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

by Stephanie Laurens

  “Indeed, sir. He arrived just before dinnertime, sat down to the table with the rest of the family, then he went out again, but he returned a little after twelve, not long before her ladyship and Miss Julia, and went straight to his room. His lordship had gone out, too, but he’d already returned and retired by then.”

  Stokes nodded, finished writing, then looked around at all the staff. “From what each of you knows of the family’s movements, do you all agree that was what happened?”

  There were nods all around.

  Stokes paused, then asked, “Did any of you come downstairs after Mrs. Jarvis had gone to bed, but before Missy came down in the morning? Even if you didn’t see Simpkins?”

  “No, sir” came from all directions, along with much shaking of heads.

  Stokes slipped his notebook into his pocket. “Thank you. That’s all for now—”

  “Actually,” Penelope said, “I have one minor question.” She looked around at all the faces. “Yesterday, when we gathered here later in the afternoon after we’d interviewed you all separately, was Simpkins here?”

  Frowns abounded.

  Jarvis ventured, “She should have been.”

  Hesitantly, Polly, Julia’s maid, put up her hand. When everyone looked at her, she swallowed and said, “I think…that is, I know that Simpkins stayed upstairs. Jeremy came and told us to come down, but when I looked into her ladyship’s room, Simpkins said she had better things to do. She didn’t come down.”

  Stokes glanced at Penelope and arched a brow.

  She gently nudged him toward the door and nodded to Polly. “Thank you.”

  Stokes looked at Jarvis. “The men from the morgue should be here shortly. If you would keep everyone else away from the stairwell, they’ll remove the body with as little fuss as possible.”

  “Thank you, Inspector.” Jarvis turned to his troops and clapped his hands. “Come now, everyone. We still have a household to run.”

  Penelope led the way up the steps, along the short corridor, and into the front hall. She paused in the lee of the stairs. Barnaby halted beside her.

  Joining them, Stokes asked, “What was that about Simpkins?”

  “She wasn’t there when we asked about the mystery gentleman.” Penelope narrowed her eyes. “While everyone else vowed they had never seen him—and we believed them—Simpkins didn’t say any such thing.”

  “Ah.” Barnaby nodded. “I see.”

  “Hmm.” After a moment, Stokes shook himself. “We need to speak with his lordship. I assume he’ll be in his study.”

  They set off to cross the hall, but as they passed the foot of the stairs, they heard heavy, ponderous footsteps descending and turned to see Lady Carisbrook coming down.

  They halted, surprised by the signs of shock and sadness that ravaged her ladyship’s normally haughty and reserved countenance. She looked haggard and had plainly been crying; she clenched a bunched handkerchief in one hand.

  She saw them and gestured weakly with the jewel case she held in her other hand. “I found them.” She dragged in a breath and continued to descend. “They were in my dressing table drawer. I don’t often open it and hadn’t thought to look…” On a weak sigh, she concluded, “They must have been there all along.”

  Penelope cast a sharp glance at Stokes, then stepped forward to meet her ladyship at the bottom of the stairs. She held out a hand. “Could we see?”

  Without so much as a blink, Lady Carisbrook surrendered the jewel case—a black-velvet-covered case exactly as described. “I was just bringing them down so Humphrey could put them back in the safe.” As Penelope opened the case, her ladyship gustily sighed again. “Such a wretched end for Simpkins.” Her voice quavered as she added, “I’m sure I don’t know how I’ll go on without her.”

  With that, Lady Carisbrook retreated behind her handkerchief.

  Barnaby stepped up to look over Penelope’s shoulder at the necklace and earrings neatly displayed on a bed of black silk. They were, as Cara had intimated, quite hideous—the settings overly large and ostentatiously ornate.

  Penelope raised one hand and wiggled her fingers. Under her breath, she murmured, “The loupe. I saw you slip it into your pocket.”

  Barnaby swallowed a grunt. He glanced at Lady Carisbrook, then looked farther up the hall at Jarvis and Jeremy, who had emerged to take up their usual stations. “Perhaps,” Barnaby said, “we should repair with her ladyship to the drawing room.”

  Penelope followed his gaze to Jarvis and Jeremy and nodded. “Yes. Perhaps we should.”

  Stokes signaled to Jarvis. “Please inform his lordship that we’ll await him in the drawing room.”

  Jarvis bowed and headed for the study. Jeremy went to open the drawing room door.

  With another sigh, Lady Carisbrook stumped off the stairs and led the way. Still carrying the emeralds, Penelope followed, with Barnaby beside her and Stokes bringing up the rear.

  Lady Carisbrook made for her usual armchair and slumped into it. Penelope sat on the sofa, laid the open jewel case in her lap, and held out her hand to Barnaby.

  He dug in his pocket, pulled out his jeweler’s loupe, and dropped it into her palm.

  Penelope lifted the emerald necklace from its bed, put the loupe to her eye, and examined several of the stones. After laying the necklace in her lap, she examined first one earring then the other, before handing necklace, earrings, and loupe to Barnaby.

  She looked at Stokes, but didn’t say anything.

  Barnaby carefully examined several stones in the necklace, then raised his head and met Penelope’s eyes. They exchanged a long look, then Barnaby slipped the loupe back into his pocket and glanced at Stokes before transferring his gaze to Lady Carisbrook. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of further bad tidings, Lady Carisbrook, but these stones are not, unfortunately, emeralds at all.”

  “What?” Lady Carisbrook rocked back in her chair; her eyes widened until they resembled saucers. “What did you say?”

  Barnaby handed the necklace to Penelope, who set it into the case. “The stones, as such, are crystals. Not paste, but also definitely not emeralds.”

  “But…but…” Stupefied, Lady Carisbrook stared at them.

  Stokes frowned at Penelope and Barnaby. “So were the jewels stolen, the emeralds switched for fakes, and then the jewels put back?”

  Penelope arched her brows. “And was the act of the jewels being returned in any way linked to Simpkins’s odd death?”

  Barnaby inclined his head. “Good point.”

  “Odd death?” Lady Carisbrook was struggling for breath. “What was odd about it? I thought it was an accident.”

  Her ladyship’s voice had risen to a pitch that threatened imminent hysterics.

  Stokes—along with Penelope and Barnaby—was relieved when the door opened and Lord Carisbrook, followed by Franklin and Julia, walked in.

  While shock and worry showed in all their faces, Simpkins’s death had clearly not affected them to anywhere near the same degree as it had Lady Carisbrook.

  “What’s that?” Lord Carisbrook stumped to a halt beside Stokes. “Surely, Inspector, Simpkins’s death was an accident. I thought it obvious that she’d fallen down the stairs.”

  Stokes inclined his head. “She did, sir, but one has to ask why she fell. Until we can answer that to the coroner’s satisfaction, we can’t declare the cause of death.”

  “Ah.” Lord Carisbrook nodded. “I see. You need to cross your t’s and dot your i’s. Just so.”

  Penelope chose that moment to shut the jewel case; it closed with a distinctive snap, drawing Lord Carisbrook’s gaze.

  His lordship’s face cleared. “Ah—found the bally things, did you? Where were they?”

  Penelope glanced at Lady Carisbrook, but her ladyship was still grappling with her emotions. Leaning forward, Penelope handed the jewel case to his lordship. “We understand her ladyship found the case in the drawer in her dressing table.”

  Lady Carisbrook gestured weakly
. “They must have been there all the time.”

  “No,” Stokes said. “They weren’t.” When the Carisbrooks all looked his way, puzzlement in their faces, he went on, “We searched her ladyship’s room on Sunday afternoon, and at that time, the case wasn’t in that drawer nor anywhere else in this house.”

  Penelope watched all four Carisbrooks blink, their expressions displaying varying degrees of confusion.

  Stokes and Barnaby were watching closely, too. At Barnaby’s nod, Stokes went on, “Given the sequence of events, we must now entertain the possibility that the jewels were stolen, the stones replaced with fakes, and that the jewels being subsequently returned to her ladyship’s room in some way led to Simpkins’s death.”

  Absolute silence and looks of muted horror greeted Stokes’s statement.

  After several moments of staring silence, Lord Carisbrook breathed, “Good Lord.” He blinked, then focused on Stokes. “You can’t be serious.”

  Stokes dipped his head. “Unfortunately, my lord, that’s one avenue we will now need to pursue. It may, of course, come to nothing.”

  Lady Carisbrook shook her head. “I can’t think…”

  Julia shifted and, without a word, sank onto the end of the sofa opposite Penelope.

  Lord Carisbrook glanced at Julia, then at his wife, then turned to Stokes and Barnaby. “This is all so shocking, Inspector—not at all what we expected on waking this morning, even with the news of Simpkins’s demise.” He gestured with the jewel case. “The jewels turning up, then the emeralds being fakes, and now this connection to Simpkins falling…” He blew out a breath, then shook his head as if he’d run out of words.

  Penelope glanced at Lady Carisbrook, then at Julia, and last of all at Franklin, who had remained a few feet behind his father, but looked equally stunned and all at sea. Penelope caught Barnaby’s gaze and rose. “We’ll leave you, my lord.” With an inclination of her head, she farewelled her ladyship. “You’ve all had a shock—several shocks—and have much to take in.”

  Lord Carisbrook shook himself to attention. “Yes…yes. Thank you, Mrs. Adair. It’s all…” His lordship gestured with one hand, then let it fall. “Overwhelming.”

  Penelope led the way from the room. After murmuring their goodbyes, Barnaby and Stokes were quickly on her heels. The three exited the house and walked toward where the Adairs’ carriage waited.

  They’d just reached it and paused, intending to confer, when the patter of running footsteps had them looking south along the pavement.

  A loping figure raced toward them. Barnaby recognized Davies, one of the runners from the Yard.

  Davies pulled up, snapped off a salute along with a grin, and handed Stokes a folded note. “Arrived first thing at the station, sir. Sergeant Wilkes said as you’d want to see it straightaway.”

  Stokes unfolded the note, scanned the contents, then looked at Davies. “My thanks to Wilkes and to you as well. You can return to the station.” He nodded a dismissal, and with another grin, Davies turned and took off again, his very long legs eating up the yards.

  “Who’s it from?” Penelope asked the instant Davies was out of earshot.

  “Jordan Draper, Roscoe’s right-hand man,” Stokes replied, “in response to Montague’s request regarding who to ask about stolen emeralds.”

  Penelope frowned. “But we have the emeralds back…except they’re now fakes, so we still need to speak to those in the underworld about the Carisbrook emeralds.”

  “Indeed, we do.” Stokes folded the note and slipped it into his pocket.

  “And?” Imperiously, Penelope made a “keep talking” gesture.

  Stokes glanced at Barnaby, but knew better than to attempt to refuse. “Jordan suggests we speak with a certain Gentleman George, who at ten-thirty sharp, we’ll find waiting to speak with us on a bench in Chatham Square.”

  Barnaby slid his hands into his coat pockets. “That’s at the northern end of Blackfriars Bridge—on the edge of the jewelers’ district.”

  Stokes kept his gaze on Barnaby and arched his brows. “Coming?”

  “Of course.” Barnaby—along with Stokes—looked resignedly at Penelope.

  To Barnaby’s surprise, his wife continued to frown in an absentminded fashion. Eventually, he asked, “Are you going to come with us?” He couldn’t imagine she would turn down the chance of meeting the sort of high-class jewelry fence Roscoe would have steered them to, especially given the item to be discussed was the Carisbrook emeralds.

  Penelope refocused on Barnaby’s face, then grimaced and proved she could still surprise him. “I would love to, of course, but I have a previous engagement that I believe I must keep.”

  Both he and Stokes blinked at her.

  Airily, she waved them off. “I’ll have to leave Gentleman George to you, and having remembered that engagement, I really must be off.” She looked up at their coachman. “Home, Phelps.”

  Stokes recovered from his shock and leapt to open the carriage door.

  Barnaby dutifully helped her inside.

  She sat, and still amazed, he shut the door, stepped back, and nodded to Phelps.

  Barnaby and Stokes stood side by side and watched the carriage drive off.

  After several seconds, Stokes rumbled, “Not even for a villain named Gentleman George?”

  “Apparently not.”

  “Do you know where she’s off to?”

  “No, I don’t.” Turning to Stokes, Barnaby shook his head. “I’m relieved on the one hand, while on the other, I’m not reassured in the least.”

  Chapter 8

  Several hours later, with the sun nearing its zenith, Penelope strolled the lawns of the Hestley estate, which lay down along the river toward Richmond.

  She was feeling exceedingly virtuous, her metaphorical halo gleaming. In order to facilitate the budding romance between Hugo and Cara, she’d given up the chance to meet a criminal fence by the name of Gentleman George; she felt sure such a sacrifice would make her mentors proud and place the entire Adair family in her debt—if they ever heard of it.

  Sadly, she wasn’t about to breathe a word about consorting with villains—much less one called Gentleman George—to any but her trusted co-investigators.

  Nevertheless, warmed by an inner glow, she glided over the sward with her parasol tipped at precisely the right angle above her head.

  Lady Hestley was rather younger than Penelope had supposed, and those invited to her ladyship’s al fresco luncheon were much of an age with Cara. Although Penelope had yet to celebrate her twenty-seventh birthday, as Cara’s chaperon, she found herself relegated to the company of the other duennas, many significantly older than she.

  Regardless, buoyed by the sense of doing her duty, she kept her social smile in place and consented to listen to the older ladies’ comments while, along with the other younger folk, Cara and Hugo chatted, laughed, and transparently enjoyed themselves.

  Eventually, one matronly lady, a Mrs. Makepeace, leaned closer to Penelope and inquired, “Who is that lovely young lady you’re watching over, dear?”

  Penelope smiled. “She is lovely, isn’t she? Her name is Miss Cara Di Abaccio—she’s Lord Carisbrook’s niece and his lordship’s ward.”

  “Oh! The Carisbrooks.” Mrs. Makepeace smiled indulgently. “I know Mr. Franklin Carisbrook quite well. He’s often at events such as this, although he isn’t among her ladyship’s guests today.”

  “I see.” Penelope’s instincts were twitching. She cast around, then ventured, “I haven’t had much to do with Franklin Carisbrook, but, of course, Cara is his cousin.”

  Mrs. Makepeace nodded. “In that case, I’m sure Franklin will be wanting to introduce Miss Di Abaccio to his intended—Miss Lilibeth Ives. Miss Ives is a close friend of my charge, Miss Heather Byrnes, so, of course, we’ve all watched the romance unfold. So very affecting. We’re all agreed”—Mrs. Makepeace’s wave included all the gossiping chaperons—“that it’s definitely a case of true love.”

 
“Indeed?” Slowly, Penelope nodded. “I can certainly see how that might be.” And she truly could. She pushed up her spectacles and looked around. “Is Miss Ives here today?”

  “No, sadly, the Iveses had a prior engagement, and Franklin wasn’t expected, either…” Mrs. Makepeace lightly shrugged. “But Lilibeth is a quite unexceptionable young lady—her father is one of the curators at the British Museum, you know, and her mother was a vicar’s daughter. Although Heather—my niece—is a sunny, good-natured girl, Lilibeth has a degree of quiet strength as well as a sort of beauty that is very restful. One can easily see why she caught Franklin’s eye.”

  Penelope glanced at Mrs. Makepeace, then at the other ladies avidly talking around them. “Am I to take it that, in general, the match is viewed as appropriate by all those here?”

  “Oh, indeed, my dear Mrs. Adair.” Mrs. Makepeace smiled as sunnily as her niece. “We’re all waiting to hear that Franklin and Lilibeth have set a date for their wedding.” Mrs. Makepeace leaned closer and lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Heather told me that Franklin has already spoken to Mr. Ives, and the Iveses couldn’t be happier. All that remains is for Franklin to gain his father’s approval, and as Franklin is his lordship’s second son—and with his older brother married with sons of his own—no one imagines there’ll be any great difficulty there.”

  Mrs. Makepeace straightened. “We’re all looking forward to hearing wedding bells.”

  Penelope managed to keep her smile appropriately bright and encouraging, even while, inside, all she could think was: Oh, Franklin. What a battle you’ve taken on.

  Yet as the afternoon wore on, more and more snippets of information and observation slipped into place—into the mental jigsaw she was forming of what had gone on and was still going on in the Carisbrook household.

  She chatted and idly exchanged comments while, with the other chaperons, she followed their charges down to stroll along the riverbank—and all the while, her mind churned as she remembered the discussion Lady Carisbrook had forced on Franklin, and Julia’s comment about Franklin’s refusal to look at the young ladies his mother pushed his way, and that Franklin had gone on Sunday afternoon to visit a friend’s family in Richmond and had stayed overnight.