I shook my head. The tale hung together, but loosely, like cobweb lace. “Why would she move openly in society if she were hiding from her husband?”
“He was taken to gaol shortly after the theft for other crimes. He refuses to speak against her. Poor devil still believes she will come back to him, with the diamond.”
“But she is leaving the country? You are certain?”
“As certain as one may be of information one has bought. But it seems the only possible course for her. She has the diamond. She cannot hope to sell it here, but on the Continent, in the Americas even, she could make a tidy fortune and live quite comfortably.”
I shook my head. I could not quite take it all in. “I cannot believe she is a thief. I thought her so refined, so feminine.”
“Make no mistake, she is the daughter of a gentleman, and she has been educated as a lady. Presenting herself as a genteel society widow was no great difficulty for her. And Campbell was a rather talented forger. He wrote letters of introduction for her, and with those she wormed her way into the highest circles. She was invited to parties at the wealthiest houses. She was quick and careful, and if the hostess noticed some time later a valuable trinket was missing, she would never connect the theft with the charming and garrulous Mrs. King.”
“Clever,” I said, admiring her just a little in spite of myself. She was thoroughly amoral, and her lifestyle was utterly reprehensible, but there was still something, some elusive quality about her that drew one in. Perhaps it was charm, or a vulnerability she thought she had masked with her deceit.
“Clever and vicious. She was nearly apprehended once by a lady’s maid. She bashed the woman over the head with a candlestick and nearly killed her.”
I caught my breath. The implication was horrifying. “Brisbane, you do not think, I mean, it is not possible. Not Mr. Snow.”
“No,” he said slowly. “She could not have killed him. Her hands are smaller than yours. If Edwin Campbell were a free man, I would have suspected him instantly, particularly as Snow had jewels in his pocket. But he is a guest of Her Majesty’s, enjoying the hospitality of Wandsworth Prison at present. And the jewels Lucian Snow had in his pocket were not of the variety to tempt the lady. The Grey Pearls would have been much more in her line.”
“You think she stole my pearls?”
“I know she did, I can feel it in my bones. But without a witness, without the pearls, without a confession, I have nothing. Less than nothing,” he said, his mouth thin with bitterness. “I do not even have the Tear of Jaipur.”
I said nothing for a long moment. Father remained silent, and the only sounds were the ticking of the mantel clock and the rustling of the fire.
“The princess herself retained you to recover it?” I ventured finally, afraid of his answer.
“Through the prime minister,” he said calmly. It was even worse than I had feared.
“And now you will have to go to them and admit you have failed,” I said wretchedly.
“The letters patent,” Father began. The letters patent, drawn up to bestow Brisbane’s viscountcy, a viscountcy that would not be his until the letters had been published.
“Useless,” Brisbane cut in, his voice clipped.
I looked from one to the other. “The letters patent? For your title? What do you mean they are useless?”
Brisbane looked into his whiskey glass, studying the amber depths. “The letters were drafted by Lord Salisbury. He approached me about recovering the jewel for Her Royal Highness after some success I had on behalf of the Prince of Wales in the autumn. The letters were to be held until the diamond was recovered. If I fail, he will burn them.”
Puzzled, I turned to Father. “But you have already been addressing him by the title of viscount.”
Father shrugged. “A ruse to sweeten the honeypot for Charlotte King. Jewel thieves are terrible snobs.”
I shook my head, feeling suddenly sick. “Because I interfered, you will lose a title? And an estate?”
Brisbane drank off his whiskey and put the glass carefully onto Father’s desk. “It does not matter, my lady. I was not born to it. The loss of it does not grieve me.”
The words should have been comforting, but somewhere underneath them was a current of some indefinable emotion in his voice that made me ache. Was it longing? Did he care so much for what he had never had? I thought of the life he might have led, lord of the country manor, perhaps a husband and father, caring for his stock and his tenants, managing them all with fairness and generosity. I could have wept for him. But something in his face, his implacable, unyielding face, warned me not to.
I rose, a trifle unsteady after the shocks I had endured and the whiskey I had drunk. “There is no possible method by which I may apologise as profoundly as you deserve. I can only tell you I will regret my thoughtlessness, my impetuosity, every day of my life.”
I left them then. I heard the low rumble of voices as I closed the door. I did not stay to eavesdrop on what they might have said. They had their own differences to sort between them. I had interfered enough for one night.
Or so I thought. There was one last bit of meddling yet to come. It was a silly thing, really, that finally revealed to me the murderer of Lucian Snow. It happened when I tripped on my slipper on the stair. I was tired and stumbled a little, catching the sole. I looked back to find the slipper sitting on the stair, the toe facing backward, and when I went to pick it up, I understood what we ought to have seen before.
When I reached for the slipper, I instinctively turned my hand, thumb facing back, so that when I straightened and brought the slipper up, the toe would face forward. A simple, stupid detail one would never think on in the course of an ordinary day. But this had been no ordinary day. A man lay murdered under my father’s roof, strangled by a right-handed man.
Unless the murderer was upside down.No, that was ridiculous. It wasSnowwho had to be upside down, and once I knew that, the rest of it fell tidily into place. I sank down onto the stair, closing my eyes to better imagine it.