“At some point he made up his mind that Morgan was the thief, and there was no turning back. He never gave us the chance to prove his innocence.”
“The doctors tell me William won’t recover,” Lena said. “He may seem to improve from time to time, but from what I understand, the gains will be slight and fleeting. Each time he falls back, he’ll sink a little deeper into the affliction. Until finally he lapses into a coma. It’s only a matter of time.”
“I’m so sorry, Lena. I know the strain on you must be enormous,” Prudence said.
“That’s why I can’t believe Taylor has had anything to do with stealing those wretched diamonds,” Lena said. “She has a cup of tea at my elbow before I think to ask for it. I don’t have to decide which black gown to put on in the morning; Taylor has the perfect choice laid out for me. When I sit by William’s bedside, she brings her sewing to keep me company so the nurses can slip away for a few private moments. I know you think her father’s expertise has somehow made her a suspect, but the man has been dead for years. He taught his daughter how to care for precious stones, not how to cut and set them.”
It was on the tip of Prudence’s tongue to assure Lena that as far as she was concerned, the lady’s maid was no longer under suspicion. But that was singularly un-Pinkerton-like, an emotional response having nothing to do with the logic of the case. She looked carefully at Morgan’s mother, trying to decide what it was about her that seemed so different today.
Despite the hours at William’s bedside and the everlasting grief over the manner of her son’s death, Lena De Vries had not faded into a shadow of her former self the way so many bereft women did. Instead of draining all color from her skin, the black of her mourning dress emphasized her pale porcelain beauty, and there was even a hint of rose in her cheeks. Which were plump with health rather than sunken from tears and lack of sleep. Taylor must be taking very good care of her indeed, Prudence thought. If she didn’t know better, she would say that Lena had recently returned from taking the mineral rich waters at one of the health and beauty spas that dotted the hills along the Hudson River. Her eyes were clear and sparkling, her fingernails smooth and buffed, her almost plump hands holding a second crustless ham and butter sandwich.
Very odd.
“I’d like to speak to Taylor, if that’s convenient,” Prudence requested, not exactly sure what questions she would ask.
“I’ll send her in to you,” Lena promised, popping the last of the sandwich into her mouth. “It’s time for me to check on William. Do you mind seeing yourself out when you’ve finished, Prudence?”
“Not at all.”
Prudence could have sworn that Lena had put on a few pounds since the last time she saw her.
* * *
By the time Amelia Taylor knocked softly at the parlor door and let herself in, Prudence had decided she couldn’t come right out and ask the kind of probing questions that would antagonize the faithful lady’s maid; she’d have to be subtle about it.
“I want you to know that we appreciate all the information you’ve already given us, Taylor,” Prudence began. “You’ve been most helpful.”
“I’m happy to do whatever Mrs. De Vries requests.”
“Do sit down.”
Plainly ill at ease at the informality, Taylor perched on the edge of a heavily cushioned Louis XV fauteuil. Like Lena, she was dressed head to toe in black, but the overall effect was one of sallow dyspepsia rather than good health. The lady’s maid smelled of the peppermint drops she chewed to keep chronic indigestion at bay.
“I know your father has passed away,” Prudence began, “but I wonder if your mother is still alive and if you are fortunate enough to have brothers and sisters.”
“My mother died shortly after I went into service, and I was the only one of her babies to survive into adulthood.”
“How lonely for you, Taylor.”
“You’re never lonely in a big house,” she said. “There are always people around to talk to. It’s very comforting.”
“Yes, but they’re not family,” Prudence insisted.
“As good as,” Taylor maintained.
“I gather Mrs. De Vries is very pleased with you.”
“I do my best, miss.”
“Rather more than that, from what I hear.”
“She’s a very gracious lady. Everyone below stairs says so.”
“It’s a terrible shame what happened to Leonard.” Prudence abruptly switched gears, watching to see if Taylor would give herself away by a sudden wash of tears or the red flush of a guilty conscience.
“We none of us can figure it out,” Taylor said, as calmly as though they were consulting on a hemline. “Mr. Harris has said it’s past time to stop speculating. And I agree.”
The De Vries butler might be trying to curb the staff’s curiosity, but Prudence still had questions that needed answers. “Were you close to Leonard?” she asked. “Was he one of the staff who made it impossible to be lonely?”
“Leonard always kept to himself. Except when he was sitting at the table in the servants’ hall. He liked to be noticed when he was playing with his snuffbox.”
“The one Mr. Canfield gave him?”
“We older women knew what it meant, but as long as Mr. Harris hadn’t figured it out and come down hard on him, we let it go.”
“How often did you handle the Marie Antoinette necklace, Taylor?”
The lady’s maid seemed confused at the abrupt shift in questioning, as though for a moment she’d forgotten the theft that had begun it all. “Every time Mrs. De Vries wore it,” she finally answered. “And whenever it needed cleaning.”
“Did Leonard ever come into the room where you were working on it?”
“It always stayed in the dressing room or the boudoir,” Taylor said. “It was too valuable a piece to be taken from room to room.”
“I asked you if Leonard ever watched you cleaning the necklace.”
It was as though the answer were being slowly and painfully torn from her throat. “Yes, he did. Many times, miss.”
“That hardly strikes me as something a footman should be doing.”
“He wasn’t a footman by then. He was a valet, though Mr. Harris was refusing to name him as such until he had more experience at it. But he took care of Mr. Whitley and Mr. Rinehart, and the other gentleman, Mr. Canfield. Whenever he stayed the night as Mr. Whitley’s guest.”
“Is that what he was doing on the bedroom floor, seeing to the gentlemen and incidentally admiring Mrs. De Vries’s jewelry?”
“Leonard liked elegant things. He often said he wasn’t going to stay a servant all his life.”
“What did you take that to mean, Taylor?”
Her cheeks flushed bright red and she fidgeted in her chair. “I’m sure I don’t know, miss.”
“I think you do. And I also think you’d better tell me if you want to avoid angering Mrs. De Vries. She’s adamant that everyone in her household cooperate with the investigation. That means answering the questions I ask.”
“He meant that he didn’t want a future waiting on gentlemen. He wanted to be one himself. Be a gentleman, I mean.”
“And how did he propose to accomplish that feat?”
“It fell into his lap, miss. The first time Mr. Canfield had had so much to drink that he couldn’t go home. Leonard took care of him. After that, Mr. Canfield made sure to ask for him if Mr. Harris sent up a different footman.”
“So Mr. Canfield became Leonard’s way out of service?”
Taylor nodded, eyes fixed on the tips of her shoes peeping out below the hem of her black dress. Prudence read excruciating embarrassment and profound humiliation in the gesture.
“If you didn’t steal the diamonds out of the Marie Antoinette necklace, did Leonard Abbott do it?” It was a gamble, because if Taylor denied having anything to do with the theft, there was no way to be sure she was telling the truth.
Taylor’s head came up. “I honestly don’t know, Miss
MacKenzie.” She sat stiffly in place, as though newly determined to save herself, even if it meant accusing someone else. “It’s possible. There were times when the necklace was left on the dressing table with no one to guard it. Mrs. De Vries didn’t see it as being careless; she trusted everyone in the house. But I know for a fact that others besides me had opportunities they shouldn’t have had.”
“How long would it take to pry a stone loose and put another in its place?”
“Seconds, if the thief knew what he was doing.”
“Was Leonard Abbott skilled enough to be able to do it?”
“He had to polish the gentlemen’s gold cuff links and cigar and cigarette cases. Tighten the prongs around stones set in their stickpins when they became loose. Any valet worth his salt trains himself to do whatever is necessary to keep his employer well turned out.”
“Was that a yes or a no, Taylor?”
“He could have done it. Leonard was fast and smooth enough to have been able to do it.”
“Not once, but several times?”
“As often as he had to. He was desperate to be out of livery.”
By the time Prudence had dismissed Amelia Taylor and left the De Vries house, she was as convinced as she had once been skeptical that Leonard Abbott and Aubrey Canfield had managed to pull off one of the most cleverly planned thefts she had ever heard of.
But both of them were dead.
So where were the diamonds?
CHAPTER 25
“None of the stolen diamonds has shown up here,” the head of Tiffany’s security division told Geoffrey. “We purchase almost exclusively from reputable dealers we’ve used for years. In the case of the French Crown jewels, which was arguably one of our most talked about transactions, there was no doubt whatsoever that the gems we acquired matched their provenance.”
“Is it possible for a stone to pass unremarked through a number of less than honest dealers and yet somehow end up in a setting designed by a firm such as Tiffany or perhaps a much smaller but still trustworthy firm?” Prudence asked. She was thinking of the pieces that James Carpenter had designed and sold from his shop. The jeweler had been murdered and his premises emptied of stock. There had to be a reason for that.
“Anything is possible, Miss MacKenzie, but we have so many safeguards in our system that we’ve made it highly unlikely for a thief to penetrate our defenses.”
“It sounds like a military action,” she said.
“We guard our clients against fraud of any kind.”
“And you have a reputation to protect,” Geoffrey added.
He hadn’t expected anything less from the world’s most well-known creator of fine jewelry, silver pieces, and stained glass, but to be thorough, he’d had to ask.
And to Prudence, the world of rare stones and one-of-a-kind designs had become unexpectedly fascinating. Appalled at her niece’s ignorance, Lady Rotherton had insisted on pointing out the finer features of the jewels she had brought with her from England. A brief but intense introduction that had enthralled her niece. Prudence was far from being an expert, but she now had at least a glimmering of the kind of education her aunt considered essential for any lady considering marriage. Which was as much a business proposition as purchasing stocks or property, Lady Rotherton reminded her.
Or, as Prudence preferred to consider her newly acquired jewelry skills, a necessary part of her burgeoning career as a private detective.
“Where else can we find out about what might have happened to Lena’s diamonds?” she asked when they had left Tiffany.
“I think it’s time to bring Ned Hayes back into the picture,” Geoffrey suggested. “Billy McGlory is laying low for the time being, but Ned has other contacts.”
“It’s hard to imagine Ned was ever a New York City police detective,” Prudence said as they made their way to where Danny Dennis and Mr. Washington waited for them. “He seems more comfortable in what you always call the underworld than he does above ground.”
“It’s hard to explain,” Geoffrey said. “I’m not sure even Ned himself understands all the whys of it, but you’re right, Prudence. He does fit in better with a certain category of men who inhabit Billy McGlory’s world. The difference is that Ned has principles he’s never compromised. That type of criminal rarely comes across such stark honesty. It sets Ned apart from everyone else in his realm. McGlory values the quality and the man who personifies it.”
* * *
They found Ned ensconced in his long dead father’s easy chair, several packs of cards stacked on a writing table in front of him. Pallid and trembly, he was a man struggling to face daylight again after a bad bender.
It had been a month since he and Geoffrey had gone to Bellevue to view the body of the jeweler’s assistant and bring his clothes back to the office to be examined, but Ned had a habit of disappearing without warning. He’d so far never failed to answer a summons from his friend, but he rarely appeared at Geoffrey’s office without one. And he never answered questions about where he’d been or what he’d been doing.
“Pick a card, Prudence,” Ned ordered, trying to fan out a deck where she could reach it.
His hands shook so badly the cards scattered over the tabletop.
Prudence turned over the queen of spades.
“It’s not the death card,” Ned told her, “but it’s not good luck, either.”
She had no idea what he was talking about. It sounded like a tarot reading without the special images that fortune-tellers used.
“We’re here for a consultation,” Geoffrey said, nimble fingers picking up the cards, shuffling them, fanning them out in a perfect arc. “Ace of hearts,” he announced before he turned it over.
“I hate a show-off,” Ned muttered.
“I think Mr. Ned could use some coffee, Tyrus,” Prudence said.
The ancient body servant who had been taking care of the only Hayes child since the day he was born shook his head. “He’s had all the coffee he’s gonna hold, Miss Prudence. And he’s right nearly sober. Pretty soon it’ll be time to shovel in some food.”
“I told you a hundred times I don’t want anything,” Ned declared.
“Cain’t keep nothin’ down yet,” Tyrus explained. “Leastwise he don’t think he can.”
He didn’t need to say more. Geoffrey and the aged ex-slave had gone out hunting Ned more times than they cared to remember, asking for him at bar after bar until they finally found where he’d collapsed and fallen asleep over what he always promised Tyrus would be the last drink he ever took. Ned could only stay dried out and sober for an indeterminate amount of time before the itch had to be scratched. He’d lasted longer these past few months than ever before; his friends had begun to believe he really had taken his final drink. They should have known better.
“What kind of consultation?” Ned asked, Geoffrey’s question finally making sense enough to answer.
“We need to find whoever bought the De Vries diamonds we think were originally sold to James Carpenter.”
“Carpenter’s dead.”
“That’s why we’re here, Ned,” Prudence said. “Tiffany hasn’t bought them and Billy McGlory’s not around to send out feelers for us.”
“Geoff knows where to look. There aren’t that many fences who can handle quality diamonds without leaving a trail.”
“I’ve exhausted my sources,” Geoffrey said. “And so have the other ex-Pinks. Whoever took them off the thief’s hands is buried deep.”
“And you think I know who it might be?”
“I think you may be the only one.” Geoffrey returned the deck of cards he’d been fanning to Ned’s table. No more tricks.
“Mistuh Ned don’t go nowhere by hisself,” Tyrus said.
“You know we’d welcome you to come along,” Prudence said. She had a particular fondness for the determined old man who never gave up on his charge.
“The fence I’m thinking of won’t talk to either of you,” Ned declared. “He’ll disappear
like smoke on a windy day if he so much as thinks I’m bringing you his way.”
“Danny Dennis and Mr. Washington are waiting outside.” It was as close to cajoling as Prudence could bring herself to get.
Ned looked up at her and nodded. “Only way I’m ever going to get some peace and quiet around here,” he said, edging toward the front of his chair, a wave of ill-digested whiskey preceding him.
Geoffrey helped Ned to his feet and held him upright while Tyrus stuffed his arms into a coat, wound a wool scarf around his neck, and set a hat on his head. The January wind was fierce today and Ned wasn’t in any condition to fight off a pneumonia.
* * *
“He’ll be skating on the lake in Central Park.” Ned’s teeth chattered as he talked despite the hot bricks at his feet and the baked potato nestled in a wool sock that Tyrus had placed in his hands before climbing up to sit beside Danny Dennis atop the hansom cab.
“A fence who ice skates?” Prudence asked.
“He rides when the pond isn’t iced over. And he goes to early morning mass at Saint Patrick’s every day. That’s how he’s been able to do business for so long without getting caught.”
“He buys stolen goods in the cathedral?”
“That’s where he names a price and makes arrangements for delivery. The payoff doesn’t happen until the goods are in his hands. And it’s always done in a different place.”
“Will he tell you what we want to find out?” Prudence had never known Ned Hayes to fail at working his contacts in New York’s seedy criminal world, but this case had so far been nothing but dead ends.
“We go back a ways.” Which meant whatever Ned needed it to mean. “Stay in the cab. Don’t try to follow me to the pond. You’ll only scare him off.”
They watched Ned stomp and weave through the snow toward the frozen lake where dark-coated adults circled majestically and children in brightly colored mittens and knit hats spun and chased each other, their laughter rising on puffs of warm breath.
Death, Diamonds, and Deception Page 23