An Affair Without End (46 page)

Hope flashed for an instant in Camellia’s eyes, but then she shook her head and said a little wistfully, “No, it’s impossible. Come, we should join Oliver and Fitz. No doubt they are growing impatient.”

With that, she swept out the door, and Eve had little choice but to follow.

Vivian glanced around the room again, surreptitiously looking for an indication that Oliver and his family had arrived. She had been on edge all day, thinking about her unwelcome visitor the night before and wondering what would happen tonight. Would the man try to enter Stewkesbury’s house while Oliver and his family were out?
Or would he creep inside in the middle of the night, as he had with her? Vivian felt sure that Oliver would be waiting for him if it was the latter—and probably Fitz and Camellia, as well! Vivian wished that she could be there with Oliver. She would like to see her assailant’s face when Oliver sprang the trap on him.

Vivian smiled to herself at that thought and turned to stroll along the edge of the crowd. She was halfway to the door into the corridor when a footman came toward her and bowed, extending a folded and sealed piece of paper.

“My lady. I was asked to give you this.”

Oliver!
Vivian took the note eagerly and broke the seal, opening it. She felt a brief rush of disappointment when she saw the familiar hand of Lady Mainwaring and realized that the note did not come from Oliver. In the next instant, however, it occurred to her how odd it was for Lady Kitty to be sending her a note in the middle of a party, and she edged closer to one of the wall sconces so that she could make out the spidery handwriting:

Dearest Vivian,
Forgive me for this interruption to your evening, but I have learned the most Dreadful News. I must talk to you. I am in my carriage outside. It is of the Utmost Importance. I cannot think what to do.

Yrs.,
K

Wesley!
Vivian’s suspicions burst into full bloom as soon as she read the letter. Kitty had discovered something “dreadful,” and, knowing Kitty, such alarm was not likely to be centered on something outside her own circle of interest. No, “dreadful” news meant something that wounded Kitty or someone close to her. For her to have driven over to pull
Vivian from a party, the news must be both immediate and extremely upsetting. Given the matter that had occupied Vivian’s mind for the past few hours, she jumped to the obvious conclusion: Wesley Kilbothan was involved in the jewel thefts.

Vivian had suspected as much from the moment he had so easily recovered Kitty’s brooch. It seemed clear to her now that Kitty must have heard something or seen something that had made her doubt the man. Looking down at the note and the thin, even shaky, writing, Vivian could not help but think that Lady Kitty might well be frightened as well as unhappy. What if she had found out not just that Wesley was a thief? What if she had learned that he was the man who had murdered Cosmo Glass?

Vivian’s hand clenched around the note, crumpling it, and she hurried for the door. She did not bother to look for a servant and ask for her cloak. It was too chilly outside for her thin dress, but she could not wait for a footman to locate her cloak and bring it to her. She had thought last night that something had been faintly familiar about the man who had attacked her from behind. It had been too nebulous a thing to put her finger on—a tone in his voice? A faint scent? She had nearly decided that she had simply imagined the feeling.

But what if it had been Wesley Kilbothan who had held the knife to her throat? Someone she knew yet did not know well enough to identify if she could not see him? Her friend could be in real, grave danger. Vivian’s only thought was get to Kitty and hear her story. She would persuade her to return to Carlyle Hall, where she and Gregory could protect her.

“Vivian!”

She glanced across the entryway and saw Eve and Camellia. They had just entered, apparently, and were taking off their cloaks. Fitz and Oliver were off to their right, already deep
in a discussion with Sir Kerry Harborough. Vivian crossed quickly to Camellia and took her hand, pulling her aside.

“May I borrow your cloak?” she asked in a low voice as Camellia untied the garment in question.

“Of course.” Camellia’s brows rose in question, but she slid the cloak off her shoulders and handed it to Vivian. “Why? Where are you going?”

“Outside, to talk to Lady Kitty. She’s in her carriage waiting for me. I’ll explain later.” Vivian whipped the cloak on over her dress and tied it, leaning closer to say, “Gregory has been looking for you all evening. He’s just inside the assembly room by the potted plant, utterly bored.”

Vivian smiled and slipped away. She went out the door and looked down the street. She spotted Lady Mainwaring’s elegant, old carriage standing near the end of the block. As she started down the steps, Mrs. Dentwater was coming up, and the woman greeted her effusively, linking her arm chummily through Vivian’s and chattering away. It took Vivian several minutes and a promise to come to her house for dinner next Thursday to get away from the woman. As she turned away, Vivian pulled up the hood of the cloak as far as she could so that it would be difficult to see her face. She was glad she had done so when she started along the broad sidewalk and saw Lady Parkington and her daughter Dora coming toward her. Vivian ducked her head so that her face was not visible at all and moved over to the edge of the sidewalk, walking with swift purpose. She thought she heard an indrawn breath as she passed the women, but she kept her eyes determinedly on her feet as she walked.

Once she was past them, she glanced up and saw that the door to Kitty’s carriage stood open, waiting for her, and she hurried to it. Swinging up into the carriage, she closed the door, then turned back to Lady Kitty. To her astonishment, a man, not Kitty, sat on the seat, watching her.

“Mr. Brookman!” She gaped at the jeweler in bewilderment.

After a cry and a snap of a whip, suddenly the horses took off, throwing Vivian onto the seat beside him.

Dora Parkington turned her head to look at the woman who had just walked past them. She was certain that it was Camellia Bascombe. Dora had seen Camellia wear that vivid blue cloak more than once. The pale blue braid that edged the hood and hem made the cloak distinctive. Dora had felt a stab of envy the first time she had seen Camellia wearing it, knowing that she herself would have looked so much better in it than the blond Camellia. The color would have been stunning against her black hair and pale skin and would have deepened the blue of her eyes. Moreover, she would have known how to drape the hood so that it complemented her looks, not pulling it so far forward that one couldn’t even see her face.

Of course, perhaps that was exactly what Miss Bascombe intended. Dora watched as Camellia walked straight up to the carriage and climbed into it. Dora sucked in her breath in a delighted gasp. She was even more elated when the carriage then took off immediately, the horses and vehicle clattering loudly into the night.

“Dora!”

She turned to see her mother waiting for her, frowning at Dora’s dawdling. Grinning, Dora scurried after her. Her mother’s mood would certainly change when she heard this tidbit.

Moments later, the two of them walked up the steps, ready to begin. Several people were bunched in the large entry hall in front of them, handing their outerwear to servants and preparing to greet Lady Cumberton.

Raising her voice slightly as they took their place behind
the others, Dora said, “But, Mama, I am sure it was Miss Bascombe.”

Her mother clucked her tongue, then said, “Goodness, child, you must have been mistaken. Miss Bascombe would not have been running off to get in a carriage alone!”

All around them, the noise level dropped perceptibly, and Dora could almost feel the people around her leaning in to better hear her words. Ignoring her audience, she went on breathlessly, “But, Mama, that is the thing—she was not alone. There was a man in the carriage waiting for her.”

After her words, utter silence fell all around them. Lady Parkington glanced about, as if she had just now noticed all the people turning to stare at them.

“Oh!” Lady Parkington’s hand fluttered up to her cheek in dismay. “Oh, my. Dora! See what you have done! Surely you are mistaken. It couldn’t have been Miss Bascombe.”

“Oh.” Dora looked around her, wide-eyed, then glanced down, quickly covering her cheeks with her hands as if embarrassed, pressing hard to bring up a “blush.” “Mama, indeed, I would not want to do that.” Her voice faltered, and she let her hands drop to reveal her girlishly reddened cheeks. “Perhaps . . .” She brightened, and her voice grew stronger. “Perhaps it was not she. There must be another girl who has a blue cloak like that with the braid all around the hood.”

A look of even more consternation crossed her mother’s face. “Oh, dear. Um, yes, of course, that must be it.” She pasted on a bright smile. “There is doubtless another guest with a cloak like Miss Bascombe’s. How silly of you to be so fooled.”

“Yes, indeed.” Dora looked elated at having come up with this explanation. She had to look down again, though, to hide the triumph in her eyes as voices rose around them in excited murmurs.

Dora could hear Camellia’s name being whispered as she
handed off her cloak and moved to the line to be presented to her host and hostess. As she and her mother moved on from the receiving line, she found it slow going, for she was stopped time and again and asked if Camellia Bascombe had really ridden off in a carriage with a man.

“Oh, no,” Dora protested, wide-eyed. “I must have been mistaken. After all, she had the hood of her cloak pulled so far forward that I could not see her face. I am sure Mama must be right, and there was another woman here wearing a cloak just like hers. You must not think that it was Miss Bascombe. I would be so heartbroken if anything I said made anyone gossip about her. I am convinced that it was not Camellia Bascombe.”

“What was not Camellia Bascombe?” said a flat voice a few feet away from them.

Dora looked up, and her mouth dropped open in astonishment. For there was Camellia herself, and standing right beside her was Lord Seyre. Dora opened her mouth and closed it, unable to speak.

Camellia glanced around and her brows drew together. “What have you been saying, Miss Parkington? I’d like to hear it.”

Someone to Dora’s left hastened to say, “’Twas nothing. Miss Parkington merely saw someone wearing a cloak just like yours a few minutes ago.”

“Oh.” Camellia’s frown cleared. “That must have been Lady Vivian. I lent her my cloak.” She stopped, glancing at the faces that had suddenly turned to stone around her. “What’s the matter? What’s wrong?”

A few people eyed Seyre nervously, but most looked everywhere but at him. Then whispers began to buzz. Camellia, eyes flashing, took a step forward and grabbed Dora by the arm. “What were you saying? Tell me! What lies have you been spreading?”

“I wasn’t lying!” Dora retorted, stung. “I saw her!”

“You saw her what?” Now Seyre came closer, and Dora looked around, her face a study in desperation.

“I—I’m sure it was nothing, Lord Seyre.” Dora widened her eyes, trying to force tears into them. “I was probably mistaken about the cloak.”

“Tell me what you saw,” Seyre said through clenched teeth, looming over her. “What happened to my sister?”

“I don’t know!” Dora wailed, no longer having to force the tears, which were flooding out wretchedly now. “She got in a carriage with a man and left!”

“A man!” Camellia exclaimed. “Now I know you’re lying. Seyre, it’s nothing.” She laid a calming hand on Gregory’s arm. “It was not a man. It was that friend of hers. Kitty. She told me she was going out to talk to Kitty, and she asked to borrow my cloak.”

“Lady Mainwaring?” Seyre relaxed with a smile. “Oh, of course.” He cast a look of contempt at Dora. “It might be advisable to think next time, Miss Parkington, before you start spreading lies about someone.”

“I wasn’t lying!” Dora cried, outraged past the point of good sense. “It
was
a man. I saw him in there when we walked past the carriage. There wasn’t a woman in it, only a man!”

Lord Seyre took a step back, and his face suddenly drained of all color. He looked over at Camellia, who stared back at him in equal dismay. “Gregory, no, do you think—”

“That it was a ruse? Yes!”

“We have to get Oliver!” Camellia took off at a sprint for the other room.

Vivian straightened up in her seat and turned to face Brookman. “What are you doing here? Where’s Kitty?”

“I imagine that Lady Mainwaring is where she usually
can be found—at some party or club, gambling. It wasn’t hard for Kilbothan to get the carriage; she’ll never know. And he’s been able to copy her handwriting for some time now.”

Her mind raced, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place. “You and Kilbothan are stealing the jewels! Both of you run the ring!”

“Kilbothan!” Brookman made a contemptuous flick of his wrist, as though dismissing the man. “He’s an employee, nothing more. I am the one in charge.”

Vivian nodded. “It makes sense. You don’t have to sell the jewelry at reduced prices to jewelers or pawnbrokers. You can take the jewels from the settings and reset them in the pieces you sell. Have them recut if need be. You can even melt down the gold and silver to use again.”

“Waste not, want not.” A thin smile curved Brookman’s lips. “I was even able to sell some of the reset stones back to their original owners. There was a certain wonderful irony in that.” Some of Vivian’s disgust at his words must have shown on her face, for the smile dropped from his lips and he snapped, “You were happy enough to buy my jewels, my lady.”