The Blue Diamond (18 page)

“Is Mademoiselle Feydeau still with you?” he asked, though he knew perfectly well she was.

“Yes,” she said briefly, while a shadow flitted across her face—a fleeting frown, no more. She
spoke
of leaving, but stayed on forever.

The coffee arrived, rich, in delicate porcelain cups, with sterling silver spoons. “I see you have made a conquest of Monsieur Chabon,” he said next, to work round to what had brought him. “All cured of your infatuation with Rechberg, I take it?”

“Chabon is not my friend in particular,” she said, with a certain alacrity. “It is Papa he gets along so famously with.”

“A charming couple,” he answered lightly, in a joking way. “I think,
entre nous
, that his girl friend, Countess von Rossner, becomes jealous of Chabon.”

“She hates him!”

His head jerked towards her in surprise at the vehemence of this remark. “I take it you share the aversion?” he asked quietly.

“I do not much like him,” she admitted, more mildly.

“Why is that?”

She looked at him, weighing her answer. For weeks now she had struggled under the burden of her problem, talking only to her godmother, whose sole interest in the matter was whether Peter had taken a lover. About murders, schemes for making money and other intrigue, she waved a jeweled hand in disdain. Peter would not be so foolish. It was impossible too to go to one’s lifelong friends with her suspicions. They would laugh at her, say she was imagining things. She wanted advice from an older, worldly person she could trust. She looked at her caller, wondering if he were the one. There was something solid in him, some interest, some English fairness that attracted her, even while she did not quite understand it. “He seems to have hypnotized Papa,” she said, reluctantly, with a helpless little flutter of her hands.

“Why don’t you tell me what is troubling you, Maria?” he said simply.

His using her given name tilted the balance. A gentleman would not betray a lady he called by her first name. It would not be chivalrous. The English were chivalrous towards women. It was an axiom in England, where she had spent her formative years. Perhaps that was what drew her to him, those happy years in England. “It is a confidence, you understand?” He nodded slightly, concealing his rampant curiosity under a bland expression.

“I hardly know where to begin. Money, I think, is at the root of it. We are not rich, you see. Oh I know we look rich. I thought we were, till a month or so ago. We had everything, and on top of it all, there was always Tante Hermione in the background, eager to marry Papa and give us all her money. But it was only a sham—all my jewels made of paste, and the house I suppose mortgaged. I don’t know.” She shook her head, bewildered. “Papa no longer talks to me. He is involved in some business with Chabon. I don’t trust that Chabon.”

“What sort of business?”

“I don’t know. Oh I don’t know, Moncrief! That is the problem. I think they are planning some criminal act, but what can it be? Mademoiselle Feydeau thinks Chabon has the diamonds stolen from the King of France. She thinks he plans to sell them for Talleyrand—or give them back to Louis, or something.”

His heart gave a lurch at the introduction into the business of Prince Talleyrand’s name. This was a complication never foreseen, and was soon put down to misunderstanding on the girl’s part. “That is why you questioned me about him awhile ago?”

“Yes, to see if you thought him capable of such a thing.”

“I don’t. I cannot believe Talleyrand is involved.”

“It was Mademoiselle’s opinion. The worst of it is, they are gypping her.” She went on to explain the affair of the diamond earrings, while he listened closely. The only new fact learned was that von Rossner had stood bluff for half the expense.

“That may be Mademoiselle’s opinion, but it is far from being a fact. Chabon perhaps, not Talleyrand,” he said.

“Where would Chabon have got the jewels, without benefit of such a one as Talleyrand, who was alive, there on the spot at the time they were taken?”

“Why don’t we ask your father? If he’s working with Chabon, he must know.”

“No! I hardly dare speak to him these days. He is become so gruff, so sharp with me. That, as much as anything, tells me he is in trouble.”

“I’ll speak to him.”

“No, please. He’ll know I told you. He’ll learn you were here today.”

“I shall also visit Mademoiselle. With Hager’s ten thousand spies so busy as well, there are an infinite number of ways I might have learned he is engaged in something he should not be.”

“But you won’t tell anyone. Anyone official I mean. My hope is to prevent his doing something stupid, not to catch him at it.”

“Prevention is my own aim as well. We are as one in that hope. I shall do what I can. I am happy you confided in me. Naturally I shall treat your words in the strictest confidence. Don’t worry on that score.”

She breathed a trembling sigh, half of relief, half of regret she had shared her fears. Moncrief reached out and patted her fingers. “Come, it’s not so bad as that,” he said, gently.

She attempted a smile, with very little success. “Why did you tell me?” he asked, on impulse.

“I had to tell someone. I was nearly bursting with worry.

“Why me?”

“Because you asked,” was the only answer she could give him, or herself.

His next stop was Feydeau’s apartment, around the corner, where he was admitted again by the housekeeper, to find Mademoiselle sitting by the window, some sewing between her fingers. “I would like to speak to you in private,” he said, with a glance to the doorway, where the older woman lurked.

“We have nothing to discuss,” she answered.

He had taken the notion the housekeeper listened at doorways. The fleeting shadow noticed the first day led him to this conclusion. Even when he looked and saw the girl so pale and forlorn-looking, he began to wonder if she were being held in this apartment against her wishes. It was a perfectly foundless notion, but she was young and pretty, and Moncrief a little given to romance. “It is a beautiful, crisp day,” he began, glancing out the window, where a few soft snowflakes fell. “Let me take you for a drive—a jaunt into the woods and lunch at an inn.”

“I seldom go out,” she said, but there was a glow of interest in her eyes.

“Young ladies need fresh air,” he continued. “The roses in your cheeks have faded from my last visit. Come, do it as a favor to me.”

“I don’t recollect that I owe you any favors, milord,” she replied. Her eyes darted from time to time to the hallway. He too looked in this direction, but saw no shadows today.

“Are you
allowed
to leave?” he asked in a low voice.

“Certainly! I am not a prisoner. I shall go,” she said, then got immediately to her feet to get her cape. The ten minutes he sat waiting for her return seemed a long time to put on a cape. Was she talking the old biddy into letting her go? His curiosity was high when at last she appeared, looking very pretty in a dark blue, hooded cape, with sable lining, the fur turned back to frame her face. An expensive outfit, he noted.

Her manner changed when she was out of the apartment. She became gayer, relaxed, almost coquettish. “I know you only came to ask me about diamonds!” she chided, with a smile.

“I can think of at least one other reason for calling on you,” he returned in a gallant way, his dark eyes admiring her quite blatantly.

She threw her head back and laughed, revealing even, white teeth. “You will not con a French lady with such tardy compliments, Sir. If you had been interested in
me
, you would not have waited so long to return.”

“She’s missed me!” he pointed out, and laughed at her chagrined protests. “I am greatly flattered, Mam’selle. I would have been back much sooner but for the crush of business at this time.”

“Oh yes, I know all about this crush of business. The business of levées in the morning, rides in the afternoon, state dinners and balls and routs, and perhaps occasionally a report to write for your patron. I could not hope to compete with such worthy pursuits.”

“You underestimate your charms. You could compete with the best of them, if you cared to give it a whirl.”

“No, I am in no position to compete with anyone or anything,” she answered, while that wistful light returned to her dark eyes. “This is a pleasant change, but in the end, nothing has altered. You asked me out to inquire for the diamonds. I do not have them. That’s all. Take me home, and save your horses.”

“Are you perfectly free to come and go as you please?” he asked bluntly. “Come, we are alone now. The old woman can’t listen. Are you forced to stay there, in that apartment?”

“No, I stay because I want to. Soon I shall leave, in fact. I wait only to find a place to go. Miss Kruger has been very kind in forwarding me some funds. You heard about the tragedy of my diamond earrings?”

“Maria told me. How do you suppose it happened? Who do you think responsible for the switch?”

“I cannot say. I only know she left with diamonds, and returned some hours later with poor substitutes. Chabon, her father, herself . . ."

“You suspect the Krugers?” he asked.

“They might be involved, as Chabon’s dupes. They are not clever enough to have instigated the affair. The accident of my living in their house may have led Chabon to them.”

It was natural she try to lay the blame elsewhere, but he remembered it was herself Harvey visited, and she was not his lover. Harvey would never have left her so long in a cramped apartment, with no carriage. “See much of Palgrave?” he asked suddenly, to throw her off guard.

"No."

“Anything of him at all?”

“Did your spies not tell you he calls occasionally?”

"My spies?”

“Perhaps I do you an injustice. They might very well be Chabon’s. He was calling from time to time—first for the diamonds, then with the most indecent suggestions.
Mon Dieu!
If you have seen my housekeeper hanging about the door, it is only to protect me from the likes of Palgrave. I asked her to do it, in fact. But I shall tell her Lord Moncrief is much better behaved, if you care to call again,” she finished, with a smile.

“Will tomorrow afternoon be convenient?” he asked at once.

“Any time is convenient for me. I am not so crushed under the weight of business as you,” she answered. He had always found doe eyes attractive. He discovered that doe eyes holding a hint of mischief could be devastating.

It was about five minutes into the woods of Vienna that he managed to get hold of her hand. Before they came out, he had found her agreeable to a few embraces as well. They stopped for lunch at an intimate
heuriger
, hardly more than the kitchen of a vintner. Mademoiselle drank several glasses of the mild white wine, which tasted so innocuous, but had a strong effect. When they returned to the carriage for the trip home, she rested her head on his shoulder. She wept a little at her predicament, telling him she was all alone.

He patted her shoulder gently, but he kept thinking all the while that whoever had replaced the diamond earrings with zircons had to have had a copy made, and who could have done that except herself? Not Chabon. Even if it turned out Chabon had the rest of the collection, he did not have that pair of earrings. And if he did have the rest of it for sale, he would not be likely to cast any doubts on their authenticity by pointing out a forgery. That made the collection very difficult to sell.

Some little lifting of the hair at the back of his scalp alerted him to danger. He was unsure whether it was due to the manipulation of Mademoiselle’s fingers around his neck, or the sudden idea that was working its way out of his brain. If someone did not want Mademoiselle to sell the collection, what better way to prevent it than to prove her first sale a fake? No—second sale. Harvey’s ruby was genuine. Very well then—one sale to tell them what she was up to. On the second, they throw a spanner into her plans. It seemed sensible to him, that Louis’s men should thwart Napoleon's men in this way. And still it did not explain how Chabon had a copy of the earrings. Unless he had managed to “borrow” the earrings for the very purpose of having a copy made.

The complexity of this possibility occupied most of his attention, so that he did not fully appreciate Mademoiselle’s soft lips, beginning to insinuate themselves against his neck. Not till she grabbed the corner of his ear lobe between her teeth did he turn his full attention to her physical presence. The possibility that she was a clever, dangerous enemy did not make her a whit the less appealing. Quite the contrary. It lent an edge to that return trip that lingered long in his memory.

Chapter Seventeen

Chabon sent around his apology at being unable to meet Moncrief at Binder’s the next morning to look at the diamond with him, thus making it impossible to discover whether the fellow actually knew anything about gems at all. Moncrief looked forward to his meeting with Mademoiselle Feydeau. He was sure she possessed the diamonds, and also sure she meant to sell them, or at least the Blue Tavernier, to Harvey. His cousin must be talked out of it. He went to see Harvey.

There were two dogs and a cat fighting in the hallway when he arrived, and Harvey and Googie fighting in the saloon, emitting much the same sorts of sounds. “. . . haven’t so much as looked at another woman since we got here,” he heard Harvey’s high-pitched voice assure his beloved.

“You didn’t take Lady Fontaigne home last night either, I suppose, and stay out till five this morning!”

“Dash it, Goog, old Fontaigne passed out at the ball. I had to take her home."

“You didn’t have to stay till five o’clock this morning!”

“We didn’t leave the ball till four! She lives the other side of town. You were still there when we left, waltzing yourself dizzy with that drunken fool, Stewart.”

“I did it for England,” she said, assuming a tone of patriotic virtue. “If he must act the fool, it is better we keep his bad behavior within our own circle. And he is so handsome too,” she added in a more natural voice.

“You were every bit as bad as him.”