Death, Diamonds, and Deception

by Rosemary Simpson

  Something wasn’t right. And it couldn’t be just the fact or circumstances of the death they had gathered to solemnize. She was positive Geoffrey felt it also. The two of them were like bloodhounds held back on a tight leash from the scent trail their every instinct told them to follow.

  Her mind was spinning off in all directions. Time to anchor it in reality again. Time to find Geoffrey and withdraw with him into a private corner where they could confer without anyone overhearing them. Meaning Lady Rotherton, one of the most inquisitive individuals on the face of God’s green earth.

  “We need to talk,” Prudence said when she finally located her partner. Geoffrey had stationed himself in the alcove of a recessed window, eyes following as first one, then another respecter of the dead approached and spoke to William, moved on to Lena and the body in the coffin.

  “I agree,” he said, stepping into deeper dimness not illuminated by the discretely lowered gaslight. “It’s past time.”

  “You’re not satisfied that we know everything that happened.” It wasn’t a question, and he was still scanning the room.

  “Are you?”

  “I’ve never fully believed he stole his mother’s diamonds,” Prudence said.

  “It was an elaborate scheme,” Geoffrey agreed. “Far too complex for a habitual drunkard to manage. As far as I can tell, not a single mistake was made.”

  “If it hadn’t been for my aunt’s exceptionally acute eye for authenticity, Lena would never have known that half the diamonds she was wearing were paste.”

  “But no more,” Geoffrey said. “Amos found out from one of the Tiffany jewelers that William had all of the phony stones replaced well before the second Assembly Ball. The few skilled artisans in the workroom who know the whole story have been sworn to silence.”

  “Threatened, more likely,” Prudence said.

  “The end result is the same. Lena wore her necklace Thursday night to the great admiration of every lady who hasn’t anything half so fine.”

  “Aunt Gillian said nothing about it. She was there with us. She spoke to Lena and danced with William.” Prudence had been as sumptuously dressed in yet another House of Worth creation as she had been at the first Assembly Ball. And just as reluctant to spend another evening in the company of people she found tedious. Except that there had been the promise of being in Geoffey’s arms again. Dancing, of course. Which was perfectly acceptable.

  “Did you notice the difference, Prudence?” Geoffrey prodded.

  “I just assumed William told Lena she had to wear the necklace because if she didn’t the whole town would be asking why. Remember that I was the one who couldn’t tell the paste diamonds from the real ones,” she said disgustedly. “Not even when they were pointed out to me.”

  “You’ll make someone a very inexpensive wife one day.”

  “If that’s your criterion for a spouse, I pity the woman who has to depend on you for an allowance to run a household,” Prudence said. “Don’t try to distract me. It won’t work. I’ve seen Amos go into your office. I know what you’re up to.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “You’re continuing the investigation on your own. Without a client to pay the expenses. That’s something you’ve warned me against time and time again.”

  He didn’t answer, but he looked away from Prudence out into the parlor. His eyes swept from left to right and back to the left. Scrutinizing, examining, storing away impressions until he could sort them out, make sense of them.

  “I’m not criticizing you, Geoffrey. I’m just letting you know that I would have done the same thing if I’d thought any good would come of it.”

  “You give up too easily,” he said softly, still not looking at her.

  “You’re not being fair.” This wasn’t the conversation she’d wanted to have with him. “Play by the rules.”

  “I didn’t think we needed to have rules between us,” he answered.

  And now he did look down at her. And moved to block her view of the room. Or maybe he was blocking the room from viewing her. She could feel tears welling up in her eyes and knew they weren’t for Morgan.

  “I’m sorry, Prudence,” he said, taking one of her gloved hands in his, lifting it to his lips. “I shouldn’t have said what I did about giving up. You’re one of the strongest women I’ve ever met. Certainly among the most stubborn.”

  That was Geoffrey all over again. One moment serious and almost tender, the next making a joke, coaxing her into a smile, wiping away a teardrop with the tip of his finger. It was maddening.

  “I want to talk about the case.”

  “We will. I promise. Monday morning without fail. I’ll arrange for Amos to come by the office. You can question him yourself about what he’s discovered. But I have to warn you. It’s not much more than we already knew.”

  “Or could guess.”

  “Hypothesize is the preferred word in detection circles,” he said. “It sounds more professional.” He let go Prudence’s hand at the sound of Lady Rotherton’s demanding voice speaking to his back.

  “Turn around, Mr. Hunter, and tell me who that man is, the one who’s looking down into the coffin.”

  “I’ve never seen him before,” Geoffrey said. “Prudence?”

  “I don’t know him either, Aunt Gillian.”

  “I don’t like the looks of him.”

  “Perhaps he’s one of Morgan’s drinking or gambling friends,” Prudence offered.

  “Too old. And he looks too cunning. That’s the kind of man who only bets on a sure thing. Who’s always coming up with a scheme to fleece anyone foolish enough to fall for some hair-brained notion or a dose of flattery. You see his type all the time in London. Usually younger sons of soon-to-be impoverished families out for a last ditch chance at catching the brass ring.”

  “What do you know about carousels, Aunt Gillian?” Prudence asked.

  “I’m not talking about wooden horses,” her aunt snapped. “I’ve as good an eye for a fraudster as I do for other phony business.”

  The man Lady Rotherton had called to their attention was probably in his midforties, Prudence guessed, handsome in a smooth, slightly oily way that made him oddly out of place in this gathering. He was dressed well, though on careful examination, not expensively. Of average height and build, he wore a mustache that concealed his upper lip and made it impossible to read whether it was strong or weak. Brown hair left to grow a little long, hazel eyes, ordinary features. Nothing special to remark or remember. Except that his skin was tanned, as though he’d come from one of the western prairies or the deck of an oceangoing ship. He didn’t seem to know the other mourners, neither speaking to anyone nor trying to catch the eye of an acquaintance.

  He glanced around, as though curious to see who might be watching him, then turned toward Lena. The word sidle crept into Prudence’s brain. Whoever he was, there was something about this man’s actions that put her in mind of furtiveness, of a sneak thief working his way through a crowd until he found a pocket to pick or a reticule string to cut.

  Lady Rotherton and Geoffrey studied him with the intent concentration of hawks following a doomed prey.

  For the first time since the viewing had begun, Lena stepped away from her son’s embalmed body and rouged cheeks. She glanced at William, who was deep in conversation with a prosperous-looking gentleman of advanced years, then glided smoothly toward the bank of tall lilies rising up behind the casket. Before she vanished into the fragrant whiteness, Prudence saw her grip one hand in the other, tugging at her fingers as if to relieve the pain of an arthritic joint.

  The man who had been staring into Morgan’s coffin had also disappeared.

  “Where did he go?” Prudence whispered.

  “Behind the flowers,” Geoffrey said. “He looked at Lena, nodded so slightly that I almost missed it, then stepped out of sight. She followed him a moment later.”

  “Now we wait.” Lady Rotherton’s tone was smug. Her smile was that of a gam
bler who sees his winning hand fanned out and face up on the table.

  “It won’t be long,” Geoffrey predicted. “They can’t risk being caught.”

  “Am I the only one who doesn’t know what’s going on?” Prudence asked.

  “Lena wasn’t here to sign for the first Tiffany delivery of her necklace,” Lady Rotherton reminded her. “And she never explained why not. Not to my satisfaction. That was all I needed to know.”

  Her aunt’s complacency was infuriating.

  “There,” Geoffrey said. “She’s back.”

  Lena had appeared beside Morgan’s coffin again. And no one seemed to have noticed that she hadn’t been there all along.

  “She’s given him one of her rings,” Lady Rotherton exclaimed. “The dark blue sapphire from her right hand. She’s moved a black opal onto that finger. Very clever. And planned for in advance.”

  Prudence stared at her aunt. The woman never failed to astonish her.

  “He’s her lover,” Lady Rotherton went on. “The one she was meeting when William arranged for the necklace to be delivered without telling her it was coming. And judging by the suit he’s wearing, he’s not in the best financial condition. Definitely not of her social class. Lena has stepped down in life. And now she has to pay for it.”

  “Where did he go?” Prudence asked, recovering her equilibrium.

  “On his way out,” Geoffrey said.

  She caught a glimpse of the back of the man’s head as he wound through the crowd toward the foyer.

  “Will you follow him?” she asked, knowing that Geoffrey stood a better chance of not being observed than a young woman dressed in funereal black.

  “Amos is outside,” he said, moving to a front window. He waited a moment, then tweaked one of the lace curtains. “He’s got him in his sights now.”

  “I presume this Amos is also an ex-Pinkerton,” Lady Rotherton said.

  “We keep him on retainer,” Geoffrey answered.

  “Like that Danny Dennis hansom cab driver person?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I approve,” Lady Rotherton declared. “Hire the best and pay them well. It’s the only way to get good, reliable service.” She took a pearl-encrusted gold snuffbox out of her reticule, flicked open the lid, and extracted a tiny smear of white powder onto one gloved hand. Sniffed. Sneezed delicately into a cobweb-thin lace handkerchief. Gave a little shiver of delight.

  “Now,” she said firmly, taking hold of Prudence’s arm. “Let’s go see how much information we can squeeze out of the very naughty and misbehaving Lena De Vries.”

  “She’s in mourning, Aunt Gillian. She’s standing next to the body of her son,” Prudence protested.

  “No better moment,” Lady Rotherton asserted. “Or would you rather give the lady time to cover her tracks?”

  Geoffrey wondered if the firm should put Prudence’s aunt on retainer also.

  CHAPTER 20

  Lena De Vries blenched as Lady Rotherton approached, moving through the crowd of mourners with all the authority of years of titled privilege. Prudence trailed in her wake, torn between admiring her aunt’s forthrightness and being appalled at her lack of sensitivity to a mother’s loss. She thought the best she might do was soften the blow of the questions she was afraid her mother’s sister planned to ask.

  “Lena, my dear,” Lady Rotherton began, reaching for the hand that had once sported an exquisite dark blue sapphire and now bore a rather ordinary black opal. She ran a thumb over the ring on Lena’s finger, watching closely as Morgan’s mother tried not to snatch her hand away. “How very admirable to have so many kindred souls to share your grief. It shows how much your dear son meant to them.”

  William turned to listen to what Lady Rotherton was saying to his wife, but his attention was quickly drawn away by the condolences of a banking colleague. It was difficult to hear with so many lowered voices expressing regrets and urging him to remember the good times rather than dwelling on the difficult. With Morgan, there hadn’t been many good moments once he began drinking his way through adulthood.

  “Do tell me the name of the gentleman you were just speaking with,” Lady Rotherton went on, holding Lena’s hand tightly, digging the opal ring into her victim’s finger. “Neither Prudence nor Mr. Hunter recognized him. Friend of the family?”

  “I don’t know who you mean,” Lena stammered.

  “Medium height, brown hair, mustache, tanned skin. A suit that’s seen better days. And a very practiced way of ducking out of sight.”

  “I don’t recall anyone matching that description,” Lena whispered.

  “Perhaps I should ask William,” Lady Rotherton said. “You can’t be expected to know all of his business acquaintances.” She pursed her lips firmly.

  “No. No, don’t do that.” Lena tried to pull her hand free from the grip that held it so tightly the opal ring had incised a white circle around her finger.

  “Then who is he?” Lady Rotherton insisted.

  Lena had the trapped look of a rabbit caught in a snare, desperate to break free. She looked pleadingly at Prudence, who hadn’t said a word during this exchange.

  “Was he a friend of Morgan’s?” Prudence asked gently.

  “Yes. Yes, he was,” Lena agreed. “William would not be pleased if he knew this particular friend had come to the house.” She paused to find the threads of the story she was making up on the spot. “They drank and gambled together, you see. And knew one another at the Keeley Institute. He was devastated to learn that Morgan’s cure hadn’t lasted.”

  “What is his name?” Lady Rotherton persisted. The tilt of her nose indicated that she wasn’t buying a word of the tale Lena was concocting.

  “I don’t remember. I’m not sure he told me,” Lena said. “It doesn’t matter. He won’t come here again.”

  “I think we can be quite sure of that,” Lady Rotherton said.

  “It’s kind of you to take the time to comfort Lena.” William stepped away from the couple he had been talking to. “I told her this might prove to be too much to bear, but she wouldn’t listen.”

  “Sometimes it’s best to say farewell with all the pomp and ceremony society urges on us,” Lady Rotherton murmured, keeping a sharp eye on Lena’s face as she seemed to shy away from the consoling hand her husband laid on her arm. “If one is tempted to deny the death, one remembers the face of the beloved deceased, and acceptance becomes inevitable.”

  “Please excuse me.” Lena drifted toward the window where Geoffrey had spotted Amos Lang taking off after his prey. She stood there for a moment before twitching back the curtain to peer out into the street. When she let the drapery fall, it was with something like a sigh of despair or relief. Then a large-hipped older woman slid an arm around her waist and assured her that it was certainly not going to sleet again before they got Morgan safely to his final resting place.

  William glanced into the casket and returned to his position near the condolence book, his eyes following his wife as the older woman guided her toward the dining room and a restorative cup of tea.

  “That was not altogether satisfactory,” Lady Rotherton complained. “I would have gotten the name out of her if William hadn’t interrupted us.”

  “Amos will have it,” Geoffrey predicted. “He’ll stick with him until he’s got the whole story. Or at least as much as observation and talking to neighbors will dig up.”

  “I think we should post a man on this house,” Prudence said. “Around the clock.”

  “What would he be looking for?” Geoffrey asked.

  “From what people are saying, when William refused to allow Morgan into the house he as good as signed his stepson’s death warrant. It was well after midnight, pouring down sleet. Who knows how long Morgan had been wandering the streets, how many times he’d already pounded on the door. He must have been hoping Lena would persuade William to let him spend at least one more night under his roof.”

  “William is the kind of man who doesn’t bend wh
en he’s made up his mind,” Lady Rotherton said. “He’d already given Morgan more chances than he probably deserved.”

  “This is January, Aunt Gillian, the coldest time of the year. And the weather was foul. If Kincaid hadn’t put hot bricks in the carriage we would have had chilblains by the time we got home on Thursday night.”

  “I’m not saying he hoped Morgan would freeze to death,” Lady Rotherton argued. “He probably thought the young man would have the sense to go to a friend’s house or to one of the clubs where he wasn’t in arrears on his membership dues. A hotel, perhaps. He wouldn’t have been turned away. People in this town would have assumed his stepfather would pick up his bill just as he must have done in the past.”

  “He was too drunk,” Geoffrey said. “When a man gets like that, he isn’t capable of thinking.”

  Prudence stared at him for a moment. She’d never seen Geoffrey in anything but unimpaired possession of himself, but now she wondered if he spoke of drunkenness out of past experience. Laudanum eased you into oblivion after blunting both physical and mental pain. You reached a place where you simply didn’t care anymore. Could alcohol have the same effect?

  “I think Lena may decide to leave William,” Prudence whispered, not daring to glance at the man who stood so correctly receiving expressions of sympathy on the untimely demise of his stepson. “Every time she looks at him she must remember that he wouldn’t open the front door to her son. And that if anyone except himself is to blame for Morgan’s death, it’s her husband.”

  “She’s considering it,” Lady Rotherton agreed. “I don’t know that she’ll find the courage to leave all this.” She waved her hand in a vague but expressive gesture. Money, pride of place, social position, a life of luxury. “Women have been known to put up with a great deal more, especially if they are considerably younger than their husbands.”

  “She won’t decamp until after Morgan has been interred,” Geoffrey said. “I’ll leave Amos on our mysterious stranger’s tail and pull in someone else to keep an eye on Lena.”