The Thief of Hearts Read online

  Caro was not convinced. “I think I’d want to know how it was done.”

  Gwen and Margaret both groaned.

  “You need to let go. Stop trying to control everything, Caro,” Gwen advised. “Otherwise you’ll miss the man who’ll sweep you off your feet.”

  Avoid him, more like, Caro thought. But she said nothing, pleased her friends’ attention now turned to shopping. They entered each shop as they made their way along the arcade, discussing the suitability of this object or that as a gift for family, friends or a favourite household member of staff.

  Soon, Caro came to a stop three-quarters of the way down, suddenly captivated by a jewellery store window display.

  “The perfect thing for Mother!”

  She hurried in with the other girls following, the bell jingling to announce the trio’s arrival. The jewellery box that caught her eye in the window was beautifully made – figured elm with an ebonised border, offset with mother of pearl stylised foliage and chrysanthemums. It would have been far too expensive if not for Edward’s financial contribution added to her own savings from her clerk’s wages over the past six months.

  All three looked further at the display of exquisite jewellery. Margaret selected a small gold posy ring in blue enamel, set with seed pearls, for her mother and Gwen examined a pretty pair of gold filigree earrings as her self-selected gift from Edward.

  Something more caught Caro’s eye.

  Sitting high on top of the glass fronted cabinet behind the jeweller, mounted on a stand backed with black velvet, was the most magnificent diamond brooch she had ever seen. It was in the shape of a butterfly and every facet of it was covered in diamonds. Dangling from its abdomen was a large pear-shaped diamond pendant.

  The jeweller caught the direction of her gaze and beamed.

  “It’s a work of art, is it not?”

  “It’s breathtaking!”

  “Would you like a closer look?”

  “May we?” three voices chorused.

  The old man’s smile broadened even more if possible.

  “It is a delight to see three fine young ladies appreciating quality like this,” he said and nodded to his younger assistant who used a wooden stepper to climb up. The young man stretched on tip-toes to bring down the display, and, with a reverence to match the jewel’s importance and value, he gently placed it on the counter.

  “I’m afraid I can’t let you try the piece on but you may touch,” the jeweller told them.

  Gwen brushed her fingers over the fine metal mounts. The jeweller proudly informed them they were platinum and, although silver in colour, far more expensive than silver and indicative of the money lavished on the jewels and their setting.

  “Did you make it?” Gwen asked.

  The jeweller shook his head. “I would like to take credit for this but alas, that would be a lie. The butterfly portion was made in the 18th century by a court jeweller in France. It came to England with the émigrés. And about fifty years ago, the owner had the diamond drop put on it.”

  “I daren’t ask how much,” Margaret breathed. She seemed afraid to even touch it.

  Caro reached forward and felt the weight of the pendulous diamond on her fingertips.

  “I’m afraid this is worth much more than we could ever afford even if we all pooled our Christmas money together for years!”

  The jeweller’s assistant returned the sparkling butterfly to its high perch.

  “A very tempting target for The Phantom,” Caro observed.

  “No fear there, Miss,” said the young assistant, who, if she was not mistaken was attempting a flirtation with her. “We have a huge safe out the back with a combination and a key.”

  The young man hiked a thumb over his shoulder and grinned. “And the only way in is through this door – steel reinforced and locked every night, just like the front door is when we leave. And there’s a beadle what does the rounds.”

  Behind Caro, the door opened and the merry little bell rang once again.

  “I thought we might find you all in here!”

  The three young women turned to greet Edward and Bertie.

  “Are you ladies going to linger in here all afternoon? I’m quite famished,” said Edward. Gwen excused herself to join her fiancé and to discreetly direct him to the display of earrings in the window.

  “At least Gwen will get exactly what she wants for Christmas,” Caro whispered. Margaret giggled.

  Bertie cast his eye across a display of rings and then looked up at Caro.

  “Have you seen anything here you like?”

  “Caro showed a partiality to that one there,” said Margaret, pointing to a tray of rings which contained a pretty band of small rubies and diamonds she had admired.

  Caro felt her face go red and she turned away. “You shouldn’t be giving him ideas Margie!” she said under her breath.

  When she glanced back, Bertie was looking at her with a thoughtful expression on his face. Caro’s heart sank.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “How exactly would you go about stealing a diamond?” Edward pondered aloud. Caro sipped her sherry, watching her brother roll the snifter of brandy loosely between his hands. She smiled. Her mother, quietly doing needlework across the room, would have a fit if she looked up and saw her finest crystal being handled in such a cavalier fashion.

  “It would be like stealing anything else, I’d wager,” offered Bertie. He also had a drink in hand, and his feet up on a footstool. He leaned back into the wingback chair by the fire which popped and crackled brightly.

  “First of all, you would have to be sure you weren’t seen,” he continued, “and you had enough time to crack the safe and then to get away. Or, on a more simple level, just snatch the stuff when the counter assistant isn’t looking and make off with it, I suppose.”

  “The problem with that is it’s messy. You’re bound to leave some clue – they say you can identify someone through their fingerprints alone,” Caro chimed in, placing her glass on the table beside her. “Besides, when you start in with the criminal class, you’re bound to bump into some informer who will snitch on you.”

  Now her mother did look up. “Caroline! That’s hardly an observation a young lady should be making!”

  Edward shifted and looked over his shoulder at his mother. She held a silver needle poised above the embroidery hoop on her lap. A length of orange silk trailed from it like flame back to the needlework.

  “It’s just hypothetical, mother. Besides, we’re interested to know how The Phantom does it. Unlike the cases in the detective stories Caro likes to read, there are no clues and no one has snitched on him yet.”

  “I would prefer neither of my children use such common language.”

  Bertie leaned forward and picked up the discarded newspaper by the fire. He made a show of being interested in it. Caro gave a small smile. It seemed her erstwhile beau was trying to make himself invisible.

  Her mother went back to her needlework and the friends sat in silence.

  After a moment, Bertie lowered the newspaper, his eyes bright. “Well, if there is one thing that will bring The Phantom out it’s this: The Star of December.”

  Bertie read out the report.

  Count Valois arrived in London today with the rarest of gems. The Star of December diamond, which once decorated the crowns of both Spanish and Bavarian kings, is to go on display in London for one day, following an invitation-only evening showing. The Count and his valuable gem will embark a national tour in the New Year.

  The Star of December diamond is 35 carats in weight and is a rare grey-blue colour with facets cut in such a way as to resemble a star.

  The London showing will be by special invitation only on December 22 at the Longmuir Hotel.

  “Look, they even have an illustration.” Bertie turned the newspaper around. Indeed, the sketch of the diamond showed a stone with star-like points across its face.

  “I hardly wish to encourage you,” said Caro’s mother w
ithout looking up, “but you may be in luck. Walter has been asked personally to arrange the security for the London showing. If you ask nicely, he might see if he can arrange for you amateur detectives to go along too.”

  ***

  A light dusting of snow drifted from the leaden morning sky.

  Caro emerged from the book store with her latest acquisition wrapped in brown paper. The Moonstone by Wilkie Collins had just arrived and that would be her Christmas gift from her brother – if she had the patience not to read it before the day.

  She held her burgundy coloured cloak closed with her free gloved hand and made her way to the intersection that would allow her to catch the horse-drawn tram back to the comfort of home.

  As she approached the corner, she saw a newspaper boy raise a copy of The Standard high in his hand.

  “Read all abaht it! Theft at Barrington Arcade! Diamond Butterfly floats away! Read all abaht it! The Phantom strikes again. Scotland Yard clueless ag—”

  The boy stopped when he noticed Caro glower at him. She thrust a penny at him and snatched a paper from his gloved hand.

  The story itself was just a few lines; a stop press for the city edition. And she hadn’t misheard, it was the jewellery store. The very same jewellery store she had been in yesterday had been robbed!

  Behind her a bell rang, announcing the arrival of a tram. She handed the conductor a threepenny bit and took a window seat, watching as the snow squalled in the increasing wind. The tram passed street after street and suddenly there was the Barrington Arcade. On a whim, Caro got off the tram at the nearby stop.

  O star of wonder, star of night,

  Star with royal beauty bright,

  Westward leading, still proceeding,

  Guide us to thy perfect light.

  She was barely aware of the carollers as she rushed into the arcade, dodging shoppers focused on completing their own Christmas errands. When she reached the jewellery store, a young constable in his blue wool uniform and boss-topped custodian helmet was at the door trying to look as intimidating as possible to ward off a small throng of onlookers.

  The blinds were down on all of the windows, preventing anyone from looking in.

  Among the crowd, two shifty-looking men – reporters Caro guessed – began to remonstrate with each other and the constable stepped forward to intervene. Caro saw her opportunity. She slipped around one of the decorated potted conifers and through the door which, to her good fortune, had been left ajar which meant the bell did not ring as she entered.

  The shop was unoccupied and the door to the workshop beyond was open. She heard voices, including one she identified as her Uncle’s.

  Caro didn’t call out. She recalled her conversation with Uncle Walter about observation and looked about.

  The shop itself appeared almost exactly as it did yesterday, except there was now a cloth over the glass counter and, behind her, the window display was different. She cast her eyes over it. Some of the more expensive items were missing. She tried to recall what she’d seen yesterday that was now missing - a gold sovereign case, a silver tea service, and a suite of jewellery – earbobs, choker and bracelet set with emeralds. Oh – and an exquisite pocket watch, gone too.

  But the windows were intact. The shop was neat and tidy, so there had been nothing ransacked. Had the door been jimmied?

  It stood ajar still, just as Caro left it after slipping inside. She approached cautiously to examine it, not wanting to alert the young policeman outside. She got a momentary glance at the lock before–

  Slam! Jingle, jingle, jingle!

  The constable outside, ignorant of her presence right behind the door, pulled it closed and the bell tinkled brightly. A moment later, Caro sensed someone behind her.

  “I hope they teach in those law classes that obstruction of a police officer is a criminal offence.”

  Caro ignored Uncle Walter’s gruffness and turned around with a ready smile she knew always won him over.

  “I’m not obstructing anything. In fact I could be a witness.”

  He raised an eyebrow in surprise.

  “I doubt that very much,” he said but Caro heard the annoyance in his voice leach away.

  “Inspector? Did you say something?” A voice called from the other room then a face appeared around the corner. Caro barely recognised the policeman who had been at her door two days earlier without the scarf obscuring his face.

  Walter sighed.

  “Caro, this is my Sergeant, Bill Parkes. Parkes, this is my niece and amateur detective Caroline Addison. She’s studying law.”

  Caro couldn’t tell whether that tidbit of information impressed the sergeant or not. Now introductions had been made, Parkes disappeared back into the workshop.

  “Well, now you’re here and not likely to go away, you may as well see what’s going on. It will be something to share with your college chums after the Christmas break,” he said.

  “The papers are saying it was the work of The Phantom.”

  “They would,” Walter harrumphed. “According to the jeweller, the brooch was locked in the safe, along with the most valuable of the window display items at seven o’clock when the shop closed for the evening. Hargreaves and his assistant were here until ten o’clock finishing up a commissioned piece for a customer. They swept the floors, locked the connecting door, and then the front door which was checked by each and every beadle at the beginning of his rounds and again before he went off shift.”

  Walter started towards the workshop then halted. “Does your father know you’re here?”

  Caro shook her head.

  “I thought not... Well, don’t touch anything.”

  Caro kept a hold of her book instead and followed.

  The workshop behind was only as large as the shop front. Two benches ran the length of each side wall. One bench had a small lathe on it. Various probes, clamps and other bits of equipment in brass, which Caro couldn’t identify, were placed neatly in an open box. It looked like a dentist’s surgery right down to a magnifying glass clamped to the table.

  The safe stood large against the back wall, flanked by bespoke cabinets.

  “Mr Hargreaves went through everything again, sir,” Parkes said. “Nothing is missing apart from the butterfly brooch.”

  “There doesn’t seem to be any signs of forced entry. I looked for scratches on the front door lock,” said Caro.

  Parkes glanced at her then to Walter, who gave him a slight nod.

  “No, miss,” he said, somewhat reluctantly in Caro’s opinion. “The owner had no idea anything was out of order until he started setting up for work this morning.”

  “The newspaper said...”

  “Newspapers lie, miss. We have men from The Argus, The Illustrated News and The Standard all waiting outside. It doesn’t matter what we tell them, they just make it up to sell more papers.”

  “That’s enough, Parkes,” said the Inspector, and Caro looked away to spare the sergeant some of the embarrassment of being chipped by his superior in front of her. Looking down, she noticed some sawdust on the floor. The apprentice who’d swept up at the end of the day seemed to be a little haphazard in his duties. Their housekeeper at home would have a fit if one of her girls had missed a single mote.

  “Shall we see if we can find some fingerprints on the safe?” said her uncle.

  Caro’s head rose. “I’ve heard of this! I had no idea Scotland Yard was using the technique.”

  “I thought it was worth a try, but I’m not very hopeful.”

  “Why not?” Caro frowned, recalling some reading she had done. “Sir Francis Galton says classification of fingerprints could be useful in identifying an individual.”

  Walter patted his coat pocket, perhaps looking for his pipe. After a moment he gave up and answered her question. “The thief who goes to this amount of planning to steal one specific jewel and get out again without anyone being the wiser is a clever man, a cautious one who wouldn’t leave anything to chance. Someo
ne that clever has probably read Galton – and would wear gloves.”

  “So how did he get in?”

  “If we knew the answer to that, then we’d be closer to getting him.”

  Walter told the jeweller he could open up in front while they finished in the back room. Hargreaves and his assistant moved past them. Parkes sniffed.

  “If you ask me, to get away with this a man would have to be a ruddy magician—” He halted suddenly remembering his manners. “—pardon, Miss Addison.”

  Caro thought about the sergeant’s remark as she left the arcade and waited for the tram to take her near home. A gust of wind tugged at a coloured handbill posted on a pillar beside the Tudor Inn cake emporium.

  THE PALLADIAN THEATRE

  Thrills and Delights

  Direct from The Continent

  Acrobats & Jugglers

  Also featuring

  THE DARK DUKE

  Magician Extraordinaire!

  Across the face of it another piece of paper had been glued:

  LAST DAYS

  She paused to look at the theatre opposite.

  Yes, it would take a ruddy magician indeed!

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The Gilfroy Winter Ball had always been one of the highlights of the season, and this year’s was no exception.

  Caro felt Bertie’s hand on her back, urging her through the throng. Although it was still early, the place was packed with revellers.

  “Eddie and I were told by the youngest Gilfroy we were all in for something special – the old man has gone all out this year,” he said.

  The doors in the entrance hall were open wide this evening, offering a tantalising glimpse of the grand ballroom beyond decked out in red and gold stripes. The dancing guests swirling about in their formal gowns were dressed no less colourfully.

  In fact, everyone was clad in their finest. Caro wore a gown of vibrant red. Setting off Gwen’s dark hair was her gown of emerald green; Margaret dressed in peach.