Charlotte Wynthorpe and the Case of the Disappearing Diamonds

1. Don't Be Ridiculous

"Sorry, I'm afraid I'm not following," Olivia Altringham said, lowering her spoon. "Are you sure it really was Celia Paggett?

"Of course, I am. I am never mistaken when it comes to anything regarding Celia Paggett, that hippopotamus," Charlotte replied, raising an eyebrow at her oldest and dearest friend seated across from her.

It was Tuesday afternoon and Olivia was visiting for lunch on one of her twice monthly business trips to London. The day was sunny, and the curtains in the dining room of Charlotte's house in Belgravia were drawn back to allow light to play on the thick carpets and colourful paintings decorating the walls. 

"She was wearing one of Madam D'Aube's creations, by the by," Charlotte continued. "Light green with purple and gold highlights. Green headband with the feather drooping unflatteringly to the side. Truth be told, even a D'Aube couldn't make Celia appear elegant. More like a washed-out artichoke on stilts. Frightful. But I digress."

"Hardly," said Olivia. "You know how much vegetables interest me. Do go on."

A smile blossomed on Charlotte's pretty face, which resembled the satisfied, if enigmatic, countenance of a sphinx. A laugh tinkled in her throat.

Olivia made such a wonderful counterbalance to the other women of her set in London who were -- Charlotte might admit if it were late at night and the curtains drawn --  sometimes a little bit too much like herself for comfort. 

"And here I thought your heart belonged exclusively to cabbages," Charlotte teased. "Aren't artichokes a little out of your sphere?"

Olivia had spent much of the Great War learning the best way to grow vegetables in her repurposed flowerbeds in order to feed the wounded soldiers convalescing on her country estate. She'd passed her learning on to Charlotte in a series of excited, but unforgivably dull, letters, all of which had been repurposed as fuel for Charlotte's fireplace. She still teased Olivia about those letters even now, four years after the war had ended.

Boredom was a deadly disease and Charlotte wasn't about to catch it. God forbid.  

"I'm always prepared to expand my horticultural knowledge," Olivia said as she raised her spoon again. "Did The Talking Artichoke perform any tricks of note, or has the event been logged as a mere botanical observation?"

Charlotte held up a hand. "Don't mention talking vegetables! I've been having this reoccurring...never mind. The Paggett creature was attempting to corner Carlton and dribble nonsense all over his waistcoat. And the oaf was letting her."

"She's not still harbouring hopes, is she? What did Carlton say?" 

"What do you think he said? That they were merely exchanging pleasantries, nothing more. Long time, no drivel. Preston, if you would."

"Yes, ma'am." Preston, the butler, who had been waiting in the corner for his cue, removed the soup bowls and replaced them with the main course: steak and kidney pie smothered in thick brown gravy.

Olivia picked up her knife and fork. "Smells delicious. Thank you, Preston." 

"Yes, thank you, Preston," Charlotte said, and fixed her full attention on her lunch as if it were a thrilling new piece of fashion to be admired.  The butler nodded and disappeared out the side door with the bowls.

After a few bites, Charlotte continued her train of thought. "Quite honestly, I've more got the hump with Harriet Beauchamp. Inviting Celia, Carlton and myself to the same event does show a disturbing tendency towards drama, if you want to hear my honest opinion. And Harriet is otherwise quite a sensible woman." 

"She had probably forgot. It has been a while since you and Celia were in each other's hair."

"Oh, you are a chum, Olivia, but I'm sure she hasn't forgotten. Memories are long in London society. I'll bet you a shilling and two stale scones she was paying me back for not inviting her to my last garden party. I'm sorry, but I simply cannot accommodate more than thirty-five guests if there is to be dancing. No, I'm sure she was crouched behind the bushes licking her chops that we'd throw our drinks in each other's faces."