“Certainly, Mr. Falconer. Straightaway.”
“I would have liked to look at their wine list,” James murmured as the maître d’ walked off.
“You can see it later,” George answered. “That’s not a problem.”
Roger Crawford asked, “And what is the celebration for, George? Don’t tell me you’ve found a woman and got engaged.”
“No such luck,” George answered, and left it at that, remembering Roger’s troubled life a few years ago. He now announced, “I am celebrating the commencement of the career of my nephew, Roger. James started work today. His future as a successful merchant prince has just begun.”
Roger looked across at James and smiled, liking the look of this impossibly handsome young man who had walked in as if he owned the world. He certainly owned the room. All of the women diners were glancing at him surreptitiously. Roger had already noticed the charisma, the warm nature of George’s nephew.
“So you have gone into retailing, have you?” he asked pleasantly.
“Yes, I am working for Mr. Henry Malvern, owner of the Malvern company. He has several arcades in London, amongst many other things, and he’s put me in charge of them. I will be supervising them, actually.”
“Sounds like a big job,” the inspector replied. “Malvern must have great faith in you.”
George said, “My brother has owned four stalls in the Malvern Market for years. I thought I’d told you that, and Malvern has been interested in James for some time.”
“The penny’s just dropped!” Roger exclaimed, and stared intently at James. “You were one of the two young men who were badly beaten up on Chalk Farm Road, about a year and a half ago. I am right about that, aren’t I?”
James said, “You are, sir. My friend Denny was in a coma and never came out of it. He died.”
“Yes, that was a terrible affair. It’s all coming back to me now.” He looked at George. “You came to me about it and we were never able to solve it … a cold case.”
George nodded. Changing the subject, he said, “What’s happening with the Jack the Ripper case? Three more women brutally murdered, but no news from Scotland Yard. Another cold case?”
Detective Inspector Roger Crawford shook his head, his expression one of deep concern. “Maybe. We have nothing. Not a clue. Although I have a couple of theories. I—” He stopped speaking abruptly when the waiter arrived with a bucket of champagne.
“I’ll tell you what I know after we’ve toasted your nephew, George.”
Forty-four
Once the waiter had poured the champagne into crystal flutes, the three men raised them and clinked glasses. It was George who said, “Congratulations, James, on your first job. I wish you much success.”
“Much success,” Roger echoed. “And I’m absolutely certain you’ll have cartloads of it. You’ve got everything going for you.”
James thanked them and took a sip of the Dom Pérignon. He knew from his grandfather’s wine lessons that this was the best there was.
Roger settled back in his chair and, after a moment, he said quietly, “Going back to our previous conversation, I hate to admit this, but Scotland Yard is baffled, none the wiser about Jack the Ripper. Five women have now been murdered in Whitechapel. The first two were Mary Ann Nichols and Annie Chapman. Then there were three more victims, Elizabeth Stride, Catherine Eddowes, and Mary Jane Kelly. The murders took place between August thirty-first and November ninth of this year. They were all prostitutes and they were brutally murdered, then mutilated with some savagery. But you know all this, George.”
The inspector paused, shook his head. “And not one clue was left behind. All we found were their bodies and their blood.” He sat back, his worry suddenly apparent.
“So what you’re saying is that this is truly a mystery,” George murmured. He sighed, went on, “You must all be feeling frustrated. I can understand that completely. Also, there are so many ridiculous rumors circulating, it makes my blood boil. People are idiots.”
“We are endeavoring to ignore those crazy stories, George. The public are hugely inventive, imaginative, I’m afraid. They say it’s a famous surgeon who’s the killer, a famous actor, a famous painter. They even suggest that Jack the Ripper is a member of the royal family, if you can believe that idiocy!”
Shifting in his chair, the policeman added, “No one knows who he is, but I believe the murders were committed by a man who was strong, and possibly someone who actually did know how to use a knife with skill and precision. But that’s all I know.”
George asked, “Do you think it’s the same man? Or could there be copycats?”
Roger did not answer. He sat staring into his glass of champagne, watching the pale golden bubbles rising. He and his colleagues had discussed this very same idea at the Yard and were without any answers. He had a few theories of his own, which he did not share with anyone at work. So he would not voice them tonight. Even though he had known George for ten years or so, knew he was trustworthy and his word was his bond. At the moment, caution was the best policy, the less said the better.
After a long moment, he looked up at George. “Your guess is as good as mine. Rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief … take your pick.”
James saw the worry behind the bright smile, the anxiety in the policeman’s eyes, and understanding he wanted to move away from this awful crime, he changed the subject. Looking at his uncle, he asked, “Please explain to me what you meant by buccaneers.”
Starting to chuckle, George said to Roger, “When we were arriving at the hotel, two lovely, rather fashionable women, obviously Americans and rich, were also entering, with loads of luggage. So how would you describe the buccaneers to James?”
“Being a journalist, I should think you’d have better words to use than I do, George.” He glanced at James. “Buccaneers are beautiful, very rich and clever American girls who come over here looking for a husband. An aristocratic husband. They want the title; he wants the money that comes with her. An extremely large dowry. If they’re lucky, they find the right man and fall in love. If not, they make the deal if the man is willing. So she gets her title and he gets the much-needed money.”
James was puzzled and asked, “Why would an aristocrat do that? Why do they need this? Need the money? They’re rich.”
“Not all of them,” George shot back. “Stately homes are suffering; the aristocracy is in trouble and all because of failing crops, failing agriculture. Now I see the waiter heading this way with the menus. We can talk about this later, James.”
His nephew nodded and accepted a menu, as did the other two men, and the subject of the buccaneers never came up again that night. But James was determined to find out more. He knew Mrs. Ward would explain it to him.
After glancing quickly at the menu, George said, “I’m definitely going to have the Colchesters now they’re in season.” Both Roger and James ordered the oysters also. For the main course James selected fish cakes; Roger and George decided on sausage and mash.
“That’s what I like about this place,” the inspector said. “They make the comfort food I grew up on.”
“I suppose everybody feels the same,” George commented. “This place is always busy.” He hesitated, then said, “I don’t want to spend the evening talking about the Ripper case, but I just wanted to add that we keep our Ripper stories at a decent level, avoid lurid headlines, Roger. We just don’t want to alarm the public. Nor do we want to criticize Scotland Yard. We know you’re all doing your job.” He gave Roger a knowing look.
“I’ve noticed that, George. I think your proprietor is a very reasonable man. The Chronicle’s the best paper, in my opinion.”
“Thank you. Lord Carpenter is also clever with political stories. He walks down the middle of the road and keeps a clear head. No partisanship. I’m also happy he’s no longer considering selling the publishing company. We were all worried about that when we heard rumors, I can tell you. But we’re secure once more. He’s not selling,
and he’ll continue to be in the driver’s seat.”
* * *
The following morning James was up, dressed, and out of the flat long before his uncle had awakened. After a swift walk down Piccadilly, dodging through the crowds, he arrived at Malvern House in twenty minutes.
Once he was in his office, he sat down at the desk and made a list of what he would focus on later that morning. He and Henry Malvern were going to the arcade in Kensington, and he couldn’t wait to see it, knowing he would be in charge of it for a while.
He then took out the small notebook he kept in his jacket pocket. Opened it, made the notation “HULL,” and then scribbled a few lines about his ideas for an arcade in the City of Gaiety. After that he wrote a letter to Great-Uncle Clarence and Great-Aunt Marina, having promised to stay in touch on a regular basis.
Forty-five
Henry Malvern had changed his mind, and they went to the Malvern arcade on Piccadilly. This was at the far end, just before Trafalgar Square, and James knew it quite well. He had often strolled down it, admiring the shops. Although it was smaller than the Kensington arcade, it had a certain distinction and was well designed. It was also closer to the office, and apparently Mr. Malvern had a busy day.
After staring in the window of the largest antique jewelry shop for several minutes, James looked at Henry Malvern and said, “It’s too cluttered. You can’t see the wood for the trees. The displays don’t make sense, bracelets are here, there, and brooches everywhere. No real order. It’s a muddle.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Malvern said, smiling at James, obviously pleased with his comments. “My daughter was always helping Margie Stillman to keep some sort of order, and a pattern. With Miss Malvern’s absence, Mrs. Stillman has gone … wild, in my opinion.”
His attention was now caught by a beautifully designed diamond bracelet. James said, “Mr. Malvern, please look at this piece! I’m certain it is by Cartier, the great French jeweler.” He glanced at Malvern and went on, “Next, look over there, on the right side of the window. There’s a diamond brooch which is very similar in design. In the middle of the window, there’s a pair of diamond ear clips that seems to go with the other two pieces. Don’t you agree?”
After peering in the window for a few minutes, Henry Malvern nodded. “I believe you are correct, Falconer. But what are you getting at?”
“They ought to be grouped together,” James replied. “Because I’m sure it’s a suite, which certainly makes the single pieces much more valuable. Oh how I’d like to get my hands in this window! To redo it.”
His employer nodded. “Then you shall. But you must go rather carefully with Mrs. Stillman. She can be very touchy and she’s convinced she has the best window in the arcade. An ego there.”
“I will take care,” James promised.
Together, the two men went into the shop.
“Good morning, Mr. Malvern.” The young woman behind a small counter smiled warmly. “I shall go and fetch Mrs. Stillman right away.”
“Thank you, Yvonne.” Turning to James, Malvern said, “Walk around, take a look, you’ll see a lot of treasures in here. Truly rare pieces.”
James did as Mr. Malvern suggested, moving through the main room of the shop, taking everything in swiftly and with appreciation as he gazed in numerous cabinets with glass doors. The problem was the same as the window. Muddle. And more muddle.
It took James only a few minutes to realize that other sets of matching jewelry had been separated rather than grouped together. He didn’t bother to point this out, because suddenly Henry Malvern was greeting a woman in a black silk dress who was undoubtedly Mrs. Stillman.
As she walked toward him, accompanied by his employer, James saw that she was an elegant woman, probably in her early forties, and attractive. But the most striking thing about her was her hair. It was pure silver and abundant, piled in curls on top of her head. It gave her a look of regality, especially since she had perfect posture and walked gracefully.
“I am delighted to meet you, Mr. Falconer,” she said, offering her hand.
Taking it, James looked at her admiringly, staring at her intently. “It is my pleasure, Mrs. Stillman.” Releasing her hand, but still gazing at her, he added, “And I must commend you on your great taste. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a fantastic collection of diamond pieces in my life. All of them are truly outstanding.”
“How kind of you to say so, Mr. Falconer. I’ve been lucky in some instances, have come across them almost accidentally,” she replied, smiling at him. Her sparkling eyes filled with pleasure at his compliments.
“More good taste than luck, I would say,” James answered. “I can’t help wondering where you buy?”
“Here, there, and everywhere,” she answered, and stepped away, going closer to one of the glass-fronted cabinets.
Her smile was intact and James realized she wasn’t being evasive, only vague because she probably couldn’t remember exactly where each piece had come from.
James inclined his head graciously. “Over the years I’ve been to a number of estate sales at stately homes and country manor houses. I’ve also attended auctions in country towns. It’s truly amazing the things you can find in these places.”
“I enjoy the country estate sales myself,” Mrs. Stillman confided. “I’ve found wonderful jewels where least expected.”
Walking across to the front of the store, James said, “I was just pointing out some pieces in the window to Mr. Malvern a moment ago. I believe they are by Cartier. I wonder if you’d mind getting them out, Mrs. Stillman, if it’s not too much trouble. I want to know if I’m as knowledgeable as I think I am.” He gave her one of his wide, slightly flirtatious smiles.
“It’s no trouble at all,” Mrs. Stillman answered warmly. She hurried forward, opened the curtained glass partition that protected the contents of the window inside the store. “Which pieces exactly, Mr. Falconer?”
“The diamond bracelet on the left, the ear clips in the middle, and the brooch on the right. Thank you so much.”
Turning around, James walked down to Henry Malvern, who had seated himself in a chair. “I think I’ll be able to work with her all right,” he murmured in a low tone.
“I’m positively certain of it,” Henry Malvern said in a dry tone. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Falconer, as you no doubt already know.”
James merely smiled and went to look in a large cabinet, the contents of which took his breath away. He actually gasped. The glass shelves held a variety of diamond tiaras that were so magnificent they were blinding.
A moment later, Mrs. Stillman was standing at one of the counters in the shop, where she had placed a black velvet cloth. On it she had put the ear clips, the bracelet, and the brooch. “Do come and look, Mr. Falconer, and you, too, Mr. Malvern.”
They joined her. James gazed down at the pieces, which were spectacular. Grouped together it was obvious the three pieces were indeed a suite. The working of the diamonds into a diagonal crisscross pattern was repeated on the ear clips and on the brooch. Wonderful workmanship!
He turned the bracelet over and soon found the jeweler’s name: Cartier. Just as he had thought. He said to Malvern, “Yes, it is by the French jeweler, sir.” Swinging around, filled with curiosity, he said to Mrs. Stillman, “I’m wondering about this beautiful suite. Wherever did you come across it?”
“Those pieces I remember very well,” she answered. “It was an estate sale at Waverley Hall, not far from Bath. The Dowager Countess of Waverley had died, and her son held a sale of her jewels. There are some other similar pieces I also bought at that particular sale. Now, where did I put them?” She glanced around, obviously at a loss for a moment.
James believed they were the items he had seen in one of the cabinets, and he said, “I do believe I noticed them over there in that large cabinet.”
“Oh yes, you’re right.”
Within seconds, she returned, holding a necklace, ear clips, and a magnificen
t ring. “These were also part of the Waverley collection,” she explained.
As she spoke, he had a brainwave and knew how he was going to get that window not only in order, but make it outstanding. “Let us group all of these pieces on the velvet. I think those you’re holding may also be from Cartier. Are there any more pieces of the dowager’s collection? Have you sold any?”
“No, I haven’t sold anything from the dowager’s collection. There may be a few smaller items, but I would have to hunt them out.”
“I think you should certainly do that, Mrs. Stillman, because I’ve just had an idea that’s going to make you a lot of money,” James announced.
Margie Stillman simply gaped at him. “A lot of money,” she finally repeated. “But how?”
“Yes, do tell us how, Falconer,” Henry Malvern said in a slightly clipped tone.
“Show is better than tell, I think,” James murmured, and looked at Mrs. Stillman. “Do you have a tray I can use? I’d like to spread the black velvet on it, then arrange the diamond pieces on top.”
“I do have a show tray I sometimes use in the window. It has tiny legs that flip down. I shall go and get it.”
Once she had disappeared into the back room, Henry Malvern said, “Why did you tell her that? You’re raising her hopes. We have to be careful what we say to those who rent from us.”
“I understand that, Mr. Malvern, and please trust me. She just doesn’t understand exactly what she’s got here. Has no idea of their value. Let me carry on and then perhaps you’ll realize what I’m aiming at.”
Henry Malvern merely nodded because Mrs. Stillman had returned with the tray. She flipped down the small legs on each corner and placed the tray on the counter.
“Thank you,” James said. He removed the diamond pieces from the black velvet, then draped this cover over the tray.
Henry Malvern and Mrs. Stillman watched him as he placed the diamond necklace on the black velvet, exactly in the center. Then he put the pair of ear clips within the circle of the necklace, and next he added the large diamond ring between the ear clips. The diamond bracelet, which had first caught his eye in the window, he placed just outside the circle made by the necklace, and the second bracelet on the outer side of the necklace. “There you are—a magnificent display! What about calling it ‘The Famous Waverley Diamonds from the Renowned Collection of the Dowager Countess of Waverley’?”
Master of His Fate Page 29