Now Lavender turned back to the countess. ‘Please tell me in your own words, your ladyship – exactly what occurred last night?’
‘Well, as I have already explained to your constable, I checked on the diamonds just before we left the house. I placed them in their box, locked it with my key and handed it to my maid. She then passed the box, along with a hat box, to our footman who brought it down to the coach. I followed a few moments later. We boarded the coach but by the time we reached the Islington Toll gate, my jewels had disappeared.’
‘How valuable are the Skelton diamonds?’
‘They’re priceless!’ Lady Skelton exclaimed. ‘My father-in-law brought most of the stones back from India and had them set in gold for his wife.’
‘Yes, I saw them in the portrait outside. Tell me, Wharton, do you have them insured with Lloyds?’
‘Well, yes,’ Wharton frowned. ‘But that is not the point is it, Lavender? These are jewels of incredible importance to our family; we need them recovered. This is not about the money.’
‘Of course. But why don’t you keep them in a bank vault?’
Wharton sighed. ‘My mother prefers to keep them with her at all times,’ he said, ‘despite the obvious risk that this incurs.’
The old lady bristled and Lavender sensed that her stubbornness on this issue had caused friction with her more pragmatic son. ‘I brought them down to London for the Duchess of Cleveland’s ball Saturday last,’ Lady Skelton informed him, haughtily. ‘We were returning to Yorkshire last night.’
‘And you were accompanying your grandmother, on the journey?’ The unexpected question startled the young earl out of his arrogant disdain. He flushed and shot a nervous glance across the room towards his uncle.
‘Lord Henry is down from Eton on a visit,’ Wharton said, smoothly.
I don’t think so, thought Lavender. Not mid-term.
‘It has been a pleasure having his company,’ said the old lady. She leaned over and patted her grandson affectionately on the leg with her quizzing glass. He scowled and brushed her hand away from his buckskin breeches.
‘This footman who has disappeared, Danby, was he the man who carried your jewels down to the coach, Lady Skelton?’
‘No, that was Hawes; the servant who showed you in.’
‘And can Hawes be trusted?’
The question seemed to take Lady Skelton by surprise; she recoiled slightly and gave Lavender a ferocious glare.
‘As much as any servant can,’ Wharton said. He sighed. ‘He has been with us for over twenty years. My mother is rather fond of him. Why do you ask?’
‘Well, it is clear from the sequence of events you have outlined that the diamonds were taken from the jewellery box before Hawes placed it in the coach.’
‘But how is that possible, Detective?’ Lady Skelton demanded. ‘It was only a matter of moments before I followed my maid downstairs to the coach – and I have the only key to the case.’
‘May I see this box?’ Lavender asked.
‘It’s over there.’ She waved an arthritic hand in the direction of an intricately carved mahogany box which lay on a rosewood table.
Lavender moved across the room, took off his gloves and examined the jewellery case. Inlaid with sandalwood and some lighter, oriental material which he did not recognise, it had a small, gold key protruding out of the lock. He picked up the case and felt its weight. Even if it had the jewels inside, it wasn’t too big, nor too heavy, to be slipped beneath a man’s open coat and held there with one hand while the thief left the building. But the case was still here, while the diamonds were not. Lavender knew he was onto something as he turned over the case again but as yet he wasn’t sure what.
‘The diamonds were brought back from India in that very box,’ the countess informed him.
Lavender removed the key and examined its unique design. The gold fanned out into an elaborate, scrolled and swirling pattern at the point where it would be grasped by the countess’s arthritic fingers. Neither the box nor the key were particularly aged, despite decades of use.
‘This box is in very good condition.’
‘I take good care of my possessions,’ the countess snapped.
Lavender smiled to himself as he remembered the quizzing glass she still brandished behind him. Just how bad is her eyesight? he wondered.
Suddenly, he frowned as his probing fingers felt a slight, tell-tale sharpness down the side of the key. He lifted the lid and glanced inside. The velvet cushions of the lining were indented with the shape of the stolen jewels. Again, the material seemed to be in remarkably good condition for such an historic item.
‘I’m afraid I will need to keep this box for a while.’ He turned back to the Skelton family.
The countess opened her mouth to protest.
‘It’s significant to this case,’ he insisted. ‘I shall take good care of it and return it to you as soon as possible.’
‘Whatever you say, Detective,’ Wharton said. ‘Although, I’m sure that as soon as we track down our missing footman all will be revealed. No doubt the man was in league with my mother’s maid.’
‘I suspect that this footman has very little to do with the theft.’
‘What?’
‘I have no doubt that this robbery has been intricately planned.’ Lavender’s tone was calm and authoritative. ‘The speed with which the diamonds were stolen and smoothness of their disappearance – not to mention the issue of this unique jewel case and key – all point to a professional operation, which has been carefully thought out.
‘This is not the work of a disgruntled employee who has seized his chance and run off with your diamonds, Lady Skelton,’ he continued. ‘No. Somebody has been watching, waiting and planning this robbery for some time. It is someone who is very familiar with your family, your habits – and this jewel case.’
The Skeltons stared at him aghast as his words sank home. For once, Wharton seemed speechless. The countess looked horrified and the pimply complexion of the young earl paled to a green-tinged shade of grey.
‘The thief – or thieves – demonstrated considerable intelligence and guile in the success of this operation,’ he added. ‘It’s the work of a criminal mastermind. But you are right about one thing, Lady Skelton – someone you know is behind this audacious crime.’
‘Good grief,’ Wharton coughed. ‘Thank God we have got your help in this matter, Detective Lavender.’
Lavender arrived back at Bow Street before Woods and while he waited for his constable, he sat in an office and completed his report about his recent trip to Nottinghamshire. His sharp ears soon heard Woods bellowing in the hallway. Lavender grinned, left his desk and walked out into the crowded and stinking entrance hall of the magistrate’s court. As usual, the gloomy, wood-panelled passage heaved with the dregs of London. Some were shackled, some not. Gaudily dressed and rouged prostitutes lolled against the staircase, adding their own layer of insolent grime to the marks and stains of others. They rubbed shoulders with beggars and pickpockets, while the drunks flopped in a stupor on the floor amidst the nervous feet of those for whom this was the first arrest.
A flurry of goose quills at the main desk denoted the diligence of the besieged clerks recording the details of the prisoners before they were sent down to the gaol in the basement. Here, Constable Woods was angrily berating Hawes, the favourite footman of the Countess of Skelton. The man stood head-bowed and cowed beneath the onslaught. He’d removed his wig and twisted it nervously in his shackled hands.
‘Well, this is a surprise,’ Lavender said. He grinned at Woods. ‘I wasn’t expecting to see you in here, Hawes. Has my constable arrested you for your rudeness to officers of the law?’
But Woods was in no mood for joking. ‘He’s hiding something,’ he snapped. ‘And I’m damned if I can get it out of him.’
‘Ah, I see.’
Hawes shrank even further inside of himself beneath the steady, calculating gaze of the Detective but the flunkey
remained tight-lipped.
‘I think a spell in here – alongside some other felons – might just loosen his tongue.’
Lavender smiled. Five minutes in the Bow Street gaol was usually enough time to turn even the most arrogant of men into a nervous wreck.
‘As usual I bow to your instincts, Ned.’
The protesting footman was quickly despatched downstairs to the tender mercy of the Bow Street gaoler and Lavender pulled Woods to one side, to a quieter corner of the bustling hallway.
‘I were questioning him about his trip with the sparklers downstairs to the coach – and I could see he were hiding something.’ Woods explained. ‘I think he’s covering up for someone else.’
Lavender nodded. ‘That would make sense; the diamonds clearly disappeared before they went in the coach. He must know something about it. Let’s leave him to stew in the cells for a while. In the meantime, Ned, I need your thoughts on this jewellery case.’
He handed over the box to Woods and while the other man examined it, he explained its history.
‘Mmm,’ Woods growled. ‘You know, sir, these oriental objects are not as rare as that countess would like to think. The East India trading company has a thriving business in the export of items like this from the sub-continent.’
‘You think it might have been switched?’ Lavender asked sharply.
Woods thought for a moment then shook his head. ‘No, sir, it seems unlikely to me – that some opportunist thief would have had the good fortune to stumble across an identical box from the East Indies. It’s more likely that we are dealing with a cove who counterfeited the original box and then gulled the Skeltons out of their jewels.’
‘And the key,’ Lavender added. ‘In fact, feel this.’ He removed the gold key from the lock and passed it to Woods who rolled the metal between his grubby thumb and forefinger.
‘There’s a small ridge.’ Woods said.
‘Virtually imperceptible,’ Lavender confirmed. ‘And not what we should expect on an item worn smooth by the hands of several generations of countesses. This key has been recently cut and moulded.’
Woods frowned. ‘Would there have been time to open the box and filch the sparklers during its passage down the stairs to the coach?’
‘The countess thinks not, which is why I believe the box has also been copied. It would be far quicker to just swap a wooden box; a matter of a couple of seconds at the most. Opening it to remove the diamonds would have wasted valuable time.’
‘But how could a counterfeiter manage to duplicate these carvings on the box and the design of the key?’
‘He would have needed intricate and detailed drawings – of both the box and the key.’
Woods thought for a moment and then his face lit up with delight. ‘And he would have needed the address of Master Bartholomew Wilton of Drury Lane.’
‘Bartholomew Wilton?’
‘A fence and criminal of the highest order,’ Woods said. ‘He once had a profitable little side-line selling counterfeit goods but we caught him and he served time in Newgate. This latest fashion amongst the bon ton for all things exotic and oriental proved a godsend to him. He had several good forgers in his pay. He’s laid low since his stint in Newgate and now runs a pawn shop off Drury Lane. But the word on the street is that his shop is a stalling ken for stolen goods – and he still takes commissions for counterfeit goods. We just haven’t caught him at it.’
Lavender smiled. ‘I think we need to pay Master Wilton a visit, Ned. But first I must have a word with Magistrate Read.’ He moved off through the bedraggled crowd in the hallway towards the staircase.
‘Before you go – there’s something else,’ Woods called after him.
Lavender turned back.
‘That missing footman of the Skeltons, Danby, the one they thought might have worked with the maid to filch the jewels.’
‘Yes?’
‘It turns out he were picked up by the beadles yesterday afternoon. He were foxed and causing trouble at a tavern in Smithfield market. He’s spent the last day sleeping off the ale in one of our cells downstairs. He couldn’t have filched them sparklers; we had him.’
‘Ah, so that’s another suspect off our list,’ Lavender said. ‘You’ve done well, Ned.’
When Lavender walked into the bleak and functional office of James Read, the Chief Magistrate of Bow Street, he was instantly conscious of the thud and echo of his footfall on the bare floorboards. Apart from a few chairs, the large desk and a towering bookcase crammed with leather-bound legal tomes, there was little in the way of furnishings. No shutters or drapes relieved the vast expanse of the glass, which overlooked the markets, theatres and gin shops of bustling Covent Garden.
‘Good to see you, Lavender,’ the magistrate said.
Read didn’t look up as he spoke. He scratched his close-cropped and greying head and continued to frown at a pile of parchment documents, strain etched across his face. His discarded wig lay forgotten amongst the ink stands and broken quills which littered his desk. He was the only Chief Magistrate in Bow Street’s history to refuse the mandatory knighthood which went with his position. Without a wig and a title, James Read was as unadorned as his office.
Lavender sat down in a faded wing-backed chair. On the wall behind Read, were two soot-blackened oil paintings. Sir Henry and Sir John Fielding glowered down from their heavy frames at the two men charged with continuing the tradition they had begun.
‘I’m glad to have you back, Lavender. How did your investigations go in Nottinghamshire?’
‘I have my final report, here.’
He pulled out a sheaf of documents from the inner pocket of his greatcoat and handed them over. Read took the documents and scanned them wearily. ‘There is no doubt in my mind that Nottinghamshire is a seething cauldron of insurrection,’ Lavender told him. ‘It will only take one spark – or one dynamic leader – to ignite the flames of revolution. Fortunately, for the authorities – I don’t believe such a leader has emerged as yet.’ Read’s mouth tightened into a grim line.
‘Well, that will be some consolation for the good burghers and merchants of the county who commissioned your investigation.’ He pushed Lavender’s report to one side. ‘I will pass this report on to the Home Department. For now, though, I want you to concentrate on the case of the stolen Skelton diamonds. This robbery has sent a wave of fear rippling through the bon ton and our aristocratic supporters in Parliament. We need a good resolution to this case – and soon – to prove our worth to those that vote for our remuneration. What have your enquiries uncovered, so far?’
Lavender related the details of his interview with the Skeltons. He pushed aside a pile of papers and placed the jewel case on Read’s littered desk and told him of his suspicions.
The magistrate examined the box. ‘Mmm,’ he said. ‘Ned Woods is right. Barty Wilton is more than capable of reproducing an object like this. And you’re right, as well; this theft required considerable inside knowledge of the jewellery box and the habits of the countess. Is there anything I can do to help with your investigation?’
‘Yes,’ Lavender said. ‘I need you to send a letter to the headmaster of Eton asking why the young Earl of Skelton has been sent down for the rest of term.’
‘Wharton told you that?’
‘No, but it doesn’t take a genius to work out that there is a serious problem. Schoolboys – even titled ones – should be behind their desks during term. The boy can be barely older than fourteen.’
‘I’ll get my clerk to pen a letter to Eton immediately.’ Read promised.
‘By the way,’ Lavender asked. ‘Why does Wharton have a different surname than the rest of his family? I thought the family name was Hall-Stevenson.’
‘It is. He adopted the name Wharton to please an elderly and very wealthy aunt back in 1788. She was so delighted with this gesture that she left him her entire fortune of one hundred and fifty thousand pounds, a very useful bequest for a second son.’
Lavender was impressed. The magistrate’s boundless knowledge and memory about the affairs of Britain’s key citizens never ceased to amaze him. Read was without doubt the best incumbent of the position with whom he had ever worked.
‘Wharton has these missing diamonds insured,’ he said cautiously, ‘and I did consider him a possible suspect in this case. However, from what you have just told me, he doesn’t need the insurance money.’
Read held up his hand in gentle warning. ‘I wouldn’t rule him out of your investigation, Lavender,’ he said softly. ‘The Parliamentary Borough of Beverley borders on the rotten – and it has an above-average number of freemen to bribe. I believe Wharton spent six hundred and fifty pounds at the last election including: fifty pounds towards flagging the streets; twenty pounds a year on coal for the poor freemen of the borough, ten pounds per year to the master of the grammar school, twenty five for the races, and he provided a buck and a doe for the mayor's table. Wharton has been their member for Parliament for twenty years and everyone knows that British politics drain the life blood away from you.’
‘Still, a bequest of one hundred and fifty thousand pounds…’ Lavender said.
‘There are rumours of insolvency,” Read interrupted. “Wharton has overstretched himself rebuilding Skelton Castle back in Yorkshire and recently sold an estate in Dorset to raise more capital. The Skeltons are struggling to keep up appearances. When the late earl died in that coaching accident, Wharton took over the ancient Skelton Castle to ease the burden on his young nephew. However, as I said, he has overstretched himself since with the renovation work.’
He paused while Lavender digested this latest information. ‘Please progress cautiously, Stephen,’ Read warned. ‘Crime amongst the aristocrats – even insurance fraud against Lloyds of London – is notoriously difficult to bring to court and prove.’
Lavender was distracted as he and Woods pushed their way through the crowded streets towards Drury Lane. His mind kept returning to his first encounter with Wharton. He knew he had been remiss when he let Wharton and his antagonist escape justice for their part in that ridiculous duel. It had given Wharton the impression that he was a police officer who would turn a blind eye to illegal activity. He was not. But he had an uneasy sensation that Wharton was banking on this.
1.5 The Mystery of the Skelton Diamonds Page 2
