"Get up and go to bed. I shall not want you this evening. And take the dog with you." My plans did not include Florence. Morag yawned and stretched, an elaborate production that took a few minutes. She made a great show of packing up her knitting and collecting the dog whilst I waited.
"You needn't tap your foot at me," she warned. "I am going as fast as I can."
"Feathers. You are slow as treacle because you want to know what I am about. And what I am about is none of your business."
"Oooh, you are in a right nasty mood, you are. Come, Florence. We've no call to be spoken to like that."
Nose in the air, she stuffed the dog under one arm, the knitting under the other, and retreated to her room. I paced the room after she left, working off my impatience. I was anxious about the night to come, worried my plan would work, and terrified it would not. Restless, I picked things up and put them down again, tried to read for a while, and even attempted to answer a few letters with little success.
At last the clock struck midnight, the earliest hour at which I thought my plan might be put into play. I rose from my chair and threw a black dressing gown over my clothes, changing my evening shoes for a pair of slippers with soft felt soles. If I were seen, I could easily claim I was wakeful and in need of a book or some refreshment. But I did not mean to be seen.
I crept from my room, careful to keep to the interior wall. The gallery was flooded with shifting moonlight. The moon had waxed full, shedding soft pearly light through the great windows. The light shifted as ragged bits of clouds, torn by the warm west wind, dragged over the moon's face like bits of veiling. I made no sound as I slipped behind the tapestry and depressed the mechanism. I had brought no candle with me. I could not risk being betrayed by the feeble light, and I knew the passage well enough to traverse it by feel. If I climbed slowly and kept my hands in front of me, I should be quite all right, I reasoned. But I will admit to heaving a great sigh of relief when I gained the lumber rooms. Though the moonlight was even brighter here, it took me some minutes to arrange a place of concealment. Finally, I hauled a small trunk onto a larger one and topped them both with a hat form, tucking myself neatly behind. And then I waited.
It was bitterly cold in the lumber rooms, even with my dressing gown over my clothes, and I wished more than once I had been clever enough to have dragged out a few of the moth-eaten old furs to line my little den. I dozed in spite of the cold, but jerked myself awake, occasionally resorting to little pinches and pokes to keep alert. I waited, thinking of all the things I would rather be doing at that moment. I must have fallen asleep, for the next thing I knew I heard a softly muttered curse. Carefully, I stretched my stiffened limbs and dared a peek over the trunk.
A woman was standing with her back to me, scarcely a dozen feet away. She must have been there a few minutes at least for she had nearly finished assuming her costume. Her hair was obscured by the thick white veiling, and she was already dressed in the ghost's attire, completely concealing her identity. She was fumbling at her feet, doubtless attaching the pattens to her shoes.
"Blast," I mouthed silently. She must have entered whilst I was asleep and I had nearly missed her altogether. It was little wonder Brisbane's faith in my abilities as a detective was so feeble.
The woman straightened then, and I had to admit, even at so close a distance, the moonlight lent an eerie effect. I had just watched a mortal woman dress herself in these bits of theatrical garb, and yet I could not suppress a shiver as she glided toward the door, seeming to float above the stone floor like a phantom in a Gothic tale.
I counted slowly to fifty after she left, then eased from my hiding place. Since I had seen her make use of the hidden stair before, it seemed reasonable she would do so again. I followed, straining my eyes for a glimpse of her flowing white draperies, careful to keep myself in the shadows.
There was no trace of her on the hidden stair, but when I emerged into the gallery of the ladies' wing, I saw her at the far end, hovering above the floor, moving slowly toward the staircase. I moved at a pace faster than a walk, but not quite a run, concealing myself behind statues and potted palms. I dashed from one to another, always pausing to make certain she was still within my sights. I followed her from the ladies' wing and onto the landing. I had a great fright then, for just as I reached the landing she turned back and I was forced to dart behind a suit of armour. I counted to fifty again and dared a peek. She had disappeared, and I had a bad moment or two until I realised she must be on the staircase. There was no possible way to descend while she was still on the stairs, so I waited, marking which way she turned at the bottom, then flying down as fast as silence would permit.
She had just reached the end of the transept corridor and turned right toward the drawing room. I followed her progress mentally. If I did not see her when I reached the bottom of the stairs, she must have gone into the great drawing room, in which case the little alcove behind Maurice the bear would make a splendid vantage point to watch for her return. And if she was still gliding down the corridor, Maurice would also be an excellent place from which to monitor her progress.
At least, that was my plan. Over what happened next, I would like very much to draw a veil. It was not my finest moment.
Just as I turned to the left I saw the ghost, stock still, squarely in the middle of the corridor, and not five feet from me. For an instant I forgot the trick of the black veiling and saw only a faceless phantom, floating above the floor. It lifted its featureless head and raised a spectral hand, pointing at my heart. It gave a low, anguished moan of despair, and with that tormented sound, the illusion was complete.
I gave a scream, a very little one, and stumbled backward, stepping hard on the hem of my dressing gown. Just as I fell to the floor, a shadow vaulted over me. It was Brisbane, moving like something out of myth. The moonlight sharpened the angry planes of his face, lending him the aspect of an avenging angel. I sat up just in time to see him rush headlong into the ghost, knocking her soundly to the floor. I struggled to my feet, remembering the candle always kept burning in this corridor at night. The ghost must have blown it out to show herself to best advantage in the gloom. It took but a moment to light it again, and by the time the little flame flared up, illuminating the scene, Brisbane had hauled the ghost to her feet, her black veiling dangling free.
"Charlotte!" I cried.
She made to wrench her arm free, but Brisbane held her fast with his good arm. "Charlotte, do not give me a reason to slap you, I beg you," he said pleasantly.
"Bastard," she spat.
"What the devil is this about? I want the truth, and I think I deserve it," I stated, folding my arms over my chest.
"She does deserve that much at least, Brisbane. Let us go into the study and discuss this like rational creatures," Father said. I whirled to find him standing on the last stair.
"You as well?" I demanded. Father had the grace to look abashed, but he said nothing. He turned to Brisbane in appeal. Brisbane gave him a curt nod and prodded Charlotte toward the study. I hurried after them, and Father followed. We were an unlikely quartet, I thought as Father closed the door carefully behind us and I hurried to light lamps and put a candle to the fire. It blazed up quickly and cheerfully, a counterpoint to our solemn faces. Brisbane was angry, Father was aggrieved, and Charlotte seemed broken, the hot flash of her anger now burnt to resignation. I was frankly bewildered, and after we had taken chairs and accepted the whiskey Father poured out, I settled back to await an explanation.
"Charlotte King is a jewel thief," Brisbane said flatly. "A rather exclusive one, to be sure, but a jewel thief nonetheless. I have been engaged to retrieve something she has stolen."
"I am not a thief," she said quietly.
"Mrs. King, do not speak," Father advised. "We shall all of us remember what you say, and perhaps we may one day be prevailed upon to repeat it, under oath and to your detriment."
Charlotte fell silent and sipped at her whiskey, her eyes downcast.
"It was. I needed to spend time with her, to search her place of residence, to follow her to her boltholes and bribe her confederates."
Charlotte gave a short laugh, nothing like the silly giggle she had affected. Her façade of sweetness cracked, she seemed a dozen years older. "Confederates, my lord? I must remember that."
Brisbane ignored her, as did I. "Why bring her here? To my father's house?"
"I had information, from one of her confederates," he said, drawling the word, "that she was planning to leave the country soon. It seemed logical she would take this particular item with her. I had had no success in recovering the jewel, and time was growing short. It was necessary to isolate her in a place without friends or accomplices and in possession of the stolen property. His lordship volunteered to invite her here."
"Father?" I gave him a stern look and he nodded, a trifle sheepishly.
"I did. I owed Brisbane a rather significant favour," he said shortly. His jaw was set, and I knew he regretted bringing the sordidness of an investigation into his home. I cocked my head, wondering if either of them would admit to Brisbane's daring deed in Trafalgar Square.
"What sort of favour?"
Father's eyes slid from mine. He was suddenly terribly interested in the state of his blotter.
"It does not signify," Brisbane cut in smoothly. "The fact remains, his lordship offered the use of this house party as a suitable setting to apprehend her."
Charlotte gave a harsh laugh. The colour had risen in her cheeks, whether from her predicament or the whiskey, I could not say.
"Apprehend me! And what have you got, my lord? A handful of tatty old rags and a girl out of bed when she oughtn't be," she said to Brisbane, her voice shrill, very near to hysteria, I thought.
"Is that true?" I asked him. "You have no proof of her crimes?"
Brisbane's jaw tightened. "I do not. She has been clever enough to secure the item in question somewhere other than her room or her trunk. I had a strong suspicion she was going to move it tonight. I hid myself in the gallery of the ladies' wing and followed her when she entered the hidden passage. Once I realised she was assuming her disguise, I retraced my steps and resumed my hiding place in the corridor. From there, I knew once she was garbed in her ghostly costume, she would lead me directly to her cache."
I felt a cold chill creep over my limbs that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. Brisbane was regarding me with an icy stare, and I understood with a thrill of horror what I had just done.
"You mean I ruined—" I could not bear to finish the thought.
"You did," he put in brutally. I had thought him angry with Charlotte. I should have known better. Brisbane was a professional. He did not permit his emotions to become entangled with the criminals he pursued. My interference, however, could be viewed in a very different light.
"Oh, no," I groaned, burying my face in my hands.
Charlotte laughed again, mirthlessly. "I suppose I ought to thank you, my lady. Brisbane has nothing to charge me with except the wearing of old clothes I found in the lumber room, and there is no crime in that." Old clothes she had likely discovered when Aunt Hermia had led a party of chattering ladies to the lumber rooms to choose Lucy's wedding finery. How simple it must have been for Charlotte to mark those few articles, then return later to fashion them into her ghostly garb. Under different circumstances, I might have admired her ingenuity.
I raised my head. "But clearly you were abroad for some nefarious purpose," I argued, desperate to salvage this calamity I had wrought.
Charlotte smiled at me and took a sip of her whiskey. "Or was I creeping around in this disguise to preserve my reputation? Perhaps I was seeking an assignation?"
There was no malice in her eyes, only the calm certainty of a woman who has taken every precaution in a dangerous game. This was why she had courted Plum's attentions, then. She had earned herself a stalwart defender should she have need of one, and an alibi as well.
She rose and placed her glass on the table, patting her hair to smoothness. "I do hope you will excuse me. I am very tired, and it is quite late. I will of course return these things to the lumber rooms, my lord," she said with an arch smile at Father. "I should not like to have it said I took anything that did not belong to me."
She dropped a deep curtsey and left us then. I sank further into my chair, wishing I could escape as easily as that.
"I am sorry," I murmured. "I had no idea."
"Yes, you did," Brisbane said bitterly. "You knew I would never seriously consider marrying a woman like that. You taunted me with it that day by the river. But you could not reason further to realise I was engaged upon an investigation?"
I spread my hands helplessly, wishing Father would say something, anything at all. "I did realise it, but I never took her for a villainess. You even implied someone else might use her as a scapegoat, if you will remember. You said someone else might cache jewels in her room to throw suspicion upon her. And even if I were inclined to believe the worst of her, two minutes in her company would have cured my doubts. She looks like a Dresden shepherdess and she talks like a milkmaid!"
Brisbane's mouth twisted. "Well, your little Dresden shepherdess managed to steal one of the single most valuable jewels in the entire kingdom, and if I do not recover it…"
His voice dropped off as if he could not bear to give voice to the magnitude of his ruin if he failed. "What did she steal?" I dared to ask in a very tiny voice.
"The Tear of Jaipur," Father said softly. "I have only seen it once, but it was the most magnificent thing I have ever laid eyes upon."
"A diamond?"
"Not a diamond," Brisbane corrected, his voice thick with sarcasm. "The diamond. The largest one in the queen's personal collection. It was a gift from an Indian potentate when she became their Empress."
I nearly laughed aloud. The very idea was preposterous, another one of Brisbane's nursery stories to keep me in the dark. "The queen? Charlotte stole the queen's diamond? How? Did she scale the walls of Buckingham Palace? Or did she overpower the guards like Colonel Blood?"
Father winced and Brisbane looked grimly at the glass in his hands. He rolled it between his palms, the flames on the hearth flickering in the reflected depths of the whiskey. Too late I realised he had told the truth.
"The queen had given the jewel to her daughter-in-law. No, I will not say which," he said sternly as I opened my mouth to ask. "But she gave it as a mark of extreme favour. And the stupid woman gave it away."
I blinked at him. "To whom?"
"A lover," Father said, pulling a face. It might have been a deliciously scandalous story if matters had not turned out so disastrously for Brisbane, I thought.
"How could she possibly expect the absence of such a thing would not be noted?" I demanded.
Brisbane shrugged. He did not grimace, and I wondered if the aftereffects of the hashish were still allaying the pain of his injury. "He spun her a tale. He told her he wanted to keep it, just for one night, a pledge of her faith and devotion."
"And she believed him?" I scoffed, but Father gave me a world-weary shake of the head.
"Never underestimate the stupidity of a woman in love," he said. "Or a man," he hastened to add.
"The lady did believe him," Brisbane continued. "She gave him the jewel for one night and never saw him again. His name was Edwin Campbell. He is Charlotte's husband, or rather, the man she acknowledges as her husband. I have found no evidence they were ever wed. She took the diamond from him and he has not seen her since."
I shook my head. The tale hung together, but loosely, like cobweb lace. "Why would she move openly in society if she were hiding from her husband?"
"He was taken to gaol shortly after the theft for other crimes. He refuses to speak against her. Poor devil still believes she will come back to him, with the diamond."
"But she is leaving the country?
You are certain?"
"As certain as one may be of information one has bought. But it seems the only possible course for her. She has the diamond. She cannot hope to sell it here, but on the Continent, in the Americas even, she could make a tidy fortune and live quite comfortably."
I shook my head. I could not quite take it all in. "I cannot believe she is a thief. I thought her so refined, so feminine."
"Make no mistake, she is the daughter of a gentleman, and she has been educated as a lady. Presenting herself as a genteel society widow was no great difficulty for her. And Campbell was a rather talented forger. He wrote letters of introduction for her, and with those she wormed her way into the highest circles. She was invited to parties at the wealthiest houses. She was quick and careful, and if the hostess noticed some time later a valuable trinket was missing, she would never connect the theft with the charming and garrulous Mrs. King."
"Clever," I said, admiring her just a little in spite of myself. She was thoroughly amoral, and her lifestyle was utterly reprehensible, but there was still something, some elusive quality about her that drew one in. Perhaps it was charm, or a vulnerability she thought she had masked with her deceit.
"Clever and vicious. She was nearly apprehended once by a lady's maid. She bashed the woman over the head with a candlestick and nearly killed her."
I caught my breath. The implication was horrifying. "Brisbane, you do not think, I mean, it is not possible. Not Mr. Snow."
"No," he said slowly. "She could not have killed him. Her hands are smaller than yours. If Edwin Campbell were a free man, I would have suspected him instantly, particularly as Snow had jewels in his pocket. But he is a guest of Her Majesty's, enjoying the hospitality of Wandsworth Prison at present. And the jewels Lucian Snow had in his pocket were not of the variety to tempt the lady. The Grey Pearls would have been much more in her line."
"You think she stole my pearls?"
"I know she did, I can feel it in my bones. But without a witness, without the pearls, without a confession, I have nothing. Less than nothing," he said, his mouth thin with bitterness. "I do not even have the Tear of Jaipur."
Lady Julia Grey Bundle Page 66
