‘Good for Bunter!’ said Harriet.
‘Yes, indeed. So I dragged myself into a dressing-gown, and staggered through into the library, and there was Freddy waiting for me, stuffing his face with Bunter’s excellent cheese straws.
‘ “What news on the Rialto?” I said.
‘ “The usual chatter,” he told me. “But one little morsel will have you pricking up your ears, Wimsey, and that’s that Northerby seems to be in funds. He’s been paying off his debts. One pal of mine has been nearly ill with anxiety because Northerby owes him a chunk of money and he was afraid it wouldn’t get repaid in time to get him out of some hot water of his own. He’s been leaning on Northerby rather desperately, I understand, without result. Then suddenly last week Northerby showed up at his place and paid him off in cash. Dozens of lovely large crisp white fivers. What do you think of that?”
‘ “I think of pawnbrokers,” I said.
‘ “He could always have had a little help from his father in Darjeeling,” said Freddy doubtfully. “Although as I hear tell the tea traders are having a rather tight time at the moment. Something to do with the weather in the Himalayan foothills.”
‘ “We don’t know a thing about the circumstances of Northerby senior,” said I.
‘ “No. Shouldn’t jump to conclusions, I suppose.”
‘ “What’s a jumped-to conclusion or two between friends?” I said. “But back to pawnbrokers, Freddy. We would be looking for a specialist, I take it? Or a shady one?”
‘ “Hmm,” said Freddy. “Not quite my field. Never needed the friends at the golden balls myself.”
‘ “Of course not,” I said. “Didn’t mean to imply . . . Let’s ask Bunter.”
‘ “Have you been paying your man so little he might be pawning your silver, Wimsey?”
‘ “That’s a very good idea, Freddy,” I said. “I’ll take you up on that,” and I rang for Bunter.’
Matching word to deeds, Peter rang for Bunter as he spoke.
When Bunter appeared, Peter asked him, ‘Bunter, do you remember that game of hunt-the-pawnbroker that we played in the summer of ’21?’
‘I will never forget it, my lord,’ said Bunter.
‘Explain to Harriet, will you, while you refill our glasses. And a glass for yourself, Bunter, if you feel inclined.’
Harriet noticed with a twinge of affection for Bunter that he did not feel inclined. She had long given up trying to convince him to behave informally with them, to understand that the age of iron distinctions between servants and family was over, that the war had obliterated that alongside much else. Bunter was more comfortable maintaining a degree of formality, especially, she noticed, in the drawing-room. If one wanted an intimate chat with Bunter, one went to look for him in the butler’s pantry, his own ground.
‘Pawnbroking is an arcane business, my lady. It’s one kind of business pawning a working man’s Sunday clothes every Monday to be redeemed on the following Saturday. It’s another thing altogether to be taking in a wealthy man’s goods for a high sum. For that the broker would need to be very knowledgeable, not to risk paying out more than the goods were worth. Because a person does not have to redeem his goods. He can walk away with the money in his pocket and never be seen again. There are only a few pawnbrokers in London who would be able to take on goods of very high value. And then again, you see, my lady, if the goods were to turn out to be stolen, the broker would just have lost the stake. It would be repossessed without repaying him. So one would have to be very careful, unless what one had in mind was passing the job over to the underworld immediately.’
‘Surely a pawnbroker wouldn’t like to be a fence for some famous jewel like that emerald?’ Harriet asked.
‘People will take risks for large sums of money,’ Peter said.
‘There are several ships a day from Harwich to the Hook of Holland, my lady,’ said Bunter, ‘and many expert gem-cutters in Amsterdam.’
‘I had rather thought, if I understood it correctly, that the special virtue of that king-stone was the carving; that it would be reduced to nothing special if it were re-cut.’
‘It would be reduced,’ said Bunter, ‘to a handful of small stones, of very fine quality pure green, each of which would be worth a tidy sum. Each of which would make a fine ring, for instance.’
‘I see,’ said Harriet. ‘So Peter despatched you to find a pawnbroker with a guilty secret.’
‘We set a sprat to catch a mackerel,’ said Peter. ‘I reckoned we needed to find a pawnbroker who was willing to take things of very high value. Someone in a position to lend tidy sums of money – none of your two-and-sixpence-till-Saturday people.’
‘Although as it turned out,’ said Bunter, ‘they were not necessarily two establishments working at different levels, but one and the same, depending on who came in. The high-value merchants were discreetly working behind windows full of boots, suits and gewgaws. But Mr Arbuthnot mentioning silver gave his lordship the idea; we zipped up to Bredon Hall and borrowed a Tudor jewel from the Dowager Duchess.’
Peter added, ‘She got very excited, Harriet, because she thought that could only mean a girl in prospect to whom I intended to become engaged; she was so disappointed when we returned the thing a couple of weeks later. By then she had run through everything she knew about me in her mind and concluded that it could only be the Sylvester-Quicke girl. She had practically chosen the wedding dress. I hoped fervently that she had been moonshining by herself, and not in collaboration with Amaranth’s mother. Sorry, I digress.’
‘The idea, my lady,’ said Bunter, returning to the subject, ‘was to take something comparably exotic and valuable, and find by the experiment which pawnbrokers would consider it. His lordship drove me round, and waited outside each shop in turn while I tried my luck.’
‘Why didn’t you do it yourself, Peter?’ asked Harriet.
‘It would have been potentially legit had it been me in person. Bunter took the family bangle into one place after another, with mixed results.’
‘It wasn’t a question of being offered very poor value, my lady,’ said Bunter, ‘but of being turned away empty-handed. Not at all the sort of security they liked to have. But at last someone said it was more the sort of thing that Mr Handley in Isleworth might be interested in. So his lordship drove us to Isleworth.
‘Mr Handley was not quite what I would have expected in a pawnbroker. He was an English man of a pallid complexion wearing an expensive suit. He offered me a thousand pounds against the family jewel, remarking as he did so what pleasure it gave him to have the guardianship of such a fine piece, and what a pity it was that the scions of great families couldn’t take proper care of their wealth.
‘So then I told him that I was not actually wanting to pawn the pendant, but was hoping to find a person who might have been willing to take in pawn something even more spectacular.
‘ “And what would that be?” he asked me.
‘ “A dark emerald of a squarish sort of shape.”
‘ “I have put out a fair sum on such a jewel as that,” he said. “But what is your interest in it, may I ask?’
‘I said it had, in a manner of speaking, gone missing from its proper place. I confessed I had not myself seen the jewel, and begged permission to bring in my friend who was waiting outside to identify it.’
‘I introduced myself,’ Peter continued. ‘Mr Handley was very reluctant to show us his pawn. I had to mention that it would be a pity if the police got involved and arrived with search warrants and the like, because if that happened he would almost certainly lose his money.
‘Then he took us into a back room, and left us there for a little while. When he reappeared he was holding a square piece of suede. He put it down on the table and carefully unfolded it to reveal – shall we tell Harriet what was revealed, Bunter, or shall we make her guess?’
‘It is a difficult guess, my lord,’ said Bunter cautiously.
‘Oh, come, Bunter. Surely not beyond
the powers of the finest mind in detective fiction?’
To her great annoyance, Harriet felt herself blushing slightly. ‘I don’t compare with Conan Doyle, or Agatha Christie, or Dorothy Sayers,’ she said reproachfully. ‘Just for a start. And to prove it I cannot guess what Mr Handley had to show you, unless it was simply the Attenbury jewel. Besides, Peter, what I do is fiction. When faced with a difficulty in writing fiction one has always the option of making it up. The real world is much tougher and more resilient.’
‘And surprising?’ asked Peter.
‘Surprise needs careful handling,’ Harriet told him. ‘The mighty Aristotle himself told us to prefer a likely impossibility to an unconvincing probability. You will have to tell me.’
‘Two square emeralds. He showed us two, side by side, at first glance identical.’
‘Gracious!’ said Harriet. ‘So much for Aristotle. Wait; let me guess now – the clever Mr Nandine Osmanthus had pawned his jewel to keep it safely hidden from the police. What did you do?’
‘I turned them over. They both had inscriptions on the back. I was mortified that I couldn’t read them.’
‘ “Were these left with you by one gentleman?” I asked.
‘ “By two different gentlemen, on separate occasions. Both have promised to return and redeem their property.”
‘ “This a very peculiar thing,” I said. “Does either of these two know about your custody of the other man’s jewel?”
‘ “I am afraid so,” he said. “I don’t like this at all. I am out of my depth here and I should not have got into it. The first gentleman was a fellow of about twenty-five or so. Bargained me up a bit about how much I would advance. The second young gentleman was an Indian of some description. Very well-spoken. But when he showed me his pledge I could not conceal my surprise. Such an unusual jewel – and two like it in a week! The gentleman observed my unguarded reaction, and began to ask me most pressing questions. At last I showed him the other man’s pledge.”
‘ “Did he attempt to acquire it?” I asked.
‘ “I told him in no uncertain terms that the period laid down by law during which the pledge had to remain with me was six months.”
‘ “And he went away content with that?”
‘ “He extracted from me a promise that I would let him know immediately, within the hour be it day or night, when the other man redeemed his jewel.”
‘ “Could I ask you to extend the same courtesy to me?” I said.
‘ “I really don’t think so, Lord Peter. As far as I can see you have no business with either jewel. I have already overstepped the mark in talking to you so frankly.”
‘ “Tell me, then, how are you to tell these stones apart? Can you read the inscriptions?”
‘ “Indeed not. But the Indian gentleman instructed me. He was very emphatic in telling me that on his jewel the first letter was rounded, and on the other man’s jewel the first letter would be pointed.
‘ “I made a clear mental note of that in case it came in handy.” ’
Chapter 8
Dinner in the Wimsey household was not as it had been before the war. The grand dining-room was seldom used. Instead the family ate in the little breakfast-room, at a pretty Victorian oval table, small enough for them to hear each other speak. No longer did a maid serve their food for them; instead it was laid as a buffet on a huge sideboard for them to help themselves. There was still white linen and silver flatware, and even a pair of candlesticks, though they retained the wartime instinct to conserve the candles, which were lit only on an occasional impulse.
Bunter and the cook kept things going with the help of a cheerful daily, who was rather apt to break things. The life of the family had shrunk within the ample grandeur of the London house, and now resembled the easier life they led in the country. Nobody changed for dinner unless there were guests. The formalities – those candlesticks, Bunter’s ‘Dinner is served,’ routine, the announcement of guests, the coffee after dinner in the library – all these continued in a faintly self-mocking manner, a form of affectionate nostalgia for the vanished glory of ‘before the war’. During the war and under the rigours of rationing it had been easier to pool resources, and although things were eased quite a bit by now, the Bunters’ ration books were still held by the cook, the meals were shared, and now and then both Mr and Mrs Bunter sat down to eat with the family.
The Wimsey boys didn’t pick up the nuances, and regarded their parents as incredibly stuffed shirts. Bredon, the eldest, even made a habit of calling Bunter ‘Mervyn’. He had yet to grasp that this was unwelcome to Bunter, leave alone why it was, but he was, after all, only sixteen.
Since Bredon and young Peter Bunter were on leave from Eton, dinner that evening was jolly and rowdy, and Peter affected the baffled parent pose all through it. Coherent conversation would have been difficult, and was not attempted.
After dinner, however, Bredon and PB went off to play a game of real tennis at the Queen’s Club, and as soon as it was cleared the younger boys began a game of Monopoly on the dining-room table. Lord Peter and Harriet retreated to the drawing-room.
‘And then, Peter?’ Harriet asked. ‘What did you do about the villainous Mr Northerby?’
‘I havered a bit. What should I have done, Harriet?’
‘You should have gone straight to the police.’
‘Arguable. But I suppose I didn’t yet see myself as an investigator by trade or choice. I still thought of what I was doing as helping the Attenbury family. Friends of my mother’s. I suppose I could have asked them if they wanted young Northerby cast into irons. I’m afraid I didn’t. I decided to confront Northerby myself.’
‘Entirely by yourself?’
‘No; because Bunter would be there. I asked Northerby to call on me.’
‘And he declined to come?’
‘Yes. How did you know?’
‘Because that is what I would have done in his position.’
‘Ah. So I had no option but to call on him.’
‘And you found him not at home?’
‘Once, twice, three times. So I thought, Righty-ho, young fellow-my-lad, it’ll have to be the police. And then I thought perhaps the threat of the police would serve as well as Inspector Sugg in person. And it did. It brought Northerby round to my flat within an hour of receiving my note, and in a pretty foul mood.’
‘ “Wimsey, I’ll thank you not to meddle in matters which are none of your business,” was his opening shot.
‘ “I am acting in the interests of my family friends,” I said.
‘ “You are sadly mistaken in your judgement of what they are,” he said. “How will harassing me help the Attenburys? Unless you were hoping to marry Charlotte yourself I cannot see what you think you are doing.”
‘ “Recovering stolen property for them,” I said. “Perhaps I should tell you at once that I know where the emerald is.”
‘ “I have nothing to say on this subject,” he said.
‘ “I know where the emerald is, and I am minded to tell the police. I do not know what sum of money Attenbury would have to find to redeem his property, but the police can recover it without any cost to him at all. When they have done so I imagine they will want to talk to you.”
‘ “You fool, Wimsey!” he said. “You meddling idiot! What do you mean by referring to the jewel as stolen? Why should I steal from my future wife?”
‘ “I imagine because your debts were too pressing to wait for the marriage,” I said. I was having cold feet, Harriet. I had not yet met the bluster and affected outrage of the crook in the face of his accusers which have become wearily familiar to me in the years between.
‘ “The gems are Charlotte’s,” he said. “And Charlotte knows all about this. It is outrageous to talk of theft and threaten me with the police. I demand an apology, Wimsey.”
‘ “Charlotte knows about it?” I was very surprised at that.
‘ “Of course she does. What do you take me for?”
/>
‘ “Then I take it you would have no objection to accompanying me now to the Attenburys’ London house and asking her to confirm what you say. I think we will find them all at home.”
‘ “Is that really necessary?” he said. He was beginning to falter.
‘ “Either that or the police. As you wish.”
‘He blustered a bit more, and made as if to leave, but he found Bunter standing in the drawing-room door, arms folded, legs planted firmly apart. So he caved in, and we all got our coats on and toddled round to Attenbury’s.
‘And there, Harriet, quite a charade was played out. We got there around six, and the family were assembled in the drawing-room. Northerby did not so much as glance at his lordship or her ladyship, he advanced straight to Charlotte, took her two hands in his, looked her straight in the eyes, and said, “Dearest, I’m afraid there has been a serious muddle. I must ask you to tell Wimsey here that you know all about the supposedly missing emerald. That you gave it to me. Otherwise I am in trouble.”
‘That girl rose to the occasion magnificently. She turned to me wide-eyed, advanced a pace or two towards me, looked me straight in the eyes, and said, “Yes, Peter, of course I know about the emerald.”
‘Attenbury positively roared at his daughter: “Charlotte! What do you know about the emerald?”
‘ “I was going to tell you very soon, Father,” she said.
‘Northerby had regained his composure. “This can be sorted out quickly,” he said. “Charlotte, if you will just tell everybody that you knew I was going to pawn it.”
‘ “Yes, Reggie, I knew,” she said, and then she burst into tears.
‘Well then, as you can imagine, Harriet, the fur flew. Attenbury went pale as ashes, and said in a strangulated sort of voice, “Charlotte! Let me understand you. You gave the king-stone to your fiancé, knowing he was going to pawn it? I suppose he gave you some sob-raiser about being short of cash?”
The Attenbury Emeralds Page 8
