by Joan Smith
He watched her closely as he asked the question. There was no movement of the face muscles, but in her eyes a sparkle of interest leapt. “I am not open to bribery,” she said, but the voice held no conviction.
“We are not speaking of bribery, Mam’selle, but only a fair price for a unique object.”
“Your foolish countryman, Lord Palgrave, has already offered a fortune if I could find it. Well, I could not. I confess that is what took me to the countryside. I have friends there, colleagues of my fiancé. I thought some of them might know who got the blue diamond, but it is not so."
“You learned it was not with Marie Louise then?” he asked, to remind her of her former statement, and perhaps to discompose her.
“That was no more than an opinion. I decided it worth looking into.”
“What price did Palgrave offer? Ten thousand—fifteen . . ." he began, knowing the sum was low.
“More than that, Sir. A good deal more. It is a unique blue diamond we speak of, close to seventy carats. The price, if it could be found, would not be less than fifty thousand English pounds.”
“I am offering sixty thousand,” he said, in a perfectly calm voice.
“You couldn’t raise such a sum,” she said, regarding him cautiously.
“My client—I do not seek it for myself—could easily pay that, or twice that.”
“Who is your client?” she asked.
“I am not at liberty to say.”
“There are very few people who could pay such a price. Only kings or princes . . ." She stopped suddenly and caught her breath. A little gasp escaped her. “The Prince of Wales!” she said. It was half question, half statement. Moncrief neither confirmed nor denied the speech.
“If you change your mind . . ." he said leadingly.
In that fraction of a second, she made her decision. “But you do not understand, milord. I do not have it. Truly I do not. All I could discover from my friends is that one of them got a pair of diamond earrings from the Emperor. I have them with me to sell for . . ." She stopped. “For—my friend,” she finished lamely, with a little Gaelic shrug that revealed another inch of bosom as her gown fell forward a trifle.
It was an entrancing sight, appreciated by her audience, though it did not prevent him from clear thinking. Mademoiselle was lying, and she was lying very badly. Why would she bother to inquire for the name of his client, if she had no intention of dealing with him? Why should she gasp in horror at hearing the prince hinted at? She had the diamond, he thought, but was looking for a non-regal purchaser. Crowned heads attracted too much attention, too much difficulty as well, he thought, when the jewel was stolen. Particularly there was too much mischief in it when the proceeds were to finance the enemy of the prince who bought it.
“Would you like to see the earrings?” she asked.
“Very much.”
She went out of the room, soon to return carrying a small box. She opened it to display a set of perfectly matched pendant diamonds. The setting was old-fashioned. Indeed the cutting of the stones left something to be desired, but they were well matched and the clear white color that is preferred by collectors. He estimated their size at something between seven and eight carats each. “These are worth something,” he said, showing no great enthusiasm.
“My friend hoped they would bring ten thousand pounds.”
“Your friend is optimistic I think,” he answered, wondering that she should quote a price in English currency, when she was French. Was it because he was English? Was she that well organized that she had converted their worth into guilders for German customers, francs for French, and so on? “These are worth less than the star ruby, which sold for five thousand, if I am not mistaken?”
“I come to think I could have got a better price for it. The price asked for these is ten thousand in any case, if you happen to know of anyone who is interested.”
“If I hear of anyone, I shall be in touch with you. You plan to remain in town in the near future?”
“Yes, I shall be here. I seldom go out.”
“You plan to go out this evening, I think? Surely you are not so finely outfitted to please Madame Blanchard?” he asked, running a bold and admiring eye over her somewhat elegant toilette. He glanced quickly at her face after, to determine whether she were a shy young thing, or a woman of the world.
“You had better go now, milord,” she said, with her eyes cast down, and a flush staining her cheeks.
“Your wish is my command. I shall be back soon. Good evening, Mam’selle.”
He took his leave, and was soon en route to the Italian party. The diamond earrings confirmed in his mind that the girl was indeed peddling the crown jewels of France. Whether she had the Blue Tavernier in her actual possession he could not decide, but he thought it was not so unobtainable as she implied. Pity he had let her think the Prince Regent was his client—that had put her off. It was Palgrave she meant to sell it to. His cousin’s ruffling a few feathers was a nuisance, but the ultimate use to which the money was to be put was the real menace in the case. It must be reported to Castlereagh at once.
He found him in a corner by Palmella, the Portuguese diplomat, who was likely pestering him for some favor, to judge by the haste with which he made his excuses. “Anything new?” Castlereagh asked. It was the usual greeting between members of all the delegations to each other. There was always a new rumor or plan every minute.
“Could we find a corner somewhere? I would prefer we not be overheard.”
They strolled nonchalantly towards the doorway, nodding and speaking to various guests. When they had found a private room, Moncrief opened his budget. “I’m afraid we haven’t heard the last of this blue diamond business. The French girl has another piece of jewelry from the French collection—selling it you know, and there is no reason to suppose she hasn’t got the whole thing. What do you suppose would happen if Bonaparte should escape from Elba and come marching back to France?”
“Hard to say. There was certainly great public rejoicing in Paris when he abdicated, but Metternich feels the enthusiasm was for peace, rather than the return of a Bourbon to the throne. Napoleon has fanatically loyal supporters yet, despite his colossal blunders, both military and political.”
“The Treaty of Fontainebleau was very lenient. I have often heard you say so. It is not even required that he stay on Elba, and he has plenty of men. The island so close to his home too. He has been given a dangerously long rein, and the settlement was generous."
“Oh as to that, his pension has not been paid by the French. He is not so well off as you might think.”
“You don’t put a dangerous man in prison, deprive him of nourishment and leave the door unlocked.”
“There have always been tales of his promise to return with the violets. Père La Violette they are calling him. When he went into exile, he promised his supporters he would return when the violets were in bloom once more.”
“When do violets bloom? I noticed the roses in the Schonbrunn gardens have burst into untimely new growth in December. I wouldn’t be too surprised if Père La Violette has changed his name to Père Noë1, and is down on our heads by Christmas.”
“This is a fine how-do-you-do, and your cousin the heaviest contributor to the fund. You must—you really must keep a line on him, Moncrief. Cooke can replace you at the office. Exert every effort to getting this matter under control. I don’t suppose . . ."
“What?”
“You couldn’t—well, dispose of the jewels. Steal them, in other words.”
“I had thought of that, but the difficulty is in finding where she keeps it, or even if she has actually got hold of it herself yet.”
“I should think an eligible young bachelor like yourself wouldn’t have too much trouble working your way into her confidence. Proceed with the greatest caution. I need hardly tell you that. Get your hands on the collection if you can, and we’ll keep quiet about it till this Congress business is terminate
d.”
“What steps should be taken with regard to Napoleon’s escaping?”
“I must let Liverpool know. He may want to send Wellington over—indeed he has spoken of it already, as I am needed in London. I’ll drop an unofficial hint of our suspicions to the Tsar and the others here. It will take all the cooperation possible to control him if he should come pouncing back.”
“How many men can I have?”
“You know we are very shorthanded.”
“I’ll need someone to follow the French girl if I am ever to learn where she has the diamonds. Let me have Wragge back at least.”
“Oh very well. I suppose this business must have top priority. If your cousin had tupporth of sense . . . but I shall say no more. We are all encumbered with relatives who might behave more discreetly than they do. Sir Charles was drunk again and insulted Rosenkrantz . . . ." Castlereagh mumbled, leaving the room, his shoulders sagging with the awful weight of all his problems.
* * *
Chapter 10
The home of Herr Kruger became a desirable location for Moncrief to hang out, being so ideally located, actually attached to Feydeau’s apartment. The Kruger family seemed very much aware of all Mademoiselle’s affairs too. Rather odd, when one considered that the French girl was considered too déclassée to actually take any active part in their social life. It was Maria’s doing. She possessed, like her father, an aristocratic independence in full measure. She saw whom she wished without much regard to the opinion of society. She was in evidence at all the loftiest and royal do’s as a matter of course. One day she would marry a title and fortune, but meanwhile she had a private circle of acquaintances from assorted walks of life. She attended teas where artists showed their wares, poetry readings where long-haired Germanic imitators of Lord Byron ranted on in a fine passion, she rode with officers from a dozen countries, and, for an occasional change of pace, she walked around the corner to Mademoiselle’s apartment to see how Mademoiselle was amusing herself.
Her pride had been cut by Anton’s defection, but as she was not aware she was a proud girl, she thought it was her heart that hurt, and enjoyed the consolation of the practical French woman. “You are well out of it, Miss Kruger. One of the two requisites for true love was lacking; either money or affection. If there is true affection, poverty will be overcome, and when there is great wealth, a little love suffices. There was insufficient of one or the other.”
“Anton is not poor, nor am I. His father owns thousands of acres. It will all be Anton’s one day. I am an only child as well.”
“One day—does one day ever come?” Mademoiselle asked, with a wistful smile. “Take your pleasure today. You are beautiful. You do not make the most of your style of beauty, if you will forgive my saying so."
“What do you mean? I have the best modiste and coiffeur in Vienna!”
“You are well gowned, but you lack the flair of distinction. If I had your money . . .” Mademoiselle stood back and partially closed her eyes. “Yes, the hairdo detracts from your style. A bushy head of curls is for ingenues. I would wear it more simply styled—smooth and pulled back. You are graceful, willowy—this should be emphasized. Leave the bundling of shawls for those who have a flaw in their bodies to hide, Miss Kruger. And more drama in your gowns would set you apart as something quite special. You have to create your own aura—like an actress on the stage. You think I do not practice what I preach, but I have no money, and go out so seldom that it does not matter how I dress.”
“You dress very well,” Maria said automatically, though she was not particularly happy to hear she lacked style.
Miss Feydeau gave a deprecating shrug. “I would do much better if I had more resources. Ah, which reminds me—would you mind terribly to do me a favor? Of the slightest—only a small delivery errand. I have no carriage you know, and to find one at this time, it is impossible.”
“‘What is it?”
“You mentioned you go to the Countess Poronovitch’s for dinner.
“Yes, Chabon takes me. Your handsome countryman. Miss Feydeau! I have just had a charming idea! I shall bring him over here to meet you before we go!”
“No! No, I don’t want to meet him!” she said quickly.
“But why not? You are lonesome—you see hardly anyone. Only Lord Moncrief, and he, my dear, is up to no good. He does not plan to marry you. He is another Herr Kruger in that regard,” she added.
“No, his visits have nothing to do with lovemaking,” the girl answered, blushing softly.
“No, of course they have not,” Maria said, observing the blush. “They have to do with politics I suppose, or do you two discuss philosophy and art? Monsieur Chabon is more romantical. A Frenchman too, you two would have a good deal in common.
“I have nothing in common with Monsieur Chabon,” the girl said—quickly, angrily.
“Oh dear, I have put my foot in it, have I not? He is a royalist of course. Never has a fair word to say of your beloved Napoleon. It is only that he is not—well, not so high in society, you know, that he would think to play fast and loose with you. He would make a husband is what I had in mind.”
“I would sooner marry a dog. About the dinner at Poronovitch’s . . . I have a parcel for the Countess.”
“How on earth did you meet her?” Maria asked.
“I have not made her acquaintance. It is a matter of business—something I am selling her. Some jewelry. It was the jeweler, Eynard, who arranged the transaction. He showed her a pair of diamond earrings which she wishes to purchase. I was to take them to her this afternoon, but could not find a drive for love or money. If you would be kind enough to take them—you need not even bring back the cash. She can send it tomorrow, after she has had a chance to examine the wares.”
“I don’t like to carry someone else’s valuables about, especially at this time, when the streets are full of so many foreigners.”
“But who will know? And you will be safely guarded. You go with your father as well as Chabon, do you not? Why, I daresay you will be wearing your own diamond necklace, which is worth more than the earrings. The money is needed rather desperately,” she added, with a beseeching look.
“How can you possibly need money? You just got five thousand for your ruby.”
“The earrings do not belong to me. I do this for a friend. We—we French antiroyalists I mean—are all living hand to mouth these days. I have lent the most of that five thousand to my fellowmen, Miss Kruger. I am to be repaid with the money from the sale of the earrings.”
“Oh Cécile! How unwise of you. You meant to live on that money. Really you are too foolishly generous. You make me ashamed of myself. Give me the earrings. I’ll take them for you.”
“The jeweler still has them. He should be arriving any minute.”
They chatted on till Eynard arrived. He was well known to Miss Kruger, having served her family over long years. He was a short, portly man with a hairline receding well past the middle of his head, despite which he still wore a jaunty appearance. His brows rose to see Fräulein Kruger so much at home in this shabby apartment. He cast a disapproving glance on her, wishing to inquire whether her father knew she was here, but not liking to do so before her hostess.
He gave a small parcel to Miss Feydeau, which she unwrapped, holding the earrings up for examination. “The Countess Poronovitch has agreed to pay seven thousand pounds,” he explained. “She has not seen them, but buys them as an investment, upon my recommendation. It is a fair price. I have seldom seen finer white diamonds. Not a shade of yellow in them, even when they are breathed on and held to the light to examine the back facets. You know that old trick I daresay, Miss Kruger. Your Papa is well versed in all the tricks of the trade. He never buys a stone till he has examined it unmounted on a cloudless day, with a northern light. He will often hold a white paper behind it as well, to give him a better view. I have performed all these operations on your earrings, Mademoiselle. I am happy to certify th
em diamonds of the first water. If the Countess wishes them remounted, I have some ideas there too.”
“Thank you, Sir. How much do I owe you?” Miss Feydeau asked.
He accepted his fee and left. “You trust that man?” she asked Maria.
“Implicitly. You need not worry Eynard would switch gems on you."
“Perhaps you will have that clever Papa of yours take a look at them all the same, before you go,” Miss Feydeau suggested.
“He would be interested to see them,” Maria answered. “The setting is curious. Quite old, I think, and rather ugly. A pity you cannot keep them. They would show to better advantage on you than on the Countess Poronovitch’s wattled neck.”
“I told you they are not mine. I arrange the sale for a friend.”
“Who is your friend? What is his name?” she asked. Curious by nature, and rather clever as well, Maria had often sought by subtle means for some details of her tenant’s background. She knew the girl was a Bonapartist whose fiancé had been killed at Leipzig, and that was as far back in her personal history as Miss Feydeau seemed willing to go. About her own family and her past, she was very mysterious. This air of mystery was one of her strongest attractions. It was strange that a young, pretty lady should evince no interest in meeting gentlemen, too. Chabon, for instance, would be suitable, except for his royalist streak. But there must be others of the same sort in the city who were less ardently pro-Bourbon.
With a very little effort, acquaintances could be made at this time. There were dozens of parties tossed where the not quite top drawer (where Mademoiselle had been mentally placed) were welcome. With her looks, in fact, she could break through to the top without too much trouble. Her manners were acceptable; it was mainly her toilette that was lacking. But she did not wish to meet anyone. Twice she had declined invitations to tea, where she might have met a dozen hostesses who would be sure to invite Miss Kruger’s friend to their less elite do’s.
