Florence Nightingale Comedy Mysteries Box Set

by Barbara Silkstone

  “What was your mission? Do not tell me it was merely to make an offer for the Averoff Emerald. I know better!”

  “But that is what my father instructed me to do. I was to buy the jewel at a reasonable price, disregarding the rumors of a curse. I came here prepared to acquire the stone.”

  Florence cast him a mocking glance as she spoke. “Are you not in the least bit curious about Pinkie?” She wiggled her little finger under his nose.

  The Prince turned a deep purple red. He squinted his one good eye as if straining to see her and took a long minute to answer. “You know of Pinkie?” He grimaced. “I mean Mr. Pink.”

  Cutting me a look of triumph, Florence turned on the Prince. “Your little henchman has betrayed you. He has confessed the details of your plan to present him as an evaluator of jewels. With that identity in place he was to belittle the Averoff Emerald. You would then offer a pittance of its value. What an unwise plan!” Her eyes flashed as the Prince cringed. “It was the scheme of a fool. No offense.”

  She continued to display her knowledge. “Mr. Pink, also known as Pinkie, is a swindler and pickpocket—a sad choice for your hoax. The twerp broke from you the moment you arrived at Buckingham Palace. His sole objective in taking part in your pretense was to gain access to the Palace for the purpose of looting. You were duped by a back alley pickpocket!”

  I had never seen Florence look so pleased with herself as she paced before the Prince. “We found your cohort wandering the halls late last night. His coat was lined with pockets and the pouches filled with small treasures, mostly silver. The guards are inspecting the grounds this very moment; we may find the larger valuables he managed to stash while on his unfettered tour.” She turned on the Prince with a fierce scowl. “Mr. Pink is now in residence at Newgate Prison! I am certain he will share many more details with the authorities before the sun sets.”

  Prince George staggered back two steps almost as if Florence had struck him a blow. The jig was most definitely finished.

  “Your henchman, I use the term laughingly, was most eager to give you up. He admitted you retained him to claim the Averoff Emerald had little value except as a bauble. I can only assume you were seeking a bargain but why come all this way, enter where you are not wanted, to acquire a jewel that may or may not be cursed? I know the answer but wish to hear it from your lips. Her Majesty may reduce your punishment if you answer my question honestly. Only the truth will save you.”

  The Prince stuck out his lip in what could only be called a pout. “The emerald was to be used in payment for a service. My father sent me to observe the behavior of Dr. Spar…” he cut himself off.

  The Queen gripped the arms of her throne. “Is Lord Cumberland behind Dr. Sparks’ attempt to kidnap me?” Her voice rose in fury to the point where she sounded as if she was choking.

  Prince George flustered, the words falling from his mustached lips. “It all went wrong. Sparks wasn’t supposed to kidnap you! He was supposed to kill you. I mean… not kill you! Not exactly!” As he glanced towards the door, his brow glistened, and sweat dropped from his forehead to his cheeks.

  Florence toyed with her prey, like a cat with a mouse. She circled the Cumberland heir, causing him to follow her movements with his head. I chuckled, as he appeared to be a comical imitation of Athena with his head rotating on his skinny neck.

  “Any proceeds left from the amount Lord Cumberland had allotted to purchase the jewel would be split between the two of you?” she asked. “Have I made a logical deduction?” She was almost daring him to lie since Mr. Pink had already confessed the details.

  The Prince shrugged. “My father wanted the emerald. He desired it and told me to pay what it was worth—within reason.” He looked about nervously as if ready to dart, but then seemed to rethink his escape. It would be undignified to make a mad dash from Buckingham Palace especially if the burly Palace guards brought him down. He would be the laughingstock of Europe. Stretching his neck, while sticking his thumb into his collar, he stammered, searching for words.

  Florence pointed her finger under his nose. “Within reason? Hmm. And so if you were able to purchase the stone for less than your father had allotted you, you might pocket the difference? Perhaps paying a percentage of your profit to Mr. Pink, the fake appraiser, I would assume?” She cut her eyes to the Queen and then back to Prince George. “You would be fearless in the face of the curse. Ah, but how could you know your father’s hired assassin had retained the services of Madam Tchotchke? Once again the plot thickens like mutton stew.”

  Chapter 19

  Gently plucking Athena from her shoulder, Florence quickly passed the bird to the safe harbor of Granny’s hands. The Prince was coming to pieces: there was no way to know what violent act he might attempt as she continued to badger him. I could read Florence’s thoughts as if they were already written in my journal. She would bluff until she had squeezed the truth from the buffoon no matter how ferocious he might become.

  The Prince was half a head taller than my friend, but possessed only a fraction of her gumption. He backed away as Florence moved on him now that her owl was out of harm’s way. “Why does your father wish to acquire this particular jewel? You had best admit the truth for Mr. Pink has already enlightened us! If you are not truthful your punishment shall be tenfold that of his. You are not in Hanover now!”

  Obviously being a coward to the core, the Prince’s features knotted as he struggled with the truth. “Lord Cumberland collects rare emeralds!”

  Florence snorted in his face. “You must do better than that for you are teetering on the edge of the executioner’s blade. I know all the details of the plot against the Queen’s life.” My friend was the best bluffer I knew.

  Though tall, the man seemed to fold into himself, muttering into his chest, “My father will have me drawn and quartered if I share his plan.” If Prince George of Cumberland represented the finest Hanover could produce it would not be long before that little appendage to Germany ceased to exist.

  “You are Lord Cumberland’s only heir. He won’t have you killed. He may marry you off to the most hideous princess in Europe, but he won’t kill you. On the other hand you are a party to an assassination plot for which the penalty in England is to be hung by the neck usually resulting in death.” Florence said. “Confess your sin and you may avoid the hangman. Perhaps you can spend your days in a dungeon with no hope of rescue. We shall deny any knowledge of your arrival in London. You will grow old and wither in a cell beneath Newgate Prison and no one will ever speak your name again.”

  What a colossal bluff! Granny slipped to my side and discreetly pinched my arm. Florence was on her game and giving a top notch Nightingale performance. I peered at Lord Melbourne and noted his dark eyes blaze as he clenched his fists. Our Prime Minister held no affection for the Hanoverians and would have had the Prince baked into mince pies if the Queen had not outlawed the practice.

  Florence and I had pieced together most of but not the entire assassination plot, which thanks to the greed of Dr. Sparks had turned into a botched kidnapping. Prince George just disclosed the missing pieces, divulging the mastermind behind the scheme.

  “Dr. Sparks was to kill Queen Victoria in a way that would not incriminate my father,” he struggled to avoid his cousin’s eyes.

  Queen Victoria stared at her cousin, piercing him with unspoken hatred. She had mentioned the possibility to us numerous times, but now it was patently clear—her uncle wished to have her murdered. Lord Cumberland had lusted after the British Crown long before she was born, his desires becoming enflamed when he learned of her impending marriage, which would secure her reign. The Cumberlands’ participation in the assassination plot was as plain as the pointy nose on the Prince’s face.

  “The emerald was the only payment Dr. Sparks would accept,” the Hanoverian coward whimpered. He appeared to be coming apart at his satin seams.

  Florence spun on her heels facing Lord Melbourne. “What should we do with this crea
ture?” But then she held up her hand. “Since we are calling the thieves out of their den perhaps the Prince would like to know who else inhabited his lair? Let us allow him to remain with us a bit longer before we consign him to his fate.” Now she was taunting the whimpering Prince.

  His Lordship motioned with a finger and the two guards resumed their positions on either side of Prince George. He would be forced to hear the entire mortifying story of how he was double-crossed by a cheeky coroner and a street rat.

  Brushing her skirt to remove imaginary dust, Florence launched into the rest of her deductions. “The rapidity at which Dr. Sparks rose to his conclusion regarding the cause of Madame Tchotchke’s death concerned me. It was most unprofessional, particularly given the inexplicable greenish hue of her shoulder—the marking being a definite oddity and yet the doctor was not curious. When I called his attention to the discoloration, he ridiculed me, assuming correctly that I would take offense and storm off. I did.”

  She stood before the group steepling her hands.

  “The timing of the lady’s death nagged at my mind. If the Tchotchkes had ingested poison in their food or drink, both would have suffered and perhaps died earlier. The slating of her murder was designed to cause confusion while the emerald was vulnerable. The confusion occurring right after the victim fell made a number of people appear guilty.”

  A few in the assembly demonstrated their discomfort by tugging on their clothes and coughing.

  “Mr. Tchotchke and Mr. Darrow, the reporter, became instant suspects,” Florence continued. “Carbuncle’s whispered words, whatever they were, placed him on the list of suspects—that man is always on a registry of blackguards. The deed was done, and no one paid any mind to the kindly Dr. Sparks who had dropped to his knees to aid the already deceased woman.

  Florence took a breath, “As to that useless lump, Carbuncle, since he has run off, we will never know if he was a party to yet another conspiracy with the Madame. I hazard a guess that his ear-nibble was a last bid to see the Averoff Emerald condemned with a curse. It puzzles me what he might have offered Madame Tchotchke to alter her verdict since he could never match whatever the coroner proposed.”

  Pausing, she waited for her audience to grasp the meaning of her words.

  One by one the listeners appeared to understand what Florence was suggesting.

  “Let us delve further into the chicanery of the parties. Dr. Sparks hired Madame Tchotchke to steal the emerald. Her verdict rendering it curse-less would make it easier for him to sell. However, despite the promise to give him the jewel, he did not trust Lord Cumberland. The coroner launched his own plan to have the gem and hold our Queen for ransom.”

  Again, she waited for her words to take root, pausing to study her audience.

  “Dr. Sparks, no stranger to double-dealing, planned to stiff the curse-reader literally and figuratively. Madam Tchotchke could never have anticipated she would die at his hands.”

  Florence stood before us, her arms crossed over her chest. The room was silent in expectation; you could have heard Athena breathing. I shifted my eyes to the Queen, perched on the edge of her throne.

  Chapter 20

  “I have researched the discolorations I found on Madame Tchotchke’s body and can confirm that she was killed using a rare poison called crippenine.” Florence said. “The most outstanding characteristic of this toxin is that it turns the area around the introduction site an ugly shade of green.”

  Granny and I shuddered in unison.

  “Crippenine can be administered with a tiny hollow pin such as I have in my hand. I discovered two of these pins in Dr. Sparks’ chambers earlier today.” Florence placed two tiny needles with small glass bubbles at their ends on the table before her.

  “Before searching Dr. Sparks’ personal room, I studied this fast-acting poison. Through my readings I determined it was created in Czechoslovakia from a plant found only in the dark forests of that country.”

  She poked the tiny bubbles with her index finger. “Dr. Sparks mentioned his balloon was made to his specifications in Prague, so it was no great leap of imagination to believe that the coroner acquired the crippenine while in Prague. Did he intend it for our beloved Queen? I think not. That then begs the question, easily answered, as to when he administered the poison to the Madame and why.”

  She glared at Mr. Tchotchke. He was the type of man who deserved a glare now and then.

  “Let us recall the Madame’s actions in the throne room when she declared the Averoff Emerald curse free. In front of the entire assemblage the lady conducted a clumsy slight of hand slipping the jewel into the bodice of her blouse.” Florence glanced about watching as we all nodded our heads. “It was a trick, but did she do it for her immediate gain? Hardly. If the fake emerald were discovered before she left the Palace, she would be the first suspect to be searched. Dr. Sparks would have promised to pay her when she handed him the jewel, but he did not trust her nor did he intend to pay her.”

  Florence graced the gypsy man with yet another glower. “Mr. Tchotchke was unaware of Mrs. Tchotchke’s deceit, otherwise he would not have wished to linger any longer than necessary. His stubborn insistence on remaining until he received his wife’s fee demonstrates his innocence of her plan. He did not realize she placed the true emerald in her blouse. If he had known there is no doubt he would have conducted his own search of her corpse.” She pointed towards him and then waved her hand in a trivializing motion.

  “I revisited the Madam’s entire performance and the aftermath in my mind until I was certain of what I saw for I did not wish to condemn an innocent person. As the Tchotchkes were being battered with questions from that reporter, Dr. Sparks put his hand on the Madame’s bare back just below the neckline of her blouse.”

  Florence turned from her audience. Reaching over her shoulder she placed her finger on a spot on her back. “In what appeared to be an act of kindness Sparks guided the woman away from the newsman. It was at that moment that the coroner inflicted the lethal poison. A slight prick was all it took to kill the lady instantly.”

  Stepping back she addressed the Queen. “Madame Tchotchke did not trip over her husband, but rather collapsed and dropped to the floor. She fell against him as she died from the infusion of crippenine. Her spill against Mr. Tchotchke merely gave the appearance of a stumble leading to a fall. This must have pleased the coroner as it added to the disorder.”

  “Ah…” the sound passed around the room as the assembly bathed in enlightenment.

  “Dr. Sparks could not allow Madame Tchotchke to leave the throne room with the true emerald between her breasts, for better than anyone, he knew there is no integrity among his sort. So after killing her, with a slight of hand he removed the real emerald from her body. He was prepared to take possession of the gem and do away with his accomplice before she could betray him.”

  She turned to Queen Victoria. “There is no doubt the jewel returned to the Tower is a fake, switched by the so-called curse-expert. In examining Dr. Sparks’ body after his unfortunate fall I discovered this.” She held out her hand producing a glittering green emerald almost as large as her palm. “Once again deaths attributed to the stone are due to greed. The Averoff Emerald is innocent of the Madam’s death, but the coroner is not.”

  After a dramatic pause, Florence continued. “Mr. Tchotchke please step next to me to face those who judged you guilty of killing your wife.” She motioned to the man, but instead of coming forward he made a dash for the door, catching the Dragoons off guard. It was a stupid move as Florence had just vindicated him but guilt can scramble even the most minimal of brains.

  My specialty is clocking scoundrels with my India rubber ball but there were too many people between the horrid husband and me. I could not get a clear shot. However dear Granny, more alert than the guards, stuck out her little booted foot and tripped him. He landed much as his wife had, and in almost the exact same place. Dandy!

  “Bring him to me,” the Queen comma
nded, watching a guard lift the struggling man to his feet.

  Mr. Tchotchke bowed his head as he stood before the monarch. I considered it odd that he trembled until I recalled Florence’s thoughts on human nature and guilty consciences. Should I suggest he be searched for stolen souvenirs? Better to concentrate on the case at hand.

  “Now as to the attempted kidnapping…” Not having the suspect present to confirm her accusations, Florence took her time in explaining the coroner’s dark deeds.

  “As Prince George just confirmed, Dr. Sparks was hired by Lord Cumberland to do away with our beloved Queen. His payment would be the Averoff Emerald. But learning of the jewel and being the double-crosser he was, Sparks plotted to steal the emerald without murdering Queen Victoria.

  I watched the Queen’s face for a reaction; she appeared stoic. Perhaps at this point she was numb. It was only the bold actions of Moon that saved her from being abducted to heaven knows where. It was entirely possible the balloon could have malfunctioned over the English Channel and she might have met her end in a watery grave. A chill ran through me. I looked up in time to lock eyes with Her Majesty; had she felt me thinking about her?

  Pulling away from that flight or fright of fancy I gave my full attention to Florence as she continued to recount her deductions. “Knowing it would be near impossible to apprehend him by air, Dr. Sparks lured Her Majesty into taking a balloon flight with him. At the last minute his plan was complicated by the addition of two unexpected guests. The first unintended attendant was the Palace footman, Moon and the second my assistant, Miss Poppy Throckmorten.” She smiled reassuringly at me. “Moon was an asset to the corner, Poppy was not.”