A Poisoned Season

2

"What a bizarre incident," David Francis said after listening to my spirited account of the burglary. Cécile had met him the previous week at the studio of Michael Barber, a sculptor, and tonight we brought both gentlemen to my house in Berkeley Square following a trip to the theater to see Mr. Ibsen's controversial new play, Hedda Gabler. Like Cécile, Mr. Francis was a patron of the arts, and the pair had become fast friends the moment they began discussing their mutual admiration of French impressionism.

"Even more bizarre when you consider the fact that there have been three such thefts," I said, and told them what had occurred at the houses of Lord Grantham and Mrs. Wilmot.

"How strange to find a thief with such specific purpose," Mr. Barber said. "Why this interest in the French queen?"

"It's hard to avoid the House of Bourbon since Mr. Berry arrived in London," I said. "Society is consumed with all things French."

"C'est vrai," Cécile said. "But I will not believe for a moment that Monsieur Berry is behind the crimes. He's not clever enough by half."

"And even if he were, he drinks far too much to pull off such a scheme," Mr. Barber said.

"Do you think he truly is who he says? Surely Marie Antoinette wouldn't have produced a great-great-grandson of such dubious merit." I swirled the port in my glass as I spoke.

"Marie Antoinette is not often viewed as a sympathetic character," Mr. Francis said.

"And history, Mr. Francis, is recorded by the victor. I'd wager that the poor queen wasn't nearly as bad as we're led to believe. I've always felt she was treated badly in the matter of the diamond necklace."

"It was a most convoluted business," Cécile said. "And very likely the queen's enemies were all too willing to encourage anything that might harm her reputation."

"Wasn't there evidence that she was having an affair with a cardinal and had asked him to acquire the jewels for her?" Mr. Barber asked.

"Gossip, Mr. Barber, is hardly reliable evidence," I replied. "A jeweler made the necklace, which was absurdly expensive, and Marie Antoinette refused to buy it. One of her enemies convinced the cardinal, who was hoping to become the queen's lover, that she wanted it, and he gave this woman the money to buy it, believing she would give it to the queen."

"The woman — the Comtesse de la Motte — disappeared with both the necklace and the cardinal's money," Cécile continued. "And the queen was presented with a very large bill by the jewelers. Eventually the cardinal and the comtesse were brought to trial, but it was the queen's reputation that suffered. People were quick to believe she was behind the scheme, and it brought to light the idea that her morals were not what they ought to be."

"The cardinal, perhaps, should not have been brought to trial, but the queen insisted," I said. "He was charged with insulting her dignity."

"I should very much like to own the diamonds from that necklace," Cécile said, her eyes sparkling. "I wonder how difficult it would be to persuade the current owner to part with them."

"Don't even consider such a thing until our intrepid thief is caught," I said.

"I find the nature of these burglaries particularly intriguing," said Mr. Francis, dragging deeply on his cigar as he walked to the table on which stood a decanter of port. He slowly refilled his glass, offering no further explanation of his comment. "Your port, Lady Ashton, is worthy of its reputation."

"I wasn't aware that it had a reputation."

"Oh, yes. Your scandalous habit of taking it after dinner is a favorite topic of conversation at my club. The members are divided on how a gentleman should react when a lady refuses to retire to the drawing room. Many insist that it would be better to forsake the beverage entirely than to encourage the corruption of a viscount's widow. However, when faced with your most excellent cellar, it's difficult for a fellow to stand by his principles."

"There are few things I enjoy more than a nice port, and I think it's outrageous that ladies are sent away right as the conversation starts to get interesting," I said.

Mr. Francis smiled. "Gentlemen don't want ladies hearing the sorts of conversation that are interesting, and they would be quick to point out that there are many lovely sherries that you could drink." He returned to his seat.

I noticed that he had done a neat job of directing the conversation away from his comment about the thefts. "If I may return to our previous subject, why is it that you are particularly intrigued by the burglaries we were discussing?"

"A pink diamond from the French queen's personal collection was taken from my safe no less than a fortnight ago."

"I had no idea!" Mr. Barber exclaimed. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't consider the matter to be of any consequence to you," Mr. Francis said.

"You are my friend. Of course a theft at your house is of consequence to me."

"What did the police say?" I asked. "Were they able to find any clues?"

"I didn't bother to contact them. There's little hope they would recover the stone, and I prefer to keep my affairs private."

"Have you hired an investigator to pursue the matter?" I asked.

"No. I can't imagine there would be any point in doing so."

"You can't let such a thing go unreported," I said.

Mr. Francis was nonplussed. "When was the last time you heard of jewelry stolen by a cat burglar being returned to the rightful owner? It's a hopeless business."

"But Mr. Francis, it's imperative that the crime be investigated," I said. "Even if it goes unsolved, one must try to uncover the truth."

"I'd rather not upset my wife," he said. "She's exceedingly shy and suffers greatly when forced to talk to strangers."

"But surely she's noticed that the diamond is missing?" Cécile asked.

"It's not the sort of thing she would want to wear." He studied the ashes on the end of his cigar thoughtfully for a moment, then changed the subject. "Have you ladies been to the Royal Academy exhibition? Barber's got several good pieces in it this year."

"I've been twice," I said. "There is one sculpture that I remember in particular. A woman holding a basket of flowers. I believe it is yours, Mr. Barber."

"I'm pleased that you noticed it," Mr. Barber replied. "It's one of my favorites."

"I very much enjoyed it. You did a magnificent job capturing a sense of movement. I almost believed she would bend over and pick one of the blossoms at her feet."

"Thank you, Lady Ashton."

"Do you have an extensive collection of art, Mr. Francis?" I asked.

"Not so extensive as I would like."

"Francis spends as much money subsidizing studio rentals for artists as he does on their work," Mr. Barber said.

"No wonder you and Cécile get along so famously," I said. "I should love to see your collection."

"I'm afraid you would find it rather underwhelming."

"I consider that an insult, Francis," Mr. Barber said, grinning. "You've got some of my best pieces."

"I meant only that, given her own holdings, Lady Ashton would be disappointed in the scope and quantity of what I have."

"Quantity is a poor measure of the artistic merits of a collection, Mr. Francis. I'm fortunate that my husband possessed such exquisite taste," I said. "I've let his standards for acquisition guide me, although I confess that I'm guilty of keeping for myself some pieces he would argue belong in a museum." I twisted the gold ring with its image of the Trojan horse that I wore on my right hand. I'd been given it in Paris last year after trapping the man who had murdered Philip.

"But I understand that you've made many significant donations yourself," Mr. Francis said.

"Yes, but there are times when I'm quite overwhelmed with sentiment and find that I can't donate things that I ought."

"Peut-être Monsieur Bingham is attached to this dish you are trying to get from him," Cécile said.

"No, he's keeping it for himself simply out of spite. He's made no secret of the fact that he doesn't care for it." My gaze fell on Mr. Francis, and I felt compelled once again to return to the topic of the thefts, despite a worry that I was being too forward. "I really must implore you to report the loss of your diamond to the police. It is not something that affects only you. Surely you can't believe that there is more than one burglar in England seeking objects that belonged to Marie Antoinette?"

"Of course not," he replied.

"The police need to have as complete a picture as possible of this man's activities. Perhaps there is something at your house that may assist them in their investigation. Or a pattern of behavior that would be revealed by adding your location to the list of the crime scenes."

"She is right," Cécile said. "If you were the sole victim of this intruder, you could choose to keep quiet about it. But you are not."

"I suppose it would be wrong of me to do anything that might keep you from getting your earrings back," Mr. Francis said, smiling good-naturedly.

"It's not simply about recovering the earrings," I said.

"Je ne sais pas," Cécile said. "I would very much like to get my earrings back. They're a favorite pair."

"Of course," I said. "But isn't catching the thief and preventing further thefts of primary importance?" Cécile shrugged but did not answer. "If nothing else, I call on you, as a gentleman, to see to it that you do all you can to keep the name of poor Marie Antoinette from being subject to more intrigue and scandal."

"You are most persistent, Lady Ashton. I will talk to the police in the morning if you insist that it is the right thing to do. In the meantime, tell me what you thought of the play we saw tonight."

"I adored it," I said. "Hedda's plight is fascinating. She's incapable of taking pleasure in those things it is assumed will bring a woman happiness."

"So miserable, yet she seems the perfect wife," Mr. Barber said.

"It's rarely wise to accept at face value the image presented by a society wife," I said.

"Or a husband," said Mr. Francis.

"Quite." I smiled, all the while wondering what layers could be found beneath my guest's polished façade.

Mr. Francis was true to his word and spoke to the police about the pink diamond the very next morning. Within two days, the newspapers were filled with sensationalised stories about the thefts. All of society was buzzing about it, and Charles Berry made a great show of issuing a plea to the burglar through the Times, asking that all the objects that belonged to his great-great-grandmother be returned to their rightful owners. Those in possession of such items were thrown into a frenzy, desperate to protect themselves from the thief. Lady Middleton, who owned a chair purported to have been in the queen's bedroom at Versailles, caused a scene when she sent it to her bank and insisted that it be stored in the vault.

"The president of the bank tried to dissuade her, but she refused," Margaret Seward told me as we sat in the Elgin Room of the British Museum that afternoon. "I wish I could have witnessed their exchange."

"Who would dare cross Lady Middleton? I wonder that he even tried." I was sketching a piece of the east pediment of the Parthenon, which depicted the birth of the goddess Athena. Margaret, who read classics at Bryn Mawr, had brought a volume of Ovid with her, and she alternately read and chatted with me while I worked. Occasionally, she would meander through the museum, ready with amusing reports upon her return.

"I have just spotted a man nearly as handsome as Colin," she said after one such journey.

"Really?" This caught my attention.

"Well, not quite. I don't suppose there is another man as handsome as Colin. But this one comes close. He's walking with a terrified-looking young lady and her mother — a real dragon."

"Did you recognize any of them?"

"The girl is called 'Lettice.'"

"Ah," I said. "Lettice Frideswide. The man must be Jeremy."

"You know him?"

"Oh yes, quite well. He's the Duke of Bainbridge. Inherited last year. His estate is near my father's."

"Emily, I will never forgive you for hiding him from me. You know my parents have me here to look for a husband. My father won't settle for anyone without a title — it's crass, but that's the truth of it." Mr. Seward was a wealthy railroad man who, like so many other Americans, longed to see his daughter part of England's aristocracy. Margaret had agreed to do the Season only in exchange for her parents' promise that she could study at Oxford in the fall. "Tell me, is dear Jeremy engaged to the lovely Lettice?"

"I don't think so. He's quite in demand and doesn't seem inclined to settle down."

"He is perfect," she sighed.

"Margaret, I am all astonishment. I thought you'd no intention of marrying."

"I don't want to marry him, but I am desperate for someone to flirt with. Perhaps the good duke and I can come to some sort of understanding that can see me through the rest of the Season. He pays court, which keeps my parents happy, but is safe in the knowledge that I've no desire to marry him. When he hasn't proposed and it's time for me to go to Oxford, they'll return to America, armed with stories about the English lord who let their daughter slip away."

"Lady Frideswide would never forgive you. She's been trying to catch Jeremy for her daughter almost since the girl was born."

"And what does the daughter think?"

"I've not the slightest idea."

"She's awfully young. It won't harm her to wait another Season. Will you introduce me?"

"I suppose so. Were they coming this way?"

"They're upstairs looking at mummies." Margaret looked at me expectantly.

"Are you suggesting that you want me to rush over there and nonchalantly introduce you to the Duke of Bainbridge? Won't it look a bit obvious?" I turned back to my sketch. "No one comes to the museum without visiting the Elgin Room. Be patient, Margaret, and your duke will come to you."

I was right. Not half an hour passed before Jeremy and his party, which had expanded to include Lady Elinor and Isabelle, appeared. The ladies were dressed with such violent elegance that I almost regretted having chosen to abandon the tight lacing of corsets. To stave off the feeling, I took a breath far deeper than any of them could hope to draw and smiled broadly, giving my hand to the duke. Greetings were exchanged and introductions made, following which there was little conversation of substance. Lady Elinor complimented my drawing, and I her pin, a striking bird of paradise fashioned out of gold, its feathers covered with sapphires, rubies, and emeralds. Margaret was politeness itself, eager to impress Jeremy, who clearly felt no discomfort at finding himself the only gentleman in such a large group of ladies. The younger members of the party remained silent, posed prettily behind their mothers, until Lettice stepped towards me, squinting as she looked at the sculptures in front of us.

"Where's the baby?" she asked. "The sign says this shows the birth of Athena."

"There is no baby," I said, smiling. "Athena sprang fully grown from Zeus's head."

"Really?" She looked at me, then at Isabelle. "I don't know the story."

"Athena's mother was Metis, Zeus's first wife — "

"Yes, thank you, Lady Ashton." Lady Frideswide took Lettice's arm and steered her back to Isabelle. I was stunned by her rudeness and decided there was no reason now for me not to act boldly on Margaret's behalf.

"Have you plans for luncheon, Your Grace?" I asked, turning to Jeremy.

"Really, Lady Ashton," he replied, stressing each syllable of my name. "There's no need for such formality. We've known each other since we were babies. I'm lunching at my club."

"What a disappointment," I said. "I should so like to visit with you." Lady Frideswide flashed a look of disbelief. "Leave your club for tomorrow and join Miss Seward and me today."

"Is there a man in Britain able to resist you, Lady Ashton? What time do you want me?" Jeremy's acceptance of this invitation would be viewed as a social coup. Luncheon was typically a ladies' meal; gentlemen preferred their clubs. My mother would certainly pay me a visit the moment she heard of this. I turned to Margaret as the duke and ladies left us.

"You are going to be forever indebted to me for this."

"Oh, he's perfectly agreeable. You didn't have to work on him at all. I love him already."

"The gossips will say that I've set my cap for the Duke of Bainbridge."

"Not once he turns his attentions to me."

"How, precisely, do you plan to manage that? Are you going to speak to him directly about what you want?"

"I was hoping you could broker it for me, Emily. Then I truly will be forever indebted to you."

Margaret excused herself soon after we had retired to the sitting room following the luncheon. Jeremy squirmed uncomfortably, clearly surprised at having been left alone with me.

"Have you contrived this meeting, Em?" he asked, addressing me as he had since he was five years old. "What's going on?"

"Don't worry, Jeremy, you're quite safe from me. I've no interest in marrying you."

He slumped in his chair. "That's a relief. Although I will say candidly that when at last I accept the inevitable and marry, I won't be able to find a more charming wife than you."

"Don't waste your flattery on me."

"Let me flatter you. Doing it to anyone else will set tongues wagging across town and lead to rumors of imminent marriage."

"I know your plight only too well."

"I suppose you do. But I thought you and Hargreaves..." He stopped.

"Colin and I are not engaged," I said. "What about you and Lettice Frideswide?"

"There is no affection between us. Lettice seems more terrified of me than anything, and there has never been any talk of an engagement except by our mothers. You and I are similar creatures. Each with perfect opportunity before us yet unwilling to take it. Perhaps we should join forces. If all of society believes we have an understanding, they'll leave us alone."

"An interesting proposition, Jeremy, and very similar to the one I was about to make to you, but not for myself."

"For whom, then?"

"Margaret." I quickly described her situation. "If her parents think she's got a duke, they'll let her do whatever she wants."

Jeremy laughed loudly. "This is priceless. What a lark. Tell her I'll do it," he said, continuing to laugh. "I'd never have expected such a devious plan from you."

"All credit goes to Margaret."

"And, Emily" — he grew serious — "if you ever...if Hargreaves doesn't...if you do need someone...I think you and I could come to a mutually satisfactory understanding."

"Really, Jeremy, that has to be one of the most romantic proposals in all of English history. May I record it in my diary?"

"I mean it, Em."

"I shall keep that in mind, Your Grace."