Chapter 11 A Most Memorable Party
Knight's Manor
Darcy
Throughout my conversation with Mr. Gardiner, I sent frequent glances to Elizabeth, who served cups of coffee and tea.
She wore a gown of lemon-coloured spotted muslin and had never looked lovelier.
Her pleasing person, fluid movements, and cheery demeanour had an infectious quality; not only did she raise my spirits, but everyone she met appeared more sanguine for having encountered her.
The reconciliation between Mr. Barton and Mr. Gardiner yesterday had lifted a great weight from my shoulders. If their reunion had been disastrous, I should have borne the blame for my part in bringing the two men together.
My sole remaining anxiety rested with Elizabeth. For the first time in my life, my privilege, wealth, and authority meant nothing, for they would not influence her heart. If she decided against me… No, I should not contemplate the possibility—not whilst hope remained for a better outcome.
“Pray, could you remind me of that lady’s name?” Mr. Gardiner’s head tipped towards the older petite woman speaking with Hayward.
It took a moment for the answer to come to me, for although I had been in company with the lady several times, we had not exchanged more than a few words. “That is Mrs. Ware of Hawthorn Ridge.”
“Ah yes, thank you. Usually, I am skilled at associating names with faces, but I have been introduced to three brown-haired ladies today, all of a similar age.”
A flash of movement behind him caught my attention.
Miss Barton led a pleasant-looking lady in our direction and proceeded to introduce us to Mrs. Vaughan, the eldest daughter of Mr. Rowe.
In response to Mr. Gardiner’s questions, Mrs. Vaughan, who wore a perpetual smile, related that she lived with her barrister husband in Northampton and described the local area.
As she spoke, she toyed with a striking circular jade pendant suspended from the gold chain around her neck.
The green stone resembled a flower—a rose.
A jade rose. Could this possibly be Mrs. Cooper’s necklace—the one stolen on the night of her murder?
My pulse throbbed in my ears as I awaited the first break in the conversation. At last, they each paused to sip from their cups, and I gestured to Mrs. Vaughan’s throat. “Your necklace is striking.”
“Oh, thank you.” Mrs. Vaughan adjusted the pendant to a straight position.
Miss Barton leaned closer to inspect the jade stone. “I agree. It is beautiful.”
“This is a family heirloom.” Mrs. Vaughan fingered the pendant and raised it from her sternum. “For years, we believed it had been lost, but my father found it a couple of months ago tucked inside one of my mother’s handkerchiefs.”
So, Mr. Rowe had recovered the necklace around the time of Mrs. Cooper’s murder.
I could not discount such a significant coincidence.
Could this mild-mannered man, who enjoyed the respect of his neighbours and friends, including Hayward and Elizabeth, be capable of homicide?
An icy sensation traversed my back. I needed to confront him without delay.
With a mumbled excuse to my companions, I rambled through the room towards Mr. Rowe, who stood conversing with Mr. Noah Barton. Both men turned to me at my approach. “Pardon my interruption, but I should like a word with Mr. Rowe.”
“Yes, of course.” The elder gentleman’s smile widened, even as his eyebrows rose.
Mr. Noah Barton patted Mr. Rowe’s shoulder and regarded me. “Well, in that case, I shall leave you to it.” He inclined his head and walked away.
I glanced at the doorway. “Would you mind if we removed to another room?”
“No, not in the least.” Mr. Rowe swept his arm forwards. “You may lead the way.”
I chose the sitting-room at the front of the house; in the event he raised his voice, we should be a fair distance from the others. The two of us took seats in matching Thomas Hope chairs situated near the fireplace.
“Well, you have piqued my curiosity.” He stretched his legs out, easing into a relaxed position.
“Two months ago in London, my nearest neighbour, Mrs. Cooper, was murdered in her home.”
Mr. Rowe stiffened, and the colour drained from his face.
“I have met with the Bow Street runner investigating the crime, and I am aware the primary suspect is a gentleman who called upon Mrs. Cooper on the night of the killing. Based upon witness statements, this man used the assumed name of King, wore a white wig, and is believed to have come from the Salisbury area. I think the man in question is you.”
A derisive noise spewed from Mr. Rowe’s lips. His hands formed a tight ball, and his knuckles whitened. “There must be many men in the area who fit that description.”
“You had the opportunity since you spent most of August in town, and I imagine Mrs. Cooper’s servants would readily identify you on sight.
” I waited a beat for him to grasp the consequence of my words.
Mr. Rowe’s show of bravado crumbled, with his shoulders bowing inwards.
“Do you deny that you called upon Mrs. Cooper whilst concealing your true identity?”
His chin dropped. “No, I…I do not.”
I swallowed. “Did you kill her?”
His head shot up. “What? No! I never harmed Mrs. Cooper in any way.” He moved to the edge of his chair, searching my countenance. “Is that what you think? I am no murderer! Anyone who knows me would tell you that.”
“A porcelain vase disappeared from Mrs. Cooper’s home on the night of her death. Also missing is a necklace. A gold chain with a jade pendant in the shape of a rose.”
A choking sound escaped him. “Oh yes, the necklace. I can see how this must look.”
“You had better explain your actions. Why did you misrepresent yourself to Mrs. Cooper? And what happened on that last Thursday night in August?”
“Very well.” He adjusted his position, resting an elbow on the chair. “Ten years ago, my wife spent several weeks in town at the home of her sister. During a dinner party, someone entered my wife’s guest chamber and stole her necklace, a beloved antique that had been passed down in her family.”
“Do you refer to the pendant your daughter is wearing tonight?”
“Yes. My sister-in-law assumed one of her servants had to be the guilty party. She directed her butler and housekeeper to question everyone in their respective charges and to search the rooms below stairs, but they did not recover the necklace. However, one of the footmen reported having seen Mrs. Cooper descending the stairs during the party. When he approached her to enquire whether he could be of service, she became flustered. She asked to be directed to the ladies’ withdrawing-room, and he obliged her.
There had been no reason for any guest to have been on the second floor. ”
He grimaced. “My wife lamented the loss as she associated the jade pendant with her grandmother. She never doubted that Mrs. Cooper had stolen the necklace, but she could not make an official complaint without proof.”
No doubt the woman had stolen from my aunt Lady Matlock in a similar manner and robbed many of her acquaintances over her lifetime.
“Five or so years ago, my dear wife succumbed to an aggressive form of cancer.
Not long thereafter, I read the notice in The London Chronicle of the jeweller in Piccadilly who had accused Mrs. Cooper of theft.
I did not doubt her guilt and attributed her eventual acquittal to the strength and influence of her wealth, standing, and family name.
“Nevertheless, the episode with the necklace faded from my memory until this past summer when I patronised my favourite bookseller on Bond Street and overheard the shop girl address an elegantly attired lady in her sixth decade as ‘Mrs. Cooper’. Although I had never met the woman, she fitted the description my wife had provided. This circumstance afforded me a rare opportunity, for I had been wearing a white peruke that I had purchased earlier in the day.”
“Why did you buy a wig?”
He shrugged. “I suppose you could call it an impulse. I had never worn one before, but the shop boy declared it would be an improvement over this.” He passed his palm over his pate.
“At any rate, the peruke disguised my usual appearance, and it occurred to me that I could employ an assumed name to determine whether Mrs. Cooper possessed my wife’s necklace.
I thought that, if I formed a friendship with her, she might wear the pendant in my company.
So, I approached her and presented myself as Mr. King, an old friend of her deceased husband.
We shared a pleasant conversation, and she granted me permission to call upon her.
Thereafter, we met at her home twice a week for most of August. Then, on that final Thursday evening, she wore my wife’s necklace. ”
Mr. Rowe raised a handkerchief to a trace of perspiration on his temples.
“We had dined and returned to the drawing-room before I summoned the nerve to reveal my identity and accuse Mrs. Cooper of having stolen my wife’s heirloom years before.
By then, Mrs. Cooper had dismissed the butler for the evening.
“Although I had expected her to be angry at my revelation, the force of her response took me aback. A tremor afflicted her hands, and her face took on such a startling shade of carmine that I thought she might be suffering the throes of apoplexy. Then she stood, unclasped the pendant’s chain, and threw it at me.
She told me to take the lousy necklace and be gone.
I obliged her. And as God is my witness, that is the entirety of my involvement with the lady. ”
“You maintain that you never touched her?”
“That is correct. When I left the house, Mrs. Cooper was furious but very much alive.” His intent gaze locked upon me. “You believe me, do you not?” He threw his hands up. “I did not harm her!”