The Confounding Case Of The Carisbrook Emeralds (The Casebook of Barnaby Adair 6)

by Stephanie Laurens

  Penelope tipped her head at Barnaby. “It was one of those questions we hadn’t asked.”

  Stokes looked at what he’d written. “Do we continue with the staff or, instead, speak with Lady Carisbrook, Franklin, and Julia?”

  “Lady Carisbrook and Julia, and most likely Franklin as well, will still be out,” Penelope said. “Let’s be thorough and get through all the staff.”

  Stokes agreed. “Other than the Jarvises, who are unlikely to have been upstairs during the relevant period, we’ve only the coachman, groom, and stable boy yet to interview, and it’s unlikely they can tell us anything of what happened during the early hours of Sunday morning.”

  That prediction proved true for the coachman, Wills, and the groom, Cobb. The pair had rooms in the house, accessed via the rear stairs; after driving Lady Carisbrook, Franklin, and Julia, to their Saturday-evening entertainments, then returning them to the house, the men had taken the coach into the mews, unhitched and stabled the horses, then pushed the carriage into the coach house, closed the door, and retired to their beds. “Saw nothing and no one along the way,” Cobb confirmed, “other than Jarvis, who was waiting downstairs to let us in and lock up after us.”

  They called in Willie, the stable boy, more for completeness’s sake and so he didn’t feel left out.

  A bright-eyed urchin of about twelve, he sat on the chair, swung his legs, and informed them he was training to be a groom.

  Penelope smiled. “Do you sleep in the attics with the others?”

  “Oh no, ma’am. I sleep in the loft above the horses so’s I can keep an eye on ’em.”

  Stokes looked up, thinking to cut the interview short and move on to more likely subjects—namely her ladyship and her children—but Barnaby, smiling indulgently, said, “We’ve been asking all the others if, last Saturday night between two o’clock when her ladyship, Miss Julia, and Mr. Franklin came home and eight in the morning, they saw anything out of the ordinary.”

  Willie tipped his head and scrunched up his face. “Well, I s’pose the gent ain’t exactly ordinary—he’s not about every night.”

  Stokes blinked. Penelope sat up, while Barnaby froze.

  “What gent?” Barnaby—remarkably gently—asked.

  “There’s a gent what comes visiting every so often—always at night, mind, in the dark and late.” Willie’s bright eyes passed from face to face. “I only knows about him ’cause he leaves his horse in the stables. Opens the door, calm as you please, and walks his horse in, ties it up, then he goes out and shuts the door. He’ll be gone for a while—I can’t rightly say for how long—but eventually, he’ll come back, take his horse, and off he goes.” Willie paused, then offered, “I thought I was dreaming him, first few times, but the droppings I found in the mornings meant he and his horse were real.”

  In a fascinated tone, Penelope asked, “And the man was here—or at least, left his horse in the stable—this past Saturday night into Sunday morning?”

  Willie paused, thinking back. “Not last night, but the night before?” When Penelope nodded, Willie grinned. “Aye—he came that night.”

  “After her ladyship had returned to the house, obviously.” Stokes scribbled madly, then shot a look at Willie. “When the man came, was it a long time after Wills and Cobb had put the horses away and gone?”

  Willie wrinkled his nose. “Can’t say, really, ’cause I’d fallen asleep. I’m almost always asleep when he comes.”

  “Have you ever seen him well enough to identify him?” Penelope asked. “Even if he doesn’t light a lantern, there’d be moonlight some nights.”

  But Willie shook his head. “Nah. By the time I wake up and lift my head to look, all I ever see is his back, whether he’s leaving his horse and going out, or taking his horse and riding away.”

  In an even tone, Barnaby asked, “Have you told Wills and Cobb about this man and his visits?”

  “Oh, aye—I mentioned him right off, the first time. They thought I was bamming them the first few times, but once they saw the dung, they spoke with Jarvis, and they all decided it was something we didn’t rightly need to make a fuss about. The gent never did any damage or made any bother, so there wasn’t anything we needed to worry about.” Willie shrugged. “He just uses our stable to shelter his horse. It’s not a big thing.”

  Stokes exchanged looks with Barnaby and Penelope, then Barnaby looked at Willie and asked, “You say you’ve never seen him well, yet from the first, you’ve labeled him a gent. Why?”

  Willie wriggled on the chair, then pulled a face. “Sort of the way he walks and his outline—the shape of his clothes.”

  “And, perhaps, the quality of his horse?” Penelope, her eyes on Willie, arched a cynical brow. “I find it difficult to believe you didn’t—at least on one night—slip down and take a closer look at the man’s horse.”

  Willie blushed and glanced at Stokes and Barnaby. When all they showed him was mild interest, he nodded. “Aye, I did, once. Fine beast he was, sixteen hands at least, with a glossy coat and good conformation.”

  “The saddle and bridle?” Stokes asked.

  “Best quality,” Willie replied, “but not new. Well-worn and comfortable, I’d say.”

  Stokes read what he’d written in his notebook, then raised his gaze to Willie’s open and innocent face. “Thank you, Willie. You’ve been a great help. The gentleman who visits might have nothing at all to do with the missing emeralds, but you were right to tell us of him. That’s exactly the sort of thing we need to know.”

  “And,” Penelope said, bestowing a warm smile on Willie, “we’ll make sure no trouble comes your way because you told us.”

  Willie bobbed his head. “Thank you, miss. Sirs.” He looked at Stokes and Barnaby. “Can I go now? I need to muck out the stalls.”

  Stokes nodded, and Willie all but scampered out.

  His expression unreadable, Barnaby tapped a finger on the table. “I think it’s time we spoke again with the senior staff—all those whose business takes them above stairs.”

  Stokes grunted an assent and rose. “We’ll see them all together and find out what they’ll deign to tell us now.”

  Penelope, the light of battle in her eyes, led the way out.

  Five minutes later, after a few words with Jarvis, she and Barnaby flanked Stokes as he stood at the head of the long table in the servants’ hall and, slowly, let his gaze travel around the table, passing over the faces of the staff members summoned to stand about it.

  This time, no one sat.

  “As you’re all aware, we’ve been endeavoring to assemble a list of all those who, for whatever reason, entered Lady Carisbrook’s room between the time her ladyship returned there after her evening’s entertainments and the time she raised the alarm regarding the emeralds’ disappearance.” Stokes glanced around the table again, then stated, “We originally had on our list Lady Carisbrook, Simpkins, Missy, and Miss Di Abaccio. We’ve now learned that we can add to that list Henry the footman, Mr. Franklin Carisbrook, Miss Julia Carisbrook, and possibly, an unknown gentleman who was known to be in the vicinity of the house at the time.”

  To a man and woman, the staff were now staring at the table, none of them willing to meet Stokes’s eyes.

  Stokes sent his weighty gaze around the bowed heads. “It appears I need to warn each of you that not volunteering information that might have bearing on a case such as this is, in itself, regarded as a crime. Obstructing justice is frowned on by the police force and the magistrates.”

  Several of those around the table stiffened.

  From beside Stokes, Barnaby said, “Withholding information also risks unnecessarily prolonging the investigation, to the detriment of the Carisbrook family.”

  “And,” Penelope added, her tone severe, “the longer the emeralds are missing, the less likely it is that they will be recovered.”

  Glances were shared around the table, then Jarvis cleared his throat and raised his head. “It appears, Inspector, that we have,
perhaps, been somewhat less forthcoming than we might have been, but please understand that this is not a situation with which any of us are familiar.”

  Stokes inclined his head. “We appreciate that, which is why we’ve returned to clarify your statements in light of our more recent discoveries.”

  The tension around the table eased a notch. Others looked up, glancing at Stokes, Barnaby, and Penelope.

  “Perhaps,” Stokes said, studying his notebook, “we could start with Lady Carisbrook’s summons to Mr. Franklin.” Stokes glanced around the table. “Did Mr. Franklin respond and visit her ladyship in her room?”

  Jarvis straightened to attention. “I can confirm that I sent Henry upstairs when her ladyship rang, but I didn’t learn of the summons to Mr. Franklin until Henry returned downstairs.”

  Jeremy, the senior footman, cleared his throat. “I’d already gone to bed, but I couldn’t sleep, so I came downstairs for a nightcap. I was on the back stairs going up again—this was after Henry returned and told us her ladyship had summoned Mr. Franklin to her room—and I saw Mr. Franklin in the corridor, heading toward her ladyship’s room, but I can’t tell you if he went inside.”

  Stokes was jotting. He nodded, then looked up. “Anyone else?”

  Henderson pursed his lips, then said, “I was putting away some of his lordship’s linen in his dressing room, and when I came out, I saw Mr. Franklin. He was walking away from her ladyship’s door, heading toward his room.” Briefly, Henderson met Stokes’s eyes. “I didn’t think anything of it.”

  Mildly, Stokes nodded. “Did you continue upstairs or return downstairs?”

  “Upstairs,” Henderson said. “I was on my way to bed.”

  Barnaby glanced at Jeremy. “Did you notice if Jeremy was back in his room?”

  Henderson blinked myopically. “I can’t say I noticed…no, wait. His door was shut—I remember that.”

  Jeremy was nodding. “I was in my bed by then—I heard you go past.”

  “How long would you say it had been,” Penelope asked, “between when you saw Franklin in the corridor and the time Henderson passed your door?”

  Jeremy frowned. “Ten minutes? Fifteen? Something like that. I was almost asleep.”

  Stokes nodded. He scanned his notes. “Good.” He raised his head and looked around the table. “We now have a reasonably complete timeline of events up to Franklin Carisbrook leaving his mother’s room.” He paused, then asked, “To the best knowledge of everyone here, did anyone else venture into her ladyship’s room prior to Missy, the tweeny, going in at six o’clock?”

  He looked around, as did everyone else. No one spoke up, and no one looked even vaguely conscious.

  “Right, then,” Stokes continued, “that brings us to Miss Julia Carisbrook, who we now know was out of her bedroom at seven-thirty.” Stokes surveyed the staff. “Does anyone have any information as to where she was?”

  Abby, the upstairs maid, shifted nervously and cast a frightened glance up the table—toward Penelope rather than Stokes. “I was carrying towels up to the linen press—it’s on the first floor close by the back stairs—and I saw Miss Julia leave her room, go down the corridor, and go into her ladyship’s room.” Abby paused; when no one criticized her, her confidence grew, and she earnestly added, “I’ve seen her do that before, about that time of a morning, so thought nothing of it.” She glanced at Jarvis. “But I suppose I should have said.”

  “At least you’ve spoken now,” Stokes said. “Do you know what time that was?”

  Abby blinked and looked helplessly at Mrs. Jarvis. “I couldn’t say, sir.”

  Mrs. Jarvis obliged. “It was nigh on quarter past seven when I sent you upstairs with the towels, so it’d be just after then.”

  “Thank you.” Stokes looked at his jottings, then nodded. “That’s very much better. We’ve covered the movements of all those we know to have been involved. Now”—he swept his gaze over the assembled staff—“we have one more potential player to account for. The mystery gentleman who occasionally leaves his horse in your stable.” He paused to decide exactly how to phrase his question, then asked, “Did any of you see him, or hear anything, or gain any inkling at all that he was in this house that night?”

  Silence fell. The staff looked at each other, but no one spoke.

  Then Penelope said, “Can any of you be certain he wasn’t in this house at some time during that night?”

  Jarvis looked at her with something akin to relief. “No, ma’am—you’ve put your finger on our problem. None of us”—he gestured around the table—“have ever seen this gentleman either inside or outside the house. Only Willie has ever even glimpsed him. But it’s simply impossible for us to say he wasn’t here.” Jarvis glanced around the table again, then said, “However, I believe the answer to the inspector’s question is no. None of us saw or heard anything of any mystery man inside the house that night.”

  All the staff around the table looked at Penelope, Barnaby, and Stokes, agreement with that statement written on their faces.

  Stokes noted it and nodded. “Very well. For the moment, that’s all the questions we have.” He tipped his head to Jarvis and Mrs. Jarvis. “Thank you for accommodating us.”

  Jarvis half bowed and came to accompany them to the front hall.

  Once past the servants’ door, Stokes halted in the lee of the stairs—just as the doorbell pealed. Jarvis excused himself and made for the front door. A second later, shrugging on his coat, Jeremy hurried past, on his way to assist Jarvis.

  Barnaby and Penelope had halted with Stokes. While all three waited to see who had arrived, Barnaby murmured, “Our mystery gentleman is plainly intent on keeping his visits secret, and I suspect we can guess why, but it’s perfectly possible he’s visiting some other house along this row. The Carisbrook stables might simply be the most convenient in which to leave his mount.”

  “And”—Penelope pushed her spectacles higher on her nose—“if he truly wanted to conceal his destination, using a stable that belonged to another house might, from his point of view, also be wise.”

  Thinking of the staff’s responses regarding the mystery gentleman, Penelope tried to remember what reaction Simpkins had had…and realized she couldn’t recall seeing Simpkins around the table. But they’d asked for all the upstairs staff, so Simpkins should have been there. Penelope frowned and, in her memory, started working her way around the table, trying to locate the uppity dresser.

  Jarvis had opened the door. Lady Carisbrook swept inside, with Julia trailing her.

  The sight distracted Penelope; she remembered the questions they had for her ladyship. She grasped Barnaby’s arm. “Why don’t you two go and ask Lord Carisbrook about the emeralds while I tackle Lady Carisbrook.”

  She wasn’t surprised to get no argument from either Stokes or Barnaby. Leaving them to find his lordship—who was no doubt ensconced in his study—she glided forward to do battle with her ladyship.

  Julia had surrendered her bonnet to Jeremy and now hurried toward the stairs. Penelope got the impression Julia wanted to avoid her—that she was embarrassed, possibly over Cara’s treatment. With nothing more than a regal nod, Penelope let Julia escape; she had bigger fish to fry.

  The instant Lady Carisbrook had spotted her, her ladyship’s lips had pinched, but as Penelope approached, Lady Carisbrook inclined her head, albeit with wary reserve. “Mrs. Adair.”

  “Lady Carisbrook. As you’re aware, my husband and I are assisting Inspector Stokes with his investigation. We have a few questions, and it might be best were I to put them to you.” Penelope allowed her lips to curve, but she wasn’t actually smiling. “If we might appropriate your drawing room?”

  Tight-lipped, Lady Carisbrook turned and led the way.

  Penelope bestowed a smile on Jarvis as she passed him and, with a nod, indicated that he should close the door behind her.

  Lady Carisbrook swept across the room to an armchair by the hearth and subsided into it with an agitated rus
tling of her skirts. Penelope opted to sink gracefully onto the sofa across from the armchair. The light from the windows at her back fell on Lady Carisbrook’s face, illuminating every line and unforgivingly revealing every shift and nuance of expression.

  Although she had met Lady Carisbrook in passing, this was the first time Penelope had conversed with her ladyship.

  Her expression already peevish, Lady Carisbrook tugged at her gloves. “Has there been any progress in locating my emeralds?”

  “I daresay there has been, but at this point, there are several other matters we feel it necessary to address.”

  Penelope had expected her ladyship to badger her further, but the look Lady Carisbrook threw her was…almost frightened. Surprised, Penelope replayed her words…and the notion that the mystery gentleman was her ladyship’s lover—something they had all wondered, but had yet to articulate—took firmer hold.

  Penelope hesitated, but then decided it would be to her advantage to capitalize on her ladyship’s uncertainty. “Among other things, we need to know more about the emeralds themselves. We understand the set is very old. Is that correct?”

  Her gaze locked on Penelope as if watching a potentially lethal snake, her expression wooden, Lady Carisbrook nodded. “I’ve been told that the parure was created in the sixteenth century.”

  Penelope inclined her head. “In that case, we’ll need the name of the jeweler who last cleaned the set.”

  A scowl passed over her ladyship’s face. “I’m afraid I can’t help you. My husband insists on taking care of everything to do with the emeralds.”

  Penelope inwardly blinked; clearly, the care of the emeralds was a sore point. “Very well. To move on to the last known sighting of the emeralds—you returned to your room in the early hours of Sunday morning, removed the necklace and earrings, set them in their case, shut it, and left it on your dressing table.”

  When her ladyship nodded, Penelope asked, “Did you see—by which I mean, consciously lay eyes on—the case at any point thereafter?”