PROLOGUE
Amsterdam
1818
DARKNESS HAD FALLEN a while ago. Eighteen-year-old Isabella Cale clung to her new husband Victor’s neck as he carried her into her old room at her sister Jacoba’s house. Isa hadn’t wanted to come here, but it was safer than having Jacoba look after her in their apartment. She didn’t want her sister nosing around for the imitation diamonds that Isa kept hidden from her husband. And Victor refused to leave Isa alone while she was sick.
She winced. She hoped this pretense of being ill succeeded. And that he never found out it was a sham. It had been hard enough to keep it up all day, when she was supposed to have been working at the jeweler’s shop, but Victor’s concerned glances now made it even more difficult. After only a week of marriage, the last thing she wanted to do was deceive him.
But she had no choice. It was for his own good. And hers.
“Are you sure she’ll be fine?” Victor asked Jacoba as he laid Isa gently in her old bed.
“She just needs rest and coddling.” Jacoba pulled the covers up over Isa. “She’s had these awful sore throats since she was a girl. They never last more than a week. You were right to bring her here. It’s not good for her to be alone.”
Her older sister’s soft words used to make her feel safe. But that was before their clockmaker father had died six years ago. Before Papa’s apprentice, Gerhart Hendrix, had married Jacoba and taken them in. Before Gerhart had begun gambling.
Isa and Jacoba were no longer as close as they once were.
“I’m not so ill that I’ll expire while you’re at the shop,” Isa told Victor in a raspy voice.
Victor worked temporarily as a night guard at the jeweler’s where she was a diamond cutter. Since their conflicting shifts didn’t allow them much time together, it had been pure bliss staying home with him today. Well, except for the pretending-to-be-sick part.
Shadows darkened Victor’s lovely hazel eyes. “I’m sorry to have to leave you, but at least Jacoba can look after you.”
Oh, how she wished she weren’t too much of a coward to tell him the truth! But it would devastate her if it changed what he thought of her. Better to avoid the problem entirely.
If she could fool her sister and brother-in-law with her “illness” for just one night, it would all be over tomorrow. Then Victor would never have to learn of her family’s insane scheme to steal the royal diamond parure from the jeweler’s shop.
A lock of wavy hair the color of rich oak dropped over his brow as he bent to kiss her forehead. “I wish I didn’t have to leave you alone, but with the prince’s guard coming—”
“I know,” she said, cutting him off before he could reveal that the royal diamonds would be leaving the shop tomorrow. Jacoba mustn’t learn that the chance to steal them would be gone after tonight. “You may not have your post much longer, so you have to work while you can.” His post would end in the morning, when the jeweler handed the royal jewels to the prince’s guard.
“I will find work after this,” he said resentfully, “even if the jeweler doesn’t keep me on. Don’t worry about that.”
“I’m not,” she hastened to reassure him. He was such a proud man, and she hadn’t meant to wound him. Besides, who wouldn’t hire Victor? And the jeweler was an old friend of his mother’s; the man would surely find some way to keep Victor on. “I have faith in you.”
Victor looked only slightly mollified by her words. “You’re fretting over something. I can tell.”
“Don’t be silly.” Had she been that transparent? Oh, Lord, she had to get him to leave, before she gave too much away. She forced hoarseness into her voice. “And if you don’t go, you’ll be late.” His shift began at 8 P.M., when the jeweler went home. “Don’t worry about me. I’m in good hands with Jacoba.” She practically choked on that lie.
But he didn’t seem to notice as he tucked the covers about her. “I’ll come fetch you in the morning when I’m done with my shift, Mausi.”
She winced at the German endearment. Victor often used foreign words—he spoke Dutch, Flemish, German, English, and French fluently, which impressed her. But she didn’t like being called “little mouse.”
Probably because she was a mouse, in every respect. She looked like one—nondescript brown hair that defied curling, boring brown eyes, and hips that were a touch too wide for her small bosom—and she acted like one, too. She would much rather cut diamonds or design jewelry than argue or make a fuss. It was how she’d landed in this mess in the first place.
It was also why she lay here silent while he headed for the door. She ought to call him back, tell him the truth, face the consequences. But it would be so much easier just to bluff her way through this night. Then she’d be free of her family’s machinations forever.
Because she was never creating another imitation parure. She wouldn’t have made this one if Jacoba and Gerhart hadn’t convinced her that they could sell it as a legitimate copy and earn some good money out of her talent for creating false diamonds. If she’d known they would take it into their heads to use it to commit a crime . . .
Stifling a groan, she turned onto her side and watched as Victor went out with Jacoba into the hall, murmuring instructions on how to care for his wife. He was so handsome, her husband, and so kind. She lived in terror that he would find out about the Hendrixes’ sordid plans and her part in them.
Her throat tightened. How had she even managed to snag his attention? He was a lion to her mouse. His many scars told her that he’d suffered a great deal during his three years in the Prussian army. And the pain of fighting at Waterloo still lurked beneath his clear hazel eyes. She suspected he had other dark secrets—he didn’t talk about his childhood or his family—yet he took each day as it came, persevering through whatever agonies lay in his past.
Meanwhile, she lay here pretending to be sick. Oh, what she wouldn’t give to be courageous and reckless, to stand up to Gerhart whenever he droned on about how he’d saved her and Jacoba from certain ruin after Papa died. It was true, but why should it mean that she had to risk her own happiness and safety? And why couldn’t she just say that?
Because then Gerhart would shout at her and shout at Jacoba, and she hated the shouting. And the stony glances. And the reminders that she wouldn’t even have her position at the jeweler’s if Gerhart hadn’t encouraged the talent for jewelry making and diamond cutting that she’d inherited from Papa.
She sighed against her pillow.
“So you’re not asleep,” Jacoba said, having padded back into the room with the quiet tread of a cat.
Isa tensed. “No, not yet. But I feel horrible, all weak and achy. And my throat hurts.” Tamping down her guilt, she slanted a glance up at her sister, who, being seven years older, had been like a mother to her.
Once.
Jacoba laid her hand on Isa’s brow. “You do seem a bit hot.”
That’s what came of lying under a pile of heavy covers. Though she prayed that the dampness of her brow wouldn’t give her away. “I can’t get warm,” she lied in a husky whisper. “It always starts with the chills . . .”
“I remember.”
Her sister cast her a hard look, as if she’d seen right through her farce, and Isa held her breath. Jacoba and Gerhart had been pressing her to substitute her imitation parure for the real one, now that the jeweler had finished it. All she’d have to do, according to them, was steal her husband’s keys while he was asleep and get into the strongbox while the jeweler was at lunch.
Betraying her husband and everything she believed in.
She’d put them off for days. But last night Gerhart had threatened to bring up the matter with Victor and get him to do the switching. Isa couldn’t have that; Victor would be horrified.
Let Gerhart rage about the injustice of her being sick on the last day she could have switched out the parure. Eventually he would resign himself to having missed his chance. He might even be able to sell the imitation parure, as he’d first intended, to some wealthy woman who wanted jewelry identical to that of the soon-to-be bride of the prince.
At last Jacoba seemed to accept Isa’s ruse, and her expression softened. “Well, then, you’d better get some sleep. I’ll bring you something to soothe your throat.”
“Thank you,” Isa murmured, not bothering to hide her grimace.
She hated Jacoba’s medicine. But when her sister returned with the vile tonic, Isa knew she had to choke it down. If she refused, Jacoba would be suspicious.
Afterward, her sister surprised her, sitting by her bedside and wiping her forehead with a cold cloth until she dozed off.
♦ ♦ ♦
IT SEEMED ONLY minutes later that she awoke to the gray dawn seeping into her bedchamber. At first she was groggy and disoriented. Where was she? Why wasn’t she in her apartment? And where was Vic—
She bolted upright as last night’s events came flooding back. It was always dark when Victor’s shift ended at 6 A.M., but judging from the light, it must be well past seven now. He should be here. He’d said he would fetch her as soon as his shift ended!
A door opened and shut down the hall, and she heard voices. Before she could do more than throw her legs over the side of the bed, Gerhart and Jacoba entered her room.
“We did it, Isa!” Jacoba cried, her face flushed and her eyes bright as she performed a little jig. “We got them!”
When Isa stared in confusion, her brawny brother-in-law pulled a necklace from his pocket and held it up to catch the faint rays of morning light. “It’s ours now. We’ll break it down for the diamonds and sell them in Paris. I know a dealer who will pay us well for—”
“Stop it!” Isa said, horror growing in her belly. “What do you mean? You have the real diamonds?”
“Of course.” Gerhart exchanged a glance with his wife. “With you ill, we had to act on our own. Surely you didn’t think we’d let this opportunity pass? We made the switch ourselves.”
Her mind raced. “But how . . . Victor would have had to let you . . .”
“Yes.” Jacoba came over to lay an arm about her shoulders. “After I explained our scheme earlier, he agreed to help in exchange for our giving him the earrings from the parure. He and I left here to go look for the imitation at your apartment, and then he made the switch at the shop.”
A chill coursed through her. Was that the reason for all the furtive whispers in the hall earlier? Jacoba had actually spoken to Victor about the scheme?
“We were more than happy to allow him a share,” Gerhart put in, “given your part in the affair . . . and his. Sale from the earrings alone should provide the two of you with enough money to—”
“He wouldn’t do that!” Isa cried through a throat thick and tight with dread. Shoving free of Jacoba, she rose to face them. “He would never steal. I know him.”
“Apparently not as well as you thought.” Gerhart headed over to the window and opened the curtains to let in the weak winter light. “I told you he would listen to reason if you only broached the subject.”
Was it possible? Could she really have been that wrong about her husband? “I was waiting to mention it until—”
“Yes, we know,” her sister said, her tone sharp. “I’m sure you simply forgot to tell us about the prince’s guard coming this morning for the jewels. You weren’t really planning to let it pass without comment.”
“Of course not,” she mumbled, unable to meet her sister’s eyes. This couldn’t be happening.
“Thank God Victor said something as he was leaving here,” Jacoba said, “or we would have missed our chance entirely.”
Dear heaven. “Where’s Victor now?” Isa headed for the door. She had to find out if he’d really done this outrageous thing.
“He’s gone.” Gerhart tucked the necklace into his coat pocket. “He’s the most at risk of being caught, so he had to head straight off to Antwerp as soon as his shift was over. They won’t expect him back at the shop until this evening, and perhaps not even then, given that his post as guard ends today. Meanwhile—”
“You’re saying Victor left me?” With her blood pounding in her ears, she whirled on them. “My husband left me?”
“Not exactly,” Jacoba said, oozing sympathy and concern. “After he sells the earrings in Antwerp, he’ll join us in Paris. That’s where we’re heading with the necklace, bracelet, and brooch. Victor suggested that we split up, in case anyone comes after us. They’ll expect two couples traveling together. They won’t expect you to go with us and him to go another way.”
“Not that we think your imitations won’t hold up under scrutiny,” Gerhart said, “but it’s better that we be well away, in case they don’t. The jeweler won’t expect you at the shop until tomorrow, since Victor already told him how sick you are—fortuitous for us. That gives us time to put some distance between us and here.”
“And the beauty of it is that if your diamonds do escape notice, no one will ever even know about the theft!” Jacoba crowed. The unnatural light in her eyes made Isa shiver. “Victor left a letter behind with your landlord saying that you both got lucrative positions in Frankfurt. The jeweler will certainly find that plausible, especially with Victor’s post coming to an end. It’s the perfect plan!”
“Except that I wanted no part of it!” Isa cried.
Gerhart narrowed his gaze on her. “That’s not what you said. You said you were waiting for the right moment.”
Her mouth went dry. “Well, I—I lied. I don’t want to be a criminal. I just want to cut diamonds and design jewelry and have a regular life.”
“What kind of regular life do you think you’d have with a husband out of work?” Jacoba snapped. “How long do you think it would be before you lost your position to some man? And then what?” She jerked her gaze from Isa as if disgusted. “At least your husband saw the sense of our plan.”
Determined not to be a mouse this time, Isa thrust out her chin. “I just can’t believe that Victor would have agreed to—”
“He’s not here, is he?” Jacoba pointed out. “And you heard him say he would be here to fetch you home. Yet it’s well past the time for him to do so.”
The truth of that struck her hard. “I still just don’t—”
“How do you think we got the diamonds, you little fool?” Gerhart strode up to her in a temper. “We couldn’t have breached the strongbox ourselves. The thing takes five men to lift, and the locks are intricate. It could only be opened with the keys. Victor’s keys.”
Isa’s blood thundered in her ears.
He let that sink in, then added coldly, “He was more than happy to help when he realized it was the only way to make sure he could provide for his wife.”
I will find work after this, even if the jeweler doesn’t keep me on. Don’t worry about that.
Tears sprang to her eyes. Had she sent him off to do this awful thing by making him believe she was worried about his ability to find another post?
“And I should think,” Gerhart pressed on, “that you’d be grateful for all the trouble we have taken to provide for you. Instead, you stand here mewling—”
“Gerhart, darling,” Jacoba said in soothing tones, “why don’t you go pack our things and let me talk to my sister?”
Gerhart glared at Isa, who was clutching her stomach in a fruitless attempt to quell the fear roiling inside her. With a snort, he walked out.
As soon as he was gone, Jacoba came to Isa’s side. “My dearest, I like Victor as much as you, but you must admit that you hardly know him. He rarely even speaks of his previous life. For all you know, he may have done this kind of thing before. Consider all those languages he speaks—has he ever even said how he knows so many?”
She swallowed. She’d never asked. He just seemed worldly, a man who’d learned things far beyond her ken, even though he was only two years older. “He was a soldier in the Prussian army,” she pointed out.
“That explains his knowledge of German. But how does he know English? Or French? Surely not just from being a soldier. I daresay he did a few things during the war that required special . . . skills.”
Since she’d often wondered about his reticence, she could hardly ignore that possibility.
“Besides,” Jacoba went on, “soldiers are practical sorts. And since you never mentioned our plan to him, how do you know he wouldn’t have embraced it?”
The words cut her right through. She didn’t. She had only her instincts to go on, which said that Victor would never steal. But could she be sure? Or did she just believe it because she’d placed him so high in her esteem?
Worse yet, some facts were irrefutable. Jacoba and Gerhart couldn’t have breached the strongbox without Victor. And a glance at the clock showed it was already 8 A.M. He would have been here long before now if he were coming.
That was the part that hurt.
“He didn’t even say goodbye,” Isa whispered.
Jacoba chucked her under the chin. “Why should he, silly girl? He’ll see you in a few weeks. This is just temporary. He had to get as far away as he could before the time he’d be expected at the shop.” She bent her head to touch Isa’s. “And we have to as well, so come along now. Victor packed your bags, and we have to hurry to the dock.”
Her heart faltered. “Can’t I go back to the apartment?”
“We’ve no time, I’m afraid. The packet boat for Calais leaves very soon. We’ll barely make it as it is, and the next one doesn’t leave for hours.” Jacoba squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry—I gave Victor the address of the hotel where we mean to stay in Paris, and I daresay there will be a letter waiting for us the moment we arrive. Or one will come shortly afterward.”
Isa hesitated, but what choice did she have? She could never go back to the shop now. Even if the imitations were never discovered, she would know they were there, and that would plague her until she told the truth.
Besides, she couldn’t risk implicating Victor. Or her family. She was furious that they’d taken the matter out of her hands, but now it was done, and she didn’t want to see them go to prison—or worse yet, be hanged!
She could end up in prison or hanged herself, just for making the parure. The thought sent a chill to her soul.
“All right?” her sister pressed.
She nodded. But as they raced about, preparing to go, she vowed that this would be the last time she let them bully her into doing something so despicable.
And once her husband arrived in Paris, she would find out what kind of man she had really married.
♦ ♦ ♦
FOUR MONTHS LATER, Victor still hadn’t come or even sent word. And now she had his child growing in her belly. Dear heaven, what was she going to do?
Feeling particularly blue, she sat in the parlor of their very fine Paris town house and waited for the mail. She wasn’t sure why she bothered. Clearly something awful had happened to Victor. It was easier to believe that than to think he might just have abandoned her.
A ray of afternoon sun flashed through the barely parted silk curtains, glinting off Jacoba’s new gilded ormolu clock, dancing across Gerhart’s recently acquired Persian rug, and bursting into sparkles in the cut-crystal bowl near her hand. But she could find no joy in all the costly newness.
With a sigh, she picked up that week’s issue of the Gazette de France and flipped through it. An article caught her attention. Her French wasn’t the best yet, but she could still decipher a bit of gossip that a local jeweler named Angus Gordon was leaving Paris to return to his native Scotland. His French wife had died, and he wanted to go home.
But what intrigued her was that the fellow had built his reputation by creating exquisite imitation jewelry.
She muttered an oath, something she was doing more and more lately. If her sister and brother-in-law hadn’t been so impatient, the three of them might have built a similar business in Amsterdam.
No, that would never have satisfied them. Gerhart was already hinting that Isa should make more imitations to sell as real. So they could buy an even better house in an even better part of Paris, with better chances for social advancement.
She suspected that he just wanted more money to wager on wrestling bouts. He thought he could always win since he’d been a wrestler briefly himself, before he’d injured his knee. And the very thought of committing fraud repeatedly in order to provide Gerhart more money for gambling chilled her blood.
Jacoba wandered in, thumbing absently through a stack of mail. She looked different now, with her hair short and fringed about her face to change her appearance. Gerhart wore a beard now for the same reason.
Swiftly turning over the newspaper, Isa asked, “Anything for me?”
At the quiver in her voice, her sister’s head came up. “It’s just bills.” She walked up to the table. “My dear, I hate to see you like this. Don’t you enjoy being able to buy what you want and go to the theater whenever you wish?”
“That was always your dream, not mine.” Isa’s hands shook now, too. “I just wanted Victor.”
Something like guilt flashed over Jacoba’s face before her expression hardened. “Well, it’s clear he’s not coming. He took the earrings and left, the wretch, and there’s nothing we can do about it. We don’t even have a way to find him.”
The truth of that statement struck Isa hard. “We wouldn’t have to find him if you and Gerhart hadn’t gone to him behind my back. He was probably so disillusioned to learn that his beloved wife was no better than a counterfeiter that he—”
“Has it occurred to you that perhaps he married ‘his beloved wife’ in the first place because of her post at the jeweler’s?” Jacoba snapped.
Isa blanched. No, that hadn’t occurred to her. But it should have.
With an oath, Jacoba hurried to sit beside her and take her hand. “I’m sorry, sister, I shouldn’t have said that.”
Misery choked her. Jacoba was merely voicing fears that Isa hadn’t wanted to admit to herself. It was time she faced the truth. After all, it had never made sense to her that a fine, stalwart fellow like Victor would consider her worthy to be his wife. She wasn’t tall and elegant and blond like Jacoba. She wasn’t a good cook, which every man wanted, and she liked to spend her hours poring over design books and experimenting with smelly chemicals.
“Do you really think he married me because of . . . my post?” Isa managed.
“Of course. The jeweler constantly sang your praises. So if Victor married you, he knew he could stay on longer. The jeweler would have found something for him to do, if only to keep you there.”
Isa’s heart broke. She hadn’t thought of it in that way, but it made sense. Had she always been the mouse to him, someone to shoo off once he got what he wanted? Had she really only been a convenient means to an end?
How could she not have seen that?
But she knew how. She’d been so enamored of his sweet kisses, so caught up in the idea of healing his pain from the war that she hadn’t seen the real him. All it had taken was those diamond earrings dangled in front of him, and he’d sold his soul to the devil.
And thrown away their marriage in the process.
“I’m sorry to be so blunt,” Jacoba said softly, “but I thought you would have figured it out by now.” She tightened her grip on Isa’s hand. “You deserve better than Victor Cale.”
Isa stared at her sister a long moment, then lifted her chin. Yes, she did. She deserved a husband who didn’t hide his ulterior motives behind his reserve. Who didn’t run off without saying goodbye.
Who didn’t collude with her family to steal things.
“He only wanted to use you,” Jacoba added.
Like you and Gerhart? Isa nearly said.
It was dawning on her that she also deserved better than to be used by her kith and kin. She had a child to consider. It was one thing to let them use her, but it would be quite another to let them use her child. And they would surely find a way to do it.
“Shall I fetch you something?” Jacoba asked, all soothing kindness now that she’d made her point. “You have to keep your strength up for the babe, you know. Perhaps some of those summer peaches you love?”
“Yes, thank you,” she murmured.
As soon as Jacoba was gone, Isa flipped back to the article she’d been reading. Mr. Gordon had told the paper that his main regret in leaving Paris was that he had to leave his French apprentices behind. They didn’t want to go to a land as wild and barren as Scotland. So now he would have to train new ones in Edinburgh, and that would take time.
Her heart began to pound. She tore out the article, then tossed the rest of the paper into the fire so Jacoba and Gerhart wouldn’t figure out that she was planning something.
Was she? It was a mad idea at best, to think she could convince a stranger to hire her as his apprentice and take her with him to Scotland. How was she supposed to manage it?
By steeling her heart and swallowing her fears. It would take strength and courage to get away. And she had to get away. She dared not stay with her family any longer if she wanted to have a respectable future.
Papa had left her Mama’s ruby ring, which might cover the cost of the passage if this Mr. Gordon wouldn’t agree to pay for it. And she had her talent. All she had to do was show the jeweler what she was capable of, and be honest with him about what she wanted. If he had any heart at all, he might be swayed when she told him her soldier husband was dead.
It was almost true, after all. Victor might as well be dead to her, along with her old life and all it meant to her. If he’d wanted to find her, he could have, and so far he’d made no effort.
Tears stung her eyes, and she fought them back. No more tears allowed. No more waiting and hiding from life. If she was to save herself and her child, that must all end.
She would be Mausi no more.