Charlotte Wynthorpe and the Case of the Disappearing Diamonds

10. Not Again

"On contract? Maybe just a slightly heavier line." Olivia handed Charlotte a kohl pencil from the vanity table. 

"We're of the opinion -- that would be Bump and myself -- that he's collecting diamond heirlooms, for whatever twisted psychological reason. That's why this," she pointed the pencil at her necklace before putting it back up to her eye to thicken the line she'd drawn, "is some hideous old thing from Carlton's great aunt. Everyone knows how much of a toss I give about my own family. They'd never believe I'd inherit as much as a farthing from those evil ancients over in Buckinghamshire. That's why it has to be Carlton."

"Does he even have a great aunt?"

"No idea. But judging by his mother's taste, I can just imagine what horrors lurk in the depths of  jewellery cases in that family. She, in all seriousness, still wears carved jet brooches, Olivia! Imagine, little black foxes and hounds running across her left breast. It was all I could do not to drop my tea cup. When were those fashionable? The 1880s?"

Olivia shook her head and adjusted her glovelets. "How's The Corpse in the Kitchen  turning out?"

"Bump is simply exquisite. He's already ruled out the firewood delivery man and the kitchen boy. I only wish he wouldn't leave ink all over my fingers. I'm of half a mind to have Preston iron the pages before I read them, but I fear they would fall to cinders, and then where would I be?" 

"Down an inspector, obviously. Would you mind if I take a few of your other novels home with me? Only when you're finished with them, of course. You know how much Brooks enjoys a good mystery and there's not much of a selection down our way."

"By all means, and you can tell dear Brooks I'm beginning to see why he's as keen on them as he is. Society gossip may be amusing, but sleuthing! That's really something to sink your teeth into." Charlotte said, a impish gleam dancing in her eyes. "Ready?"

An hour later, Charlotte and Olivia had dispensed with their wraps in the large, wood-panelled foyer of Martin and Lydia Reynolds' home in Knightsbridge, and entered a crowded salon when they were hullo-ed by a breathless, pink-cheeked Linny Parson-Smythe. 

"Charlotte! I was just wondering if you'd turn up." It took Linny no more than a few moments to notice the diamonds. "I say, isn't that a lot of sparkles you've got there! Don't believe I've seen those before. But oh!  You aren't worried about . . . you know." Linny looked around and over her shoulder, before whispering,  "What we were talking about the other day? At the bar? The, you know."

Charlotte leaned closer and  whispered, "Can I trust you with a secret? I abhor this ghastly thing.  Really. Don't tell anyone. I'm wearing it only to make Carlton's family happy. I don't care in the  least if it gets taken." She gave Linny a wink. 

Linny's eyes widened and she shook her head, her brown curls bouncing like springs. "I won't tell a soul," she whispered, and promptly disappeared into the crowd.

"Well, that's half the party informed," said Olivia. "How do you suggest we go about informing the other half?" 

"Drinks table. Follow me."

They wove their way through the crowd of women in slim, form-fitting dresses that shone in all the colours of the rainbow and men in suits or sporty casuals. Charlotte seemed to know everyone and everyone Charlotte. 

Mabel and Stanley Finch-Reeder. Harold Munnington. Deidre Horning. The Lanning Twins. Harriet and Baxter Clarke. Kingsley and Victoria Thorne-Saddler. Timothy Mercer. Anna Blackwell-Stanthorpe. Even Anne and Rutland Frampton-Sacking said their hellos. Charlotte whispered explanations of who was who and how everyone was related to everyone else into Olivia's waiting ear.