Chapter Three #2
“Afraid not. The parure is unique.” Ashington ran his hand through his hair.
“It was commissioned for my grandfather by King George III himself, in gratitude for his vocal support of Pitt the Younger. There’s a letter outlining as much somewhere.
Which, no doubt, contributed to his utter shame after having mislaid it and his determination to keep the damned sorry afternoon quiet. ”
“He didn’t mislay it, Benedict,” Fitzsimmons barked.
“After the guests left, they dragged the lake. Twice. As much as you’d like to believe otherwise, someone thieved it from around a dead woman’s neck.
The real question is how the devil that American chit came to have it on display last night at that blasted masked ball. ”
“The answer is staring us all in the face, is it not?” Rossingley murmured, the only one bold enough to say what they must surely have all been thinking. “Talybridge, or a Talybridge, must have been involved in the disappearance. And possibly in the duchess’s tragic death too.”
Try as he might, Mickey couldn’t see any other explanation.
“Just to be certain”—this was only the second time Kit Angel had spoken—“the American girl is betrothed to Talybridge. You said yourself that the Ashingtons and Talybridges are famously cool with one other, though you have never especially comprehended why. Ergo, it is a coolness of old, and like all feuds, I’d wager money or love will be at the root of it.
In this case”—he jerked his chin towards Grandmama and her dazzling parure—“it might well be both.”
Mickey couldn’t have summed it up better himself.
“If Talybridge presented the jewels to Miss Amelia,” said Fitzsimmons sombrely, “his father must be the original thief. And Grandmama’s killer.”
The duke’s brother looked murderous himself.
Mickey agreed, though he didn’t say it. He’d bet his last sou Tommy and Rossingley did too.
But could the present or the former Marquess of Talybridge truly have murdered the former Duchess of Ashington and stolen her priceless jewels while he was at it?
And got away with both heinous crimes, all because a proud duke was being cuckolded and hated scandal?
And then, years later, when everyone had forgotten their existence, coolly gifted them to his new betrothed? The thought made him positively dizzy.
“Talybridge himself could have done it, of course,” Kit corrected. “The current marquess would have had…what did you say…around twenty years of age at the time of the party? And your grandmama was…a few years older,” he finished diplomatically.
Mickey contemplated a much younger Talybridge having sexual relations with the intimidating duchess on the wall. From their identical bemused expressions, the Rossingley twins were doing the same.
“She was forty,” answered Fitzsimmons. “If not a few years more. And no doubt still retained much of her beauty. But at this juncture, it is irrelevant which of the marquesses stole the parure.” He banged his fist down on the arm of his chair.
“It’s ours! And now we have the evidence; we should march over to his place and demand its return! ”
“What if he refuses?” exclaimed the duke.
“The whole thing was thirty years ago, and Talybridge the elder is long since dead. What if the current marquess declares no knowledge of it? What if it has nothing to do with him at all? We’d make utter asses of ourselves.
What if his American friend got his mitts on it by some other nefarious means? ”
To Mickey’s ears, the last part sounded very much like wishful thinking and far beyond the boundaries of coincidence.
“Well, that part of the mystery should be easy to clear up,” Rossingley interjected smoothly. “Willoughby can pay the young lady a visit, compliment her excellent taste in gemstones whilst keeping his eyes firmly fixed above her divine décolletage, and simply ask her from whence they came.”
“I can?”
Mickey wasn’t sure whether Willoughby was thrilled by the prospect of seeing his beloved once more, appalled that he’d be doing so with a hidden agenda, or concerned about where to train his gaze.
“You can do anything, my dear, when you put your mind to it. Even steal another man’s betrothed.”
“More concerningly,” his twin brother added at Willoughby’s uncertain expression, “behind that pretty ball mask, Miss Amelia might have been concealing a hairy wart and crossed eyes. You don’t want to fall in too deep before you find out important stuff like that, do you?
For all you know, she attends masked balls for exactly those reasons.
” He frowned. “Come to think of it, she wasn’t at Mrs Bowman’s gala dinner, was she? ”
Willoughby stuck out his bottom lip. “Firstly, she wasn’t in the country for Mrs Bowman’s gala dinner.
And second, don’t be so shallow, Rolly. I would love her until my dying breath regardless.
” Nonetheless, his eyes skirted up to the painting.
“Even without a mask, she couldn’t possibly be as formidable as—”
“Then that’s settled,” covered his father.
“In the meantime, in case that line of questioning turns up a blank, we should try to confirm if a Talybridge did indeed attend an abbreviated shooting party in deepest Hampshire thirty years ago and whether he took the opportunity to indulge in carnal relations with the lady of the house.”
Before shooting her and half inching her jewellery.
“But how?” queried Fitzsimmons. “Benedict and I spent the early hours of the morning turning our father’s effects upside down, searching for a diary. The attic, the study, trunks. Nothing.”
“Leave it to Mickey and me,” offered Tommy, much to Mickey’s surprise.
Ashington’s eyes widened with alarm. “No, no, no, Tommy. I forbid you to confront Talybridge. You know how I hate scandal. His brother and his wife are blabbermouths of the highest order.”
“And what if Talybridge suspects something’s amiss?” added Fitzsimmons. “The parure may disappear again for another thirty years. Has the marquess ever visited this study, Benedict?”
“Not to my knowledge.” The duke shook his head. “And there aren’t any other paintings of the thing in the house.”
“Good,” said Fitzsimmons. “Then he has no reason to believe we recognised it.”
Ashington’s dark eyes pleaded with Tommy. “You know how much I loathe being the subject of tittle-tattle. Please promise me you won’t do anything rash.”
“I won’t,” Tommy reassured. “And I have no intention of going anywhere near Talybridge.” He bestowed the duke with a rare, sweet smile, one reserved for that diffident man alone and no one else.
“I propose we reconvene tomorrow. Mickey and I will have the information by then; you can be sure of that.”
“Oh Lord, do I want to know how?” Ashington sighed, long and heavy.
Tommy smiled again, a different sort of smile, one that spelled mischief. “Probably not, my love.”