The Thief of Hearts

by Elizabeth Ellen Carter

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  An understanding Bertie shrugged off her apology for missing their previous day’s appointment. Then a look of surprise crossed his face as she explained the reason why she wasn’t at home when he called.

  She told him everything – the interview with Tobias Black at the Palladian Theatre and all that transpired afterwards, including the discovery of the trap door into the jewellery store and the discovery of the expensive cigar band.

  “Well, The Phantom might be a thief but at least he took the band off before smoking his cigar, not like those uncouth blighters at the Gilfroys’ party.”

  “What do you mean?” Caro asked

  “The acrobats who performed. I was on the terrace and I saw them in the garden smoking a cigar. I only remember it because I thought how unmannerly it was to leave the band on. What did the one Mr Black find look like?”

  As she described it to him, Bertie’s mouth fell open.

  “I say – that sounds like the same type the acrobat had.”

  “You were close enough to see it?”

  Bertie blushed. “Well, no. Not while he was smoking it. Oh, how embarrassing, Caro. I know it sounds terribly grubby but when the chap threw it away and went back inside, I...” He hesitated and his face flushed even deeper. “I went and picked it up.”

  “Why?”

  “I know it sounds juvenile and I hope you’ll forgive me, but I collect cigar bands and I just couldn’t help seeing if it wasn’t one I already had...”

  Caroline smiled. Dear Bertie. “Was it?”

  “No. And it was an expensive one too. I thought it was odd some circus performer type was smoking expensive cigars. And he’d thrown half of it away.”

  He paused a moment as if in thought, then his face lit up.

  “Same cigars and both at robberies by The Phantom! You don’t think the acrobats are his henchmen, do you?”

  Caro recalled the damage at the scene of the Gilfroy’s robbery and its contrast with The Phantom’s crimes.

  “Uncle Walter doesn’t think Sir Hubert was robbed by The Phantom and neither do I. But we should tell him about the acrobats and the cigar. Come on, where do you keep your notepaper?”

  Bertie rose to do her bidding. She dictated the note to him and he blotted it and folded it.

  “The chap who marries you, Caro,” he commented lightly as he sealed the envelope, “isn’t going to have a minute’s peace.”

  Caro licked her lips. She recalled her conversation with Tobias.

  “You said there was something you wanted to ask me, the reason why you came by yesterday?”

  She was proud of the way she spoke the sentence without her voice breaking. She had decided. When he asked her to marry him, she would accept. It would make him happy and it would certainly make her mother happy. Overjoyed, in fact. And, just as Tobias said, whatever the future brought, she would take her passion along with her.

  And yet Bertie was apparently oblivious to her nervousness. He shook his head and tapped the envelope.

  “It can wait. Let’s get this message to your uncle. I can’t wait to tell Eddie about this. Your uncle will have to let us in on it now – this is going to be the most exciting Christmas ever!”

  All of a sudden Caro’s mood lifted and she felt the same giddy excitement she experienced as a little girl at the age of ten when, one summer at Bertie’s family estate, her older brother and his best friend decided she wasn’t too young to go rambling with them.

  She remembered that season well. They had walked for miles and miles through fields, played war games on the banks of the stream with the local children whose parents worked on the estate. They picnicked under a grove of apple trees and only went back to the house at twilight.

  Perhaps married life could be like that for them. Full of carefree companionship – Edward and Gwen, her and Bertie... Perhaps it would work out just fine after all.

  Bertie interrupted her thoughts.

  “Let’s drop the note off at Scotland Yard ourselves. And do you mind if we stop off at the Arcade on the way there? I need your feminine opinion on something,” he asked.

  “No, of course I don’t mind,” she replied.

  Caro’s butterflies returned as Bertie led her into the jeweller’s.

  “Miss Caroline! A pleasure to see you again,” said the jeweller. “I hope you’ve come to tell me that you’ve single-handedly apprehended The Phantom.”

  “Alas not, Mr Hargreaves,” she answered, “that is most certainly a job best left for the police. I’m here on a professional matter – your profession.”

  Bertie looked up from the glass case in front of him.

  “May I see the rings in that tray please?”

  Mr Hargreaves was only too happy to oblige.

  Bertie fingered row upon row of rings before pulling out two. The first was an oval cut sapphire – from Ceylon, the jeweller informed them – surrounded with round diamonds and mounted in gold. The second gold ring featured a faceted stone that shone pinks, blues and greens – Alexandrite, Caro learned – and that stone was surrounded by tiny seed pearls.

  Bertie held them both out to Caro.

  “You’re really good at hypotheticals, Caro, so let me try this one on you. If you were going to be surprised with a ring, which one would you prefer?”

  Caro quelled her nerves and gave the question serious thought before answering.

  “Both rings are absolutely beautiful, but I don’t think it would be much of a surprise if the girl knew she was getting a choice!”

  Bertie shook his head with a smile and swept away the fringe that flopped over his brow.

  “Seriously? You’re not going to tell me which one I ought to get?”

  “I’m not the one proposing – you’re going to have to do that for yourself.” Caro grew serious. “But, this being a purely hypothetical question, let me put it back onto you. When you think of the girl you are planning to surprise, which ring reminds you of her?”

  Bertie looked thoughtful for a moment and turned back to Mr Hargreaves.

  “Could you put these two rings aside for me for the next few days, while I think about it?”

  ***

  O come, all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant!

  O come ye, O come ye to Bethlehem;

  Come and behold him

  Born the King of Angels:

  O come, let us adore Him

  O come, let us adore Him

  O come, let us adore Him

  Christ the Lord

  The harmonies of the choir in their white and red costumes rose above the din in the foyer of the grandest and newest hotel in London, the Longmuir.

  Caro was the first to arrive and she positioned herself on a sofa with a newspaper in hand, only half reading the stories inside. The front page of the broadsheet made her very nervous indeed.

  PHANTOM WOES GROW!

  MPs call for resignations at the Yard

  Fears for famed Star of December Diamond

  Adding to her unease was a rather greasy and unprepossessing man who had been loitering around the hotel reception. He looked impatient and didn’t really care whether he drew attention to himself or not. His clothes were well enough made but they were crumpled, as though he had slept in them.

  She caught him looking at her more than once, but she made sure they never made eye contact.

  “Caro, sweetheart!”

  Her head shot up at the sound of her name, especially followed by the endearment. And she was surprised further to see the man who had called out was Tobias, now moving towards her, past the oily looking man.

  “Business took a little longer than I thought,” he continued in the same light, slightly over loud tone. Caro stood, almost in surprise more than anything else. Tobias removed the paper from her hand and dropped it on the sofa. His lips moved towards her cheek as though he might kiss it, but instead he whispered: “That man is a reporter for one of the tabloid rags. He’s after your uncle. We’re to
wait for him in Count Valois’s apartments.”

  Caro was still taking in his words when the effect of his breath on her ear sent shivers down her back that had nothing to do with the chill outside.

  His hand was at her elbow. He urged her past the reporter who, Caro noticed, had ceased to pay any attention to her now it seemed she had a beau. They moved further into the foyer. Set between the grand curved staircases which rose to the first floor ballroom was a black iron cage that extended straight up, disappearing into the void above.

  Tall doors set with glass opened at ground level as they approached, then the brass lattice scissor gate in front of the doors drew open and a page, not much older than twelve years but looking resplendent in his uniform of a red jacket with bright brass buttons and black trousers, stepped aside and let his passengers disembark.

  Caro had read about this in the papers – the Longmuir’s passenger lift was an absolute sensation when it opened five years ago – but she had not yet seen it for herself.

  She allowed Tobias to lead her into the claustrophobic oak-lined box.

  “I saw a few more of those reporters hanging around the lobby,” he said softly. “We need to do a disappearing trick of our own before they recognise me.”

  They were joined in the lift by an elderly couple. The man was tall and lean, not stooped as his age might indicate. His wife was half his height but twice as wide, although that may have had as much to do with her large sable fur coat as her natural size.

  As the page squeezed back in and closed the doors, Caro found herself pressed against Tobias in the confined space – and did not find it at all unpleasant.

  “Floor seven,” said the elderly man with a seeming air of pride in his voice at nominating the next-to-top floor.

  “The Royal Suite please,” said Tobias.

  “Floor eight? Yes, sir,” replied the page.

  Caro saw the elderly man’s wife eye them with a mixture of awe and envy.

  The boy closed the scissor gate, then the glass door before engaging the telemotor that controlled the lift. The box jerked upward with a little lurch. Tobias surreptitiously took her hand as if he already knew it was Caro’s first time in an elevator. She had to admit to herself that the experience of travelling through floors was a little disconcerting.

  Following a stop on the seventh floor for the elderly couple to get out, finally they arrived at the upper most floor of the hotel where there were only three apartments. The largest, the Royal Suite, was occupied by Count Valois.

  They were greeted in the hallway by the Count’s equerry, a smartly turned out middle-aged man with greying hair.

  Before the man could speak, Tobias presented him with a card.

  “Captain Tobias Black at your service and this is Miss Caroline Addison,” he said. The equerry responded with a short bow. “I apologise for our unannounced entrance,” Tobias continued, “but there are reporters gathering by the score for the arrival of Detective Chief Inspector Addison. I thought it wise to remain inconspicuous and come up ahead.”

  “A wise move, Captain Black. Please to accompany me to the sitting room where you may await the Inspector’s arrival. I shall let the Count know you are here.”

  Caroline’s eyes widened at the splendour of the sitting room. It was larger than the parlour at home and sumptuously decorated in cream and gold brocade fabric wallpaper. A fire burned in the hearth although it barely seemed necessary – the room itself seemed to exude warmth.

  She gravitated towards the window, drawing back a sheer lace curtain to look out over the extended sill down onto the busy London junction below and the misty park beyond. It was an impressive view from this height, though the day, which had begun with such promise had, by this afternoon, started to cloud over again, and the world below was cast in a pall.

  The large windows were shut against the cold. She imagined that in summer they would be thrown open to let in air.

  She dropped the curtain and turned to see Tobias stalking the room like a caged panther. He stopped when he saw he was being watched. She smiled.

  “I don’t pretend to be a mind reader, but I can guess what you’re doing.”

  Tobias lifted his chin, silently inviting elucidation.

  “You’re looking to see how he might do it – the Phantom, that is.”

  “Studying the lay of the land is something the Army taught me.”

  “Well, unless he can scale walls, I can’t see him getting in through these windows.”

  “Some people could...”

  “What do you mean?”

  Before he could reply, the equerry re-entered the room with Uncle Walter and announced Count Valois would be with them momentarily.

  Tobias leaned in and spoke softly. “I think a bigger trick than getting through that window is going to be convincing the Count to go along with your uncle’s plan.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “It is the proposal fantastique, monsieur l’inspector!”

  Count Maurice Valois was a roly-poly little man nearly half a head shorter than Caro herself. She found herself staring at the pronounced widow’s peak of his black hair, made even more alarming by the way it was slicked back.

  The Count may have been informally dressed in a grey day suit, but the wide red sash across his white shirt and a gold and enamel star hanging from it like a pendant made Caro feel decidedly poorly attired in comparison.

  “Scotland Yard’s fame, it is known all over the continent, but never before have I known officers of the law employ charming young ladies in the pursuit of the criminal classes,” he proclaimed.

  Caro accepted the compliment with a polite dip of her head but was pleased when her uncle spoke and drew the strange little man’s attention away from her.

  “We believe we now know the identity of the man behind the thefts of diamond jewellery throughout London over the past two months,” said Uncle Walter, eliciting a soft gasp of surprise from Caro.

  When did that happen?

  “We’ve learned that the first of these thefts occurred within two days of the arrival of Rudolph Van Dyke.”

  “Him? Bah!” exclaimed the count, throwing his hands in the air. “That man has coveted my diamond for many, many years and now you say he will resort to stealing it from me? Why don’t you arrest him?”

  “We have no evidence we can charge him with. However, we also know now that he is not working alone. He has two accomplices – a pair of circus acrobats.”

  This time, Caro’s mouth fell open. “What?”

  It was Tobias who provided the answer.

  “Remember the other day when I travelled with you as far as Soho? We may have gone our separate ways but we ended up on the same track. While you were putting two and two together with your friend Bertie, I was checking with a friend of mine who is in touch with the immigrant communities in London. Van Dyke was a commanding officer in the Prussian Army and his subordinates included Pavel – one of the acrobats from the show. So well done connecting the clues of the cigar bands.”

  “Thieves and scoundrels!” exclaimed the Count. “Such men should be – how is it you say in your country – ‘locked up and the key thrown away’?”

  “You may be right, Count,” said Caro, “but in this country we have jurisprudence. We can’t arrest anyone on suspicion without very strong grounds. And as my uncle says, we have no evidence to satisfy a judge.”

  “Which brings us here today to go into the details of our plan to protect the Star of December diamond,” Walter concluded. “May we see where you keep the gem?”

  “But of course. Please to follow me.”

  With precise, almost mincing steps, the Count led them down the passageway of his suite to the decadently appointed bedroom and straight to a cabinet. He opened the rosewood doors. Behind it was a safe.

  “I had the combination reset to my own design and only I know it,” he said as his surprisingly long and delicate fingers fingered the combination dial this way and that unt
il they heard the click of the lock opening.

  “I suppose you will want to see the Star of December for yourself,” he said and looking at Caro specifically. “I imagine a young lady will be most fascinated.”

  The Count opened the safe door and withdrew an ebony box, unadorned but for the brass escutcheon, and carried it to a nearby table. He pulled out a watch chain on which was attached a little key, opened the case with a theatrical flourish and took out a cover of black velvet. There, sitting inside the fitted case, was the most brilliant stone Caro had ever seen. It was as blue as the sky and it glittered in the well lit room.

  “It’s magnificent,” she breathed.

  “You think so? I have a surprise for you. This is not the Star of December.”

  “No?”

  “Non. Allow me to explain.”

  The Count lifted out the deep velvet tray in which the apparent gem sat. Beneath seemed at first glance to be the plain ebony bottom of the box, but now the Count produced a slender gold toothpick and inserted it in what was little more than a pin hole in the inside back plate of the box’s main half-mortise lock. With a soft click, the inside bottom of the box popped up at one edge, revealing a hidden compartment below. The Count removed it to reveal a shallow fitted compartment containing another stone, exactly like the first.

  “This is the real Star of December. The other is a decoy only, made of glass.”

  “Bravo, Count, an ingenious hidden compartment,” said Tobias who approached. “May I?” He examined it closely for a moment.

  The Count smiled at Caro. “Perhaps Miss Addison would like to hold the jewel that once adorned an emperor’s sceptre, and a queen’s crown? The Star of December has a history that goes back to when another queen, Queen Elizabeth, sat on England’s throne.”

  He picked the diamond out of its recess and placed it on the palm of her hand. By her estimation it measured one inch in diameter and a quarter of an inch deep. Although it weighed comparatively little, she was conscious of it sitting on her palm. Its facets glinted and sparkled as she moved it around her hand and when she looked at the face of it again, the points of the star became more pronounced.