1.5 The Mystery of the Skelton Diamonds

by Karen Charlton

  ‘Careful, sir.’ Woods’ strong hand grabbed his elbow and pulled him sharply into the road to side-step an open cellar door which lay in their path.

  A carriage veered to avoid the swarm of people now spilling over into the road. The driver rained curses down on their heads and many in the mob yelled back. Someone stood on his foot and others jostled him with sharp elbows and wicker baskets. Ever wary of thieves, he kept his hands over his pockets.

  Relieved to leave the surging crowd behind, they turned off Drury Lane into a dank alley beside one of London’s most notorious flesh shops. A surly gang of undernourished men loitered beneath the arched side entrance of the whore-house and glared at them. Woods’ distinctive scarlet waistcoat and blue greatcoat marked him out as a patrol officer.

  The narrow passageway stank to high heaven. Their boots slithered on the discarded slops which had been hurled from the overhanging, upper casement windows of the buildings. The upper storeys leaned perilously close to each other and virtually blocked out the light.

  ‘Which one of yer lovelies wants to make the beast with two backs?’ A toothless whore called down at them from an open window. Her fawning turned to abuse when they ignored her.

  Without Woods to guide him, Lavender would have missed Bartholomew Wilton’s pawn shop. Situated in the basement of one of the tenements of the alley, there was no shop window displaying his goods. They stumbled down a steep flight of greasy steps to the entrance; above them a rotting wooden sign with three weathered red globes creaked miserably in the cold wind.

  Inside, Lavender recoiled as the stench which emanated from the damp walls, baskets of dirty clothing and mouldy bedding slapped him in the nostrils. Unbelievably, the shop smelt worse than the alley outside.

  His eyes adjusted to the dim light offered by a few oil lamps and he saw a jumble of battered furniture piled haphazardly before him. Scratched occasional tables were thrown on top of the sagging upholstery of ancient sofas. Here and there, he caught the glint of dusty glass cabinets crammed with garnet brooches, chipped china cups, snuff boxes, silver watches and teaspoons. Framed pictures hung drunkenly across the sections of the crumbling walls which were not obscured by the leaning rolls of mouldy carpets and rugs. One whole corner of the shop was stacked high with tradesmen’s tools, including carpenter’s saws, planes and a set of butcher’s knives. This pile of unredeemed equipment nearly touched the low ceiling of the shop and seemed to Lavender the saddest testament to the desperation of the previous owners and their ruined lives. Every item had a ticket attached.

  Movement at the far end of this grimy emporium now attracted their attention. Lavender followed Woods towards a counter where a wizened old man in a faded burgundy smoking-jacket, glanced warily in their direction. Above his head a cracked sign announced: 'Money advanced on plate, jewels, wearing apparel, and every description of property.'

  ‘Good morning, Barty.’

  ‘Constable Woods.’ The old man shuffled uncomfortably beneath the patrol officer’s steady gaze and glanced curiously at Lavender from behind his spectacles.

  ‘’ow can I help thee, today?’

  ‘We need some information, Barty. You can tell us about this here jewellery box for a start.’ Woods pushed aside a set of chessmen and a flute which cluttered the dirty counter and placed the Countess of Skelton’s precious box in front of the nervous old man. The pawnbroker’s small, red-lined eyes narrowed.

  ‘Recognise it, do you?’

  ‘What if I do? I ain’t done nuffin wrong.’

  ‘No, I don’t think you have, Barty,’ Woods said. ‘But the detective and I would like to know who gave you the drawings and commissioned you to reproduce it.’

  ‘Detective?’ Wilton’s sallow cheeks flushed and gleamed with sweat. He now looked at Lavender with fear.

  The door at the far end of the shop creaked open, and a labouring man swathed in a blanket over his thin coat half-entered the shop. He stopped, stared for a second at Woods’ distinctive uniform and then backed out quickly.

  ‘It looks like we may be losing you some custom, Barty.’ Woods broad face relaxed into a wide grin.

  ‘Perhaps we should post you outside the premises for a few hours, Woods,’ Lavender suggested. ‘That should keep the customers away, while Mr. Wilton recovers his memory.’

  Yet still the old man hesitated. His filthy fingers, which poked out of the end of fraying woollen gloves, toyed nervously with the ticket he had been about to attach to a fiddle.

  ‘Just tell us the name of the man who gave you the drawings,’ Lavender snapped.

  Wilton dropped the ticket. ‘I can’t,’ he whined.

  ‘Would another spell in Newgate jog your memory, perhaps?’ Lavender’s voice cut through the floating dust mites of that rank air like ice.

  ‘No, no. I never knew ’is name.’

  ‘Describe him.’

  ‘I can’t.’ The man’s voice became shrill with desperation. ‘Look see, I can give thee these.’ He shuffled off behind the desk and began to rummage through a huge pile of old parchments stacked on the shelf behind him. A gaudily bound prayer book and a grubby silk handkerchief slithered to the floor but the old man did not stop to retrieve them.

  Eventually he returned to the counter with a couple of well-thumbed sheets of parchment, clearly torn from a drawing pad. On them were a series of beautifully executed drawings of the Countess of Skelton’s jewellery box and key.

  Lavender sighed with satisfaction.

  ‘He paid me well,’ Wilton said. ‘He wouldn’t give ’is name and I couldn’t see ’is face. He were educated though – from his voice. I could tell that. But the geezer kept ’is ’at low and were muffled with scarves. I’ve done nuffin wrong – I just ’elped out a customer with a job; a friend made up the box for ’im.’

  ‘Of course you did,’ Woods reassured him. ‘You just helped out a customer.’

  ‘We’ll take these with us,’ Lavender said. ‘When did your mysterious customer come to collect his box?’

  ‘Last week.’

  ‘You’ve been very helpful, Mr. Wilton.’

  Lavender turned to go and led Woods back through the maze of abandoned possessions, glad to leave behind the stench of so many failing lives.

  Back at Bow Street, Magistrate Read had news for Detective Lavender.

  ‘The Earl of Skelton was sent down from Eton for bullying and organising a gambling ring.’ He told his detective. ‘Apparently the boy is a nasty piece of work.’

  ‘It doesn’t surprise me,’ Lavender confessed. He remembered the young man’s suggestion that they torture the maid.

  ‘But he does have one redeeming feature.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘The young earl is a brilliant artist. His art tutor is missing his most accomplished pupil.’

  For the first time since this case had started, a smile spread across Lavender’s face. ‘Now why doesn’t that surprise me?’ he asked.

  ‘Did you meet anyone on your way to the coach, when you left the countess’ bedchamber with the jewellery box?’

  The footman, Hawes, had endured a sleepless night in the cells at Bow Street with some of the most colourful villains in London and in close proximity to several buckets of stinking human excrement. His eyes were glazed over with exhaustion and shock as he sat slumped on a hard wooden chair in Lavender’s small office. He emanated a very unpleasant odour. Hawes’ smart uniform was crumpled and stained; his stockings filthy. Someone had ripped off the silver buckles from his shoes.

  But his tongue seemed to have now taken on a life of its own. ‘I met his lordship at the top of the stairs. I were carrying the diamonds and a hat box.’ He scratched unhappily at the flea bites on the back of his neck.

  Lavender’s face relaxed into another smile. ‘What happened?’

  ‘He dropped some books and naturally I bent down to pick them up for him.’

  ‘Did he take hold of the jewellery box for you while your performed this service for hi
m?’

  ‘Yes. I put the hat box on the floor and gave him the jewels to hold. I didn’t think anything of it before. It only took a moment – a matter of seconds.’ Lavender sat back and pulled his gloves out of his pocket.

  ‘That was all he needed,’ he said. ‘You’ve told us what we need to know.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Woods said. ‘I can see how the lad switched the jewellery case – but how did he switch the key? The countess wouldn’t have been able to open the counterfeited box with her own key.’

  ‘He must have done it in the coach, during the journey,’ Lavender explained. ‘He travelled with her, remember? Maybe when Lady Skelton’s arthritic fingers were struggling to make her key turn in the lock of the fake jewellery box, perhaps he offered to help his grandmother and simply inserted the correct key into lock. Her eyesight is poor – she may not have even noticed him switching the keys.’

  ‘Can I go now?’ Hawes pleaded.

  Lavender beckoned over to the gaoler. ‘Take this fellow back down to the cells.’ The footman’s face fell. Lavender thought for a moment that the man would burst into tears. ‘Keep him there for two hours and then release him. We need time to complete the investigation at Mr. Wharton’s house before the servants return to it.’

  ‘What about them other two servants we’re holding?’ Woods asked. “That sop of a footman, Danby – and her ladyship’s maid.’

  ‘Yes, I think they have all suffered enough as a result of a schoolboy prank,’ Lavender said. ‘And none of them are thieves. Release them at the same time. Come on Woods, it is time we told the Honourable Joseph Wharton what really happened to his mother’s stolen diamonds.’

  ‘So it’s just a schoolboy prank?’ Woods asked, as Lavender rapped again on the ebony doors of Wharton’s home with his tipstaff. The constable’s face was lined with unease.

  ‘No.’

  ‘So why…?’

  The door swung open and saved Lavender from the necessity of replying for the moment. A pale-faced housemaid greeted them this time.

  ‘Her ladyship and Mr. Wharton are not at ’ome,’ she said, clearly not pleased to see them.

  ‘Good,’ Lavender said. ‘It is the earl we need to see. In fact, please show us up to his rooms.’

  For a moment, the girl looked like she would refuse but then she suddenly changed her mind. She led them up the marble staircase to a first floor bedchamber.

  Young Skelton had a small sitting room attached to his room. He was seated at a mahogany writing desk when they entered. He threw down his quill, leapt angrily to his feet and knocked over his inkstand in the process.

  ‘What’s this outrage?’ he demanded. The maid moved towards the spreading ink stain which dripped onto the expensive carpet but Skelton waved her brusquely out of the room.

  ‘How dare you bother me in my private chambers?’

  ‘We won’t bother you for long, lad,’ Woods reassured him.

  Skelton’s eyes widened at Woods’ lack of formal address and for a moment he struggled for words.

  Lavender ignored the blustering youth and moved swiftly across the room to the stacks of parchment piled on the desk and a nearby cabinet. He began to rummage through them.

  ‘What are you doing? How dare you!’ Skelton’s raised voice squeaked in anger.

  Lavender found what he was looking for; an artist’s sketch book. He flicked through the stiff parchment and paused at the place where two pieces had been ripped out of the book. Woods joined him.

  ‘I asked you what are you doing? I’ll have you both horsewhipped for this intrusion!’

  ‘Hold this, Ned.’ Lavender passed the pad over to Woods and then pulled two pieces of parchment out of his pocket. He unfurled the grubby sheets he had acquired at the pawnbroker’s and held their torn upper edges against the serrated edges which remained in the artist’s pad.

  ‘Mmm, it seems like a good match to me, sir.’ Woods said.

  The earl now fell silent. The sketch of Lady Skelton’s jewellery box was clearly visible. The boy’s face twitched with alternate flashes of defiance and fear.

  ‘The parchment is the same quality and shade as well,’ Lavender observed, calmly. ‘An expert would easily be able to verify that these sheets came from this sketch pad.’

  ‘Well, someone’s been a naughty boy,’ Woods said. ‘I doubt as it’ll be us that get horse whipped tonight, yer lordship. I wouldn’t like to be in your shoes when your grandmother finds out what ye’ve done. Shall we carry on and search his room for the jewels, sir? After all, that’s what we’ve been employed to do – to find the filched sparklers.’

  The terrified boy looked crushed to tears.

  ‘No. I think we had better wait for his uncle’s return,’ Lavender said. He turned to face the earl.

  ‘It seems to me, Lord Skelton, that you have a lot of explaining to do.’

  They went downstairs to the drawing room to wait for Wharton. Young Skelton refused to answer any more questions during that tedious interval. He slumped sullenly in his chair, averting his eyes and occasionally fiddling with his gold fob watch. But Lavender didn’t care. He knew his job here was done and he just wanted to get back to Bow Street and the serious business of catching criminals; criminals whom he knew he could convict.

  When Wharton returned, Lavender overheard the maid in the hallway tell him: ‘them two Bow Street Runners ’ave forced their way into the ’ouse and searched his lordship’s rooms.’

  But if Wharton was annoyed or alarmed at their intrusion, nothing showed on his face when he joined them in the drawing room. He was charm itself.

  He listened gravely while Lavender outlined his suspicions and the details of the investigation which had led them down Drury Lane to Barty Wilton’s pawn shop. The politician merely raised an eyebrow and cast a quick glance at his sullen nephew when Lavender showed him the damning evidence they had uncovered in the earl’s room.

  ‘I’m surprised her ladyship didn’t notice the difference between the two jewellery boxes and keys,’ Lavender said.

  ‘My mother’s eyesight has been failing her for some time.’ Wharton shrugged.

  You were well aware of that, Lavender thought.

  ‘So have you recovered the diamonds?’ Wharton asked casually.

  ‘No. We held back from undertaking a full search of his lordship’s rooms. I realised, once we had linked him to the sketch of the box provided by Barty Wilton that this had now become a family matter and we could leave the rest in your hands.’

  Wharton took a slight intake of breath.

  Relief?

  ‘You have done well, Detective – and shown great discretion. I knew I could rely on you to handle this situation with tact – and discretion…’

  Especially if I started to uncover the real truth, Lavender thought, grimly. You knew damned well that I wouldn’t arrest him.

  It was clear to him now why Wharton had asked for him personally to investigate this fake crime. Wharton knew from their previous encounter that Lavender was intelligent enough to know when to stop if he got too close to the truth. He had relied on that although he had clearly never expected him to get that far. Lavender swallowed the gall that burned in his throat and tried to remember the warning and advice he had received from Magistrate Read after he had shown him the drawings he had recovered from the pawnshop.

  ‘Scare them, Stephen – but don’t take it to its natural conclusion.’

  ‘I shall deal with my nephew.’ Wharton threw a menacing glance at the boy. ‘And hopefully, my mother’s diamonds will be recovered by the time she returns from her whist game at Lady Sheffield’s.’

  Lavender now turned round and glared at the young earl. ‘Once Lloyds of London notify us at Bow Street that the diamonds have been found, the case will be closed. Otherwise, Constable Woods and I will happily return and complete the investigation in our own way. You remember your lordship, that you recommended we tortured the truth out of your grandmother’s maid? Well, we
have just wiped away her blood from the rack and it now waits for its next victim. If you delay in passing on the good news to Lloyds of London we shall act.’

  ‘Quite, quite,’ Wharton said, hurriedly.

  Lavender was delighted to see the youth turn green.

  ‘Well, thank you again, Detective. Your help has been appreciated in what has turned out to be just an embarrassing family matter. I trust that we can continue to rely on your discretion? No scandal in the newspapers, eh?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Lavender said.

  ‘You have done well, Detective, and provided a good service for my mother and myself.’

  ‘It will be the last.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ Wharton looked startled.

  ‘I said it will be the last service I do for you, Mr. Wharton. I’m sure that you take my meaning?’

  Wharton’s neck flushed, and for the first time his eyes dropped beneath the penetrating stare of the detective.

  ‘I’ll bid you good day,’ Lavender said.

  ‘I’ll ring for the maid to show you out,’ Wharton mumbled.

  ‘There’s no need. We’ll see ourselves out.’

  In the square outside, the evening air was heavily flavoured with the smell of roast meat from a hundred cooking pots, bubbling over the kitchen hearths of Lincoln’s Inn Fields. Its strong scent, mingled with smoke and coal dust, irritated the back of this throat but this provided a welcome distraction after the stifling hypocrisy he had endured in that airless interview with the Honourable Joseph Wharton.

  He breathed deeply and leant against the warmth of his horse for a moment. Woods joined him and stood quietly by his side.

  ‘So that’s it?’ His constable asked at last. ‘It were just a schoolboy prank, all along?’

  ‘No, of course it wasn’t.’ Lavender said, grimly. ‘They were in it together. This was always about the insurance money, Ned. Always. Young Skelton couldn’t have thought up such an elaborate plot against his grandmother on his own.’