Charlotte Wynthorpe and the Case of the Disappearing Diamonds

12. Sorry, George

"James, really," Olivia said, not knowing where to look. 

Charlotte was once again impressed by the insightfulness of Olivia's long-term gentleman friend.  

"To be completely honest, I had been fearing just that. Especially since all of this bother with Carlton. Both of us are over thirty now, unmarried, and without children to 'occupy  us'. It may sound terribly selfish, and it probably is, but I'm bloody glad to have such a good chum who isn't constantly presenting her drooling, gurgling offspring to me to praise while nattering on about how blissful marriage is. Of all the stomach-turning notions."  

James gave a loud laugh. "I believe Olivia feels the same way. Although I doubt she'd ever admit it. She's not what anyone would call typical, but don't tell her I said that." 

"Are you finished gossiping about me?" 

"Not quite," James said, with a wink. "I'm good boyfriend material, but I can't say what figure I'd cut as a husband, so I'm not even contemplating a ring. Even if I am contemplating a stack of years more with this one." 

Olivia shook her head, but the corners of her mouth twitched in amusement. "Watch yourself, Davis. I could throw you out next week." 

Charlotte couldn't help but smile. They were perfect together and the affection they felt for each other was plainly written all over them. 

"Well, I'm glad to hear it. Shall we get to it? We've only got a few more hours before the first guests start arriving." 

By eight, the ground floor of Charlotte's home was carpeted in guests, lively dance music blared from the phonograph and the champagne and gin flowed copiously. 

Charlotte had chosen her black-beaded dress with matching headpiece that seemed to jiggle on its own, and she was wearing her real diamond necklace and bracelets, upon Preston's most urgent advice. He felt they were safer on her body than anywhere else in the house. With the possible exception of hidden under his own mattress.  

Charlotte swam though the crowd that had begun to swell early, kissing cheeks and exchanging news and gossip. She'd invited everyone who had been at both Anne and Lydia's bashes --with the exception of Bloomers Cunningham and Bramwell Tarkington. She didn't want to risk the latter showing up with Celia in tow, as much as she doubted the hippopotamus would deign to come, and the former was a headache best avoided. 

Ditto for Carlton. 

He'd certainly be sore when he found out that she'd thrown a party without him, but she'd not let it ruffle her. Olivia was most likely correct. She was growing bored of him and was already drifting away to new shores. She hadn't spoken to him since Phillipa's party the previous week and he'd not rung either. 

At ten-thirty Charlotte gave the signal to Olivia, and left the party to go upstairs. Mr Morris, in the cutaway they'd organised for him, the sleeve of one arm pinned up, stood guard by the coat racks out in the hallway. His full attention seemed to be focused on the party -- he was even swaying a little in time to the music -- but he gave her a conspiratorial shake of his head as she passed and whispered, "nothing to report". 

As she jogged up the stairs, Charlotte's stomach turned back-flips. Would the thief appear, or would they be sitting in the dark for hours feeling like fools as everyone else enjoyed themselves downstairs? It was possible that she would have to spend several parties in the same fashion, all the while wringing her hands and chewing her lower lip raw right along with Preston and the others. 

These possibilities hadn't tortured Inspector Bump as he'd waited in the dark for Farmer Jenkins. He'd merely held his pocket watch in one hand and enjoyed the silvery strands of moonlight as they wandered across the floor. He'd also been damnably calm when unmasking the poisoning butler to the assembled family and staff of Warburton House in The Corpse in the Kitchen. But then, he'd been sure of himself and the culprit, whereas she still had no clue who she was waiting to unmask.