Death Wears a Mask

by Ashley Weaver

  There was only one way to find out.

  While I knew that I had very little hope of stumbling across Mrs. Barrington’s jewels in the first shop I visited, it was my thought that some subtle inquiries might lead me in the right direction.

  Winnelda was right about one thing, however. I couldn’t just waltz into a place like that asking questions. They would be bound to be suspicious. No, I would have to go with the pretext of trying to sell something. That meant there was only one option.

  I would have to go in disguise.

  22

  MY PLAN, ONCE formulated, was put into action at once.

  I located a dress in the back of my closet that had somehow escaped the charity pile. It was several years old, of a slightly dated color and cut. I had lost a bit of weight as of late, and it was ill-fitting, which I thought heightened the effect.

  I took off my engagement and wedding rings and found a small ruby ring in the back of my jewelry box. I slipped it into my pocket.

  I hadn’t much experience going incognito, but I was of the impression that it would be best to hide my identity as thoroughly as possible. To that end, I put on too much makeup and mussed my hair a bit in hopes of appearing somewhat tawdry. I stepped back from the mirror and studied the effect.

  Winnelda had watched my preparations in growing alarm. “Oh, I wish you wouldn’t, madam,” she had said, more than once.

  “I assure you, everything will be fine, Winnelda.”

  “At least you’ll have Markham with you,” she said, as though to reassure herself. “He’s a sturdy fellow and should be able to protect you if something goes amiss.”

  “I’ll take a cab,” I said. “If I have Markham drive me, it will call too much attention.”

  “I don’t know, madam,” Winnelda said, wringing her hands. “Begging your pardon, but I think it’s an awfully risky thing to do.”

  “Don’t fret. I’m not going to do anything dangerous.”

  “Perhaps I should come with you,” she suggested. One look at her face was enough to make it plain that she hoped I would refuse. She needn’t have worried, for I thought that her nervousness would only make me more conspicuous.

  “I don’t think that will be necessary,” I told her. “I’m only going to make a few inquiries. Nothing is going to go wrong.”

  This did not seem to comfort her. “I do hope you’re right, madam,” she said mournfully.

  I was undeterred by her lack of confidence and left the flat determined to learn something.

  I took a cab to Whitechapel, and the drive gave me time to contemplate how poorly devised my plan really was. How on earth did I expect to locate Mrs. Barrington’s missing jewelry in a sea of London pawnbrokers? I would have equated it to searching for a needle in a haystack, but I thought it unfair to haystacks. I felt suddenly that I had set out on a Herculean task. I supposed it wouldn’t hurt to attempt it, however. After all, Hercules had succeeded.

  Whitechapel High Street was bustling with traffic, and the car slowed, the driver glancing at me in the mirror. “Any particular pawnbroker?” he asked.

  As I thought it might elicit suspicion to request the most disreputable of them, I asked him to stop at the first one we encountered.

  He pulled up to the curb, and I instructed him to wait. Stepping out onto the street, I realized there were an alarming number of unsavory-looking shops. I fought down the rising feeling that I might have embarked on too great an undertaking and walked toward the shop nearest me, the three golden balls signifying a pawnbroker’s shop beneath the faded sign that read ACKERMAN AND HEATH PURVEYORS OF FINE GOODS.

  A bell, imprisoned by cobwebs, did its best to jangle as I entered. The place was just as I had imagined it would be, dark and musty with a generally unwholesome atmosphere. There were long, dusty glass counters filled with jewelry and trinkets of every imaginable description. I wondered how much of it might have been acquired by unscrupulous means.

  The man behind the counter looked up at me as I entered, his shrewd eyes taking my measure in one practiced glance.

  “Good afternoon,” I said. I allowed a bit of uncertainty to come into my voice. I had determined that it would be best for me to act as though I was new to this sort of thing. No matter how much I hoped I might be able to turn in an excellent performance, Sarah Bernhardt I was not. There was no way I could convincingly portray a hardened criminal, so it would be easiest for me to act as a decent woman sliding down the slippery slope to thievery and ruin.

  “What can I do for you?” he asked, still eyeing me in an unnerving way.

  “Well, Mr. Ackerman … Or is it Heath?”

  “Neither.”

  “Oh,” I said. “I see. Well, I … do you buy jewelry here?”

  “Depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On the type of jewelry, where you got it, how much you want for it. Things like that.”

  “I have a ring I’d like to sell,” I told him. “A ruby ring.”

  “Where did you come by it?” he asked.

  I feigned nervousness, which was not difficult. “Someone gave it to me.”

  “Did they indeed?”

  I heard the door to the shop open, but I didn’t turn around. I was just beginning to warm up to my part. I hoped that I was making my story sound a bit dubious. “Yes. It was a gift from my employer.”

  “What do you do for a living?” he asked.

  “I’m a maid.”

  I was not, by nature, a good liar. In fact, I was very much against it in practice. However, I consoled myself by the fact that this was a role I was playing. I only hoped I could maintain it.

  “Well, why don’t you let me see this ring of yours?”

  I pulled off my glove and reached into my pocket to pull out the ring. He held out a rough, hairy hand, and I dropped it into his palm. He held it up, surveying it carefully, before his eyes came back to me.

  “So I’ve found you out.”

  I turned at the familiar voice from the doorway, unwilling, at first, to believe my ears.

  It was Milo.

  How in the world he had found me here, I didn’t know, but I forced myself to keep from revealing my extreme annoyance at his unwelcomed presence.

  “I was afraid you might do something like this, Mary,” he said, disappointment in his voice.

  Mary. So he was continuing the ploy then. I didn’t know what he was up to, but I was sorely displeased that he had chosen to interfere in my affairs.

  “As you can see, I followed you.” Milo turned to the man. “She’s taken the ring from my wife’s jewelry case.”

  “Then that’s a matter for the police,” the man said, unalarmed. “You’d best deal with her elsewhere.”

  “No need for the police,” Milo replied indulgently. “After all, I’m rather fond of Mary.”

  My eyes narrowed, but I held my tongue.

  “Granted, she’s not a very good maid,” Milo continued. “More ornamental than useful, if you understand my meaning.”

  I clenched my fists to keep from snatching up some heavy object from a nearby shelf and hitting him with it, as he so richly deserved.

  “We don’t buy stolen jewelry,” the proprietor said.

  “No, no, of course not,” Milo said pleasantly. “I’m only glad I caught her before she could go to someone who does. I’d hate for her to do something foolish. I’ll make sure she doesn’t try anything like this again. We’re sorry to have troubled you. Come along, Mary.”

  He took my arm and fairly dragged me from the shop.

  “What are you doing?” I hissed at him when we were out on the street, jerking my arm from his grasp.

  He handed money to my cab driver, dismissing him without consulting me, and then took my arm again and led me to where his own cab was waiting. I thought about refusing to get into it, but I didn’t want to make a scene.

  “I was coming to see you when I saw you emerge from our flat questionably dressed and behaving in a highly su
spicious way. I followed you, naturally,” he said, as he slid in beside me.

  “I don’t like to be followed,” I informed him irritably. “I’ve no need for you to monitor my movements. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

  “It’s a good thing I came along when I did. In another minute, he would have found you out, and I dare say he would not have been amused.”

  “He would not have found me out,” I said. “I was doing just fine before you arrived.”

  “The ruse wouldn’t have lasted much longer.”

  “Oh, really?” I retorted. “And what makes you such an expert on such things?”

  “For one thing, you had taken off your gloves.” He picked up my hand from my lap. “How many maids do you know with perfectly manicured fingernails?”

  I pulled my hand from his grasp.

  “For another, I’m afraid you’ve rather overdone it. Your face looks ghastly. I think you’ve confused the part of a maid with that of a tart.”

  I pulled a mirror from my handbag. Though I hated to admit it, he was right. In the light of day, my countenance was vaguely clownish. I took a handkerchief from my bag and began dabbing at the paint.

  “I assume you’re looking for Mrs. Barrington’s stolen things. Well, I’ll help you.”

  “I haven’t asked for your help,” I retorted.

  He ignored me as the car rolled along slowly and then stopped in front of another shop.

  “Why are we stopping here?” I asked.

  “Because the proprietor of this particular shop has been known to deal in questionably acquired goods.”

  “How did you learn that?” I demanded, irritated that he should have already begun inquiries along the same lines as mine.

  “I have my sources.”

  He opened the door and got out. I followed him, protesting.

  “Milo, I don’t think…”

  “Don’t argue with me, Mary.” He took my arm, and we walked into the shop.

  Apparently, surly, unkempt gentlemen were standard in these types of establishments, for the proprietor here was nearly an exact duplicate of the one I had just encountered.

  “What can I do for you?” he asked, his eyes moving from Milo to me and back to Milo.

  “I’m looking for some fine jewelry,” Milo told him in a bored tone, his eyes glancing disinterestedly around the shop.

  The man ran his eyes over Milo’s Savile Row suit in an appraising way. “I expect you’d find more of what you’re looking for in some Mayfair jeweler’s.”

  Milo smiled easily. “Yes, but I’m afraid any of those shops might provide an additional hazard. You see, I shouldn’t like my wife to find out.”

  The man glanced at me, comprehension dawning on his features.

  “I can appreciate that, sir,” he said, his tone a bit more friendly than it had been before. I was incensed that Milo’s insinuation should have been a point in his favor.

  “I’d like something a bit different than the usual, something a wife probably won’t appreciate.”

  “Must you always talk about your wife?” I asked pettishly. If I was going to play this role, I figured I may as well make a go of it.

  “I’m sorry, darling, but it’s not as though we can pretend she doesn’t exist.”

  “You forget it easily enough at times,” I shot back. Then I walked to the other end of the counter, pretending to examine the trinkets beneath the glass countertop. I thought perhaps the two men might commiserate in their mutual immorality.

  “A bit skittish, is she, sir?” the man said, lowering his voice, though not low enough for his words to elude me.

  “The high-spirited ones always are,” Milo replied.

  If he continued to talk about me as though I were one of his horses, he was going to see just how high-spirited I could be.

  “Women are strange creatures.”

  “They are indeed,” Milo agreed gravely.

  “I’d give that one what she wants,” the man said. “She’s one I’d hate to lose, if you’ll pardon my saying so.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Milo turn to look at me. “That she is.”

  “What are you looking for?” the man asked him. “I’ve got some fine pieces that I don’t keep on display. Anything particular you have in mind?”

  “Have you anything with an Eiffel Tower?” Milo inquired.

  I was impressed that he had remembered the description of Mrs. Barrington’s most easily recognizable piece of jewelry. He really was frightfully efficient when he chose to be.

  “An Eiffel Tower?”

  “Yes, you know: a jeweled replica of some sort. We sometimes”—Milo offered another suggestive smile—“holiday in Paris, you see.”

  “When we can get away from your wife,” I chimed in.

  The corner of Milo’s mouth tipped up.

  “I’m afraid I haven’t anything like that,” the proprietor said. “But I’ve got a lovely sapphire necklace that would suit the lady perfectly.”

  “No, I’m afraid it’s an Eiffel Tower she wants,” Milo said. “Isn’t it, darling?”

  “Yes,” I confirmed. “You’ve promised me again and again. I intend to get it.”

  Milo looked at the man and shrugged his shoulders, as if at a loss in the face of a woman’s demands.

  I thought of Mrs. Barrington’s other pieces. “But,” I said slowly, “I would like a sapphire bracelet. But there’s a certain one I want. I saw it on a rich lady once, and I’ve wanted one ever since. There was a diamond bracelet she had too, now that I think of it. They were both lovely.” I proceeded to describe the missing pieces in great detail.

  “I haven’t got either one of those,” the proprietor said a bit wearily when I had finished.

  “Well, then I suppose we must keep looking.” I took Milo’s arm and pressed myself against him in what I could only hope was a fair impression of coquettish behavior. “You’ve promised me, lovey,” I purred.

  “That I have. And you know I can’t resist you, darling.” Without warning, his arm came around me, and he pulled me against him, giving me a lingering kiss on the mouth before releasing me.

  My eyes shot daggers at him, but he only smiled and turned to the proprietor. “You’ll have to excuse me. I am sometimes overcome by Mary’s charms.”

  The man, it seemed, was completely unfazed by our behavior. “You certain nothing else will do?” he asked.

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “I want one of those things specifically.”

  The man seemed disappointed, but he nodded and gave Milo a look that seemed to say he understood the trials of high-spirited women.

  “If you come across any of those things, you’ll let me know?” Milo asked.

  “Certainly, sir. Certainly.”

  Milo took a card from his pocket and scribbled something on it, handing it to the man.

  “Pleasure to assist you, Mr. Ames. Gibbs is my name, sir. If you think of anything else you need, you’ve only to ask.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Gibbs. I shall.”

  Milo turned to me. “Come, Mary. I’ll buy you a sable coat.”

  I smiled. “I suppose that will do until the jewelry comes along.”

  I came back to where he stood and smiled at the shopkeeper. “Thank you for your trouble, Mr. Gibbs.”

  “It was my pleasure.” He leaned a bit closer over the counter. “And I wouldn’t worry myself none about his wife, miss,” he said warmly. “I’m sure she’s nothing compared to you.”

  23

  “BRAVA, DARLING,” MILO said when we were safely outside. “You were magnificent.”

  He took my hands in his, turning me to face him. His eyes were alight with amusement, and I could tell that he had enjoyed our little charade immensely. Against my will, I felt caught up in his enthusiasm.

  “We were rather convincing, I think,” I said.

  “You were perfection. You should be on the stage.”

  “But if you ever refer to me a
s ‘skittish’ again…”

  “That was your admirer, Mr. Gibbs, not me.”

  “You needn’t have kissed me,” I told him, attempting to be cross.

  “I never like to miss an opportunity to kiss you, darling,” he said with a smile.

  “I’m not certain why it was necessary for Mary to be your mistress,” I said, disengaging my hands from his. “Wouldn’t it have been just as effective for me to be your wife?”

  “It was merely for effect, and you must admit that it seemed to be a point in our favor.”

  It was true. The story seemed to have shifted Mr. Gibbs’s sympathies almost at once.

  “How did you know that would work?” I asked.

  “When one wants to associate with unscrupulous people, it is best to behave unscrupulously.”

  “Something you know all about, I’m sure,” I said, only half in jest.

  “Come now, darling. You see that he was inclined to be much friendlier when he thought we were on an illicit errand.”

  “That is not to his credit,” I replied, “though he was pleasant enough once he had relaxed his guard. If only someone will try to sell him Mrs. Barrington’s pin or bracelet.”

  “If I spread it about that I’m looking for that particular piece, I think it will reach the right person eventually. I’m a trifle optimistic perhaps, but, then again, you know I’m inclined to be lucky.” That was an understatement. Milo lived a charmed life. Everything he touched seemed to bend to his will and yield excellent results. Except, perhaps, our marriage.

  “You gave him your real name,” I said, recalling that Mr. Gibbs had addressed him as Mr. Ames.

  “Certainly. Do you expect I carry cards about with a false name on them?”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  He was unruffled by my cynicism.

  “It’s not a bad idea, actually. Alas, I hadn’t the foresight to have them made up. I will have to suffer aspersions cast upon the humble name of Ames.” He gave me a challenging look. “It’s not as though I’m not accustomed to it.”

  If he was expecting sympathy from me, he was sadly mistaken. He had made his bed, and he could lie in it. Although I didn’t particularly care for the metaphor in this instance.