Chapter Twenty-Three
Five days passed, during which Crowthorne remained at large. By the morning of the sixth day, Flynn had to see Althea. The mystery of what Crowthorne sought continued to nag at him, and she’d be the perfect soundboard for the ideas crowding his mind.
He donned his coat and hat, pulled on gloves, and walked out into a crisp, sunny winter’s day. It must have been the weather, for his spirits rose as he strolled along.
It was far too early for a morning call, but this couldn’t wait. When he arrived at her townhouse, her aged butler asked him to be seated in the entry hall while he took up Flynn’s card.
Moments later, Butterworth descended, knees creaking. “Lady Brookwood is in the drawing room, my lord.”
Some attempt had been made to restore the room to its former elegant state. The best one could say was it was comfortable. Althea rose from her chair looking far too pretty in a rose-colored morning gown.
Jet jumped off a chair, meowed a greeting, and wound himself around Flynn’s legs. Flynn bent to stroke the length of the cat’s silky back. “The room looks almost as it was.”
“How kind of you to say so. It’s appalling.” With a warm smile, Althea held out her hand to him. “Good morning, Flynn.” She shrugged. “The landlord is most unhappy. He has asked me to consider finding somewhere else to live.”
“An idle threat. He cannot insist on it. Not if you signed a lease.” He pressed her hand to his lips. “Good morning. You look as fresh as a dewy rose in that gown.”
“How prettily put. Thank you. You’re early. I’ve just breakfasted. May I offer you coffee?”
“No, thank you. I need to discuss this affair before I go before the Royal Presence. I’d like to hear any thoughts that might have occurred to you since we parted.”
“I’ve little to offer, but please sit. That chair is the most comfortable.”
Flynn sat in the blue velvet wing chair, the seat of which was heavily patched. Jet promptly sprang onto his lap. With a sigh, he allowed the cat to settle, pushing aside thoughts of his valet’s despair.
“A question,” he said. “Supposing there is, as Crowthorne said, a cache of valuable jewels. Where would you hide it?”
Althea settled on the sofa and crossed her dainty ankles; her feet clad in black house slippers. “I believe I would give them to someone I trusted.”
He tensed and gripped the arms of the chair, dislodging the cat. “Dear lord! I think you might have hit on it! Your husband would not have hidden them himself. What a wonder you are, Althea! What trusted friend might Brookwood have appealed to?”
“I doubt he had many friends toward the end.”
“Well, he didn’t choose Churton, although he might have confided in him.”
“And most certainly not Percy Woodruff.”
The room fell silent, but for the clunk of the grandfather clock and Jet’s vociferous purring, as the cat stretched out beside Althea.
“I suspect that cat of yours is half-leopard,” Flynn said, breaking the silence.
“I can think of no one else. Brookwood never confided in me,” Althea admitted, a delicate flush warming her cheekbones.
“Because he knew you would disapprove of such skullduggery.”
“He seldom talked to me in those last few months.” She bit her lip. “He had acquired a new mistress.”
“He had a mistress? Who was she?”
“The widow, Emma Grimshaw.”
“Grimshaw? I don’t know her.”
Althea lowered her gaze to her hands in her lap. “You wouldn’t. Brookwood kept her to himself. She is rarely seen in society. I only learned about her because he confessed it when in his cups.”
Flynn wished Brookwood were still alive, so he could have the pleasure of murdering him. “We must speak to her. I wonder if she’s in London.”
“I’ve no idea. We don’t mix in the same circles. And I’ve attended few engagements since we returned to the city.”
“Because of the business in Slough?”
“That’s only part of it. I just haven’t felt like company.”
“Nor I at the moment.”
Her eyes widened. “Why?”
“My news will not please His Majesty. He is in Brighton but returns shortly.” He smiled ruefully. “I’ve been incredibly bad tempered. My servants are most likely searching for other positions.”
She shook her head. “I’m sure that once you can put this behind you….”
“Yes. And when you can return to Owltree….”
She nodded, the pink in her cheeks paling.
The deuce! He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss away the distress in her eyes.
He stood abruptly. “I’ll go in search of Mrs. Grimshaw. My last attempt to find Brookwood’s secret stash before His Majesty demands an audience.”
“I wish you luck, Flynn.” Althea rose and held out her hand. “Please send me any news.”
Flynn raised her hand to his lips. He gazed into her eyes, trying to gauge how she felt about him. “Of course, Althea. Good day.”
Flynn’s inquiries quickly led him to Mrs. Grimshaw’s door in Harley Street. When she greeted him in her modestly furnished parlor, he wondered what attraction she might have had for Brookwood. She was an angular, rather mannish woman with a strong chin, and her dark gown did little to soften her features.
At his bow, she bent her head in acknowledgement. “Please be seated, my lord. How may I help you?”
“You were acquainted with Lord Brookwood, I believe, Mrs. Grimshaw.”
A ruddy flush tinged her thin cheeks. “What is this concerning?”
“I wonder if he might have given you something to look after for him.”
She straightened the high lace collar of her navy gown with nervous fingers. “Why would you think that?”
“I came here in the hope it might be true.”
She nodded. “Lady Brookwood sent you, I suppose.”
“This matter stretches far wider than any interest of Lady Brookwood’s. But rest assured, Mrs. Grimshaw, if you have anything of his lordship’s in safe-keeping, you will not be judged badly for it.” Flynn leaned forward with a look of appeal. “I promise your name will not be mentioned.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Why are you so interested, my lord? You are a diplomat, are you not?”
“I act on behalf of His Majesty.”
“The king?” Her brownish hazel eyes widened. Handsome eyes, Flynn noted.
“It’s come to our attention that Brookwood had stolen jewels in his possession at the time of his death.”
“Stolen jewels?” She looked blank. “Brookwood was no thief. He was a gentleman.”
Flynn’s heart sank. Had he come on a fool’s errand?
She stood. “However, Lord Brookwood did give me a package. I was to hold it until he came back.” She swallowed. “He didn’t return, of course. But it is not jewelry…” She went to a bureau, removed a key she carried on a fine gold chain around her neck, and unlocked it. “He told me they were incriminating letters that he did not wish Lady Althea to read.”
She handed Flynn a package. “I had no idea what to do with them. I didn’t wish to disgrace his name, you understand. And I couldn’t see any reason to produce them after he died.”
Flynn ripped off the brown paper, his pulse thudding. “This is not letters, Mrs. Grimshaw.” He opened the package to find a box with another smaller one inside it. A jeweler’s box sat in his palm, big enough for a small parure but hardly a cache of jewels. He flipped open the lid with his thumb and sat back stunned. Nestled within a bed of satin was a magnificent, deep-blue diamond the size of a goose’s egg. As it caught the light, the faceted gem flashed the colors of the spectrum. He took a quick, sharp breath. Crowthorne had been right. Flynn had certainly never seen the like. Not a diamond this large, let alone the depth of color. He recalled some of the diamond’s history, and the realization of what he held in his hand prickled the hair at his nape.
Mrs. Grimshaw had staggered back. “I… I swear I had no idea.”
He rose. “I hope you understand that I must take this to the king.”
“Yes…of course,” she swallowed. “Lord Brookwood entrusted me with the package, Lord Montsimon. I would most certainly have given it to Lady Brookwood had I known. Surely she must be told of it?”
“I’ll go to her now.” Flynn searched Mrs. Grimshaw’s startled eyes. Wouldn’t curiosity have driven her to discover what lay inside the package?
He wrapped up the diamond and slipped it into his pocket. Not liking Mrs. Grimshaw’s pallor, he took her by the elbow and assisted her into a chair. “Have you brandy?”
She shook her head. “There’s madeira,” she said faintly, gesturing to a cupboard. Flynn located a bottle and poured her a goodly amount. He sat with her while she drank.
“Brookwood must have been a good friend to leave this in your care,” he said, discovering he pitied her.
“I’m sure you wonder at our relationship, my lord. Lady Brookwood is quite lovely, and I am certainly no beauty. But Brookwood liked to talk to me. Said I reminded him of his mother.”
Flynn nodded. She was right. He didn’t understand, but that hardly mattered.
“I should not have encouraged him, but I was lonely after my husband died, and as he said, Lady Brookwood was cold….” She looked wistful. “Before he died, we talked of leaving England and settling in another land.”
He tightened his lips in a rush of anger. Althea cold? He thought of that morning in Slough before the maid came in and disturbed them. No, Althea was not cold, but something had happened to make her fearful of intimacy. He intended to find out.
Flynn left the house, conscious of the weighty diamond in his pocket. The luster, size, and deep blue color of the jewel pointed to one thing, the le bleu de France. Hence, the thieves’ code-name, tricoleur. The jewel was once part of the French crown jewels. Rumor had it that it had been stolen by the revolutionary leader, Georges Danton, during the Revolution, to be used to bribe Queen Caroline’s father, Karl Wilhelm of Brunswick. When Karl Wilhelm had fled to England to escape Napoleon in 1806, he was believed to have brought the jewel to London. At last, Flynn could begin to fit the pieces together and understand the king’s intense interest. He looked forward to learning more from King George when he returned from Brighton. In the meantime, Althea, more than anyone else, deserved to see this magnificent diamond, for it was the reason her life had been turned upside down.
He entered the street where his carriage waited. Althea was in for quite a surprise, he mused, as he climbed inside.
“Flynn!” Althea, delectable in a gown of soft lilac hues, hurried to greet him in the drawing room. “I’ve been on tenterhooks! Did you find Mrs. Grimshaw?”
“You’d best sit down,” Flynn advised. He took the jewel case from his pocket and handed it to her. “This is what Brookwood had in his possession. Not surprising that Crowthorne was so intent on finding it.”
With a questioning glance, Althea settled on the sofa. She opened the box. When she raised her head, her shocked eyes looked as brilliant a blue as the diamond. “This is what it was all about. It’s magnificent! Where on earth did Brookwood get it?”
Flynn sat beside her. “The jewel was stolen, from whom I have yet to discover. Maybe we’ll never learn the truth of it. Crowthorne was busy building a crime network. His footpads did the dirty work, but they were merely his puppets. Crowthorne was the brains behind the gang. When the other gang members, gentlemen in bad straights financially, I’ll wager, relieved the ton of their jewels, they discovered this diamond. Strange that we haven’t heard even a murmur of its theft. Unless the person they stole the jewel from had gained it through similar dishonorable means. Brookwood took possession and was to hand it over to Crowthorne, but for whatever reason, he left the jewel with Mrs. Grimshaw, planning to collect it after the duel.”
He cast a careful glance at her. “It appears as Crowthorne suspected, Brookwood had no intention of giving the diamond to him. Mrs. Grimshaw mentioned their dream of leaving England, presumably to start a new life financed by the sale of the diamond.”
The horror of such a prospect raced across her face, darkening her eyes. If Brookwood had deserted Althea, she would have been left penniless, her standing in society in ruins. “And she kept it all this time,” she said bitterly.
“Mrs. Grimshaw insists she believed it to be incriminating papers, implicating Brookwood in some scheme. She considered it judicious to keep them hidden.”
“A likely story,” Althea said, a spark of anger in her eyes.
“She claimed she never looked inside the package. I found myself believing her.”
Althea huffed. “Some women are skillful at hoodwinking a man. Even one as astute as you, Flynn.” Althea held the diamond up to the light. Indigo fire flashed in its depths. “It is beautiful.”
“Beautiful and deadly,” Flynn said. “For it drives men to lie, cheat, and commit murder.”
She returned it to him and rubbed her arms. “Indeed.”
“The French crown jewels were stolen during the revolution, and this jewel was brought to London. I expect the king will tell me more of its history.”
Her eyes warmed. “His Majesty will be pleased, Flynn. He should reward you richly.”
“A foreign posting, perhaps.” Flynn hoped it would not be in a far-flung land or a useless title. He required capital for the plan he had in mind.
Althea’s brows knitted. “Oh? Well, it would be grossly unfair if he didn’t.”
Pleased, Flynn caught the look of dismay clouding her eyes. “One cannot speak of fairness and the king in the same breath. And besides, I suspect the king knows more about this affair than he revealed.”
“Surely he will explain it to you further when you give him this. Under the peerage of Ireland, he may grant you an English title. You could take your place in the House of Lords.”
“I’m not sure it’s something I wish for, Althea.” Was she distressed at the prospect of him leaving England? Flynn stood and bowed. “I must go.”
She walked with him to the door. “Please send news as soon as you can. I am impatient to learn what the king has to say.”
“I shall call on you.”
Flynn entered his carriage. He tapped his fingers on the window ledge, attempting to quell his impatience. This diamond had wrought its magic, for he could now plan his future with the woman he loved. But did Althea love him? Her insistence that she would never wed again, troubled him. She would never become a man’s mistress. Did she imagine she would enjoy spending the long years ahead alone? Not if he had anything to do with it. She didn’t know what she was missing. Apart from the love and companionship a husband could give her, she really had no idea about the passion between a man and a woman. How could she? When he considered how best to show her, his groin tightened, and he quickly turned his mind to soberer matters.
Everything hinged on the king’s generosity.
*
Althea pulled the curtain aside at the drawing-room windows to watch Flynn’s carriage drive away. Now that the mystery was finally solved, the reason for her and Flynn to work together was at an end as Crowthorne would have lost interest in her. She admitted she had grown fonder of Flynn than was wise. Better, that she saw little of him in the future.
Her steps slowed as she returned to the sofa feeling emotionally bruised. Flynn would grasp a proffered ambassadorship from the king with both hands. It was a job he relished, which he was amply equipped to do. And he didn’t appear to want an English title. Soon he would be gone from the country.
Butterworth scratched at the door. “Are you at home to a Mrs. Grimshaw, my lady?”
Her quick intake of breath was followed by a swift rush of anger. “I will see her, Butterworth.”