The Viscount Always Knocks Twice (Heart of Enquiry Book 4) (31 page)

“One of the entrances,” Kent corrected.

“What do you mean? There is only one door.”

“That you know of.” Richard spoke up. “Last night, we discovered a hidden passageway between the library and this study. I believe the entrance is behind that panel by the hearth.”

“You can’t be serious,” Billings said incredulously.

Going over to the hearth, which was nearly identical to the one in the library, Richard searched the roses on the plinth. He pushed two of the petals down. There was a clicking noise… and then the panel separated from the wall, revealing the gaping darkness behind.

“Heavens, how exciting,” the duchess breathed.

“That’s one way to describe it, pet,” Strathaven said wryly.

Billings turned paler than a banknote. Without another word, he headed back toward his desk and past it, to the painting of the dead game on the wall. He reached for some hidden mechanism in the frame. The painting swung open, revealing an iron box concealed in the wall.

Removing a key from his pocket, Billings inserted it into the lock.

When the compartment opened, Richard saw a collection of velvet boxes within. With methodical precision, Billings removed each one, piling them upon his desk. He opened the lids: there was a dazzling array of jewelry—necklaces, bracelets, even a diadem. In the morning light, gems glittered in a rainbow of colors, precious metals gleaming.

The banker patted his brow with a folded handkerchief. “Everything’s here and accounted for. I purchased these for Gabriella at an auction, outbidding several members of the aristocracy.” Satisfaction threaded his voice. “It was mentioned in
The Times
, I believe.”

“Yes, I recall the hubbub,” Mrs. Kent said. “A stunning array, I must say.”

She examined the jewels, Billings hovering beside her as if he expected her to make away with the lot. A muscle ticked in Kent’s jaw.

“Well, if everything’s here, then perhaps Monique didn’t manage to take anything?” Her Grace suggested. “Maybe her lock picking skills weren’t up to par.”

“I don’t think that’s the case.” Mrs. Kent was perusing a sapphire necklace intently—the one, Richard recalled, that Miss Billings had worn at supper that first night. “Something’s amiss here.”

“I beg your pardon?” Billings said.

“May I?” Mrs. Kent arched her fair brows.

The banker gave a nod, and she lifted the necklace from its box. Everyone crowded in to have a closer look. The large, faceted blue stones flashed, their depths clear. The web of diamonds that connected them was similarly bright. Richard was no connoisseur of jewels, but, to him, the necklace appeared flawless.

The duchess canted her head. “What’s wrong with the necklace? The sapphires have a nice, clear sparkle, don’t they?”

“Aye, pet, and that’s the problem,” the duke replied. To Mrs. Kent, he said, “May I?”

She passed him the necklace, and he turned it this way and that, inspecting it. “No inclusions to the naked eye. The depths are far too clear. The color is straightforward, bland, with little richness.”

“So you’re saying… it’s a fake?” his wife said.

“Yes. Though an excellent copy,” he replied. “That is your opinion as well, Mrs. Kent?”

“Indeed,” the blonde said. “Quite convincing to the casual observer.”

“Thank heavens you’re the one who buys my jewelry, Strathaven,” the duchess exclaimed. “How I should hate to be taken by cut glass, no matter how prettily made.”

His Grace’s lips twitched. He chucked his wife under the chin. “I know how you like a bargain, sweeting.”

“Now wait just a minute.” Billings’ voice shook with outrage. “I had these pieces authenticated by a top jeweler. He assured me these pieces, including the necklace, were the genuine articles.”

“They are. As was the necklace I saw your daughter wearing at supper that first night,” Mrs. Kent replied. “But the necklace before us now is a copy made of glass.”

The explanation was clear.

“Monique made a switch, by God.” Kent’s irises blazed. “This was all part of a premeditated plan. She comes to the party with a map of the house, a replica of the necklace, and means to break into the safe box.”

“But something unexpected happens,” Mrs. Kent murmured. “After stealing the necklace, Monique returns to the library, only to encounter the murderer. Is he or she an accomplice in the theft—or is this a meeting of chance?”

“We don’t know,” her husband replied, “but let’s say he or she pushes Monique into the mantel. She hits her head but does not die. So the villain has to finish the job, smothering her with a pillow and dragging her body into the shelves. He or she takes the necklace and leaves.”

Frowning, Richard said, “That sounds logical, but what I don’t understand is why Monique stole only the necklace. Why didn’t she take all the jewelry?”

“Perhaps she was being cautious,” Mrs. Kent said. “Replacing one piece with a forgery is one thing; taking the entire collection increases the risk of getting caught exponentially. And let’s not overlook the fact that the necklace is the most expensive piece by far.”

“How much is it worth?” Violet asked.

“By my estimation, at least nine thousand pounds,” the blonde replied.

“Over ten thousand,” Billings said in a brittle voice, “according to the appraiser.”

Violet let out a low whistle. “By Golly, that
is
a haul, isn’t it? But why would Monique risk everything to steal this necklace?”

“From the little Garrity was willing to disclose, she was making her payments to him in a timely fashion,” Richard said. “He implied that she was a prime customer, one in good standing. But who knows what other debts she might have had.”

“Jeanne, her maid, might know,” the duchess suggested. “Now that we have evidence of Monique’s plot, we ought to question Jeanne again.”

“My thinking precisely.” Kent summoned in a footman and gave orders to fetch the maid.

When the door closed again, Billings said cuttingly, “I don’t give a damn
why
that French bitch stole from me, I want to know where the bloody necklace is now!”

“I advise patience, sir. The two questions are interrelated; finding the answer to the former may lead us to the latter.”

Billings turned red in the face. “In the meantime, I am out
ten thousand pounds.
That is entirely unacceptable, do you hear me?”

“I believe the entire party can hear you,” Strathaven drawled. “You were interested in discretion, were you not, Billings?”

It took visible effort for the banker to rein himself in. Clearly, money was the one topic that could rile his emotions.

“Yes, we must be discreet in the search for the thief. Men from the stews,”—Billings straightened his lapels—“they take offense at the slightest provocation.”

“If you think cutthroats are touchy, try accusing a dowager of theft,” Mrs. Kent said.

“You must not offend anyone,” Billings said with finality. “You must find the necklace while maintaining an appearance of decorum.”

“Assuming the jewelry is still here,” Violet pointed out.

“My gut says that it is.” Kent drummed his fingers against the desk. “Working on the assumption that whoever came upon Monique saw a crime of opportunity, he or she was not prepared to take possession of a priceless piece of jewelry. No one has left the estate since we discovered Monique’s murder, and the necklace is too valuable to simply send off somewhere—the killer wouldn't risk letting it out of his or her hands. So that leaves the possibility that the necklace is hidden somewhere in the house... or on the estate.”

Richard considered the vastness of Traverstoke. “Performing a search will be no small task.”

“Indeed,” Kent said. “We’ll have to start with the most obvious place—the guest chambers—and fan out from there.”

“And how do you plan to do this without the guests knowing? Because they must not suspect a thing,” Billings insisted.

“We need a diversion,” Strathaven said.

“Something that will get everyone off the estate.” The duchess tapped a finger against her chin. “A trip to the village, perhaps? An organized activity to draw everyone out.”

“How about a fair?” Billings said.

“That would work splendidly,” Her Grace said.

The banker gave a curt nod. “Leave that to me. I’ll set it up for tomorrow.”

“You can set up a fair in one day?” Violet said.

“Money can move mountains, Miss Kent,” Billings said crisply. “What’s a country fair?”

“A fair’s not a bad idea,” Strathaven acknowledged, “but we will need someone to accompany the guests and keep an eye on them. The last thing we want is for the culprit to get wind of things and slip away.”

“I’ll speak to Jones. He can set up a perimeter around the village—yes,
discreetly
.” Kent forestalled their host’s predictable refrain. “Having a few constables present at the fair, on the pretense of securing goods and preventing pickpockets, will seem like nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Then I’d best go make arrangements,” the banker said.

When the door closed behind him, Kent raked a hand through his hair. “Bloody hell, I wish I could just search the place and the people and be done with it, discretion be damned.”

“Much as I hate to defend Billings, he might have a point. Best to act with stealth when it comes to cutthroats,” the duke drawled.

“Aye. Although it will be no small feat to do a thorough search of this place,” Kent muttered.

“Could the magistrate lend you some men, darling?” his wife asked.

“Whoever he can spare. Don’t forget, he needs to surveil the village.”

“The Blackwoods could help,” Richard said.

“I’ll speak to them. God knows I’ll need all the help I can get.” Lines deepened around Kent’s mouth. “Moreover, we can’t all stay here tomorrow; that would rouse suspicion. We’ll need to split up, send a few of our team to the village to keep an eye on things.” He gave a sigh. “Not to mention on Polly and Primrose.”

“I’ll go,” Violet volunteered. “They’ll be plenty of chaperones present, so the rest of you could stay here and help in the search.”

“I’ll go with you,” Richard offered.

Kent narrowed his eyes. The investigator might be weighed down with numerous duties, but evidently he wasn’t about to relinquish those of a protective older brother. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for the two of you to go together,” he said stiffly.

“Come, darling, they’re practically engaged,” his wife murmured. “And there’ll be so many others present. I’ll ask Lady Ainsworthy to chaperone; she’s a stickler for proprieties.”

After a moment, Kent relented. “All right. But no more escapades, Violet, do you understand? You must stay with the group and Lady Ainsworthy.”

“Of course.” Violet’s expression was as innocent as an angel’s.

The gazes directed toward the ceiling conveyed that she fooled no one.

A knock sounded.

“Must be the maid. Time to get her to disclose her mistress’ true motives.” In a louder voice, Kent called, “Come in.”

The door opened to reveal a young footman. He was alone.

“Where is the maid?” Kent demanded.

“That’s just it, sir. I couldn’t find her.” The footman lifted his liveried shoulders, his expression perplexed. “She wasn’t in her room, and all her things are gone.”

Chapter Thirty-One

Once again, the team split up, this time to investigate Jeanne’s disappearance. Ambrose and the men went to talk to the guards at the gates, and Violet accompanied Emma and Marianne to the servants’ wing to talk to the staff. Mrs. Hopkins, the housekeeper, had had a tray sent up to Jeanne yesterday morning; the maid who’d delivered it reported that Jeanne had told her to leave it outside the door. That was the last time anyone had heard from the Frenchwoman.

A search of the garret room yielded no clues as to where Jeanne might have gone. She’d taken all her sparse belongings. Save for the empty tray, she might have never been there at all.

Looking around the deserted room, Em gnawed on her lip. “Where did Jeanne go? More importantly,
why
would she leave so precipitously—unless she had something to hide?”

“Surely you don’t think
Jeanne
was the one who killed Monique and took the necklace?” To Vi, the notion didn’t seem right. “When I spoke to Jeanne, she seemed devoted to Monique, truly distressed over her mistress’ death. She’s dedicated her life to Monique’s family.”

“When money is involved, anything is possible,” Marianne said quietly. “And we are talking about ten thousand pounds.”

“I cannot believe Jeanne would do such a thing,” Vi insisted.

“All right, let’s focus on where she went for now,” Em said. “What would be the best way to leave the house undetected?”

Vi thought about what she’d do. “Climb out through the window?”

“Let me rephrase that: if you were a
typical
person who didn’t relish death-defying feats, how would you get of here?” Em amended dryly. “And Jeanne is no spring chicken, mind you.”

“I’d take the path of least resistance and leave through the closest door,” Marianne said. “If someone asked where I was going, I’d simply make up an excuse.”

“Good point. The closest door is this way.” Emma’s ivory skirts swished as she led the way back down the flights of stairs. Footmen and maids carrying a medley of objects dodged out of their path as they navigated through the narrow hallways into the kitchen, where Emma steered them out a side door.

Stepping outside, Vi saw that they were at the back of the servants’ wing, out of view of the main house. Here, workers from the village were busily unloading wagons of supplies onto the graveled drive as their sturdy horses waited, ears and tails flicking. Vi’s stomach gave a rumble when one workman yanked the cover off a dairy cart, revealing neat stacks of cloth-wrapped cheese and buckets of fresh milk.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Em said.

“That we could use some refreshment?” Because Vi was all for a snack.

Amusement glinted in Marianne’s emerald eyes. “I think Emma is referring to the fact that we’re looking at an easy escape route from the estate.”

Her meaning struck Violet. “You mean Jeanne hid in one of the carts?”