Death Wears a Mask (24 page)

“No,” she said quickly. “James was a timid boy. He enjoyed spending time with the Echols girls because they're so lively, but it was never anything serious. If you think he would have wanted to give my jewels to one of them, it isn't so. James lacked cleverness, at times, but he wasn't stupid. The Echols girls could never have worn my pieces in public; I would have noticed. In any event, as I've said before, he knew the bracelet at the ball was paste. He would have had no reason to try to steal it.”

“Which piece was it he referred to at dinner, do you recall?”

It seemed as though she wavered indecisively before saying, “It was the diamond bracelet, the second piece to go missing, but I can assure you it had nothing to do with the murder.”

I had the sudden sensation that she was denying it too strenuously. I wondered if pressing her was the best course of action under the circumstances, but I had the distinct feeling that there was something she was holding back.

“Mrs. Barrington, is there anything you know? Anything you're not saying?”

“Of course not, Mrs. Ames!” she cried, a bit too spiritedly. “If I knew anything that could help to catch James's killer, I would certainly reveal it to you.”

“Very good. We shall just have to hope that something else comes to light.” For the time being, there was nothing more to be said.

*   *   *

MRS. BARRINGTON LEFT, AND
Winnelda brought me coffee in the sitting room. I sipped it contemplatively. It seemed to me that Mrs. Barrington's story was not quite holding together. There had been something secretive in her manner today, as though there was something she wanted to keep from me.

I wondered if I was being unjustly suspicious. It was possible I was being influenced by what Milo had told me about the Barringtons' financial difficulties. Just because things were a bit tight for them, however, didn't mean that they would have had anything to do with the death of their nephew. Indeed, it seemed almost out of the question. Almost.

Without my meaning to think of him, my thoughts drifted to Milo. I wondered what he was doing at this moment. I wouldn't have been half surprised to find out he had decided to dash off to Nice or some such place without informing me. He tended to bolt at the most inopportune times.

Nevertheless, I could not help but hope that he had taken some of what I told him last night to heart. It had been difficult for me to speak so directly to him. I was accustomed to sidestepping our marital difficulties at every turn. However, I had come to the point where I could no longer remain silent on the subject. Five years had been too long. I was perfectly aware that my ultimatum might have been the nail in the coffin for our marriage. It was not something I took lightly. In addition to the heartbreak it would cause me, I was perfectly aware of the scandal that would ensue, of the social repercussions that would result if my marriage came to an end. But if that was the way it had to be, so be it. I had meant what I had said, and I would live with the consequences.

I stood up. I was feeling too restless to simply sit here. I was tired of thinking about things. I wanted to do something. But what?

My thoughts turned again to the apparent motive for murder. The missing jewelry seemed to be at the center of all of this, but where had it gone? Not only the paste bracelet from the ball but also Mrs. Barrington's other pieces. They had to be somewhere. Furthermore, where had the genuine sapphire come from? It seemed to have materialized out of thin air to vex me.

A thought came to me suddenly. If the thief had stolen Mrs. Barrington's jewelry out of desperation, it was just as possible that he or she would have tried to sell them already. I wonder if the police had investigated that possibility. I also wondered how one went about selling such things.

Winnelda seemed to have knowledge about a wide range of things from her maid friends. I wondered if she could prove useful in this case.

“Winnelda,” I asked casually as she came back into the room, “if one was interested in selling stolen jewelry, how do you suppose one would go about it?”

“I'm sure I wouldn't know, madam!” she exclaimed, properly scandalized by my question. “If you're missing jewelry, I can only tell you that I know nothing about it, and that I would never in a million years…”

“No, no,” I assured her quickly. “I'm not missing anything. I am just wondering where such a transaction might take place.”

She looked close to tears, and I felt bad for having frightened her.

“I only meant that, since you know so many people, you might have heard tales of where people would go to do such a thing.”

“I don't keep company with
those
types of maids, madam,” she said with great dignity.

“Certainly not, Winnelda,” I soothed. “But it would be most useful to me if you could think of anyplace where one might dispose of jewelry secondhand.”

“Well,” she said, seemingly pacified by my appeal to her knowledge. “Lilly had a ring from her aunt that she was forced to sell when she lost her place once. She said she went to a shop on Whitechapel High Street. There are ever so many shops that way where one might sell things, jewelry and the like. I remember once, too, that Gladys told me she thought that Mrs. Garmond might have sold some of her jewelry from Lord Dunmore.”

She had piqued my interest now. “Indeed?”

“Yes, Gladys heard her mention Whitechapel, and it was not the type of place that Mrs. Garmond would normally frequent, Mrs. Garmond being a fine lady. Gladys got to thinking about what Lilly had said about selling things and how Mrs. Garmond has been cutting back on expenses and thought she must have gone to sell some jewelry.”

“Whitechapel High Street, you say,” I mused. An idea was beginning to take shape in my mind.

“It's not a very nice place, though, madam. In fact, I think it's dangerous. One's always hearing about women being killed in Whitechapel, cut to ribbons and other sordid things.”

I thought perhaps Winnelda was a bit out of date in her reading on that score.

“Besides,” she added, as something of an anticlimax, “they didn't give Lilly half of what her ring was worth.”

“I don't think we need worry much about that, Winnelda.”

She looked quite unconvinced. “Begging your pardon, madam, you're not thinking of selling anything?”

“Oh, no, certainly not.” I thought it best to refute the idea quickly, before Lilly, Gladys, and company received news that I had begun to rid myself of all the jewelry Milo had given me. “In fact, I'm looking to buy something.”

“Not from one of those places, surely? You're much too fine a lady to go to someplace like that,” Winnelda protested. “With your lovely clothes and your elegant manner, they're bound to recognize you as quality and try to get too much money out of you.”

“Perhaps you're right. I'd much rather shop in Mayfair.”

“Oh, yes. It's ever so much nicer.” Satisfied, for the moment, that she had done her part to discourage my strange whims, she went off to put the coffee things away.

I sat for a moment, the possibilities running through my head. If I could find Mrs. Barrington's jewels, it was very likely I would be able to determine who had stolen them.

I found it very interesting that Mrs. Garmond was known to have visited Whitechapel. Could it be that she had been selling the jewelry she had stolen from Mrs. Barrington?

There was only one way to find out.

While I knew that I had very little hope of stumbling across Mrs. Barrington's jewels in the first shop I visited, it was my thought that some subtle inquiries might lead me in the right direction.

Winnelda was right about one thing, however. I couldn't just waltz into a place like that asking questions. They would be bound to be suspicious. No, I would have to go with the pretext of trying to sell something. That meant there was only one option.

I would have to go in disguise.

 

22

MY PLAN, ONCE
formulated, was put into action at once.

I located a dress in the back of my closet that had somehow escaped the charity pile. It was several years old, of a slightly dated color and cut. I had lost a bit of weight as of late, and it was ill-fitting, which I thought heightened the effect.

I took off my engagement and wedding rings and found a small ruby ring in the back of my jewelry box. I slipped it into my pocket.

I hadn't much experience going incognito, but I was of the impression that it would be best to hide my identity as thoroughly as possible. To that end, I put on too much makeup and mussed my hair a bit in hopes of appearing somewhat tawdry. I stepped back from the mirror and studied the effect.

Winnelda had watched my preparations in growing alarm. “Oh, I wish you wouldn't, madam,” she had said, more than once.

“I assure you, everything will be fine, Winnelda.”

“At least you'll have Markham with you,” she said, as though to reassure herself. “He's a sturdy fellow and should be able to protect you if something goes amiss.”

“I'll take a cab,” I said. “If I have Markham drive me, it will call too much attention.”

“I don't know, madam,” Winnelda said, wringing her hands. “Begging your pardon, but I think it's an awfully risky thing to do.”

“Don't fret. I'm not going to do anything dangerous.”

“Perhaps I should come with you,” she suggested. One look at her face was enough to make it plain that she hoped I would refuse. She needn't have worried, for I thought that her nervousness would only make me more conspicuous.

“I don't think that will be necessary,” I told her. “I'm only going to make a few inquiries. Nothing is going to go wrong.”

This did not seem to comfort her. “I do hope you're right, madam,” she said mournfully.

I was undeterred by her lack of confidence and left the flat determined to learn something.

I took a cab to Whitechapel, and the drive gave me time to contemplate how poorly devised my plan really was. How on earth did I expect to locate Mrs. Barrington's missing jewelry in a sea of London pawnbrokers? I would have equated it to searching for a needle in a haystack, but I thought it unfair to haystacks. I felt suddenly that I had set out on a Herculean task. I supposed it wouldn't hurt to attempt it, however. After all, Hercules had succeeded.

Whitechapel High Street was bustling with traffic, and the car slowed, the driver glancing at me in the mirror. “Any particular pawnbroker?” he asked.

As I thought it might elicit suspicion to request the most disreputable of them, I asked him to stop at the first one we encountered.

He pulled up to the curb, and I instructed him to wait. Stepping out onto the street, I realized there were an alarming number of unsavory-looking shops. I fought down the rising feeling that I might have embarked on too great an undertaking and walked toward the shop nearest me, the three golden balls signifying a pawnbroker's shop beneath the faded sign that read
ACKERMAN AND HEATH PURVEYORS OF FINE GOODS
.

A bell, imprisoned by cobwebs, did its best to jangle as I entered. The place was just as I had imagined it would be, dark and musty with a generally unwholesome atmosphere. There were long, dusty glass counters filled with jewelry and trinkets of every imaginable description. I wondered how much of it might have been acquired by unscrupulous means.

The man behind the counter looked up at me as I entered, his shrewd eyes taking my measure in one practiced glance.

“Good afternoon,” I said. I allowed a bit of uncertainty to come into my voice. I had determined that it would be best for me to act as though I was new to this sort of thing. No matter how much I hoped I might be able to turn in an excellent performance, Sarah Bernhardt I was not. There was no way I could convincingly portray a hardened criminal, so it would be easiest for me to act as a decent woman sliding down the slippery slope to thievery and ruin.

“What can I do for you?” he asked, still eyeing me in an unnerving way.

“Well, Mr. Ackerman … Or is it Heath?”

“Neither.”

“Oh,” I said. “I see. Well, I … do you buy jewelry here?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“On the type of jewelry, where you got it, how much you want for it. Things like that.”

“I have a ring I'd like to sell,” I told him. “A ruby ring.”

“Where did you come by it?” he asked.

I feigned nervousness, which was not difficult. “Someone gave it to me.”

“Did they indeed?”

I heard the door to the shop open, but I didn't turn around. I was just beginning to warm up to my part. I hoped that I was making my story sound a bit dubious. “Yes. It was a gift from my employer.”

“What do you do for a living?” he asked.

“I'm a maid.”

I was not, by nature, a good liar. In fact, I was very much against it in practice. However, I consoled myself by the fact that this was a role I was playing. I only hoped I could maintain it.

“Well, why don't you let me see this ring of yours?”

I pulled off my glove and reached into my pocket to pull out the ring. He held out a rough, hairy hand, and I dropped it into his palm. He held it up, surveying it carefully, before his eyes came back to me.

“So I've found you out.”

I turned at the familiar voice from the doorway, unwilling, at first, to believe my ears.

It was Milo.

How in the world he had found me here, I didn't know, but I forced myself to keep from revealing my extreme annoyance at his unwelcomed presence.

“I was afraid you might do something like this, Mary,” he said, disappointment in his voice.

Mary. So he was continuing the ploy then. I didn't know what he was up to, but I was sorely displeased that he had chosen to interfere in my affairs.