February 9, 1889 Afternoon
Sure enough, the necklace was missing from Theresia’s room. There didn’t seem to be anything else missing, so they joined her parents and Byron in Mrs. Risewell’s room.
“Do you generally keep the box unlocked?” Byron was asking as they came in.
“Heavens no, there’s a key. I keep it in the drawer here.” Mrs. Risewell moved to the vanity, but Mr. Risewell stopped her.
“There’s a hidden compartment,” Mr. Risewell said. “And though I trust you, Mr. Sherard, I think it would be best if it stayed hidden.”
“Certainly,” Byron said. “Do you keep all of your jewelry here, or do you store some elsewhere?”
“She keeps most of her jewelry in the safe,” Theresia said from where she and Mira stood in the doorway.
Mrs. Risewell whirled towards them. “Did that thief steal anything from you?”
“Yes, Mamma,” Theresia said, crossing the room to sit on the bed. “He took great-grandmother’s necklace. It’s terribly exciting, isn’t it?”
“Theresia,” Mr. Risewell said, a warning in his tone.
“The police have already found it all, haven’t they? We haven’t lost anything, not really, so it doesn’t matter if he stole it or not. He’s dead, anyhow.”
Mira fought to keep her mouth from falling open. At the party the night before, Theresia had such an air of decorum. It was surprising to see her being so openly flippant—even defiant—with her parents.
“It’s the principle of the thing,” Mrs. Risewell said. “And we don’t know whether they found everything.”
Theresia rolled her eyes. “Yes, well let me know if anything else interesting happens.” She stood and headed towards the door.
“Where are you going?” Mr. Risewell asked.
“The stable. Verona ought to be rewarded for having to gallop through the snow.”
“That girl.” Mrs. Risewell shook her head. “I don’t know what to do with her.”
***
After fetching Walker from the sitting room to act as chaperone, Byron and Mira retreated to the study to talk in peace.
“At least it was an accident,” Mira said, adjusting her skirts as she took a seat. “After all, if it were murder, they wouldn’t have found the jewels.”
“Not necessarily,” Byron said, pacing.
“You mean, you think he was murdered?” Walker asked, considering the books on the shelf.
“I’m only saying that we ought not to rule it out just yet. We ought to consider all four possible scenarios for this little mystery.”
“I only count two,” Mira said. “Whether Mr. Treadway was murdered or whether he fell by accident.”
“Add in the additional variable of the jewels. Was Mr. Treadway the thief, or was he not? Therein lies the additional scenarios. For instance, it is possible that Mr. Treadway was not the thief and he fell by accident.”
“Then why would he have the jewels?” Walker asked.
“You don’t think the real thief planted them, do you?” Mira said.
“It is something to consider. Now, let’s examine the possibility of Mr. Treadway being our burglar, as it would be quite a tidy explanation.
Regardless of whether it was an accident or not, why might he feel the need to steal?
Was it a compulsion? Debts to be paid?” Byron spun on his heel, facing her. “Did he strike you as a gambler?”
“No. Though I only spoke with him for a few minutes.”
“An opportunity I did not receive. Think. Did anything stand out to you?”
She furrowed her brow. “Well, he was rather vague.”
“About what?”
“His military service in Sudan. Maureen kept asking him questions about it, and he kept avoiding an answer. Though, perhaps he didn’t want to bring up any memories. He was injured, you see.”
Byron sat in the armchair across from her. “What sort of injury?”
“He didn’t say.”
Walker sighed, pulling a book from the shelf and slumping into one of the chairs. “He wasn’t limping was he?”
“Not that I remember,” Mira said.
“That gives us a line of questioning,” Byron said.
“In speaking with the Risewells, I discovered that he and Mr. Corbet have been staying here at the house for the past two months. We might ask any of them if they know more about the injury. Although it seems unlikely that a burglar would be able to work around a leg injury, especially where ladders might be involved. We will need to check with the coroner to see if there was any sign of a wound there.”
“Under what pretense?” Mira asked. “Or will you be announcing your occupation to everyone now?”
“Inspector Rutledge mentioned that, did he?” Byron chuckled. “I should have warned you. I find it best, in most circumstances, to be as frank as possible with the police. Besides, I think he’s pleased that he ‘solved’ the burglary case before I could.”
Mira sat up. “You don’t think the case is solved, then?”
“Too many unanswered questions. We know that he had the jewels on his person. But, assuming he was the thief, why did he have them with him that night? Had he just nipped outside and up to Mrs. Risewell’s room, nicked the goods, then on his way back to the party got stuck in the snow?”
“There wasn’t a way for him to get up from the outside.” Mira remembered what Admiral Hoddle had said. “There isn’t any ivy or trellising, and I don’t recall seeing any outbuildings near that side of the house where he could have found a ladder.”
“And so he would have no choice but to cut through the house during the party,” Byron said. “Then, why did he go outside? To corroborate his story about getting some air? Or was he bringing the jewelry to another person so that when it was found missing, it wasn’t in the house?”
“He wasn’t wearing a coat when we spoke to him last night. But when we found him this morning he was,” Mira said. “He must have known he would be outside for some time and fetched it after leaving the ballroom.”
Byron nodded. “Usually in cases like these, there’s a partner.
Someone who can bring the jewelry to a third party to be sold, or has the expertise to dismantle the pieces and sell the gemstones individually.
” He drummed his fingers on the armrest of his chair.
“We’ll need to talk to the jewelers in town and see if any of them have had an influx of inventory. ”
“We already know the thief has a partner,” Mira said. “Someone had to have opened the window in your mother’s room.”
“I’d forgotten about that,” Byron said. “Hoddle, Miss Harris, or any of the Risewells.”
Walker gave up on reading his book. “Say, you don’t think the Risewells are framing Treadway for this, do you?”
Byron hummed. “Could be. This could be a ploy to push suspicion off themselves, if they are involved with the burglaries. But would any of them have killed Mr. Treadway, or was his death an accident and they took advantage of the situation?”
Mira frowned. Could Theresia have gotten up to the house, taken the jewelry, and planted it on the body in the time it took her to ride Verona, find the hunt, and return? It seemed unlikely.
“Let’s continue exploring the more nefarious angle. Who else might wish Mr. Treadway ill?” Byron asked.
Mira said, “I don’t know anyone here well enough to say for certain.”
“Oh, Corbet has been obvious enough in his dislike for the man,” Walker said. “Their rivalry when it came to Theresia was clear, at least.”
“Theresia doesn’t care for either of them, though,” Mira said.
A knock came at the library door. Mira moved to answer it and to her surprise, “Fitzwilliam” Montague stood on the threshold.
“I know it isn’t my place, miss,” he said, glancing behind himself. “But may I come in?”
She nodded, stepping aside so he could enter. She closed the door behind him and he removed his cap.
“I know you may not have recognized me,” he said, twisting his poor cap near to death. “But my good conscience knows that you’ll find out soon enough who I am and what I’ve left.”
“Charles Montague, yes?” Byron said, sitting back at his leisure.
“Oh, yes, sir. I’m sorry to say it, but it’s me,” Monty said, words all a jumble. “Course you recognized me. Yer a detective, a right knowing one, and I should have come to you as soon as I noticed you.”
“It was Miss Blayse who remembered you, not I.”
“Is that right? Well, you fooled me last night. You’re a regular actress, begging your pardon, miss.”
Mira smiled, moving back to her seat by the fire. “Won’t you sit down?”
“No, I’d rather stand. If the missus or master was to enter, they wouldn’t take kindly to a footman sitting in good company.”
“What did you want to talk about?” Mira said.
“It’s about the thefts. I knew there’d been all these burglaries about, but it didn’t have nothing to do with me so I didn’t pay them much attention.
But when I saw you come in with all the other swells, I couldn’t help but squirm.
I thought you were here to investigate, but maybe, I thought, maybe you wouldn’t give me no notice.
But then the tittle-tattle below stairs is that there’s been a corpse found, that Mr. Treadway is dead.
And then I thought to myself that you’d be questioning the staff, and soon enough you’d come to me, so I’d better get it over with and come to you first.”
“A reasonable thought,” Byron said, pulling out his journal and flipping through it. “I take it you are innocent?”
“Yes, sir. I didn’t do it. Not the thefts, not the murder, nothing. I never liked being on the dub lay. And I ask you, why would I foul my own nest by filching my mistress’s baubles or doing in a guest?”
“Didn’t you escape from the prison in Reading?” Mira said.
Monty’s face took on a reddish hue. “Oh, well, I did do that. No use in gamming you, seeing as I stand before you now.” He turned to Byron.
“And I know you must do your duty, sir, and send me back there again. But I swear, on my grandmother’s grave even, that I’m done with the criminal life.
I’ve come here to make a fresh start. I’m even getting used to this footman’s toggery.
” Monty brushed his sleeves and looked sheepish.