Reluctant Bride (16 page)

“My mother was small.”

“Was she?” I asked, surprised. I had envisioned her a large, loud-voiced grenadier of a woman. When a man is opposed to marriage, it will sometimes be due to a quarrelsome mama, I have discovered. Then, too, his own characteristics had to be inherited from either her or his father. “What was she like?”

“A saint. Patient, forebearing. She had plenty to bear. My father was like me. You look surprised. Have I said something to indicate she was ill-natured?”

“No, not at all.”

“She had a hard life. A foul-tempered husband is a sad infliction to spring on an unsuspecting lady.”

“Was she unsuspecting? An arranged marriage, I deduce?”

“No, they had been neighbors forever, but I shouldn’t think he showed her his worst side when they were courting. She always looked—frightened, or abused. Unhappy is all I mean. He didn’t actually harm her physically. She was gentle, easily provoked to tears. She cried a good deal.”

She sounded a perfect ninnyhammer to me, or worse, a female who used her tears to bring her spouse round her thumb. “I expect that brought a halt to your father’s tantrums?” I asked.

“Instantly! My father knew two moods—anger and remorse. I think it is a mistake for a man of unstable temperament to marry, don’t you?”

“To marry a timid lady, yes. Good gracious, is
this
the reason you espouse misogamy? Don’t be such a gudgeon, Edmund. Find someone who is not afraid of your blustering, arm her with a stout club and marry her.”

“Omitting the stout club, I feel you may be right.”

“Omitting the club, I am not at all sure I am right. I cannot get her ring on,” I said, after pushing at it for some moments.

“Rub a little of this butter on your finger,” he suggested.

The trick worked. It slid on, without quite cutting off my circulation. “Let us decide exactly how to proceed with Glandower,” I said. “Do we pretend it is a social call merely, and tell him Weston bought my necklace?”

“I have been revising our strategy. As we will not be putting up with Cummings, a search of his premises will not be at all easy to arrange. Then too, if he has already pawned the necklace, we are at point
non plus.
Even if he shows surprise at his stepfather’s purchase, he will not likely crop out into a confession. We may be morally certain he is guilty, but to prove it is more difficult.”

“Unless we could learn where he sold it.”

“Precisely. What we should do is tour the jewel merchants as a couple of connoisseurs looking for old jewelry. Your piece is interesting enough that word of its presence might well be known in the traders’ circle. At least I always know within a day when a neighbor has bought a new bull—I daresay it is no different with diamonds. If we can discover who bought it, then it will not be impossible to get a description of the seller.”

“We know his description: a walleyed man in a green jacket.”

Edmund shook his head. “No. Bibelots of no great value will be purchased from a commoner. Glandower would more likely have traded off the real diamonds himself. A trader would not buy them from just anyone, unless he is an outright crook.”

“This plan will take a while to accomplish. It presupposes as well that Glandower
has
sold them. How many traders do you reckon there are in London?”

“Dozens, probably hundreds. My hope is that we will not have to visit them all. If the piece is in town, I expect any of the large traders can direct us to its purchaser.”

“It won’t do any harm to try. If we hear nothing, then we will assume Cummings has not sold it yet, and confront him.”

When Maisie joined us later, she approved of the plan. She also agreed to remain at his home while we two spent the morning tracking down dealers in secondhand gems. Hamlet, who is jokingly called the Prince of Denmark by his clients, had his shop at the corner of Cranbourne Alley. It was stuffed full of gold and silver plate in one room, while the jewel room held a king’s ransom in all manner of precious stone, but it held no necklace given to Sir Eldridge by Queen Elizabeth, nor had he any rumors of the object being in town. He gave a list of likely dealers, with Rundell and Bridges at the top of the list. The shop held less opulent objects than Hamlet’s, but it displayed them more attractively. My necklace was not there either, but the dealer had heard some talk of it, which sounded promising.

To save needless time, Edmund, who was familiar with the city, laid out a map for us that would involve a minimum of doubling back and forth. We settled on a story we would relate to the dealers, one that limited our interest to that one specific necklace and also included our eagerness to get it immediately. Our imaginary engagement was rushed into an imaginary wedding. Pampered bride that I was, I would have nothing but an Elizabethan diamond necklace for my wedding present, during our brief honeymoon in London. My doting spouse tried to act besotted enough to make this tale credible. His temper made his job difficult, but my assertive way was of great help in my role.

“This will save us hours of looking at other pieces,” Edmund pointed out. “They will be trying to unload rings and brooches and bracelets on me if I indicate an interest in old jewelry in general. It is only a necklace you want, Lady Blount.”

“What an ugly-sounding name it is.”

He looked shocked. “Even my mother, who objected to everything else she married into, never objected to her name,” he answered.

“Perhaps her maiden name was equally ugly. Mine is not.”

“You won’t have to change your initial at least,” he answered reasonably.

“I hadn’t planned to reembroider my handkerchiefs for one morning’s use,” I told him.

We spent a grueling morning trekking from shop to shop. They were too close together to bother with the carriage, and really too far apart to walk. Inquiring for one specific necklace did not save us from having to examine every other sort of jewel either. Anything in the shop that was more than ten years old was brought out for my delectation. Our travels were leading us to the east of the city.

“Glandower lives on Downing Street,” I reminded Blount. “Let us return to that general vicinity at least.”

“He would be more likely to have peddled it farther from home,” he reminded.

“No one has seen it. I begin to think he didn’t sell it at all, but kept it to wear himself.”

“He must have needed the blunt desperately to have stolen it. If he needed the money, then he hawked the necklace. It is only a matter of time.”

“Time and place. Humor me, Edmund. Don’t be so cruel to your blushing bride. Hire a cab and let us go back to civilization, try some of the shops close to Downing Street.”

“Are you tired?”

“No, exhausted. These heeled slippers were not made for hiking, but sitting in a carriage.”

“I’ll take you home and come back out this afternoon myself.”

“I require only a respite, not retirement.”

After repeated hectorings, I convinced him to hire a cab. “Let us dismount near Glandower’s house, and try the places closest to it,” I suggested.

The list of names and addresses was examined. The closest was not so very close. Instead of going to Downing Street, we were let off on the south end of Bond. The first shop we entered had been offered the necklace, but had not met the gentleman’s price. A request for a description of “the gentleman” gave us a fair picture of Glandower. Tall, rather thin, young, with fair hair. A good-looking chap. “One would not have taken him for Polish,” the shopkeeper finished up casually.

“Polish?” I asked, staring at this new twist.

“The Polish ambassador’s cousin was the man I refer to. The diamonds came into his family on the maternal side, grandmother, an Englishwoman. Baron Czarnkow is very sorry to have to part with it, but he is in the suds. Gambling.”

“You wouldn’t know who he took it to after he left here?” Edmund asked, ignoring Glandower’s new nationality and title.

“I directed him to Newington. He handles more antiques than I do myself. There is not a great demand for antique jewelry. We do a better job on the stones nowadays. I have a very pretty . . .”

“Thank you. My wife is determined on that particular necklace,” Edmund said, scanning his list for Newington’s address.

Newington had not met Baron Czarnkow’s price either, but the man to whom he sent us was even then negotiating the deal. Not to say Mr. Anthony had the necklace in his shop, but he had made an offer which the Baron was graciously considering. Czarnkow had expressed some intention of returning soon.

“So he hasn’t sold it yet,” Edmund said, happy to have at least this atom of success to the morning’s strenuous endeavors.

“Or hasn’t bothered to tell Mr. Anthony in any case,” I pointed out.

Edmund turned around and darted back inside. When he came out, he was smiling. “Yesterday afternoon the Baron was still negotiating,” he announced triumphantly.

“Good, then he has had only this morning to unload it. I hope he sleeps in late.”

“Gamblers usually do.”

“Shall we go directly to Downing Street then? Edmund—I think we ought to go to a magistrate and get a search warrant. Take a Runner with us, not give him a chance to hide it on us.”

He stopped walking. There in the middle of the street he began rubbing his chin and frowning. “That would make it so very public. Bring a scandal and disgrace down on his head. Not that I give a tinker’s curse about that grinner of a Glandower, but your uncle deserves better.”

I sighed wearily, trying to decide on the best course, but one that left no chance of losing out on the necklace at this late point in our chase.

“You are worn to a thread, Lizzie,” he said, examining my face. I am taking you home.”

“What are
you
going to do?”

“Go to my bank. Traveling with you is very dear.”

“You are not going to
buy
the necklace!”

“Oh, no, I am going to win it. He loses to everyone else at cards. Why not me? All I require is a stake, to set up a game.”

“You don’t know him. How can you set up a game with a total stranger?”

“Use your wits, Lady Blount. That is the last time you will hear the ugly name today. We are now not only unmarried, unengaged, but total strangers. Brace yourself for one final challenge. You and Maisie must go to him and tell him of the theft. Also let him know you have been touring the shops, to ensure his not selling the thing this afternoon. Discover his plans for the day and night, and I shall arrange to bump into him somewhere, and try for a game tonight.”

“Maisie was right. You
are
cagey.”

“Genius was the word used. I believe she exaggerated a little.”

“It is myself who ought to be a genius. How can I find out, on a mere social visit, what his plans are for the day? I can hardly subject him to a direct quiz without his becoming suspicious.”

“You could roll your big, bright eyes at him, Liz. Let him squire you somewhere or other, tell me the destination, and I shall undertake to be there. I’ll scrape an acquaintance somehow, never fear.”

“Failing all else, you can always run him off the road. That results in delightful friendships, does it not?”

“Delightful. We’ll hail a cab and go to pick up Maisie. If you cannot charm Cummings into a date with you, be sure to discover what he plans to do instead. The two important points are to make sure he knows he cannot hawk the necklace, and to discover his plans. Under no circumstance are you to give my name or description, as I do not want him to know I have anything to do with you.”

I had removed my gloves and was trying to pull off his mother’s ring. “I cannot get it off,” I said.

“Do you think the Fates are trying to tell you something?”

“Yes, that I was a fool to ever put it on in the first place. All this pulling is swelling my knuckle too. It is beginning to hurt.”

“Stop fiddling with it. Glandower won’t notice it.”

A cab pulled up to us. We got in and went to Belgrave Square. Within minutes, Maisie and myself were being rushed out the door into Blount’s own black carriage, which was considered safely anonymous enough to drive to Downing Street.

“Come straight home after. I’ll be waiting on thorns for my instructions,” Sir Edmund said, drawing out his watch to time us.

“Put away your watch, Edmund. You will have an hour or more off the treadwheel. Relax.”

He looked confused. Relaxing was as alien to him as flying.

Chapter 13

My
aunt and I were shown into Glandower Cummings’s apartment by a general factotum wearing a green jacket and a pair of walleyes. It took a strong exertion of will power not to accuse the man on the spot. We were left to cool our heels in a very mediocre parlor while Glandower was called. I am pretty sure we had him roused out of his bed. When he came to us, not quite grinning but trying to look happy to see us, he had taken time to perform his toilette. He looked and smelled like a seven-day beau. The stench of Steak’s lavender water was overpowering. So was his jacket. It was of blue Bath cloth, sporting four of the largest brass buttons ever seen outside of a circus. His blond curls sat in wanton disarray on his white forehead. His blue eyes were half closed. There was a certain wariness in his manner—the only indication he was guilty of anything.

“Good morning, Glandower,” I said cheerfully. “You will be surprised to see us, when Uncle Weston told you we were to visit
him.”

“What happened?” he asked, trying to contain his interest within decorous bounds, but already sounding worried.

I told him my tale of stolen gems, saying nothing of either Sir Edmund or walleyed suspects. “We have concluded someone stole them and is trying to sell them here in London, so we spent our morning touring all the jewelry shops,” I said. “If the wretch
did
sell them, I shall get his description, and call in Bow Street.”

He expressed as much interest as he dared in the business. We discussed it for a while, then discussed other family matters, while I mentally framed questions that would discover his afternoon’s plans.

“We have had a very tedious morning. I think we have earned a little entertainment this afternoon. What do you suggest, Glandower?”