The Debutante's Code, page 5
Time to take charge of the case. “You.” He pointed to a footman. “Go out and find at least two night watchmen, preferably three or four. Post one at the front door and tell him he is not to let anyone leave. Have the others wait for me at the foot of the stairs.” He would put them to good use. “And send up my driver. He’s at the end of the street. Hackney with a mismatched team.”
The footman looked to his employer, received a curt nod, and hurried downstairs, his embroidered coattails flapping.
“What do you want them for?” Montgomery asked. “And I told you I would not inconvenience my guests. They are free to leave when they choose.”
“Sir, I wish the watchmen for reinforcements, and I will not inconvenience your guests beyond what is reasonable. I assume, since this is a private party, you have a guest list?”
“Of course I have a guest list. Do you think I just flung open the door tonight and shouted for anyone passing by to stop in? I told you, none of my friends would steal from me.”
Time for some diplomacy. “Sir, it’s possible that someone saw something, witnessed something unusual. I’d like to ask about everyone’s movements. Perhaps someone saw something that they did not, at the time, connect with the theft, but upon reflection could prove useful.” How could he possibly track the movements of so many people over several hours?
“My secretary has a list in the office.” He made a dismissive gesture.
“I’d also like your entire staff assembled.”
“My staff? Of course.” Montgomery paused, though clearly more at ease with the idea it might have been one of his servants who was the thief. “Do you want the temporary workers I hired for tonight’s event too?”
“Yes, but please divide them into temporary and permanent help. In separate rooms, if you will.”
With a nod, the second footman hurried away on the errand.
With those measures in place, Daniel asked, “Please tell me what happened.”
Mr. Montgomery walked him through what was supposed to have been a triumphant unveiling.
“And the crate was empty. This is a shocking embarrassment. I paid a king’s ransom for that piece.” He removed a square of linen from his pocket and scrubbed his forehead. His bluster and outrage were turning to shock. “A Lorenzo Lotto. I first saw it in a gallery in Spain years ago. A wedding portrait of Cassotti and his wife. My dealer, who is here tonight as my guest, negotiated the sale. Mr. Selby of Turner and Rathbone.”
A Lotto? Daniel had studied Lotto at university, but only briefly. His mind did a quick canter around what he knew of the Italian portraitist. Born in the fifteenth century. Known for his bold use of shadows, deeply saturated colors, the range of expressions in his subjects.
He glanced at Mr. Montgomery and judged that he would not appreciate a discourse on the topic. Daniel examined the crate. “The nails were undisturbed until the footman opened the lid?”
“That’s right. It looked exactly as it had when it arrived from the gallery this afternoon.”
“And you’re certain the painting was in the crate at that time?” Perhaps the crime hadn’t occurred here at all. Perhaps it had happened before the crate left the art dealer’s.
“I helped carry it up the stairs.” Montgomery held out his hand. “I know. I have servants for that sort of work, but I was excited. The crate was heavy when we brought it up.” He toed the wooden box, watching it teeter. “Not like it is now.”
Squatting, Daniel tipped the box on its side, easing it to the floor. The bottom of the crate stayed where it was, detached from the sides, sending a cascade of wood shavings onto the carpet. “That’s how it was done, sir. The thief removed the bottom, took the painting, and sat the crate upright to disguise the method.” And a neat job it was, too. The thief had been meticulous in his methods to leave no trace of shavings behind.
Montgomery’s jaw set, and his big hands fisted against his thighs. “I’ll have whoever did this strung up by his thumbs.”
“You wanted me, guv?” Cadogan stood in the hall, twisting his hat in his hands. His nose and cheeks were cherry red from the cold.
“Yes.” Daniel straightened and drew the jarvey aside for a private conversation. “I want you to chat up the drivers outside. Find out when they arrived, who they brought, what they saw during the evening. Who came and who went and if anyone noticed anything unusual.”
The hackney driver’s eyes widened. “Me, sir?”
“Yes, and work quickly. Take notes. You can write, can you not? The guests will want to leave soon.”
“I can scribble words when I have to.” Cadogan clapped his hat on his head and jogged down the stairs two at a time.
What Sir Michael would say to Daniel enlisting civilians to do police work, he couldn’t imagine, but he needed help, and Cadogan was a smart man who would meld quickly with the other drivers.
“I’ll begin with the guests so they may be on their way quickly.” Daniel tucked his pencil inside his notebook and snapped the pages shut. He cast one last glance at the artwork to either side of the empty space where the Lotto should hang.
Why had the thief taken that painting rather than the far more expensive Bellini? Portrait of a Condottiere would surely fetch a higher price than the Lotto.
He almost chuckled. When he had entered Oxford to read art history and literature, he never imagined he would become a police constable, much less ever need to draw upon his university studies in his new career.
As they reached the ground floor, Daniel sensed a change in the atmosphere. The guests no longer stood in little clusters, whispering and enjoying the spectacle of the theft. Frowns, pursed lips, and hot eyes formed a phalanx.
“I say, Montgomery, this man says we aren’t allowed to leave.” A pale older man with hair combed over the top of his head from one ear to the other, and sporting a rotund middle, barged forward. “I’m sorry about the theft and all, but I’d like to go home.” He scowled at the night watchman in his dark-blue cape and postilion hat.
One man moved forward half a step. “What is the meaning of keeping us here? I’m sorry the wretched painting was stolen, but surely that isn’t our affair.”
“And you are, sir?” Daniel asked.
“You will address me as Viscount Coatsworth.”
“I apologize for detaining you, but there is no help for it. If you will be patient, I will get to you as quickly as I can.”
“You mistake your position.” He drew himself up to his full height.
Daniel estimated the viscount to be a bit younger than himself. He had sharp features, with a sneer to his lips that marred what might be considered an agreeable face.
“We are not cattle to be herded hither and yon, and we will not be dictated to by a mere constable. I am taking my leave, and I am certain the rest of the guests will follow suit.”
“Lord Coatsworth, if you attempt to leave without permission, that man will be forced to stop you.” Daniel pointed to the burly night watchman at the door. “This will undoubtedly cause unpleasantness for your host and the other guests, particularly the ladies. I’m sure you don’t want to be the cause of such a scene.” He nodded to the slender red-haired young woman in the white dress who hovered near the viscount’s elbow.
With a scowl, the viscount pivoted, linked his arm through the young woman’s, and marched out of the foyer into the crowded drawing room.
A wraith of a man appeared at Daniel’s elbow. “The guest list, sir.” He held out several pages of precise writing. “Is there anything else you need? Any way I may be of service to you?”
Briefly perusing the list and surveying the mood of the guests, Daniel shrugged. There was no help for it. He didn’t have enough men to question everyone, and Sir Michael would have his head on a charger if he inconvenienced the aristocracy or in any way intimated that the theft could have been perpetrated by a member of the peerage.
“You.” He pointed to the night watchman at the door. “You and …” He turned to the skeletal man. “You are?”
“Mifflin, sir. Mr. Montgomery’s secretary.”
“The two of you stand here. Mark the guests’ names against the list. Get an accurate account of who was here, then allow them to leave.”
Daniel made his way downstairs to the servants’ dining room. He questioned the servants, who all claimed to know nothing. Two of the house staff were unaccounted for, a maid and a footman, and for a moment he thought he might be on to something. But after a thorough search of the house in case the painting had been stashed somewhere for later retrieval, the couple were discovered in a clinch in a storage room upstairs.
Of the painting, nothing was to be found.
Daniel trotted down the staircase to the echo of Mr. Montgomery’s stern tones dressing down the amorous staffers. It was the only humorous moment of the evening.
Thus far Daniel had nothing to go on. Midnight had come and gone.
The only small consolation was finding a single wood shaving beneath a skylight. But he couldn’t see how a thief could have gotten the painting up through the skylight without help. Was he looking for a pair of thieves?
A small number of guests remained in a parlor when he went in search of the secretary.
One caught his eye. Dressed in white, she must be a debutante. Nineteen or twenty perhaps? She had softly curling hair held by a white band of fabric, and she wore no jewels as befitted a debutante … except for a ring on her right hand. She twisted the ring as she listened to something an older woman said. Did the ring signify a romantic attachment? A token from a suitor?
Her nose titled up slightly at the tip, and her chin came to a gently rounded point. A white fan dangled from her white-gloved wrist. Delicate of features and form. But intelligent of eye, too. She didn’t seem distressed by the evening’s events. If anything, she seemed slightly bemused.
He pushed away his momentary fascination. She may have caught his eye, but she was no different from others of her class.
Some spoiled aristocrat who had no notion of what it meant to go hungry or to put in a full day’s work following someone else’s orders. Pretty but ornamental, without any real use but to look nice, to marry well, and to carry on some silk stocking’s family line.
Montgomery stormed into the room behind Daniel and went to the woman seated beside the debutante. “Your Grace, I do apologize for the uproar. I hope it hasn’t cast too much of a blight upon the evening.” He stretched his hands out to the black-clad woman.
“It’s most irregular. I hope they apprehend the thief quickly. A servant no doubt, taking advantage of the festivities? It’s infuriating, but I’m sorry to say, not a unique occurrence.” She used his help to rise to her feet. “Lady Juliette, I will take my leave. You’ve acquitted yourself well tonight, in spite of the upsets. I’ll be in touch about our next event.”
The younger woman bobbed a curtsy. “Good evening, Your Grace, and thank you for everything.”
The secretary checked her off the guest list and handed it to Daniel. “That was the Dowager Duchess of Haverly. Some guests left before the police arrived, but only a few. I’ve noted those in the margin. Lady Juliette Thorndike is a guest of Miss Agatha Montgomery’s and will be staying the night.”
“Thank you. Most helpful.” He read through the list, noting that Mr. Selby, the art dealer, had left first. Daniel pocketed the list. He would call on the gallery tomorrow first thing. Daniel surveyed the lavish drawing room. Lady Juliette had gone to stand by the tall redhead, also clad in white. That must be Agatha Montgomery, daughter of the house.
They made a pretty picture standing before the fireplace in their finery.
He shook his head to clear it. He wasn’t here to be distracted by debutantes.
“Mr. Montgomery, I shall continue my inquiries and call back in the morning. If you would be so kind as to assemble the relevant documents regarding the purchase and provenance of the painting, I would be most obliged.” He bowed to the ladies present and prepared to take his leave.
“Useless. What could Sir Michael have been thinking, sending a single raw recruit to handle an important case? It’s disrespectful to me, I say.” Mr. Montgomery’s loud voice followed Daniel out of the room. “He will be hearing from me on the morrow, I assure you.”
Daniel had to refrain from snatching his cloak and hat from the footman’s hand. It wasn’t the servant’s fault his master was bombastic and rude. Still, the man’s accusation rankled.
Tomorrow you’ll return, and you’ll find that missing painting. You’ll show Montgomery, Sir Michael, and Lorenzo Lotto’s ghost that you are a capable investigator.
Chapter 2
“DO YOU THINK WE DARE go down to the breakfast room?” Agatha sagged onto the foot of Juliette’s bed. She wore her dressing gown and slippers still, but looked remarkably fresh considering the late hour at which they had retired last night. “I cannot imagine the state of mind Father will be in this morning.”
“He has had a dreadful shock. One moment he’s host of a fabulous party, and the next he’s staring at an empty crate where an expensive painting should be.” Juliette stretched her arms above her head, pressing back into the bank of pillows.
Agatha toyed with the end of her braid, curling it round her finger. “He’ll be like a badger with a sore paw this morning. You see if he isn’t. He has a dreadful temper when he’s riled.” She flipped the braid over her shoulder and drew her feet up, wrapping her arms around her knees. “Let’s talk of something more interesting.”
“And by more interesting you mean …” Juliette grinned.
“Viscount Coatsworth?” Agatha blushed. “He was so attentive. Two dances, and he said he would have sat with me during the refreshments, if the painting hadn’t been stolen and the evening destroyed.” She ended with a scowl.
“Destroyed might be a bit strong.” Though Juliette had to wonder what the newspapers would say about the event. The theft would surely dominate the pages, but perhaps someone would spare an inch or two of print for their debuts?
“Do you think we’ll receive cards in the morning post? Or even posies or chocolates?”
“I would be shocked if the viscount didn’t send some memento to you. When we call on the dowager, be sure to bring your notes and cards so we can answer them properly. And your calendar. We’ll have to compare invitations and form a plan.”
“It’s awkward not having my own mother to take me round, to chaperone and the like. Though I suppose no dark cloud is without its silver linings. If my mother hadn’t passed away, my father never would have sent me abroad for schooling, and I wouldn’t have met you. Or at least I wouldn’t have met you until we both made our debuts, and then I might have been so jealous of how pretty and graceful and nice you are that I might not have wanted to be friends.” Agatha laughed. “But we’ve shared hair ribbons and homesickness and history books, and now it’s like we’re sisters.”
“When my mother returns from Heild Manor, things will be easier.” At least that was what Juliette hoped. “You are pleased with the dresses she had made for you and all the invitations she’s accepted on your behalf? Your father gave her full run of your schedule for the Season, but if there’s something you want to do or don’t want to attend, you must promise to say so.”
“I’m thrilled with the little bit I know so far. I don’t know which I’m more excited about, the masquerade ball or the opera, and that’s just this week.” Agatha bounced off the bed and twirled, her nightgown and wrapper belling out. “Parties and outings and soirees and shopping and teas and strolling Rotten Row.”
“With Viscount Coatsworth?” Juliette teased, throwing back the coverlet and wincing as cold air hit her bare feet.
“Perhaps.” Agatha picked up a fan, flapping it open and fluttering it beneath her chin. “What about you? Did any swains pay you particular attention?”
Belting her wrapper and tucking her toes into lamb’s wool slippers, Juliette shrugged. “None in particular. I met several nice men. My parents had arranged for Mr. Selby to lead me out for my debut dance. You saw him last night. He is the man your father commissioned to acquire the Lotto painting.”
“Why on earth would your father choose a tradesman for your debut dance? And someone so much older than yourself? I would have thought he would have picked someone like that German duke who was causing such a stir. Duke Heinrich von Lowe.” She stiffened, bowed sharply at the waist, and clicked her heels. Or would have, if she wasn’t wearing soft slippers.
“He was cutting quite a path through the guests, wasn’t he? I heard all sorts of rumors and gossip.” Juliette untied the string holding her braid and unwound it, tilting her head to the side. “As to Mr. Selby, I believe my father chose him to remind me that I should benefit from meeting a wide variety of people. My parents often have artists and professors and inventors and the like at their social events, and they’ve encouraged me through their letters to broaden my mind. I look forward to seeing Mr. Selby again and learning more about what he does.” She hit a snarl, and the brush jerked out of her hand.
Agatha picked up the brush from the carpet. “Have you thought of cutting your hair? Not that it isn’t beautiful, but it’s so very long, and the latest styles are much shorter. It would curl more if it wasn’t so heavy.”
“I don’t want to cut it. My mother’s hair is just as long, and my father loves long hair. I don’t mind not being up to the minute with the latest fashions. I like what I like.” It put her in mind of the Duke of Haverly, with his unfashionable yet flattering hairstyle.
Agatha set the brush on the table. “I’ll get dressed, and we can brave going downstairs. Perhaps Father has already finished breaking his fast, and we can eat in peace.”
The maid assigned to Juliette waited in the little dressing room, and while she arranged Juliette’s hair for the day, Juliette studied her reflection in the mirror. Agatha was full to the brim with excitement about Viscount Coatsworth, and they’d touched on the German duke, but neither had mentioned the individual who had caught Juliette’s attention the most.
