The Debutante's Code, page 28
“Opportunity first, then figure out the motive. That’s what you’ve always taught. If a person didn’t have the opportunity to commit the crime, nor the means, then the motive doesn’t matter,” Daniel reminded Ed.
“I’m glad you’ve taken so many of my lessons to heart, but I don’t like where this investigation is leading.”
“Neither will Sir Michael.” And neither did Daniel, if he was honest. Were one or more of the Thorndikes behind the thefts?
Ed took his leave at the corner, heading to question a few receivers’ shops and fences to see if the jewels had turned up there, but more to cross it off the list than from any real hope of finding them.
On the ride back to the office, Daniel stared out the window, seeing nothing of the buildings flashing by.
Lady Juliette Thorndike had been at many of the places where a piece of artwork from Rickets’s list had disappeared. She had been in proximity to nearly every piece that had gone missing. Was her uncle using her, a debutante, to get to the artwork?
Or was she a willing participant? The thefts had started shortly after her arrival back in this country, after all.
At the office he went to the interview room they’d commandeered.
Surely Lady Juliette had not stabbed Mr. Selby in the heart with a dagger. The idea was ludicrous, both from a character standpoint and a physical one. The coroner had said the attacker was taller than Mr. Selby and that the blow would have taken great strength. Neither of which he could ascribe to Lady Juliette.
Relief at his reasoning had him finding a chair. He propped his elbows on the table and studied the charts he’d pinned to the wall.
He might have been able to rule out Lady Juliette as a murderer, but did that absolve her of theft? What could possibly be her motive? She didn’t need money. The Thorndike fortune was well known. She had an alibi for the museum break-in that was unassailable since she had been with him at the time. And she certainly hadn’t robbed herself outside the auction house. She’d only just arrived in the country from the Continent. Was there a connection there? Had she been in contact with Rickets while the buyer was in Europe?
“Owen!” His shout rang down the hall. Noise in the office wasn’t looked upon favorably, as detectives worked and court was held upstairs, but this time he felt an urgency that laid aside the rules.
The office boy stuck his head into the interview room. “What?”
“Send round to the Turner and Rathbone gallery for Mr. Rickets. I want him in this room without delay.”
The office boy straightened, his eyes sparking interest. “You’re sending me? To bring in a witness?”
“Unless you think the job is beyond you. Go.” Daniel waved toward the front door.
Owen snapped a salute and vanished.
Bemused, Daniel shook his head. Did Owen secretly aspire to being a Bow Street investigator? Could that be the key to winning him over, giving him more responsibility than fetching coffee and reports?
He surveyed the stacks of paperwork, charts, lists, and maps they had collected over the last three weeks. With the days passing quickly until his patronage ended, would he solve the case in time? Would he be here next month to worry about Owen’s moods?
Drawing out a new piece of paper, he wrote the questions he wanted to ask Mr. Rickets. The precise path of his travels, the order of purchases, any contact he might have had with Lady Juliette. Had he ever met Sir Bertrand?
He left room for other suspects because there were several who had been present at many of the same social gatherings. Miss Agatha Montgomery. Viscount Coatsworth. Even the Dowager Duchess of Haverly had been present at more than one activity. Not to mention Duke Heinrich. The night the Thorndike house had been broken into and Daniel’s mother frightened, the duke had been absent from the Hunt Ball. What if his “injury” was a sham and he’d used it as a decoy to return to London to search the Thorndikes’ house?
Did the German duke suspect that the Thorndikes were somehow involved? Had he searched their house for the stolen items because he knew they had been taken by Lady Juliette or her uncle?
Or had the man who wanted the dragon and sent thugs to rob Lady Juliette of it merely tried again to obtain it?
Was he looking for reasons for it not to be Lady Juliette because he liked her?
Perhaps it was time to lay a trap. With one item left on Rickets’s list, he was almost out of bait.
“Mr. Rickets wasn’t there. Not at the gallery and not at his house. When the landlord let me in, his place was destroyed. Looks like there had been a fight. The neighbor said he heard a rumpus a few days ago, but he’s hard of hearing and dotty besides, and he couldn’t remember which day.” Owen rubbed his nose. “I tried the other neighbors, but they knew nothing, and then I went to the gallery. It was locked up tight. The pub owner across the street said he hadn’t seen Mr. Rickets in nearly a week, and nobody’s been in or out of the place since the investigators finished with it. I went round to Mr. Rathbone’s house, but he hasn’t heard from Mr. Rickets either. The old man was distressed, stuck in his bed like he is, not knowing what’s happening to his business. He’s still very upset about Mr. Selby getting himself murdered, and to be honest, I don’t know how much use Mr. Rathbone will be in the future. He’s acting very queer, and ready for Bedlam if he doesn’t come back to himself.”
“That was most enterprising of you to consult at the owner’s place.” Daniel wanted to give Owen his due.
“Do you think we’re likely to find Mr. Rickets’s body somewhere? Fish it out of the river maybe?”
Daniel dreaded to think so. “Maybe with the gallery being shut and his boss murdered, he took a job elsewhere?” But Daniel wished he knew where the man was. If they did arrest a suspect, Mr. Rickets would be required to testify at a trial.
Ed came into the room. “The report from Piggott and Fyfe on their trip to the shipping office turned up nothing. The paperwork was all in order and the cargo signed for by Mr. Selby, and Mr. Rickets, just as he said, was not a passenger on the ship. But look who was.” He set the paper down before Daniel and pointed to two names.
Agatha Montgomery.
Lady Juliette Thorndike.
“They traveled on the Adventuress, the same ship that brought the artwork from Genoa to London on January 31.”
Daniel tightened his jaw, pressing his tongue against the backs of his teeth. Another connection.
The case was building brick by brick, and the time had come to admit what was staring him in the face.
Lady Juliette Thorndike was somehow mixed up in this mess, and her uncle Bertie was most likely a murderer in addition to being a thief. He had been absent from the debut ball, ostensibly too drunk to hit the ground with a hat, but what if he had been stealing a painting and then lying in wait for the art dealer and killing him?
“Who bought those silver candelabra from Selby? That’s our next stop. We find out and we’ll find our thieves and killers.”
Chapter 15
“THIS IS IT. THE FINAL piece. At least, the final piece we can hope to get our hands on.” Uncle Bertie tapped his fist against the edge of the desk. He was resplendent in evening dress, prepared for tonight’s entertainment at the Barrington home.
Juliette studied the chart affixed to the War Room wall. The code had been written in a column on the left side of the large sheet of paper, and she’d cracked part of it.
Bertrand Thorndike.
Marcus Haverly.
Two of the strings of letters had yielded to her attempts. If the letters had been grouped in the same manner as the names, it would have been easier. She’d manipulated the code she had in every direction she could think of, but she couldn’t make her parents’ names emerge.
Though she’d teased out two names, they did little good, since it had been highly suspected that those names were present anyway. It was the others, the four bits of code they had, and the one they were hoping for tonight, that would provide valuable information.
The code for Bertie’s name had been on the jade dragon. Marcus Haverly’s on the painting. That left the folio, the maquette, the jewelry, and the tapestries, and whatever was on the candelabra at the Barringtons’ tonight. Which held her parents’ names? She prayed it wasn’t the papyrus or the stone eagle, since those were out of reach.
“Anything new on the code front?” Bertie asked.
“No. The agent, Fournier, must have distrusted his courier greatly. The code is complex. The symbols and letters aren’t consistent from one name to the next. It’s like there’s a new code for each name. The ‘e’ and ‘h’ symbols are not the same in your name and Marcus Haverly’s. That and having all the letters grouped in clusters of five has complicated matters. If my father was here, I know he could crack it.”
“Fournier wouldn’t have anticipated being killed before he could finish the mission. But there you are. As agents, we make plans and we make contingencies, but in the end, we’re really just doing the best we can. The courier must have been angry when he learned the list had been divided and secreted onto so many different pieces of art in order to prevent the exact thing the courier was hoping to do—steal the list and sell it. Now he’s forced to search for the artwork and possibly have to decode it himself if he doesn’t have the key.”
“Do you think whoever this courier is, he’s working with the buyer now to obtain the pieces, or is he working alone?” Juliette asked.
“Impossible to tell. If he’s made contact with the buyer, they might be working together. We won’t know for sure unless or until he’s captured.
“As for tonight, we must be bold. With the break-in here and the theft at the museum, things are coming to a head. We can’t hope to sneak into the Barringtons’ later tonight and steal the candelabra. The newspapers are baying for blood and the entire ton is on alert to protect their valuables. The Barringtons’ have decided to hire extra security. We’re going to have to grab the candelabras at the first opportunity, because if we don’t, someone else will. Whoever is on the other side of this feels more like a common thief than a spy. There’s no finesse, no elegance to his moves. He’s swift, brutal, and he hires muscle.” Bertie rose. “Let’s go.”
With perfect timing, the dowager’s carriage rolled to the curb as they reached the foyer. “Will the Haverlys be in attendance?” Juliette asked as she accepted help with her cloak.
“No. It’s just us tonight. Watch everyone, and watch for our chance. We won’t have much time. I’ll take one of them, and you grab the other. Hopefully, we can both escape without notice.”
“Is the risk of getting caught greater than the value of the list?”
“Do you want your parents’ names in the hands of foreign operatives?”
Which was answer enough.
He tugged on his gloves and held open the front door for her to precede him. “If we’re caught, I’ll take the blame, say I coerced you into helping me. I’ll say it was a prank or something. While I’m explaining to the police, you can examine the candelabra, get the code, and go to work on it. I’ll rely on Marcus and the Home Secretary to get me out of Newgate.”
Juliette joined the dowager in the carriage. Uncle Bertie was taking his own conveyance, as he had somewhere he wanted to stop first along the way.
“Good evening, Your Grace.”
“Good evening. I hope you’ll stay through the entire evening this time. While I appreciate that you were needed at home, it was awkward for me to have to explain your sudden absence from the Hunt Ball.”
“I apologize again. Thank you for coming with me tonight. Are you well acquainted with the Barringtons?”
“I am.” The dowager spoke as if it was a silly question. “They are most refined. He is the third son of an earl, and she the daughter of a bishop. I’ve been to several events at their residence, and each has been lovely.”
“Is their house large?”
“Large enough.”
Juliette could almost hear the dowager’s scowl. She had hoped for information on the layout and size of the establishment so she could begin to formulate some sort of plan, but it was clear the dowager was not in a talkative mood—at least not about anything Juliette wished to know.
“Are you an accomplished musician? Tonight’s festivities will be of a musical nature, and I always enjoy myself more if my companions also enjoy music.”
“I play the pianoforte.”
“Well?”
“Well enough.” Juliette had turned the phrase back on the dowager.
After a pause, during which the dowager sniffed imperiously, she said, “I understand your mother is an accomplished pianist.”
“That is so.” Juliette felt a twinge of remorse at her terseness, since her mother would have found a way to be gracious, even to a woman as prickly as the dowager. “Though I do not play as well as she, I am considered competent.”
“I suppose that is all that is required of a young lady these days. I had hoped to present several suitors to your parents when they return from their estate, but thus far no one has offered for you yet. The German duke seems to be expressing some interest. Are there others that I should know about?”
Duke Heinrich had been attentive, it was true, but not to the point of actually courting her favor.
The man who most interested her would send the dowager into a fit of the vapors if Juliette mentioned his name. Daniel Swann would not be considered a proper suitor.
What would her parents think? Not that Mr. Swann had exhibited any interest in her beyond the scope of his investigation, and in any case, she was engaged in actively deceiving him, something that would put paid to furthering their acquaintance. But he did intrigue her. He had risen above his background to make something of himself. He was learned, intelligent, and kind under that businesslike exterior. She remembered him sacrificing his coat for her the night she ventured into the rookery alone. How he had scolded her even as he made certain she was kept warm.
“There is no one, and at the moment, I am not seriously considering anyone. I’d like to spend this Season free to enjoy myself and not worry about marriage just yet.”
The dowager sniffed again. She could say a dictionary’s worth of words in that mannerism. “You should always be worried about marriage. An advantageous marriage is the entire purpose of having a debut season.”
Their arrival at the party was unremarkable, though Juliette was tense and watchful. Calm yourself, or everyone here will suspect something isn’t right. Before she knew it, she was seated on a spindle-backed chair in a pale-pink music room, listening to Boccherini and wondering where the candelabras were.
She could see very little of the musicians, a pianist and a flautist. Seated in front of her was a rather rounded woman with hair piled high and topped with ostrich feathers that cut off the view of anyone behind her. She wore an alarmingly bright-yellow dress and used a cane. When she spoke, it was with a heavy accent. Was she Austrian? German? Slavic?
Juliette shifted, surveying the room without calling attention to herself. Duke Heinrich, who sat on her right, tilted his head in silent inquiry, and she gave a polite smile.
Agatha, on her left, sat still as a statue, the model of deportment. Not only was she seated beside Viscount Coatsworth, but the viscount’s mother was in attendance. Just how serious were things becoming there?
Juliette felt badly. She’d been so distracted that she had missed the exciting things happening to her friend. Notes and invitations had arrived at the Thorndike house from Agatha, but Juliette hadn’t answered the last few. It was a sign of both Agatha’s good nature and her preoccupation with Coatsworth that she had greeted Juliette with a hug instead of hurt feelings.
Once all this was over, she would make it up to Agatha.
Leaning forward ever so slightly, she looked down their row. The dowager was near the end, and with a sigh, she spied Uncle Bertie along the back wall. Now she could relax. He would be in charge, he would give her the signal, and he would help her when the time came.
Every muscle tightened. Near the door to the hall, Daniel Swann leaned against the wall, arms crossed, face formidable.
What was he doing here? Was Uncle Bertie aware? Was Mr. Swann alone? She turned the other way and found Mr. Beck in the opposite corner.
What did they know? What did they suspect? Was it a coincidence they were here? Perhaps they were hired as the extra protection Uncle Bertie had told her the aristocracy was hiring just now.
She faced forward, staring hard at the ostrich feathers. It was clear the candelabras were somewhere else in the house. Juliette was stuck in the middle of a row, and she could hardly excuse herself without causing a scene.
When she looked once more toward Uncle Bertie, she crossed glances with the dowager, who was frowning with a pinched mouth. She flicked her fingers toward the music, silently ordering Juliette to stop fidgeting and pay attention.
At last the performance concluded, and the guests applauded. When Juliette looked for Uncle Bertie, he was nowhere to be found.
And neither were the detectives.
Lady Barrington led her guests into the dining room, where refreshments had been laid on, and Juliette took her first look at their quarry. Magnificent silverwork adorned with a dozen candles each, the candelabras stood at least a foot and a half high. More than two feet if you counted the tapers, each anchoring an end of the buffet table.
How much did they weigh? And how on earth would she and Uncle Bertie get them out of the house unseen?
Impossible. She moved to the opposite side of the room to await Bertie’s lead.
Agatha squeezed her arm. “Can you imagine? The viscount’s mother has invited me for tea. At the home of the earl, her father-in-law. Alonzo says his grandfather is eager to meet me. He’s not doing well, confined to a Bath chair, so our visit won’t be long, but still.” She squeezed again, her eyes sparkling. “If he approves, then …” She lowered her voice and put her lips close to Juliette’s ear. “I think Alonzo will make a formal offer for my hand.”
Juliette’s mouth fell open. She had missed a tremendous amount if the viscount was on the verge of a proposal. “And you’re happy about this? Of course you are. You’re glowing. But what a whirlwind. You’ve only known each other—what is it?—three weeks? Aren’t you moving quickly?”
