Midnight Masquerade

by Joan Smith

  “There is nothing like a box of sweets when you are miserable,” she said wearily as he stood before her, shaking his head in disapproval.

  “Tch, tch, you’ll require a tentmaker to fashion your gowns, if this self-indulgence continues.” He put the lid on the box and removed it beyond her reach.

  “Don’t bother tch-ing me. I had enough of that when your Papa was alive, God rest his soul. The only thing the modiste will be fashioning me is a shroud,” she replied dolefully, and switched from bonbons to a glass of very sweet Madeira. “Have you made any headway with the investigation, Dickie love?”

  He sat beside her and took her hand in his. “It’s confusing, and frustrating that I cannot check any of the details. I think the necklace was stolen to dupe the insurance company, but the policy ran out at midnight last night.”

  “The robber didn’t know it, you mean?”

  “The robber did know it. At least my suspects claim they knew it, and I can’t prove otherwise.”

  “And who have you settled on as suspects?” she asked.

  “Bessler maneuvered her into a good public spot, handy to the door too. Bidwell, Chamfreys, and Lennie Belfoi were available upstairs; one of them might have helped him, or it might have been a third party, whom he had hidden on the roof. Lennie’s husband was only ten miles away. But then where could he have gone after?”

  “Oh, Dickie, why must you make everthing so confusing? Stealing a diamond for insurance when it was not insured, and men hiding on the roof? I shouldn’t have put it past old Charney to have arranged it herself. And not for insurance either, but to make you marry her niece, or at least have to give her thirty thousand for the diamond. It was she who maneuvered herself to the doorway at the proper moment. You notice how she hasn’t had the nerve to leave her room all day, thank God. She has that grenadier of a dresser with her. Now, her hands are huge, and you said the ladies’ gloves were big. Anyone might put on a man’s suit of clothing, and you remember the thief didn’t speak. That is why; because the man was a woman, and didn’t want to use her voice and give the show away.”

  “I’ve thought of that, but where would she have gotten the man’s suit? And the grenadier-dresser is at least sixty. Well past clambering down ropes, I think. Besides, Bidwell’s shoes were wet. I had the servants examine all the shoes sent down for polishing this morning. His still had traces of damp around the edges.”

  “He might have stepped out for a moment.”

  “No, he didn’t. The snow—Pierre is keeping an eye on it; he knows every blot in the snow, and who made it. It must have been Bidwell. Yet he too claims to have known the policy lapsed. And if he didn’t know it, it seems he would only be robbing himself as he is Carswell’s heir. Carswell is the insuring agent.”

  “Then he didn’t steal it for insurance, but to sell,” she pointed out.

  “Yes, but why that particular jewel and no other? And if it was only to sell, and not claim insurance, why do it in the middle of a crowded room? A pretty tangle, is it not?”

  “I wonder he didn’t rob me. I was wearing the rubies your Uncle Digsworth stole from that maharaja fellow in India, worth more than the diamond, and so much prettier.”

  “There must have been hundreds of thousands in jewels there.”

  “Millions! Lady Shandy wore that whopping ugly emerald her first husband gave her. It is worth a fortune. He would certainly have known she would be wearing it. She always does, wears it everywhere. It is the only decent stone she has to her name. And she would have been easy work, as she is old and feeble.”

  “I am convinced it was the Charney Diamond and nothing else the thief had in mind to steal. It had to do with insurance. There is a matter of three days’ grace in paying policies, but that is to cover an oversight on the part of the insurer, and Charney had told Carswell that she meant to discontinue the policy, so I doubt he’ll be stuck to pay for it.”

  Bertie shook her head in bewilderment and sipped her Madeira. “It almost begins to look as though it was pure mischief-making. Which brings us back to you, Dickie,” she said regretfully. Which offended Dickie so severely that he left her.

  She sipped and frowned, and decided, midway through her glass, that Dick would never be so ungallant as to bruise the duchess’s neck. It couldn’t have been Dick. But then he could not speak, so perhaps he had to pull it off. All his earnest investigations counted for naught. Naturally he would have to make it look innocent. He was much too thoughtful to worry her by acting guilty, whatever he had done.

  Chapter 7

  It preyed on Belami’s mind that he used Deirdre badly, and would add a further injury when he got her to jilt him. With some notion of being nice to her, he set about looking for her. He found her sitting alone in the saloon, again in a position that allowed her to see the comings and goings in the hallway. She was leafing through a magazine, looking forlorn and bored.

  In fact, she was not so much bored as unhappy. Such lovely gowns as were illustrated in the magazine, all of them so very different from what her aunt allowed her to wear. She looked up when Belami appeared in the doorway, gazing at her. His every appearance caused a tightening in her chest, to see him so handsome, so very unavailable to her, who was his fiancée. Some traces of the regret she felt were on her face.

  “I’m showing you a very flat holiday,” he apologized, stepping into the room.

  “Flat?” she asked, astonished. “Oh, no, I never had such fun in my life! It’s very exciting, helping you with the case. What are we to do next?” she asked eagerly.

  “We can’t ride or drive or even walk in this weather,” he pointed out.

  “I meant what do we do to solve the case?” she answered. “Naturally your work must take precedence over mere entertainment.”

  “Your aunt is less understanding. She tells me it is not a fit occupation for a gentleman.”

  “She is old-fashioned. I think it is edifying that you go to so much trouble, and remarkable that you do it so well.”

  His chest swelled a little at these unexpected compliments, and from the last source he would have imagined. “It helps to pass the time.”

  “Pray don’t feel you have to waste a moment amusing me, Belami, but if there is anything I can do to help, I should enjoy it. What will you do next?”

  “I’d like to find the mate to the stocking our thief wore.”

  Her neck stiffened perceptibly. “You are going to see Lady Lenore, in other words?”

  “You offered to help. Why don’t you see her? It would come more naturally from another woman. You could ask to borrow a pair from her.”

  “My aunt . . .” she said, hesitating, knowing too close contact with Lady Lenore would be frowned upon.

  “Yes, I understand. I’ll go to her myself,” he said, with no reluctance.

  “No! That is, it’s business, after all. It’s not as though I were seeking her friendship,” she said quickly. “I’ll go up now, and be back here in a minute. Will you wait for me?”

  “It’s the least I can do. You waited three days for me.”

  “No, three weeks,” she answered with a pert little smile as she turned and fled the room.

  Belami pondered his heart as he waited in the saloon. The stocking was an excellent excuse to go to Lenore’s room for a bit of a frolic, yet he had been relieved at Deirdre’s agreeing to go for him. There was the business of Paris hanging in the air between Lennie and him now, and he had no wish to finalize it. He mused on, wondering if he would go.

  In his mind’s eye, it was not Lennie who was with him on the ship crossing the Channel, but Deirdre Gower. She’d be easy to entertain, at least. Never had such fun as this dull holiday! The girl must have been raised in cotton wool. A pity, really—there was some fire and spirit there, but all suffocated with the cotton wool. But only pull at the wool and you found yourself engaged to her, for all of mortal eternity. Bound for life to a woman who expected you to behave yourself, do the proper thing.

  A
t least she didn’t cavil at his playing Bow Street. Then too, while she would expect a man to behave, she would certainly not act up herself, in the manner of a Lady Lenore. Belami knew his nature was not of the sort that could tolerate a philandering wife. He supposed, in a vague way, that the time would eventually come when he was ready to settle down, and it was a bit of a pity he hadn’t met Deirdre later in his life.

  While he mused along these lines, Deirdre went tapping at Lady Lenore’s door, feeling as daring as though she were entering a house of ill repute. Lenore was alone in her chamber, which was a relief, making a toilette. She sat in front of a mirror, brushing out her raven hair. She had a woman who performed this chore for her at home, but the monetary exigencies of travel made it preferable to hitch a ride with someone else, and bringing servants along limited the number of carriages one could squeeze into.

  “It’s Miss Gower, isn’t it?” Lenore said, looking in the mirror at the reflection of the bright-eyed girl behind her. She could hardly have been more startled if the old duchess herself had come to call.

  “Yes, we haven’t had much chance to become acquainted.”

  Oh, my God, Lennie thought with a silent laugh. She’s come to warn me away from Dickie. “I have regretted the wasted opportunity, Miss Gower. Do have a seat. I hear tantalizing whispers that you have landed Belami. If it is true, I offer my heartiest congratulations. You’ve pulled off quite a coup.”

  “Thank you. Ac-tually, I have come to ask a favor, Lady Lenore.”

  “Ask away,” Lenore invited with a swallowed smile as she tried to decide whether to play the outraged matron or woman of the world when the Bath Miss told her to keep away from Belami.

  “Yes, the thing is, I have got a ladder in my last good pair of stockings.”

  “What?”

  “I want to borrow a pair of stockings, if you would be so kind. Would you happen to have a spare pair?”

  “Oh, is that all?” Lenore asked, finally letting a laugh escape her pretty lips. She arose and went to decide what gown she would wear to dinner. “Help yourself, my dear. They’re in the top left drawer,” she called over her shoulder, “but don’t take the blue ones. I shall be wearing them myself.”

  It was better luck than Deirdre hoped for, to have the run of the drawer. She was amazed to see a dozen pairs of stockings packed for a brief visit. They came in beautiful shades—blue, and red, and green. But soon she spotted what she was really looking for: one lone stocking of a flesh tone, surely the mate to that which Dick had pulled from the flue. She bunched it into a ball in her fingers, thence into a pocket, while she selected the red stockings.

  “Can you spare these?” she asked. “I’ll wash them and get them back to you tomorrow. It’s just for tonight. I haven’t a thing to wear.”

  “Will your auntie like you to wear red stockings?” Lenore asked with a teasing smile. “Never mind, I’m sure Belami will approve.”

  Deirdre’s eyes next strayed to the dresser top, to the array of beauty aids spread before her eyes. Powder and rouge and scent and creams, all in the most beautiful chased silver traveling case she had ever seen. It was sybaritic, almost decadent, and wildly interesting. There were even bits of someone else’s hair there—curls, in the same shade as Lady Lenore’s own hair. She lifted one and hung it before her ear.

  “Give me a hand with this, will you?” Lenore asked as she pulled off her robe and lifted a blue gown from the clothes press. “It fastens up the back.”

  Deirdre dropped the silk stockings and went to do as she was bid. Though she was astounded that Lady Lenore should strip herself to her underwear before a virtual stranger, her interest was soon diverted to the underwear itself. It was lace trimmed, inches of Belgian lace so beautiful it was a shame to cover it. It was as carefully designed as one’s outer garments, with little tucks and frills everywhere. Obviously, it was made to be seen. There was a little difficulty getting the dress to do up, as Lenore wore them tight, but by pulling it was done.

  “Now for my face,” Lenore said when she was dressed, and walked to the dresser to resume her seat. Deirdre stood transfixed, to learn the secret of applying the contents of those pots. Her eyes rounded to see that a black grease pencil was the first item lifted. It was not applied to the brows, but to the mole, to accentuate it.

  “Thank you, dear. You can go now,” Lenore said. “You won’t forget to bring the stockings back, will you?”

  “No, I won’t,” Deirdre told her. Had it not been for this reminder, she might have forgotten to take them with her, but she reached down for them. As she did so, her eye was caught by a glimmer of something metallic on the hearth. It was at the inner edge of the hearth stone; it shone gold in the rays from the window.

  A quick peep at Lenore told her the woman was busy at her mirror, blending some combination of rouge and cream into the palm of her hand. In a twinkling, Deirdre reached down and garnered up the bit of sparkling metal. She could not take a good look at it till she was safely out of the room, but when she was able to do so, she saw very clearly that it was the metallic clip that had held the diamond on to the chain. There was miniature gadrooning around its edge, which made it unmistakable. There was a loop on top, which had been pulled or pried open. She pelted down the stairs as fast as her legs could carry her, still holding the red stockings in her other hand.

  Her heart was hammering when she tore into the saloon. “Belami, another clue! I’ve solved the case! It was Lenore for certain, and I have got proof.”

  “That’s not all you have got. Red silk stockings. Very daring,” he replied , smiling at her enthusiasm.

  She pulled the flesh-colored one from her pocket. “The red stockings were a red herring. She only had one of these,” she said, handing him the other. “Compare it with the other, the one with eye holes in it.”

  “I don’t have to, but I shall, for confirmation. Only the one, you say?”

  “Yes, and furthermore—voilà!” She opened her closed hand to reveal the gold trinket. “On the hearth, stuck off in a corner where we missed seeing it. It is certainly from my aunt’s necklace. I should recognize it anywhere.”

  He took it up and examined it carefully. “I wonder why I didn’t see it when I swept up the glass.”

  “If the sun hadn’t struck it at the proper angle, I’d have missed it myself,” she said forgivingly.

  “We knew he had pulled the diamond from the chain, but why remove the end piece from the diamond? It’s so small, it doesn’t make the stone any easier to hide.”

  Pronto came strolling in to ask what was afoot, and have the situation outlined. After some confusing brangling that red stockings had nothing to do with it—it was a flesh one the thief wore—it was finally explained to his satisfaction.

  “But actually it is this little golden clasp that we’re more interested in,” Belami said, and outlined its importance. He looked to the others for their ideas. He did not frequently look beyond the walls of his own body for an opinion. Insensibly, he was coming to place some trust in Deirdre’s ability as a helper.

  “Would he have recut the stone, to try to pretend it was just a number of small diamonds and not the one large one?” she asked, although feeling it was unlikely. “I have heard that thieves will do that sometimes.”

  “Not just anyone can cut a diamond. It must be done by an expert, and under very special conditions. It’s not a matter of giving it a tap with a hammer.”

  “Fell off,” Pronto told them. “Loose, from being yanked so hard from old Charney’s neck.”

  “That’s possible,” Belami agreed.

  “At least we know for certain the diamond was in that room,” Deirdre reminded them. “We also know Lenore’s stocking was used. Now that absolutely puts her in on it, in my opinion.”

  “Opinions are not absolute, but only tentative,” Belami decreed. “And we do not know for certain the diamond was in that room. We only know that you think your aunt’s clasp from the necklace was there.”


  “It is the clasp, Belami. If we’re not to trust our eyes, what are we to trust?” she demanded.

  “I accept it is the clasp, but there is no diamond with it, and we don’t know that the diamond ever was in that room.”

  “If it were someone other than Lenore, I think we would know it,” she shot back quickly.

  “Give me credit for more professionalism than overlooking evidence because I happen to like the person it incriminates,” he replied, becoming hot.

  “What more do you want?” she asked scornfully. “She is without funds, without morals, the diamond was in her room, her stocking was used. She did everything but climb down that rope herself. She got either Bidwell or Chamfreys to do that for her, or both of them acting together, while they all stick together like thieves, giving each other alibis. It is plain as the nose on your face. I think you must go to her and demand my aunt’s diamond back.”

  “It does look black for her,” Pronto agreed, much impressed with this tirade.

  “No,” he said softly, but very firmly. “This doesn’t jibe. It is out of character. Lenore has easier, less dangerous means of procuring diamonds. I don’t say she wasn’t involved—it looks very much as if she were, but I don’t believe she is behind it all. I want to catch the instigator. In the first place, she wouldn’t have used her own stocking if she were involved. She’s too clever for that, and she wouldn’t have left the other for you to find if she had. Whoever did it made free of the house—took my pistol from my room, the sheet from the cupboard. Why then take her own stocking?”

  “Still don’t see why they bothered to pull the diamond from the chain,” Pronto said in an important way. “Way I see it, after a deal of deducing, either the clasp thing or the chain might have gotten pulled off, but not both of ‘em. You want to solve the case, Dick, that’s the line to take. Why yank ‘em off the diamond?”