Chapter 14
News of the recovered Sora-Sora diamond did not become public until Monday morning, but the story dominated the headlines of every newspaper.
MISSING DIAMOND DISCOVERED!
Criminal Gang Unearthed at Circus
Death in Mayfair an Accident
Beth had bought several copies of the most popular morning editions on her way to Hamilton Square, allowing Harry the luxury of taking in the details over a breakfast of tea and toast and a soft-boiled egg.
‘It says they found the diamond in the false bottom of a costume chest belonging to Angelique Monroe,’ she said, without looking up. ‘Along with several items from other burglaries around the country, including a necklace belonging to Lord Robertson’s wife that was stolen last year.’
Beth grunted. ‘I’d have shifted them sharpish.’
‘Me too,’ Harry replied. ‘But I don’t suppose she expected to get caught.’
‘And she wouldn’t have, if it wasn’t for you,’ Beth pointed out. ‘Did it all happen how you said?’
Harry scanned the tiny newsprint. ‘It appears that way. Hercules Jones admitted his involvement but claimed Polly fell to her death in the process. He says embalming her was Angelique’s idea, to prevent the body from being discovered until after they’d got away.’
Beth looked up from checking the teapot, her expression disbelieving. ‘Seems like a lot of trouble to me. Risky, too. They’d have been better off chucking her in the Thames.’
It was a thought that had occurred to Harry too. ‘I think they were made to do it. By someone who saw an opportunity to use poor Polly to send a twisted message and gave precise instructions about what needed to be done.’
‘Moriarty.’ Beth spat the name like a curse. ‘What about the letter? How do they explain that?’
‘There’s no mention of it,’ Harry said, frowning. ‘I’ll have to remember to ask Inspector Wells.’
‘How about our friend Solomon Pole? Did they catch him too?’
Harry forced down a now familiar quiver of unease at the mention of his name. ‘It says Scotland Yard raided the shop in connection with the theft, but it was empty, completely cleaned out.’ She paused and checked herself. ‘Or almost completely. Pole himself has vanished.’
The other woman was quiet for a moment. ‘Do you really think it’s him? That he’s Moriarty, I mean?’
It was a question that had plagued Harry for most of Sunday afternoon.
She’d awoken long after midday, and it had taken her several moments to realise that her visit to the Black Feather Club had not been a dream.
Serafina had tried to warn Hugo who Harry was, but he could not back out of the game, not without losing face in front of the gamblers around him and risking the wrath of his employers by refusing to play.
Harry had been relentless, pretending to herself that it was just another poker game with her brothers, played for matchsticks.
She did not win every hand, and at one point she came very close to disaster, but a lucky card from the dealer surprised her, especially since she had assumed he would be favouring the bonnet.
One by one, the other players folded, leaving just Harry and Hugo at the table.
At last, with a cry of rage she thought to be genuine, he threw down his cards and stormed from the room.
Serafina tried to follow but Percy blocked her and the moment the dealer pushed Harry’s winnings towards her, she was on her feet and heading towards the pale-faced woman. ‘I think we need to talk. Don’t you?’
She had accepted the payment Harry had offered, as she’d known she would, just as she had agreed to write a letter that would end her relationship with Rufus.
‘I don’t care what you use this money for, but please don’t attempt to fool another unsuspecting young man into marrying you,’ Harry said, her tone deceptively pleasant as Serafina scrawled her signature across the bottom of the letter.
‘I will be watching, Mrs de Courcy. And so will my friends.’
Upon leaving the Hell, Percy had insisted on escorting her home and Harry had to admit she was glad of his chivalry.
It was almost dawn, the birds were chirping from the rooftops, and she had been awake for the best part of twenty-four hours.
Her feet ached and her brain felt as though it had been liquefied.
She was not entirely sure she remembered where Hamilton Square was.
‘Has anyone ever told you how remarkable you are, Miss White?’ Percy said, when they reached the door of her apartment block.
‘Once or twice,’ Harry admitted, because she was too exhausted to be coy. ‘Thank you for your help this evening. I’m not sure I would have discovered the truth about Serafina in time without it.’
He smiled. ‘Believe me, I should be thanking you. Watching you beat the house is the most fun I’ve had in ages. Cartwright will be asking who you are for months.’
She felt a small pang of guilt then, for all the other gamblers who had lost to her. This was why she never played for anything other than matchsticks. ‘I hope you don’t get into any trouble.’
His laugh sounded genuinely delighted. ‘I assure you I will not. They will be begging me to bring you back, in spite of the monstrous hiding you gave them.’ He gazed into her eyes, and it belatedly occurred to her that this time, he really might kiss her.
But instead, he reached out to touch her cheek.
‘Get some sleep. And perhaps, when you’ve fully recovered, you’ll let me take you somewhere more respectable. ’
Another wave of guilt assailed her then, because she could picture Oliver’s reaction if she were to accept Percy’s offer.
Oliver, who had no idea she had spent the night gambling with Percy Finchem and was still patiently waiting for her to answer his question about whether the two of them might be more than simple friends and partners in fighting crime.
But she could not deny that she had enjoyed Percy’s company, if perhaps not the events of the night itself, and part of her thrilled at the idea of getting to know him better.
If only it didn’t feel like a betrayal of her best friend…
‘I don’t know,’ she said honestly, as she fought off a yawn. ‘Right now, I’m too tired to think of anything more adventurous than climbing the stairs.’
‘Perfectly understandable,’ he said, and stepped backwards to let her escape. ‘Sleep well. I hope we’ll see each other again soon.’
At least her mother had been satisfied with the way things had turned out, Harry thought as she pushed the memory of Percy away.
She’d given Seb the job of delivering the truth about Serafina’s intentions, without revealing exactly how she had come by the information, and he had gone to Abinger Hall to drop the hammer blow that same afternoon.
Understandably, Rufus had not taken the news well.
At first, he had refused to believe it, furiously accusing Seb of taking their mother’s side to destroy any hope of future happiness, even when presented with the letter Harry had obtained from Serafina, tersely explaining that she did not love him and could never marry him.
It was only when their father telephoned the Duke of Dover and asked him to confirm the sorry circumstances of his son’s marital status and poor choices that Rufus had been forced to accept the unhappy truth.
‘I daresay he’ll get over it,’ Seb told Harry over the phone when he called late on Sunday evening.
‘Give it a week and he’ll have forgotten her name. ’
It would take much more than a week, Harry suspected, and felt enraged all over again at the callousness with which Serafina had used her brother.
But the anguish would ease, with time and the support of those who truly loved him, and perhaps it might even encourage him to be a little more careful with his heart the next time a pretty girl smiled at him. Perhaps.
A restless movement from Beth roused Harry from her thoughts.
‘I don’t know about Pole,’ she said, dragging her mind with some difficulty back to the question that hung unanswered between them.
‘The fact that he was clever enough to evade capture by Scotland Yard makes me think he was one step ahead all the way.’ She hesitated, remembering something else Oliver had mentioned when he’d called on Sunday evening. ‘And then there’s the charm bracelet.’
‘The bracelet?’ Beth repeated, and scowled. ‘I suppose he took it with him, did he?’
Harry shook her head. ‘It was the only thing left in the shop. On the counter, Inspector Wells said, as though it was waiting to be found.’ She met Beth’s surprised gaze. ‘It has to mean something, don’t you think?’
‘Maybe,’ the other woman said, her expression doubtful. ‘But we gave a false name and address. There’s no way it links back to you.’
‘No, I know,’ Harry agreed, because Oliver had said much the same thing. ‘But I can’t shake the feeling it’s not a coincidence. I don’t think we’ve heard the last of Solomon Pole.’
‘He’ll be halfway across the country if he’s got any sense,’ Beth observed with her usual practicality. ‘With a bit of luck, the police will pick him up before he can even catch his breath.’
They could only hope, Harry decided. Pushing the remains of her breakfast aside, she got to her feet to dress for work.
It wasn’t until she was almost ready to leave for Baker Street that Beth let out a gasp and sat bolt upright on the settee, a copy of The Times in her hands.
‘Did you look at the personal column this morning?’
Harry felt a chill of dread seep into her bones. ‘No. Why?’
Beth thrust the newspaper towards her. ‘There’s a message. From him.’
Willing herself to stay calm, Harry took the paper and scanned the columns until she saw a familiar name.
My charming Sherlock Holmes,
Congratulations on your victory. I look forward to our next game.
Professor James Moriarty
‘Our next game,’ she said, looking into Beth’s eyes and seeing her own apprehension mirrored there. ‘This isn’t over.’
‘No,’ Beth agreed, and her expression settled into a grimace. ‘I’ve got a nasty feeling it’s only the beginning.’