The Imposter's Inheritance (Glass and Steele Book 9)

by C. J. Archer

  "Anyway, she turned out to be as dull as a puddle on account of all the whining."

  "Go and see Brockwell instead," I said.

  "Maybe I will, maybe I won't."

  Bristow entered, carrying a letter for Matt.

  "It's from Cox," Matt said, opening it. He shook his head as he read. "They were burgled last night and the coronet was stolen."

  "Is everyone all right?" I asked.

  "It doesn't say." He passed the letter to me. "He wants us there when the police call, since we have experience with these matters."

  "We have experience with murder, not theft."

  "You're over qualified," Duke said with a chuckle.

  I read the note and passed it back to Matt. According to Lord Cox, he thought we'd do a better job than the police in recovering the coronet since there was a possibility it was stolen because it was magical in nature. He might be right about that.

  Matt and I arrived at Lord Cox's townhouse shortly after the police. A young detective inspector by the name of Walker was in the process of interviewing the servants, one by one. He was in the library with a maid at that very moment.

  "He won't let me listen in," Lord Cox said, pacing the drawing room. "They're my staff, this is my house, and it's my coronet. I should be entitled to hear what they say."

  "They won't say anything, because there's nothing to say," Patience said gently. She turned to me, sitting beside her on the sofa. "My husband questioned them as soon as we discovered the theft and no one heard or saw anything until this morning."

  "How was the theft discovered?" I asked.

  "The maid went into the study this morning to light the fire and saw the coronet's storage box was open. She notified the housekeeper and it was she who woke us." She touched the lace of her high collar. "To think, someone broke in here while we slept. It's terribly unsettling."

  "Thank goodness the children didn't travel to London with us," Lord Cox murmured.

  "It must have happened after midnight," Patience said thoughtfully. "We dined with my family last night, at their house, and arrived back at about eleven-thirty. Byron went into the study briefly but didn't notice anything amiss."

  "Did you find the point of entry into the house?" Matt asked.

  "One of the footmen says the service door has been forced,” Lord Cox said. “The police have inspected it but haven't reported to me yet. Detective Inspector Walker is playing his cards close to his chest."

  I got the distinct impression Lord Cox didn't like being kept in the dark. For a man in his position, giving orders came more naturally than receiving them.

  "He should be finished soon," Patience assured him. She spoke with remarkable composure, her voice soothing, while her husband continued to pace. The only sign that this incident troubled her was the way she knotted her fingers together in her lap and the way her gaze followed Lord Cox from one side of the room to the other.

  "Patience suggested I ask for your assistance, Glass, but I'm not sure it's necessary," Lord Cox said. "Even though I stated in my message that the theft could be because the coronet contains magic, I don't believe the suspect is someone interested in it for its magical qualities. I suspect the culprit is someone more obvious."

  "Longmire," Matt said.

  Lord Cox threw up his hands. "Who else could it be? Nothing else appears to be stolen. An ordinary thief would have taken the silver, but this thief went straight for the box."

  "But Longmire didn't seem to want it once he learned about the magic," I pointed out.

  "Perhaps that's what he wanted us to think so we wouldn't suspect him. Or perhaps he changed his mind and decided he wanted it after all."

  "Then why not get it through legal channels?" Matt asked.

  "That would take too long."

  Lord Cox continued his pacing again, his hands clasped behind him, his strides purposeful.

  Patience appealed to me, her eyes full of concern.

  "We should still consider the possibility it was stolen because of the gold magic," I said. "The coronet's magic properties were mentioned in that article."

  Patience winced.

  Lord Cox stopped dead. "That blasted column!"

  "Nobody knows it was about you," Matt assured him. "Nobody could even begin to guess."

  "If your theory about the theft is correct, then somebody guessed." Lord Cox sat and buried his head in his hands. "This is a nightmare."

  Patience perched on the chair arm and rested a hand on the back of his neck. "It's been very trying for my husband," she told us. "He has done nothing wrong, and yet he's being punished by Longmire. I wish he would just leave us alone."

  I shared a glance with Matt. We had to do something, but finding the coronet wouldn't be easy, and it would be even more difficult to be discreet. But we had to try. I didn't want to add to Lord Cox's burdens.

  The detective inspector and a constable entered and Lord Cox introduced us. "Mr. and Mrs. Glass have some experience with detecting," he said. "They're going to help us find the coronet."

  "That's our job," Walker said. "We'll find it for you." He was mid-thirties, young for a detective inspector, with a small frame that seemed smaller as he stood in front of the burly constable.

  "I feel better having Mr. and Mrs. Glass look too," Lord Cox said. "They're experts."

  "Glass, eh?" The detective eyed Matt up and down. "I've heard of you."

  "We assist Scotland Yard from time to time," Matt said. "Detective Inspector Brockwell can vouch for us."

  "I'm sure he can, but I have little do with him." Walker spoke quickly, as if dashing off the sentence with as much haste as possible so he could get on with the next item on his list. He was Brockwell's opposite in that respect.

  "What have you learned so far?" Matt asked.

  "Nothing of use."

  "Nevertheless, perhaps you can tell me what the servants told you."

  "It's police business, sir. Of course, you may interview them yourself." He stepped aside.

  "I will," Matt said amiably.

  That amiability saw the detective's disdainful smile slip. He didn't know how to react to it.

  "India?" Matt extended his hand to me. "Shall we begin?"

  We left together with Patience in our wake.

  "Shouldn't you find out what he learned?" she whispered. "It could expedite your investigation."

  "I'd rather form my own opinions," Matt said.

  "Could you inform the maid who discovered the theft that we'd like to speak with her," I said. "We'll start there."

  "The box was wide open," said the young maid, pointing to the cherry wood box on the desk. The lid was still open and the velvet cushion beside it. "That cushion was on the floor. That's what I noticed first. I picked it up." She bit her lip. "I know I shouldn't have, but I wasn't thinking. I didn't know there was a burglary then, see."

  "It's all right, Mary," Patience said. "Please, just answer Mr. and Mrs. Glass's questions."

  Mary swallowed audibly. "Well, there ain't much more to tell. I put the cushion on the desk and that's when I noticed the box was open. I knew that's where his lordship kept something real precious, but I didn't know what."

  "Really?" I asked, skeptical.

  "As God is my witness," Mary said, eyes huge. "You got to believe me. I didn't know what was in it until that policeman told me a crown was stolen."

  "At what point did you alert the housekeeper?" Matt asked.

  She nibbled on her lip and dipped her head.

  "Mary," Patience said. "Mr. Glass asked you a question."

  "I—I didn't tell her straight away. I didn't know it was important, at first. I just thought Lord Cox opened the box. It wasn't until later, when I heard the downstairs door had been broken, that I mentioned it to the housekeeper. She came in here, took one look, and informed Lady Cox." She clasped her hands together, as if in prayer. "I'm sorry, my lady. I should have said something straight away, but I didn't know it was important."

  "It's all
right." Patience glanced at Matt and he shook his head. "You may go, Mary."

  "She's very nervous," I said after the maid left.

  "A guilty conscience, perhaps?" Patience asked.

  "Perhaps," was all Matt said as he inspected the box. He pointed to the lock. "No sign it was forced, but I suspect it would have been an easier lock to pick than the downstairs door."

  "Shall we look at it now?" I asked.

  Patience rose. "I'll have the butler show you."

  She left us in the capable hands of the elderly butler, with instructions to answer all our questions, no matter how uncomfortable they made him. The butler showed us the door, its broken lock, and the cabinet where he kept the silver.

  "I immediately counted it, upon seeing the door, and it's all there," he said. "As word got out to the other servants about the break in, Mary remembered the box."

  He introduced us to the footman who'd discovered the door. "I've remembered something that may be important," the tall youth said. "I heard a noise during the night. I should have got up and made sure everything was secure, but…but I didn't hear it again and I thought I dreamt it. I only just thought of it now as the detective questioned me."

  "Do you know what time it was?" I asked.

  "Ten to two. The moon was full and the curtains in my room are thin. I could just make out the hands on my watch. I keep it beside my bed."

  Matt thanked him and inspected the lock next, using a magnifying glass he'd brought with him.

  "There are scratch marks in the lock itself," he said, handing me the magnifying glass.

  The wood had splintered where a sharp tool had forced open the lock. That would account for the sounds that had woken the footman. I looked through the magnifying glass and saw the scratch marks in the metal. Someone tried to pick the lock and failed, resorting to more desperate measures. Still, the intruder hadn't made much noise, considering the damage they'd inflicted on the door. They knew what they were doing.

  We stopped by the kitchen on our way back along the service corridor. Mary was there, both hands wrapped around a cup, and another maid rubbed her shoulder. The portly cook was in the middle of lecturing her, but she stopped when she saw us and returned to the stove.

  Mary quickly stood to attention. She'd been crying.

  "Is something wrong, Mary?" I asked gently.

  "No, madam."

  "Is there something else you need to tell us?"

  She shook her head, tears pooling in her eyes. "I did nothing, I swear!"

  "A word, if you will, sir," the butler said from behind us. I hadn't heard his footsteps.

  We walked away from the kitchen, out of earshot. "Is there something more?" Matt asked.

  The butler glanced past us toward the kitchen. "I'd like to assure you, the staff are not guilty. Most have worked here for years and have a great deal of respect for Lord Cox. Only the maid, Mary, is new, but she came highly recommended by a friend of the housekeeper. Her references were excellent."

  "Thank you. You can tell them none are under suspicion."

  The butler's thick white brows rose. "Sir? That policeman, Walker, suspects the staff."

  "Is that what he said?" I asked.

  "Not in so many words, madam. He alluded to it, however, both in his interview with Mary and with the footman."

  "You can assure them that I don't suspect them," Matt said. "And I'll tell Walker as much. It's clear the door was forced open. If the thief received assistance from inside the house, there'd be no need for force."

  The butler looked relieved. "I'll tell the staff, sir. Thank you, sir."

  Matt and I headed up the stairs and were met in the drawing room by Lord Cox and Patience. There was no sign of the police.

  "Well?" Lord Cox asked. "What did you learn?"

  "Nothing to rule Longmire in or out," Matt said.

  "It's him." Cox rubbed his temples. "It must be."

  "I think it's more likely the coronet was stolen for its value as a magical object," Matt said. "A magical golden coronet is very valuable, particularly in certain circles. Mention of it in that article will have made quite a few collectors take notice."

  Coyle knew that article was about Lord Cox and he would love to add a magical golden object to his collection. Something so rare must be worth a fortune. He was ruthless enough to send someone to burgle for him, too.

  "Walker thinks it's an open and shut case," Lord Cox said bitterly. "He's a fool."

  "Let me guess," Matt said. "He thinks the servants are involved."

  "According to him, in nine thefts out of ten, the staff are either stealing directly or leave a door open on purpose for the thief to get inside. He wouldn't listen when I pointed out that force was used."

  "He scoffed when we told him we trust our staff," Patience added.

  "I'm going to ask for someone else to be assigned to the case."

  "Leave it with me," Matt said.

  Lord Cox looked relieved for the first time since our arrival. "Thank you, Glass. I appreciate your help."

  We made to leave, but instead of ringing for the footman, Patience walked us to the front door. "Please, don't tell my family about the theft," she said, glancing back at the drawing room where we'd left her husband. "It's awful enough that they know about Mr. Longmire's claim. I can't endure any more cruel jibes."

  "Jibes?" I prompted.

  "My mother says Byron should pay us compensation for his false representation, and my father says he should have realized something was amiss because Byron never acted like a nobleman. He called him soft."

  "How awful. And your sisters?"

  "I've hardly seen Charity since my return to London, and the only time I did, she didn't speak to me. She just hummed. And Hope seems sympathetic, but…" She shook her head.

  "Go on."

  "I saw the smile she tried to hide. That's the thing about Hope. She can be lovely to your face, but secretly, she's plotting your downfall. I half expect her to use the information to her advantage, one day."

  I squeezed her hand. "Rest assured, we won't tell them a thing."

  "Why did you tell them about Longmire in the first place?" Matt asked.

  "I don't know," Patience said on a sigh. "Hope caught me at a vulnerable moment and I blurted it all out. At that point, I thought you two were to blame for informing him, and I felt I had no one else to turn to. I thought I'd have their support." Poor Patience. She looked utterly defeated.

  Matt and I didn't immediately go to Scotland Yard, but instead went to the address Longmire had given Lord Cox. It was a modest boarding house for “gentlemen of good character,” according to the sign in the window, located in a quiet street.

  "He isn't in," said the landlady crisply. "He rises early, takes breakfast in his room, then goes out for the rest of the day. Would you like to leave a message with his man?"

  "Thank you," Matt said.

  "What is Mr. Longmire like?" I asked as she led us up the stairs.

  "Courteous," she said over her shoulder. "Quiet. Keeps to himself."

  "Was he here last night?" Matt asked.

  "Of course," she snipped. "I run a respectable household. No gentleman should be out past eleven, but if he does lose a sense of time then he absolutely must be in by midnight. Only undesirables roam the streets at that hour and I can assure you, all my lodgers are decent, rule-abiding men with impeccable references."

  She knocked on a door on the second floor. It was opened by a small man with neat hair, dressed in a dark suit with a stiff shirt collar and perfectly tied tie. He looked as well turned out as Bristow. Or he would have been if not for the frayed cuffs of his jacket and trouser legs.

  The landlady made the introductions then left us with Mr. Longmire's servant, Mr. Harker. Mr. Harker showed us into the small sitting room and closed the far door to hide the bedchamber. Before he did so, I spotted another door leading to an even smaller bedchamber where Mr. Harker must sleep.

  The valet eyed the armchair and the
wooden chair positioned at the small table, perhaps wondering if he should offer them to us. A newspaper had been laid out on the table upon which stood a pair of shoes and polish. The accommodations were so small that he had to work in Mr. Longmire's sitting room whenever his employer was out.

  "How long have you been Mr. Longmire's valet?" Matt asked.

  "Only a matter of days, sir. I was hired here in London."

  "Did he say why he didn't bring his regular valet?"

  "No," Mr. Harker said, not meeting Matt's gaze.

  Matt waited. Mr. Harker cleared his throat.

  "What do you make of him?" Matt asked.

  "He's pleasant enough, not too demanding." Mr. Harker tugged on his cuff.

  "But?" Matt prompted.

  The valet looked pained. "I don't like to speak ill of the man who pays my wages, sir."

  Matt placed some coins on the table. "Now I pay your wages too."

  The valet eyed the coins hungrily before scooping them up. "I don't think Mr. Longmire has a regular valet, sir. He doesn't seem to know what to do with me and has left me up to my own devices."

  "Then why hire you?" I asked.

  "A great deal of my employment comes from young country gentlemen who couldn't bring their own valets to the city. They stay in accommodations similar to this and hire a temporary servant to see them through. But almost all have access to a valet in their country home and know what is expected of a servant such as myself. Mr. Longmire seems to only want me for the sake of appearances."

  "Was Mr. Longmire home all night last night?" Matt asked.

  Mr. Harker hesitated. Matt placed some more money on the table and Mr. Harker squirreled it away. "He went out briefly between the hour of one and two."

  "Did he give a reason?"

  "No, sir."

  "Do you have any inkling where he went?" I asked.

  "No, madam, but I will say that it's not the first time he has gone out that late."

  Matt frowned. "The landlady says she doesn't want her lodgers coming and going at all hours."

  Mr. Harker glanced at the door and leaned closer to us. "I suspect she doesn't know. Mr. Longmire is very quiet."