be very pleased, Alec thought. Susan would probably be furious. He should have—

  What? Smiled and nodded as the Duchess tore up Cara’s picture, with the guilt written on his father’s face? No, to hell with that. One could only play the villain or the coward for so long before it became true. He’d go back to London with his pride, even if he didn’t have his father’s approval, the proof he’d sought, or anything to excuse his behaviour to his siblings. Shit, shit, shit.

  He desperately wished Jerry were here, to say something sardonic and hold him close, and that set him wondering where the devil the man could be. He surely wasn’t still in the Duchess’s room, with all hell broken loose downstairs, but if not, Alec might have thought he’d knock on the door. That he’d realise Alec needed him now.

  All that aside, he ought to pack, and quickly, since the Duchess would throw him out shortly and probably cut up his clothes if he left them. He started that as soon as his hands had stopped shaking quite so much, and had half-filled his case when he heard the piercing scream.

  “Thief! Thief!”

  Oh, no. Alec dropped his little pile of neckties, fumbled with the door, and made himself stop.

  Think, man. If it came out that he’d knowingly brought a jewel thief here, the Duke and Duchess would use that fact without mercy, and it would destroy any credibility he might still have. He would have to stay calm, not incriminate himself, pray Jerry would not incriminate him.

  And he’d have to act naturally, which would mean responding to all the shouting.

  The noise was coming from the Duchess’s bedroom—shouts, now, male ones, and a heavy crash. Alec hurried out, almost colliding with Sir William, who was also on his way. “What on earth is going on?” he demanded.

  “I’ve been asking myself that for the last hour,” Sir William said fervently, then apparently realised to whom he spoke. “That is—ah—”

  “Believe me, I know how you feel,” Alec assured him. “But— Oh my God!”

  They’d come onto the corridor that led down to the state rooms. The Duke and Duchess stood at the end, both drawn up in pure outrage. Mr. Pelham, the one who Jerry had thought was another private detective, had Jerry in a very competent-looking arm lock; two footmen were hanging onto Templeton Lane’s arms. He had a bloody lip and his eyes were wide and dangerous. Susan had her revolver out, covering both Lilywhite Boys.

  “What—” Alec’s voice failed.

  “My God,” said Sir William.

  “What is going on?” Miss Hackett almost shrieked from the stairs.

  “This man had Her Grace’s safe open,” Susan said coldly. “Meanwhile his accomplice seems to have raided a number of the ladies’ rooms.” Mrs. Forbes, Mrs. Ayres, Lady Cooke and Lady Maitland all exclaimed at once. “I’m afraid you’ve been harbouring a serpent in your midst, Your Graces.”

  “More than one, it seems,” the Duchess said, with bitter triumph, glancing over to Alec. “A thief, brought to your father’s house? I should like an explanation of this.”

  Alec felt the blood rush to his face. “I— I—”

  “In fairness, we’ve fooled better men than him, although I haven’t met many more gullible ones,” Jerry said. “You aren’t any better at spotting a fraud in high society, are you, Your Grace? At least, not if they let you talk about racehorses.” He winked at the Duke.

  “Shut your mouth,” Susan said. “We’re going to go downstairs, all of us, so I can lock this precious pair in the cellar. I’m going first, and if you two try anything I will shoot. Sir Paul, please give Mr. Pelham a hand to restrain Vane, in the unlikely event that’s his name. Everyone else out of the way.”

  “Miss Roy—”

  “The name’s Lazarus, Susan Lazarus. I’m a private detective,” she added impatiently, as everyone stared. “We’re going to need the police, but let’s get these two securely locked away first.”

  Alec followed, numb, as the little procession moved awkwardly down the stairs, the other guests keeping a wide berth from Susan as much as from the two pinioned thieves. On the ground floor, Susan stopped.

  “All right, thank you, Sir Paul, Mr. Pelham. I want the footmen holding them. Let’s search them first.” She jerked a thum
b, and Jerry and Lane were pushed into the drawing room. Susan glanced around the men, then passed Sir Paul her gun. “Keep it on them, if you would. Right, you pair, arms up. Try anything and you’ll regret it.”

  “Witch,” Lane said softly.

  Susan gave him a long, blank look then punched him in the stomach, a swift, practiced jab. Lane folded over with an explosive grunt as the watchers all stepped back another pace, exchanging looks of alarm. “Right. Let’s see what we’ve got.”

  She slipped her hand into Lane’s pocket, whistled, and drew out a handful of blue glitter. Mrs. Forbes cried out. “My necklace!” and started forward.

  “Stay back,” Susan snapped. “These two are dangerous men, do not get in the way. And there’s plenty more where that came from, so we’ll sort it out once I’m finished. Someone bring me that little table.”

  She went through Lane’s pockets ruthlessly, inside and out, extracting bracelets, rings, a fortune in sparkling gems and gold, piling it haphazardly on the table, then did the same for Jerry. The Duchess hissed through her teeth. Alec stared, unable to think. Jerry stood, unemotional, if anything seeming slightly bored as he was searched.

  “Very well,” Susan said at last. “I think that’s it. A pretty haul, but your luck’s run out. Get them to the cellar, lock them in, and bring us the key.”

  “Wait,” the Duke said. “You, sir.” He drew himself up, glaring at Jerry. “You abused the hospitality of my house, came here as a guest with evil intent, in defiance of any common decency. Have you anything to say?”

  Jerry considered that a moment, then shrugged as best he could, given the hold on his arms. “If you like. You’re a dullard, your wife is intolerable, and your son can’t play billiards for toffee.”

  “Out,” Susan said ferociously. “Go on, lock them up.” She waited until the Lilywhite Boys had been removed. “All right, we need to send for the police, but first let’s get this lot sorted out and locked up again— Stop.” That was in response to a concerted move towards the heap of gems. Everyone recoiled as she spoke. Susan had that effect. “Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, but I’ve been in this situation before and you’d be surprised how things get mixed up, mistaken, or broken. I’ll hand it out.” She looked around, causing any objection to wither unspoken, then carefully extracted a gleaming bracelet from the pile. “Diamond and sapphire in gold, whose is this?”

  “Mine,” Mrs. Ayres said, sounding shocked. “They robbed my room!”

  “Indeed they did. Be sure it’s yours, and check if it’s damaged. Diamond ring, solitaire.” That was claimed by Lady Maitland.

  One of the footmen returned. “The cellar key, Miss Lazarus.”

  “Give it to Sir Paul for now,” Susan said, without looking up. “Thieves are police business. Whose is the cameo brooch?”

  Alec attempted to make himself unobtrusive, standing back with the other men, aware of their sideways glances. Mr. Ayres edged pointedly away from him. Mr. Pelham was watching the division of the jewels, intent.

  “Looks like they got into the men’s rooms as well. A gold signet ring, cabuchon emerald,” Susan said.

  There was a tiny pause, then the Duchess said, “Mine.”

  “It’s a man’s ring, ma’am.”

  “It’s mine.”

  “It may be mine,” the Duke put in.

  “Your safe was untouched, sir,” Susan said, so neutrally that she could never have been accused of calling him a liar.

  The Duchess stiffened. “It was in my safe, because it is mine. It is a gift for Ilvar.”

  “Oh, I see. I beg your pardon, ma’am. Here you are.” Susan held the ring out. The Duchess swept forward and plucked it from her palm, and Susan’s other hand snapped up, closing around her wrist like a cuff.

  “What—” The Duchess pulled back. Susan didn’t let go.

  “It was in your safe and you say it’s yours. That’s extremely interesting. Mr. Pelham?”

  The supposed businessman came up. The Duchess’s fist clenched tight around the ring. Susan’s thumb flexed on her wrist; the Duchess gave a sudden gasp of pain and her hand opened. Susan plucked the ring from her palm and held it out, and Mr. Pelham took it.

  “Yes,” he said after a moment. “This is it.”

  “What do you mean— What is this? Release me at once!”

  “Certainly. But if you hit me, Your Grace, I will hit you back, and I hit harder.” Susan let her go. “Thank you, Mr. Clayton.”

  The Duchess’s mouth fell open. “Wh—?”

  Mr. Pelham stepped away, watching her. “No, I suppose you don’t recognise me. I’m Oliver Clayton, Frank’s brother. Then again, we haven’t met since your wedding, have we? I was in India when he was killed, if you remember. And this is his signet ring, the one stolen from him when he was murdered. The one you were supposed to return to our family.”

  “It wasn’t on his body when he was found, and it’s been missing ever since,” Susan added. “You testified you didn’t know of his death until the police came to fetch you, madam. So how was it in your safe?”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about,” the Duchess said savagely. Sir Paul made a tiny noise, and Mr. Pelham, or Clayton, turned to him.

  “I’ve read the reports of when my brother was shot, Sir Paul. You said at the inquest that the discovery of my brother’s signet ring would solve the question of his death. Do you know what I’m talking about?”

  “This is most extraordinary,” Sir Paul said. “Your Grace, you must realise that if this is indeed the ring in question—”

  “It was a family heirloom,” Clayton said. “We have pictures, descriptions. It belonged to the head of the family, it was not hers to keep, and it was taken from my brother’s corpse when he was shot. I will have an answer.”

  “To that and a number of other questions,” Susan said. “Including what happened on the night of the first Lady Ilvar’s death.” She swung to face the Duke. “Are you aware Lady Cara left a written testimony of what she witnessed on the night your first wife died?”

  The Duke recoiled. “Spite,” the Duchess said loudly. “This is nothing more than lies and malice.”

  “Spite?” Susan asked. “Really? We have Lady Cara’s testimony, unchanged over twenty years. The account of the housemaid who asked about the stained pillowcase that went missing and was dismissed. You might remember her, Sir Paul? And I’m sure you recall the policeman who took her statement, and who was discouraged from asking about the so-convenient deaths of those two inconvenient spouses within six months.” Sir Paul had gone white. Lady Maitland’s mouth was set in a line that boded ill for someone.

  “But it’s all spite, you say,” Susan went on. “Such a lot of spite, so consistently from so many unrelated people over so many years. What a dreadful and complicated conspiracy against you, unless of course it’s simply the truth. You’ve had a good run, Your Graces, but it’s coming to an end.”

  “Who are you?” the Duchess demanded. “This woman is a fraud. I engaged her as a private detective to prevent thefts. She is here on false pretences.”

  “I’m Susan Lazarus of Braglewicz and Lazarus Enquiries, just as I said, but you’re quite right about the false pretences.” Susan didn’t sound apologetic. “I didn’t come here for jewel thieves, even if I caught some. I came here to find out what happened twenty years ago.”

  “What happened?” Sir William asked on cue. All the spectators were caught, Alec realised. Susan was working the room superbly, restrained feeling humming through her normally flat tones and compelling everyone to hang on her words.

  “It started with a death in the night,” she said. “It’s no secret the Duke was having an affair with Mrs. Clayton.” Miss Hackett made an outraged noise. Susan turned, looked steadily at her, and turned back. “That’s not a crime. And then Lady Ilvar was found dead for no clear reason. The Duke’s doctor called it a seizure, and if a maid claimed she’d seen a stained pillowcase, well, she could be dismissed without ado, le
aving the Duke free to marry again. But the woman he loved was still tied to her husband, and Frank Clayton dug his heels in, no matter the pressure put on him to petition for divorce, or the grounds you gave him. It must have been maddening.” Susan cocked her head at the Duchess. “The man you wanted, a ducal coronet, and untold wealth, all within your grasp if only you could be freed from your marriage vows. But Clayton refused to seek a divorce, and he didn’t give you reason to seek one on the basis of cruelty or adultery, so there wasn’t a thing you could do about it. When I say he didn’t give you reason, I mean legally,” Susan added. “The law asks women to show black eyes and broken noses, as if beatings are the only cruelty, and everything else—the vicious words, the worse silences, the conjugal demands—is tolerable. You were tied to a man you loathed, because he hated you so much that he preferred to stay chained together in misery than to let you be rich, happy, and free.”

  The Duchess’s face was a picture, not one Alec wanted to draw. There was raw shock, and old rage, and something twisting darkly underneath, like devils in a Hieronymus Bosch painting. The Duke’s lips were white. Oliver Clayton’s were drawn tight, suppressing anger.

  “So you killed him,” Susan said. “You killed him because he was ruining your life, and you took his ring because it was a jewel. Even though it would place you at the scene of the crime, even though the way was clear for you to marry a duke and live in a castle, you still couldn’t let go of it, because by rights, by any justice, by marriage, it was yours. You’d earned it.”

  “Yes,” the Duchess said. “It was mine. As Clayton’s wife—”

  “It was a family heirloom, to be returned to us on his death,” Clayton said. “You knew that.”

  “It became mine when I married him!”

  Mr. Clayton drew in a breath. Susan said, over him, “You kept it. You were entitled to it, and you kept it. Now tell us how you got it.”

  The Duchess opened her mouth to answer, and paused, and the pause was fatal. Alec could feel the fascinated onlookers drawing themselves away as the silence stretched out. Miss Hackett’s hand came up, covering her mouth. “It...was sent to me. Anonymously. In a letter.”