“Are they captured? Have they been arrested?”
“Oh no, they got clean away. Chabon went after her, and hopped into whatever rig she had waiting beyond my guards. She was still passing him information at the last minute, right under my nose, talking about the guards I had posted. He, I believe, did not know it. I expect the pair of ‘em are well on their way to Italy or Switzerland or somewhere by now."
“Why didn’t you go . . . but of course, you were wounded. I hope it is not serious?”
“Kind of you to ask! It is extremely serious. I lost a quart of blood at least.”
“How did it happen?” she asked, with a sympathetic look towards his sling, which encouraged him to move down the sofa closer to her chair.
“It was like this. I was listening at the door, keyhole actually, when Feydeau opened the door to escape. She was holding a gun on Chabon and Harvey. I was behind her. I grabbed it, and Chabon pulled a pistol out of his pocket, took aim, ostensibly at Feydeau, but winged me instead. It was a marvelous touch. I don’t doubt they are a pair of actors. He did it on purpose, of course, to let her get away. Then he had the admirable excuse of delaying his pursuit till she got through the conservatory to her mount. They had arranged for a cohort to come, meanwhile, and announce Boney’s escape, to throw the whole place—the whole countryside in fact—into confusion.”
“You mean to sit there and tell me they sold your cousin a piece of glass for fifty thousand pounds, and you let them get away! I cannot think what you find to smile at, Moncrief. Of course it is not your money. I doubt Palgrave is smiling.”
“True, he is deep into sulks. He always is when he doesn’t get his own way. Very much out of sorts, and blaming the whole on me.”
“Lord knows you warned him often enough not to buy it.”
“He doesn’t know the meaning of the word gratitude. You would think when I managed to save the greater part of his blunt, he would at least have the courtesy to say thank you."
“So that’s it! I knew you weren’t grinning like a cat for no reason. How did you recover the money?”
“Not recover. They never got it at all. They got away with the case of money all right and tight, but with so many unexpected happenings, they hadn’t time to look below the first layer. Harvey lost a thousand, but the rest of it was cut up newsprint, which my valet and sometime more important accomplice substituted. Of course I had Wragge mark the bills he used on top. Harvey hadn’t even had the common sense to have the bills marked, imagine! A good lesson for him, losing a thousand. He can well spare it.”
Maria sat for a moment digesting all this news. “Do you actually
know
Chabon is her accomplice, or is this mere hypothesis?”
“He never came back. I take his flight as
prima facie
evidence of guilt.”
“Or death. She might have killed him, Moncrief.”
“I never thought of that,” he confessed. “No, I’m sure she did not. It would ruin all my carefully laid explanations. Their collusion explains all the loose ends. The business of those earrings she sold Poronovitch, for example, that miraculously turned from diamond to glass during the trip. Chabon was your partner that night. He made the switch, then ‘noticed’ it, to establish himself as not only Mademoiselle’s opponent, but also a gems expert. He had ample time to shoot Eynard before coming here. Now, of course, we know the reason why.”
“We do?” she asked uncertainly.
“I do, and am about to tell you. It was not to prevent his telling about making copies, as we suspected. The real secret was that he—Eynard—actually designed the Blue Tavernier, the only incarnation of it that was ever in Vienna at least. Chabon had Eynard design a large blue diamond following a description of the Blue Tavernier.”
“You think he doesn’t actually have the original at all?”
“Not a bit of it. I doubt he’s ever seen it. The only thing they have of the French crown jewels is a written description. They begged, borrowed or stole that ruby somewhere, then Chabon had the notion of pretending it was part of the collection, which naturally led to the possibility that the rest of the stuff was here. He accused her, and she accused him, of having it, to keep the rumor alive that it was here."
“And they got off scot-free. They killed Eynard, they shot you, and hit me and tied me up in the dark. Surely you will not let them get away, Moncrief?”
“Wellington has taken the unaccountable idea Bonaparte is more important,” he pointed out.
“Well he is not more important to me. I shall go to Baron Hager.”
“That much has been done. He should have been handling it from the start, but in these times of delicate negotiations, everyone keeps his own secrets. Like Boney’s escape, no one knows except the world.”
“Do you think the announcement at Palgrave’s party was a hoax to divert attention, or did they—Chabon and Feydeau—know it already? She is a hot supporter of Bonaparte. I daresay they are both on their way to Paris this minute to join forces with him."
“My intuition tells me Mademoiselle is more interested in herself than in any Emperor, unless he can do her a great deal of good. It was a sympathy-invoking pose, and explained her having the ruby, and possibly the Blue Tavernier as well."
“I daresay Chabon was lying about loving Louis too, just so he could be at odds with her.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“It is odd how they could have carried out so complicated a plan without ever meeting, is it not?”
“I expect they met in secret. I have been wondering whether it was not Chabon she met in a dark alley the night I got knocked on the head. Squabbling like man and wife, now I reconsider it. I expect they were each jealous of all the other’s assorted lovers.”
“We have been duped royally,” she said, setting her chin in her hands to think of a revenge.
“So we have, but after we settle Boney’s hash again, we shall get back to it.”
“It will be too late then.”
“I hope not. Speaking of late . . . I really must run. Wellington ain’t called the Iron Duke for nothing. He would have my head on a platter if he knew I was out courting when I . . ." he stopped suddenly, gave a conscious, startled look, then continued, “. . . when I should be working.”
She took no verbal notice of his slip. “I hope your shoulder is not too painful,” was all she said, but her fingers were trembling in her lap.
“Hurts like the devil,” he admitted, arising with a little wince of pain. “But we heroes, you know, care nothing for agony. Will I see you at the theater this evening?”
“I cannot go. My aunt is bedridden for the present, and we stay home to bear her company.”
“Three’s a crowd. Let your Papa keep her company. It will be an excellent opportunity for the Countess to bring him round her thumb. You will be wished at Jericho, Maria. Come to the theater with me instead. I have been assigned to it, or I would offer to come to you here.”
“If you are offering your escort, that is a different matter,” she answered happily. “As to a match between those two, however, it is quite out of the question now.”
“Why is that?”
“My aunt is . . . That is, the doctor feels . . . Her hip is broken, you see, and . . ." she stuttered to a stop, unable to find any acceptable euphemism to express her meaning.
“That won’t stop them. From getting married, I mean,” he added. “Do you dine at home this evening?” he asked, as he began walking towards the door, with Maria at his side.
“Yes, I have had to cancel our other plans.”
“Your Papa used, when he was hoping to snare a rich English melord for you, to tempt me with his chef’s wonderful meals. Do you think, now that he is in the suds again, he would like to repeat the offer? I am free for dinner, and have got this English stomach of mine accustomed to your country habit of dining at five.”
“We would be happy to see you,” she offered.
“Good. I shall be here a little early—say a quarter of five.”
The butler handed him hat, and with Shutz looking on, Moncrief did no more than make his bow before leaving.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Herr Kruger, when he was informed of the visit, brought out his best bottle of cognac to welcome his guest. Every thinking Austrian knew the English drank from dawn to dark of the most intoxicating liquors available. One could only be grateful for it. If there were a duller specimen than a drunken Englishman, it was a sober one. No matter, he was so full of joy himself on this occasion that he would have accepted even a Methodist for a son-in-law.
“Maria tells me our little French tenant has flown the coop. She was in with Chabon all along,” Kruger mentioned when Moncrief was shown in.
“So it seems. Hager is having them followed. He has a lead now suggesting they are headed north, which certainly does not look as though they are going to Boney’s rescue in any case. They are believed to be traveling together, with the housekeeper keeping them company in the early stages.”
“I wonder whether all this assembling of troops will make their escape easier or more difficult.”
“Who knows? If it were not for Eynard’s murder and the physical injury to Hermione and myself, I would not care greatly.”
“Ha, you are magnanimous—with your cousin’s money.”
“There was little money lost. It is hard to cheat an honest man. Anyone attempting to buy stolen goods must know he deals with criminals, and should be prepared to be robbed. I am not here to discuss that business, however.”
“Good, but before we leave it, I have one question for you. I have not figured out why Chabon ever drew me into his little scheme in the first place. There was never any question of turning jewels he did not possess over to Louis of France. What was my part in his plan?”
“You threatened to throw Feydeau out, as I recall, when he told you his story. Places to stay are difficult to find in Vienna. Then too the story convinced you the jewels were here, in the city, and he wanted to keep us all convinced of that.”
“Ah, it is so easy to believe what you want to believe. He was wise to keep us confused, for if we had sat down and thought straight for two minutes, we would have realized how flimsy was the evidence that this great collection was in the city at all. One ruby and one pair of old diamond earrings is what the pair actually possessed.”
“Plus a great deal of imagination and nerve.”
“One cannot but allow them a grudging admiration for that. Have a glass of brandy,” Kruger offered, pouring a healthy dollop into a glass, while he regarded Moncrief in a bemused fashion. The man was not quite so dull as most Englishmen, he decided. “I began work on my lavender jade this afternoon,” he said, in a conversational spirit, as he lifted the stone from his desk. “I have changed my mind again—quite a lady in that respect. I am carving a head for a cane for Hermione. A dragon it will be,” he said, and laughed as if at some private joke. “She will require the use of a cane when she is able to walk.”
“I was very sorry to hear of her accident.”
“A tragedy,” Kruger said, but could not quite hold back the contented smile that would peep out at the corners of his lips. “Every cloud has a golden lining, however. I refer to our engagement.”
Moncrief looked at him and blinked. Observing it, Kruger rushed on with his news. “I have this day had the honor of receiving an acceptance to my long-standing offer to the Countess. It will not be the sort of marriage to appeal to a younger man, but at my age, you know . . ." he said, with a deprecatory toss of his lecherous head.
“Quite,” Moncrief replied blandly. “May I offer congratulations to you? Your news makes my own easier to convey. It never serves to have two ladies in charge of one household. I am come to ask you for Maria’s hand.”
“Indeed! Well, this is a surprise!” Kruger said heartily. “But you English—one never knows what goes on inside your heads. You show less than you feel, and say less than you mean. Different from us in that respect.”
For a civil quarter hour they complimented each other with cordial insincerity, while Moncrief breathed a vast sigh of relief that he could carry the daughter off to England with no fear of a slightly disreputable father joining them, and Kruger quite simply bathed in a glow of finally having his life set in the track of a wealthy, assured future, without the necessity of making love to his ugly wife. He even adopted some notion of total celibacy, in honor of his bride. It was a merry fifteen minutes, despite the two untouched glasses of brandy on the table at the meeting’s end. It was interrupted by Maria’s joining them, to call them to dinner.
Kruger’s chef did him proud, though no one did justice to the feast. As soon as it was over, he said, “I shall run up to Hermione, and let you two—ah, attend to that matter we spoke of, Moncrief.” The luxurious smile that accompanied the words gave his daughter a hint of what had passed, though what form the meeting had taken filled her with apprehension. If Papa had asked Moncrief to marry her, she would refuse for a certainty.
“I wonder what he can be talking about,” Moncrief said, with a little quizzing smile, as he showed Maria into the saloon, where he closed the door behind them.
“I’ve no idea. Should we not be leaving for the theater?”
“We really should begin the four block’s drive at least an hour early,” he agreed, sitting down and lifting his trousers at the knee to prevent creasing them. “We would not want to miss our twenty-ninth chance of seeing Dorothée, Talleyrand’s niece, make a cake of herself on stage. They are regaling us with a
tableau mouvant
and a ballet this evening. Also a comedy called
Old Love Affairs
. Quite a full night. A pity your Papa and the Countess must miss it, with such an appropriate title.”
“I am delighted with the match.”
“Very appropriate. It was not old love affairs I wished to speak of, however,” he said, with a certain meaningful look that sent her into a perfect fit of shyness.
“Oh.” She waited for three seconds that seemed like thirty, then could stand the silence no longer. “How is your arm?” she asked, on a breathless note.
“Demmed annoyed to be out of commission at this time.”