Death Wears a Mask (18 page)

“No,” I said at last. “Thank you, Winnelda, but perhaps it will be good for me to get out for a while.”

In truth, I was also glad to avoid being alone. Once things had settled down and I was left alone in the quietness of the flat, I knew I would be forced to make some sort of decision about my marriage. It was much easier to keep pushing it to the back of mind, like some unpleasant chore to be dealt with later.

I arrived at the Barringtons' home and was shown to one of the smaller sitting rooms, where Mrs. Barrington awaited me.

Despite the fact that she had asked me to come, she seemed distracted and a bit surprised to see me. “Oh, good afternoon, Mrs. Ames.”

“How are you, Mrs. Barrington?”

“As well as can be expected. Can I offer you tea or perhaps some coffee?”

“Thank you, no. I don't wish to impose. I know that things are difficult for you right now.”

“Yes,” she said, sorrow flashing across her features. “I never thought to have lived to see James laid to rest beside his poor parents.”

“I'm sorry.” I knew that, beneath her strong exterior, she was mourning her nephew deeply.

She waved a hand, visibly drawing in a breath and squaring her shoulders. “We needn't talk about that now. Have you learned anything new?”

Inspector Jones had not told me to keep the information about the gemstones to myself, but I was naturally inclined to be cautious when sharing information. I thought it would be prudent not to reveal the truth about the sapphire that had been discovered on the stairs. I was certain Inspector Jones would question her again about her bracelet when the time was right.

“Nothing that seems to mean anything at the moment,” I answered. “It seems, however, that everything comes back to the jewels. You told me it was an emerald ring, diamond bracelet, and the Eiffel Tower pin that went missing, correct?”

“Yes. And, of course, the sapphire bracelet at the ball, though that was paste.”

“Mrs. Barrington, have you any idea how your nephew got hold of the paste sapphires in his pocket?”

She shook her head. “I've pondered that for hours, Mrs. Ames. James was aware of my plan to try to flush out the thief, so my only theory is that he might have taken the bracelet from the table in the library while I slept with the intention of luring the thief somehow. Why the stones should have been loose in his pocket and where the setting might have gone, I haven't the faintest idea.” She had drawn much the same conclusions as I had.

“Can you describe the other pieces for me?” I asked. It seemed as though a description of the missing items might prove useful.

“Certainly,” she said. “The emerald ring was a square cut in a gold setting. The bracelet was made of square stones, set in silver. I think I've a photograph…”

She stood, walking to a nearby table, where several photographs were displayed in frames. “Yes, here it is.”

She brought over a photograph of her and her husband. A diamond bracelet was clearly visible on her wrist, and I made a mental impression of its design.

“I've described the Eiffel Tower pin to you already, I believe,” she said, returning the photograph to its place.

“Yes,” I said. “Thank you, Mrs. Barrington. I'm hoping that somehow we will be able to recover that piece at least, since it has sentimental value.”

“I don't have much hope that it will ever turn up,” she said sadly. “Mr. Barrington said he will buy me another, but that wouldn't be the same.”

“Let's not give up just yet.”

“You're quite right, dear,” she said with a smile. “I have a great deal of faith in your abilities.”

I only hoped her faith would prove to be justified.

“Serena, I'm going out for a while…” Mr. Barrington had come into the room and stopped when he saw me. “Oh, hello, Mrs. Ames.” His face looked drawn and tired, but he smiled warmly.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Barrington.”

“Going out, Lloyd?” Mrs. Barrington asked.

“Yes, I'm meeting Nigel Foster for a drink at our club. He rang up to offer his condolences and suggested a drink. You don't mind, do you?”

“No, not at all. It will be good for you to get out of the house for a bit. Mrs. Ames and I are discussing the murder and how the jewels might have come to be in James's pocket.”

He hesitated and didn't, I thought, look much pleased with this bit of news. I wondered how comfortable he was with my involvement in the matter. After all, a murder in the family was a private affair. It was likely he didn't care to have the details paraded about for outsiders to see. Now might not be the best time for questions, but I didn't know when I would have another opportunity to ask.

“I know it's difficult,” I said quickly, “but I think there must be something that we're missing that will help us discover who might have done it. It's only a matter of going through what we know and putting all the pieces together.”

He passed a hand across his face. “Yes, of course. I'm sure you're right. It's just been so dreadful.” He took a seat in a chair across from me.

“Have you any theory as to what might have happened or who might have done it?”

“I don't know, Mrs. Ames,” he said tiredly. “I've turned it over in my mind, but it just doesn't seem to make sense. It seems that it must have been he who was stealing my wife's jewels. Perhaps he didn't remember they were paste. He was forgetful at times.”

“Oh, Lloyd. You know James would never do such a thing.”

“I wouldn't think so,” he conceded. “Then again, he must have taken the bracelet that night. There's no other way the jewels could have ended up in his pocket.”

“If he took it, then why wasn't the setting found on his body?” she challenged.

He sighed. “I don't know. I don't know anything anymore, Serena.”

I felt very much out of place in the midst of this private conversation, but neither of them seemed to mind that I was there. In fact, it was almost as though they had forgotten me for the moment.

“James must have discovered the thief,” Mrs. Barrington told him firmly. “He took my paste jewels in order to carry out the trap and was killed for it. That's the only thing that makes any sense.”

I had the distinct feeling that Mr. Barrington was skeptical of his wife's theories. I wondered if he secretly had suspicions of his own about what Mr. Harker might have been doing with the bracelet.

“I passed Mr. Harker on the stairs that evening,” I told them. “He said he had an appointment with someone. Have you any idea who it might have been?”

Mrs. Barrington shook her head. “I haven't the faintest idea. James didn't much care for balls and things, but he said he was going to come along anyway. Perhaps that's why he decided to attend.”

“What about his mask?” I asked suddenly. “Do you know why he chose a tiger?”

She frowned. “Now that you mention it, I was a bit surprised by his choice. But James often had little whims.”

“Mr. Foster also wore a tiger mask.” I mentioned this casually, but I saw that both of them looked a bit surprised at the connection.

“Do you suppose it might have been Mr. Foster that someone meant to kill?” Mrs. Barrington asked.

“Let's not get carried away, Serena,” her husband cautioned her.

“It was Lord Dunmore's ball. Perhaps he had something to do with it.”

She was desperate, searching for answers, but I knew that answers must be supported by facts. I thought of Lord Dunmore's calm, confident manner and found it hard to believe that he would ever condescend to something as vulgar as common theft. “It does seem unlikely that he should steal anything,” I said carefully.

“Yes, you're right,” she replied, suddenly deflating. “After all, what should he want with my things when he has the Dunmore Diamond? It's just so maddening. Which of them could it have been? What we need is a chance to observe everyone. If there was only some way … In fact, I think I may have an idea.”

“Oh?” I questioned cautiously. Mrs. Barrington seemed inclined to rope me into harebrained schemes I tended to regret later.

“Lord Dunmore is going on with his ball this weekend, isn't he? If I know him at all, he won't let James's death interfere. He loves nothing more than a good scandal. With a mysterious death at his last ball, everyone in London will want to be invited. It would be just the sort of thing he enjoys. Well, if we can get all of the suspects back into the same place, in similar circumstances, we're bound to discover something. Perhaps we can even lay another trap. In fact, perhaps we can get Lord Dunmore to help us!”

“Serena…” Mr. Barrington sighed.

She waved away his protest. “Let me think a moment. I have it!” She clapped her hands together in triumph, causing me to blink. “I have it! The Dunmore Diamond!”

This was not going to be a good idea. I could tell that at once.

“Good Lord, Serena,” Mr. Barrington said. “Have you gone mad?”

She ignored him. “What if he made a show of it at the ball? The thief wouldn't be able to resist.”

“But Mrs. Barrington,” I reasoned, “I don't think this is a professional jewel thief we're dealing with. The thief took things when it was convenient, not things of this magnitude.”

“Well, even if that's so, what if he brought it out and mentioned to all of the suspects that he was going to leave it in a certain place? The thief wouldn't be able to resist trying to steal it.”

I thought this unwise in the extreme, but somehow I could not completely dismiss the idea out of hand.

“What if Dunmore is the killer?” Mr. Barrington asked, more, I thought, to discourage her than because he thought it probable.

She was undaunted, however. “Well? Even if it happens that Lord Dunmore is the killer, we've already established that he wouldn't have needed to kill James for the jewels. If he murdered for something else, perhaps in the carrying out of our plot he will tip his hand.”

She had a point, but I could not quite agree wholeheartedly with her plan just yet. “With everything that's happened, do you think Lord Dunmore would be inclined to do such a thing?” I asked.

“Certainly. He's reckless, and he enjoys doing scandalous things. He just needs a bit of prodding, someone to put the idea into his mind.”

There was no doubt in
my
mind just who she had
in
mind.

Mrs. Barrington was growing more enthusiastic by the moment. “Perhaps if you were to talk with him, Mrs. Ames. He fancies you. If you…”

“Serena,” Mr. Barrington interrupted. “You can't ask Mrs. Ames to…”

“Oh, I didn't mean anything improper, Lloyd. But perhaps it would work.”

The idea, though somewhat unorthodox, had its merits. I had no doubt that she was right about the viscount. I thought he would love the opportunity to once again be the talk of London, but there was still the question of how such a thing could be used to our advantage. “Even if he could be convinced to do such a thing, how will that help us?”

“We can trace his steps, Mrs. Ames. We can trace the steps of the killer. We'll be looking more closely this time, watching the people who are there. If someone thought it was worth killing James for my bracelet, then he or she may be desperate enough to strike again. We will just need a bigger prize, and the Dunmore Diamond ought to do very nicely.”

 

17

AND SO IT
was that, against my better judgment, I found myself standing at Lord Dunmore's front door the following afternoon.

I had debated the idea all night and throughout the morning as I went about various errands. One errand, of a particularly sensitive nature, had been rather unpleasant, and I was glad for the distraction the mystery provided. There would be time enough to consider the implications of that particular errand at a later time.

In the end, I decided that it couldn't hurt to pay a call on Lord Dunmore and try to gauge his receptiveness to the idea. Though I thought that perhaps it was a foolhardy thing to do, I couldn't argue with the efficiency of it. If there was a way to get all the suspects back into the same place and to present them with an opportunity they couldn't resist, we might be able to catch the thief, and thus reveal the identity of the killer.

I arrived unannounced as Lord Dunmore had done when he dropped by the flat. I was not even certain he would be home, but I thought perhaps it would be best to make my visit appear impromptu.

The butler showed me to a magnificently decorated sitting room that was across the foyer from the ballroom, and I had not had time to seat myself in an exquisite Louis XIV chair when the viscount made his entrance. He was impeccably dressed and groomed as always, and there was an energy that came into the room with him. I thought again how easily women might find themselves captivated by his charms.

“Mrs. Ames! I'm delighted to see you.” He came forward and caught my hands in his, squeezing them warmly before indicating that I should be seated. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked, taking the seat across from me.

I had been caught up in Mrs. Barrington's rather contagious schemes, but now, sitting before Lord Dunmore, the entire thing seemed preposterous. It was beyond me how on earth I might convince him to parade his family's heirloom jewelry about when someone had been murdered for something much less valuable at the last ball.

“You'll think me quite mad if I tell you,” I said at last.

He smiled, and it was a very charming smile. “I find madness to be much more interesting than sanity, Mrs. Ames. You have captured my attention.”

“Perhaps I should start at the beginning. I visited Mrs. Barrington yesterday, and we were talking about poor Mr. Harker's death.”

Was it my imagination, or did something in his expression change ever so slightly? Whatever emotion had been at the surface, he had managed to disguise it before it could make itself completely known. “And how is Mrs. Barrington faring?”