The Debutante's Code, page 16
“I do appreciate you calling for me. I intended to ride with Father, but he’s running terribly behind, and I can’t really blame him. Father has had a visit from Sir Michael Biddle himself from the Bow Street Magistrate’s Court to assure him that everything is being done to find his painting, and would you ever guess? Mr. Selby, who was at our party, the man you danced with during the opening set, Juliette, and who sold Father the painting …” She stopped for breath, her hand pressed to her bosom. “He was murdered.” Her eyes, wide and glistening, sought Juliette’s. “Someone broke into the art gallery in the early morning after our party and killed him.”
Juliette gripped the window frame. Blood rushed from her head, lightness blossoming between her ears.
Mr. Selby was dead? Murdered?
“Are you sure?” she whispered, her voice cracking.
“I am. Sir Michael told Father that the murder might have something to do with the stolen painting and they were investigating. He even asked Father his whereabouts after the party dispersed and his movements the next morning. I was able to tell Sir Michael that Father never left the house until after nine the day after our debuts, because we both saw him and broke our fast with him.”
Juliette closed her eyes, willing the swirling in her head to cease so she could think. Mr. Selby was dead. Murdered in his shop.
Coldness crept along her limbs. Someone she had met, with whom she had laughed and exchanged pleasantries, was now dead.
And the painting he had sold from his gallery now resided in the attic of her parents’ townhouse, stolen from its rightful owner. No, not stolen, removed. Removed for a time for a good reason.
Not just the painting, but the statuette too. When she’d arrived home from the Bickfords’, she’d raced upstairs to the hidden room to find Uncle Bertie balancing the maquette on his knee, studying the depiction in miniature of Donatello’s Saint Mark.
“The code is hidden in the hem of his robe.” Bertie pointed to the bottom of the figure. “Not obvious, but there nonetheless.”
“How on earth did you get a cat into the ballroom?” Juliette removed her cloak. The lace collar of her costume itched, but her curiosity itched more. “If you were aiming for maximum chaos, you hit the bull’s-eye.”
“I didn’t do it.” He grinned. “It was a beautiful thing though, wasn’t it? There I was, contemplating how I would get the statue out of the room without detection, and wondering if I would have to do a little housebreaking tonight instead, when the entire room erupted. I feel we should send some kippers around to the Russian embassy for those dogs.”
Juliette sagged onto a chair. “It was all happenstance? You didn’t orchestrate it?”
“I had nothing to do with that cat’s arrival. How did the party end? I nipped out to the garden, hid the statue, and nipped back in time to commiserate with poor Bickford on the theft. It’s just as well I was able to snatch it when I did, because Bickford was moaning that he should have kept it in his office safe where it usually resided. Safecracking is vastly more difficult than simple housebreaking. And who knows when the statuette would be out in the open again.”
“In all the pandemonium, I didn’t realize you had come back into the Bickfords’ house.” Juliette leaned forward to study the code scratched faintly into bronze. “That agent must have been in a hurry when he scratched this message. It’s terribly hard to read.”
“He created the code, so he would be able to read it better than most. Perhaps the indecipherability is intentional to thwart a decoder.”
Juliette considered this, feeling the bump of her garnet ring beneath the satin of her evening gloves. She wished she had changed out of the Tudor gown before racing upstairs.
“My superior has sent an agent to the Continent to follow the trail from that end. And to bring the body of Leonidas home.”
They were quiet for a long moment, before Juliette stirred.
“How did you get the maquette from Bickford’s to here without being seen?”
“It was a close-run thing. I left with the majority of the party guests, and I watched you depart with the dowager. I found a place to observe from down the street, and when the detective arrived, I knew they would occupy everyone in the house. What I hadn’t counted on was Mr. Swann deciding to have a good look outside at precisely the moment I had leapt the back fence to retrieve the statue from the bushes where I had hidden it.” Bertie pointed to the damp patches of dirt decorating his evening trousers. “I dove behind the yew hedge, and Detective Swann stopped only five feet from me. If he had discovered me, I had no plausible story as to why I was hiding in the shrubbery. I regretted not pretending to be sotted at the party, but Bickford and a dozen others had seen me sober and in my right mind only a half hour before.” He set the heavy bronze on the desk. “I thought you’d be home long before I was.”
“I thought so too, but the dowager wanted to go inside at Agatha’s to give her regards to Mr. Montgomery. I suspect it was actually to glean what information she could about the painting theft and to gossip about the maquette, but I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt.” Juliette stripped off her gloves finger by finger. “Let me have a go at the code. Perhaps there’s enough to begin to decipher it.”
But try as she might, she had made no headway. This string of symbols was even shorter than that on the painting. She had puzzled over it so long that she’d dreamed of the symbols and groupings and had awakened unrefreshed this morning.
As the carriage to the opera bowled along, she could only think that all the while she had been dancing and laughing and contemplating a theft, Mr. Selby, who had sold both pieces, had been dead.
A shaft of doubt sliced through her. Uncle Bertie had produced a list of the encoded artwork on Turner and Rathbone stationery, but he refused to say where he got it. Where else could he have procured it except the gallery?
Surely Uncle Bertie wouldn’t have killed someone to get that list.
Would he?
Shivering, Juliette wrapped her cloak about her. No, she wouldn’t believe it.
But how could she really know? Less than a week ago, she had lived in blissful ignorance of her family’s true legacy and actions. Now she was lying and stealing and keeping secrets as if she’d done so all her life. She was practicing picking pockets and locks and balancing on narrow beams to simulate walking a ridgepole, all in anticipation of having to break in or get away without detection.
What did she really know about her parents and her uncle if they had hidden so much from her already?
Another shiver racked her spine.
But murder was an altogether different proposition.
“Juliette, haven’t you heard a word I’ve said? You’ve gone into a trance.” Agatha nudged Juliette. “Isn’t it awful? I mean, murder. Who would do such a thing? One must be a complete scoundrel and evil person to kill someone, don’t you think?”
“Miss Montgomery, I do beg you to stop speaking of such terrible things. It isn’t seemly. You shouldn’t even know about such events, a young girl like you, and your talk of murder and killing has upset Lady Juliette.” The dowager dug her hands deeper into her fur muff, pinching her lips. “Lady Juliette, do put your feet on the hot stones here. You look positively pasty with shock.”
How the dowager could see in the relative darkness of the carriage was beyond Juliette, but she obeyed, placing her slippers on the burlap-wrapped heap between them on the floor.
“Let us talk of more pleasant things. I understand Duke Heinrich von Lowe will be attending tonight and sitting in our box, as well as Viscount Coatsworth. You’re each garnering some delicious attention for debutantes, I must say. Last night at the Bickfords’ bash, both of those gentlemen approached me about furthering their acquaintances with you.” The dowager had a smug tinge to her tone, as if she were somehow responsible for the good impression the girls were making upon the ton. “I think your parents will be pleased.”
“Father said he would meet us at the opera house, as he had to finish his meeting with Sir Michael. Father entertained dignitaries from Russia at one of his mills today. I think some of the same persons who were at the Bickfords’ last night. Wasn’t that awful? Those dogs?” Agatha collapsed into giggles.
“I must say this Season is off to a peculiar start. One wonders what might occur next. At least nothing untoward will happen at the opera. I’m glad your father got this party up tonight. I don’t often get to see an opera. My son, the duke, abhors the art form, and he’s let his box go.” The dowager shrugged, as if to say her son’s oddities were not her fault.
Juliette tried to bring her mind to bear on what the ladies were saying, but she kept circling back to Mr. Selby’s murder and Uncle Bertie’s having the list of art and artifacts in his possession only hours later.
Light blazed from the windows and braziers along the street in front of the Royal Opera House as their carriage pulled to the curb. The pillars stretched toward the night sky, flanking the entrance.
Juliette composed herself as they walked up the steps. Agatha clutched her arm, oblivious to Juliette’s inner chaos.
You must remember your task tonight. It’s not just to be seen having a normal Season. You must find those tapestries and examine them.
Reminding herself of her mission both focused her mind and put her nerves on edge. Would any of this ever come easily to her? Did her mother still have bees’ wings flapping under her skin when she received new orders from her superiors?
They made their way through the grand foyer, surrendered their wraps at the coat check, and all the while Juliette searched for the tapestries. Though the hall was splendidly decorated, no hangings graced the foyer.
Where else might they be? And how could she search without being obvious?
They made their way up the staircase to the right, and when they turned into the hallway behind the boxes, her senses prickled. Along the outer wall, opposite the velvet curtains separating the boxes from the passageway, someone had painted a landscape mural that ran the length of the hallway.
Since the tapestries were not in the foyer, they were most likely in one of these halls behind the boxes. How many halls did that mean?
The box Mr. Montgomery had reserved for the evening was nearly half-full when they arrived. The dowager made her way toward the front row of chairs as if by right. Juliette followed her to take the measure of the opera house.
Four tiers of boxes encircled the auditorium. That meant four long halls on each side of the building, plus the shorter halls along the rear of the boxes facing the stage head-on. Twelve passages to investigate.
She put her hand on the brass rail and leaned over. A queer feeling swirled in her head as she looked down three floors to the pit below, and she straightened, sucking in a quick breath. Heights didn’t frighten her per se, but she didn’t like them much.
The curtains behind them parted, and more guests arrived. Juliette nodded to Duke Heinrich and made her way to Agatha’s side.
Viscount Coatsworth edged around the duke to approach Agatha, who flushed prettily and rounded her shoulders to reduce her height. Juliette touched her arm and straightened her spine, reminding Agatha to stand tall and be proud.
“Good evening, ladies.” Coatsworth bowed. “You look well. One hopes tonight will be a simple entertainment with no catastrophes or excitements beyond those on stage.” He grinned. “After our last two parties, I could use some normality.”
Duke Heinrich bowed and clicked his polished boot heels together. “Lady Juliette, Fraulein Montgomery.”
They took their seats, and a hush came over the crowd as the curtain rose. For short stretches, Juliette enjoyed the music and the pageantry, but for the most part, her mind raced.
What had Mr. Selby known? Was he privy to the knowledge that his artwork was being used to smuggle information? Had that knowledge gotten him killed?
Did Uncle Bertie have anything to do with Mr. Selby’s death?
At the first intermission, no one left the box, much to Juliette’s consternation. She was hemmed in by Agatha on one side and Duke Heinrich on the other.
“Opera is very popular in my country. My family built an opera house in Frankfurt.” The duke spoke modestly, but Agatha was clearly impressed.
“I love the opera,” she offered. “We went several times in Lucerne, didn’t we, Juliette?”
Viscount Coatsworth leaned forward. “I say, ladies, have you been invited to the Ash Valley Hunt this next weekend? If not, would you come as my guests? We’ve a party going down, and I understand you both ride quite well?” He seemed to want to get the conversation off the duke’s family wealth and influence. “It’s going to be a cracking good time. The Ash Valley pack is one of the best in the country.”
“That sounds delightful.” And it would be, if only to get Juliette out of London for a weekend. She could use the time to breathe and perhaps not think of everything going on in the secret lives of agents and spies.
“We’ll travel down there on Sunday. It’s only a couple hours’ drive from London. The hunt is on Monday, a week from now, and we’ll attend the Hunt Ball on Monday night. Then we’ll all troop home on Tuesday. I’m sending my horses down this week, and I can send mounts for you as well.”
“Thank you. I will ride my mother’s mare, Fabiana, but perhaps Agatha will need a hunter?”
“Are you attending, Your Grace?” Agatha asked the duke.
“Ja, I have been invited. So many kind invitations have arrived. Some even for summer, though I do not know if I will be still in England at that time. How far is it to Brighton? I have been invited to spend time in a summer cottage in Brighton.”
“I love Brighton.” Agatha clapped her hands, her eyes shining. “The sea air, the beaches, and the parties. I haven’t been in ages, but when I was a girl, my parents had a house there, and we went every summer. Do your parents still have a home in Brighton, Juliette?”
“Thorncliff.” She nodded. “It’s near Brighton but not in the actual town. Farther west along the coast.” She panned the milling crowd below, and her eyes linked with those of someone she recognized.
Mr. Swann, from Bow Street, stood in an aisle, looking up at their box. An odd quiver went through her at the intensity of his gaze. It felt as if he could see right into her mind. Could he tell she knew exactly where the artwork he sought was being kept? Was her face giving away her secrets?
She broke eye contact, hoping she looked bored and disinterested, as if perhaps she hadn’t recognized him.
When she glanced back, he was gone.
By the second intermission, Daniel was bored out of his skull. He didn’t speak Italian, and he didn’t know the story being told on the stage. It all seemed overdone and too flamboyant for his tastes anyway.
When he’d come to speak to the manager about the tapestries, the man had been too busy. It was opening night of a new show, and he had no time for detectives making a nuisance of themselves. He would talk after the performance.
Then, as if realizing he was being rude, he had softened. “Sir, please see tonight’s performance, and we will discuss your concerns in my office after the show. You will be my guest for the evening.” He assessed Daniel’s attire, which was clean, expensive, and in style, but hardly eveningwear, and snapped his fingers. An assistant appeared, as if out of thin air.
“Ned, see that Mr. Swann has a very good view of the stage from the pit. Near center front. He is my guest.”
And Daniel had found himself in the fifth row center, blocked in on either side by opera enthusiasts, waiting for the final act to begin.
He’d been on the verge of refusing the offer and stating he would return later, when he’d spied Lady Juliette Thorndike entering the foyer.
Her dark, luminous eyes seemed to take in the grand room like an amazed child. Had she never been here before?
What was it about her that fascinated him? Was it that she was more than a comely woman? He’d seen pretty girls before and not felt this pull. Was it that she seemed intelligent in a way that he had supposed aristocratic young ladies were not? Which was wrong of him, he admitted, to assume they were all empty headed, caring only about fashion and themselves and the impression they were making on one another. Though in his encounters with aristocrats, that had been his experience.
Or was he being a fool, spinning fantasies where there was no foundation? She was well out of his sphere, he was deeply involved in a case that would most likely make or break his career, and he had no interest in following up on a brief acquaintance with a debutante who probably wouldn’t even acknowledge his existence had they met under normal circumstances.
“So why did you stay for the opera?” he whispered to himself. “Why did you stare up at her box during the first intermission until she met your gaze?” Heat crawled across his collarbones, and he ignored the stare of the man to his right, embarrassed at getting caught talking to himself.
When the final bow had been taken and the crowd began to disperse, Daniel waited in his seat. The manager would be busy for a while yet. Casually he let his eyes move from box to box. Jewels glittered, satins shone, feathered headpieces wafted.
In Lady Juliette’s box, Mr. Montgomery had arrived, his linens gleaming white against his dark coat, and the deep timbre of his voice drifting over even the babble of the crowd on the auditorium floor.
At the rear of the box, the German duke held open the curtain for the guests to precede him into the passageway. Daniel rose to his feet and headed toward the foyer.
Not to catch a glimpse of a certain young lady, he chided himself. But because he needed to see the manager in his office.
An usher directed him down the correct narrow corridor and to a door marked with the manager’s name and position. Daniel opened the door and stopped.
Three heads turned, the manager’s, Duke von Lowe, and … Lady Juliette.
“I beg your pardon. I didn’t realize you were engaged. I’ll wait outside.” Daniel began to back out, but the manager held up his hands.
