Francesca (5 page)

The next morning Lady Camden had an extremely unpleasant surprise. It was enough to knock all memory of Lord Devane out of her head. Her caller was Lord Maundley, who came once a month to pay his respects. He was an austere gentleman, so totally unlike his rakish son that it was hard to believe they were any relation at all. He was tall and ascetically thin, with gray hair pulled back from a high forehead. On his last visit he had queried her about the entailed jewelry David had given her. She had explained that David kept charge of it and had not given it to her when he left for Spain. It was arranged that Lord Maundley would check at David’s bank to see if he had it put away in a safety box.

Francesca had heard no more about it, and assumed the jewelry was safe. It turned out Lord Maundley had recovered the case, but the star of the collection, a diamond necklace, was missing.

“I haven’t seen it since David left,”
she said. “I wore it only twice—for my presentation at court and the ball Lady Maundley gave before David left.”

“I recall you were wearing it that evening.”
Maundley nodded. “Would you mind just taking a look among your things and see if it hasn’t been misplaced?”

“But that was ages ago, Lord Maundley. I would have come across it before now. I recall perfectly David took it after the ball and put it in the case with the other pieces. I thought he had given the case to you before he left. He asked me if I wanted him to leave anything out to wear while he was away, but the Season was over, you know, and we thought he would be home in three months. I kept only the ring and brooch and ear pendants he gave me as a wedding gift. They were not entailed.”

“Well, the diamond necklace is not in the case. What can have happened to it?”
he demanded suspiciously. His piercing blue eyes almost suggested she had stolen it.

Francesca’s color rose with her voice. “I haven’t the faintest idea. I do not have the necklace. I haven’t seen it since I handed it to David the night of the ball.”

“That was two nights before he left for Spain. Are you sure he didn’t give it back to you?”

“Positive. There was no reason to. We did not go out those two evenings. David had meetings at Whitehall the first evening, and the second, you and Lady Maundley dined with us. I did not wear the diamonds on either occasion,”

“It is very vexing,”
he said, rubbing a sere white hand over his chin. “You must make a thorough search through all your things, and David’s.”

“I gave David’s personal effects to Horton. I gave away some of his clothes, but they were thoroughly searched before that.”

“Whom did you give them to?”
he demanded.

“To his cousin, George Devlin,”
she shot back. She had thought it rather ghoulish of George to want a dead man’s clothing, even if it was elegant.

“We must instigate another search—his room, dresser, the attics. The necklace must be somewhere. It is not with the rest of the jewelry. I’ll send my man over this afternoon to help you.”

“That won’t be necessary. My man will search,”
she said coldly.

But shortly after Maundley left, his valet arrived with instructions to search through all Lord Camden’s rooms and cupboards. Francesca was incensed, but Mrs. Denver thought it might look as if they had something to conceal if they forbade it, so Munns was shown to David’s room, and later to the attic, where he rummaged away at his pleasure.

The ladies did not go out that afternoon. They spent several hours in an utterly futile pawing through all their belongings. Later, they sat huddled together over their teacups, discussing the troublesome incident.

“He probably gave it to one of his women,”
Francesca said bitterly. “I don’t know what else could have happened to it. The night before he left, he said he was at Whitehall, but I doubt he was there till three in the morning. That is the hour he arrived home. And I, like a greenhorn, waiting up for him, pitying him.”
This disagreeable incident brought all the old pain back to the surface.

“Who was the woman?”
Mrs. Denver asked.

“From what I have been able to find out, he had broken off with Mrs. Ritchie the month before. I found a note in one of the jackets he wore at the time. It was signed
Rita.”

“No mention of a necklace?”

“No.”
She colored briskly at the contents of that note.
My dearest darling: You were wonderful last night,
followed by references of so intimate a nature that Francesca could hardly believe her eyes.

“Surely he wouldn’t be fool enough to give entailed jewelry to a lightskirt,”
Mrs. Denver said.

“It would only have been a loan. He never dreamed he wouldn’t come back.”

“If that is what happened, someone must have seen it on her in the meanwhile. Perhaps Mr. Caine could look into it.”

“She might have sold it when she heard David was dead,”
Francesca said uncertainly.

“You’ll have to tell Maundley.”

“Oh, dear! He doesn’t know anything about David’s women. It will break his heart—if he even believes me.”

Mrs. Denver fretted and frowned, then said, “Did the government send back his things from Spain? I was thinking, he might have taken it with him.”

“Yes, for what purpose you can well imagine! It wasn’t returned with his personal effects. If he gave it to a senorita, it is lost for good.”

At four o’clock Munns appeared at the doorway and announced that he had not found the necklace. “I shall report to Lord Maundley,”
he said grandly, and left.

* * *

That evening Lord Devane scoured London in vain for a glimpse of Lady Camden. She was at home, discussing the matter with Selby Caine and her aunt. Mr. Caine was in his element, with a potential tragedy in the making.

“I’ve told you often enough no good would come of this, Fran. Long threatening comes at last. A lady called Rita, you say? No idea of the last name?”

“None,”
Francesca replied glumly.

“I hardly know where to begin. I have no connection with ladies of that sort. Riffraff, leading lives of chaos and degradation. I stay well away from them. Perhaps John Irwin can give me a lead,”
he said, naming a friend who flew somewhat higher than himself. “He’s usually to be found at Brooke’s of an evening. At least it keeps him away from the muslin company. I’ll drop around and see if he has any ideas.”

Mr. Irwin, a dapper gentleman with twinkling blue eyes and a lively sense of the ridiculous, came to call with Caine the next afternoon. Unlike Mr. Caine, Mr. Irwin fancied himself up to all the rigs. He spoke cant as fluently as a scholar spoke Latin, and was eager to put himself at Lady Camden’s disposal.

“Can you describe the necklace for me, Lady Camden?”
he asked.

“A chain of small stones that hung just below the collarbone, with a rather ugly crown-shaped piece of larger diamonds pendant at the front. Oh, and the clasp at the back had some small rubies.”

“That is pretty distinctive. It shouldn’t be hard to recognize.”

“You haven’t seen it about?”
Mrs. Denver asked.

“The lady would have squirreled it away once she heard of Camden’s death.”

“Or sold it,”
Mr. Caine added dampeningly.

“I shouldn’t think so. The jewelers are familiar with the valuable pieces of entailed jewelry. She might have placed it with a lock if she was desperate for money. Rum quids for them. The stalling kens wouldn’t give her a tenth of what it was worth, though.”

Mrs. Denver knew her hearing was on the decline and touched her ear. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Irwin. I didn’t quite catch that.”

“She might have taken it to Stop Hole Abbey.”

“Where is that?”

He gave a knowing little laugh. “You must pardon my speaking cant, ma’am. The lady might have placed it with a receiver of stolen goods is what I mean. He would pay her a small fraction of what it is worth, pull the thing apart, and sell the stones separately.”

“Then we’ll
never
recover it!”
Francesca wailed.

“I’ve warned you often enough you were skating on thin ice,”
Mr. Caine said glumly. His swaying had assumed the speed of a lady
’
s fan as he waved to and fro.

“For goodness sake, sit down, Selby,”
Francesca said curtly.

Mr. Irwin continued his discourse undismayed. “Stop Hole Abbey would be a lady’s last resort. Unless she is flat in the stirrups, I daresay she’s just sitting on it, a nest egg for her old age. Never fear, ladies, we’ll whiddle the whole scrap for you. I’ll take a run down to Stop Hole Abbey and play the sly boots. If the necklace was placed on the table, I’ll soon know about it. Can you come up with the spankers to redeem it if the lock happened to hold on to it?”

“Can you not speak English, John?”
Selby said.

“Do you mean money to buy it back?”
Francesca asked Irwin.

“Precisely.”

“How much would it cost?”
Mrs. Denver asked fearfully.

“I’ll let you know.”

“I don’t see why
I
should pay!”
Francesca objected.

“No more you should,”
Irwin agreed. “Hit Maundley up for it.”

“Oh, but he doesn’t know about my husband’s affairs.”

“He must keep his ears waxed. Whole town knows. But before I visit the locks, I’ll speak to a couple of fellows who know all the muslin company and see if I can learn who this Rita is. I’ll have a word with Dawson, Lord Etherington, Devane.”

“No!”
Lady Camden exclaimed loudly, and won the attention of the whole group. “I would prefer not to involve Devane in this affair.”

“Whyever not?”
Irwin asked, intrigued. Was there something afoot here he hadn’t heard about?

“We think he may be interested in Lady Camden,”
Caine explained vaguely. “I told her he flew too high.”

Irwin’s eyebrows rose an inch. “I shouldn’t think that is anything to keep under the covers. Extremely eligible. The premier parti for several Seasons now.”

“He is not interested in me, and I do not wish to involve him,”
Lady Camden said very firmly.

“Just as you wish, madam. You have no objection to my speaking discreetly to Dawson and Lord Etherington?”

“None in the world.”

“I shall keep my peepers open as well. Cyprian’s ball is coming up. Our mysterious Rita might venture to wear it there, among her own set. You may be sure it is no secret she has the thing.”

Mr. Irwin soon left and went eagerly about the business of making enqueries. Mr. Caine remained behind to read the ladies a lecture.

“Are you sure that young gentleman’s discretion is to be counted on?”
Mrs. Denver asked.

Mr. Selby was coerced into taking a seat, and gave his pronouncement. “His heart is in the right place. Whether he can hold his tongue, there is no saying, but something had to be done. I haven’t many acquaintances who are likely to know any lightskirts. If the thing is not found, there will be rumors aplenty. Better the blame be directed to the proper source than to Fran. What remains of her reputation would be in utter ruin.”

“If worst comes to worst, you’ll just have to tell Maundley the truth,”
Mrs. Denver said, and drew a weary sigh.

Francesca pondered this. The old pain and sorrow seemed new again. They sat like a leaden boulder on her heart. David’s awful behavior would seem even worse to his strict parents. Why subject an old man and his invalid wife to that agony if it could possibly be avoided? She would gladly sacrifice her wedding jewelry to buy the necklace back if that was the only way to conceal the story. Of course her gift from David wouldn’t begin to cover the cost. “I hope it doesn’t come to that,”
she said.

“Would you like to go out this evening and forget your troubles for an hour or two, Fran?”
Selby asked. He felt sorry for her. Her shoulders sagged, and her face was strained with worry.

She looked up, surprised at this suggestion from such an unlikely source as Mr. Caine. “Not tonight, thank you, Selby. I don’t feel up to it.”

“I meant only a concert of antique music. I find the old composers settle my nerves. But just as you wish,”
he replied, trying to conceal his relief. “You wouldn’t be eager to go out at this time.”
He left soon afterward.

With no troublesome lady to protect, Selby spent his evening at Brooke’s Club, where he encountered Mr. Irwin. They hailed each other, and went to a table set apart from the others for private conversation.

“Any luck, John?”
Selby asked eagerly.

“Did you ever notice how names go in Season?”
was Mr. Irwin’s seemingly irrelevant reply. “I mean, you take the turn of the century. A hundred chits called Georgiana after the Duchess of Devonshire. There are dozens of Charlottes and Carolines after the royal family, and Arabella caught on for some reason. You don’t hear so often of a Mary or an Anne nowadays.”

“But have you heard of a Rita?”
Selby asked, to recall his friend to the problem at hand.

“That’s just what I’m getting at. Rita is the name
for lightskirts this Season. They all change their
names, you know.”

“Well they might, the shameful creatures. But are you saying they are all called Rita? Is it a generic thing, like calling our grooms John?”

“No, it is merely a fashion. Daresay they think Rita has a touch of foreign allure. There is Rita Delaney, and Rita Morrow, and Marguerita Sullivan—but her
intimes
call her Rita.”

“Any reason to think Camden was trifling with any of them?”

“Not with Delaney. She was brought over from the ould sod by Lord Munster, and is more or less faithful to him. Morrow—now, there is a possibility, and Sullivan as well. They change partners a fair bit. I have a meeting with Morrow tomorrow. Is that a pun? No, of course not. What an ass I am. I shan’t just blurt out ‘Have you got Lady Camden’s diamond necklace?’
but I shall nose around. Marguerita Sullivan will be harder to approach. She’s under old Sir Percy’s protection. He is jealous as a sultan. He’d run his rusty sword through anyone he caught sniffing around her. Mind you, he might miss. He’s blind in one eye and don’t see too well out of the other.”

“Have you been to Stop Hole Abbey?”