Olivia Altringham leaned forward and squinted.
She had not thought to bring any suitable party clothes from home and was now wearing one of Charlotte's older blue and grey ensembles that brought out the colour of her eyes, but strained somewhat unflatteringly at the hips. It was the best that could be done on such short notice, however.
"Oh, for heaven's sake, Olivia," Charlotte chided. "I'm not asking for a signed attestation. Would you, as a casual observer, be fooled or not?"
Olivia straightened up, but continued to peer in concentration at the sparkling circles of glass that hung from a thick silver chain encircling Charlotte's throat.
"Yes. I think I would be fooled, especially in artificial light. However, my opinion is nothing to be relied upon. I so rarely see diamonds anymore, or any gems for that matter, that you could show me gravel picked from the drive and I'd think it looked genuine."
"And you have only yourself to blame." Charlotte turned towards the large mirror in her dressing room and took in the reflection of herself in her most stylish crimson-on-crimson dress with matching boots and elbow-length glovelets. The fake diamonds glittered not only around her neck, but also from a bracelet on her right wrist.
That had been Preston's idea. He gave credence to her theory that the thief was after a full regalia of diamonds and made the educated guess that, even if he'd already pocketed one, a second bracelet would still be of interest.
Charlotte continued to critically survey her image for a few moments before saying, "Why don't you just move up here to London and skip down to Cloud Hill every fortnight, instead of the other way round? It's a wonder you haven't gone balmy on the crumpet yet, as far away from fun and music as you are."
"Blame the cabbages; they're simply fascinating. Now, I've got it right that I'm to say those are heirlooms from Carlton's great aunt?"
"Precisely. Enthuse unabashedly to simply everybody, and that includes the statues in the vestibule and the hearth irons. You love these diamonds. They're gorgeous. You wish you were the lucky duck whose gentleman friend had been so stupidly generous."
"Which just happens to be completely true. To give me diamonds as a gift would never enter James' mind. More like one of those radio things or a new bicycle with a shiny bell. Although I think I should very much like a radio. The men already have one. Is Carlton in the know?"
Charlotte shot Olivia a warning glance in the mirror. "No. And I hope to Samson that I've apprehended the thief by time it reaches his ears."
Olivia was quiet for a few moments, smoothing her ginger bob in the space of mirror next to Charlotte's image. She'd had her long hair cut off in favour of the new fashion and was still a little unused to her own reflection. "I give him three months. Perhaps two."
"Who? For what?"
"Carlton. Until you kick him to Celia Paggett, all slobbered and chewed on like an old slipper. And right before you dive straight back into the dating market with a splash so loud, holiday makers down in Brighton will look up in surprise. I know you, Charlotte. I give it three months before he's weeping into his beer and moaning your name."
"Perhaps. But to Celia? Never. I don't hate him that much." Charlotte smiled slyly into the mirror.
"Of course not. So you think it's a professional, then?"
Charlotte pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes, then relaxed her features again. "I need more eye kohl, don't you think? As far as the exceptional Inspector Bump and I can deduce, it's either a professional stealing on contract, or it's one of our own set gone rogue."
"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.
Now and again, someone would stop them to engage Charlotte in some banter, but quickly fled under the onslaught of Olivia's mortar-thick enthusiasm for her friend's diamonds. Charlotte had to reign herself in more than once, or she would have bent double with laughter and muffed the entire show.
The night was already turning out to be a riot and it wasn't even eight o'clock yet.
There were two drinks tables, one in the salon and one in the garden. Charlotte chose the one in the garden, where lanterns were hung to provide a lovely soft light for the guests.
"Sylvia! So nice to see you, dear." Charlotte waved to a woman in a yellow and orange ensemble standing half-way inside a bush and peering dispassionately into her glass of punch.
"Oh, hullo Charlotte. I think I've had a few too many of these. They're terribly strong." Sylvia shook her head, her stiff, marcelled hair-do rustling some leaves.
"Are they? Thank you for the warning. Any reason you're standing in a bush?"
"Am I? Oh." Sylvia took a step forward out of the mulch and onto the paving stones. "That is much better, yes. Hullo, I don't think I know you," she said to Olivia. "Sylvia Ricking."
"Olivia Altringham. I'm--"
"Alllltringhaaaam," Sylvia lulled. "I've heard that name before. Where? Where have I heard that name before, Charlotte?"
"Perhaps from me. Olivia has an employment programme for veterans, which--"
"Wait, no!" Sylvia held up a hand. "You're the woman with the sweets shop by Covent Garden! Am I right? Field Badger's, or something."
"Field Rabbit Candies and Cakes, yes."
"I simply adore your cinnamon sticks."
"Thank you." A smile of polite embarrassment froze onto Olivia's face. "I'm fond of them myself."
"There you are, darling. Is this where you've been hiding?" a man's gentle voice cut in. "I've been looking all over for you."
"Yes, I was standing in this bush," Sylvia reached out and slapped a few leaves. "Arthur, meet. . . Mrs Field Rabbit Candies and Cakes of some lane by Covent Garden which I can't remember the name of right off. The one with those gorgeous cinnamon sticks."
"Oh yes. A pleasure to meet you." Arthur nodded towards Olivia, an apology for the state of his wife playing in his eyes. "And always a pleasure to see you again, Miss Wynthorpe."
"Likewise, Mr Ricking." Charlotte said, cheerfully.
"Shall we be going, darling? The night is getting cool."
"Is it? Oh, well. Let's go, then. Good bye, everyone." Sylvia gave a weak wave to the entire garden.
"That's some strong punch," Olivia whispered, as the Rickings made their way inside, Arthur's hand gently guiding Sylvia on the steps.
"Indeed." Charlotte said, watching them go. "Poor Arthur. No wonder they've been leaving early. Looks like Sylvia can't hold her juice anymore. He's probably trying to keep that under wraps."
"Unlike her, I'd imagine." Olivia dipped her head towards a couple strolling along the edge of the garden. "Shall we go inside or face the horror straight on?"
Charlotte turned to see Celia Paggett arm-in-arm with none other than Bramwell Tarkington.
"I'm sure she won't dare come over. And look, she's wearing the same ridiculous artichoke ensemble she was at Harriet's do, how very charming." Charlotte paused, one eyebrow cocked. "Linny was right. She's snagged Bramwell. Or vice versa. Remember? I mentioned to you that he'd come back from the dead."
"That's Bramwell Tarkington?" Olivia surreptitiously observed the couple as she pretended to be admiring the garden lanterns. "Yes, I do think I've seen him before, but I never have been able to put name to face."
"Let's get some punch and mingle further on down the lawn, shall we?"
Bramwell seemed to have the same notion. He abandoned Celia and made a beeline for the drinks table just as Charlotte and Olivia were engaging in conversation with two other women in the queue for refills that Charlotte had introduced as Lucy and Claudia Prett.
"What a lovely necklace you have there, Charlotte," Lucy said, with a smile as sincere as a counterfeit pound note. "Looks fabulous on you!"
"Doesn't it?" Olivia pipped in. "And the bracelet, as well! Gifts from Carlton Wheatley. Old heirloom pieces, my goodness. If only the rest of us should be so lucky!"
While Olivia said her lines, Charlotte's gaze fell on Bramwell, who was casually sipping his punch at the side of the table.
"Hullo Bramwell. Nice to see you again."
"Ah, Charlotte. How are you? And who's this with you?"
The Prett sisters moved off to whisper and giggle, throwing glances at Olivia over their shoulders, as Charlotte made the introductions. At Olivia's name, Bramwell frowned. "Not any relation to Piers Altringham?"
"My father."
"I see. Still in government, is he?"
"Unfortunately, no. He died a few years ago. Spanish Influenza."
"Oh, my condolences. Well, in any case, it was a pleasure to meet you. If you'll excuse me, I need to be getting back." With a nod, he picked up two full punch glasses from the table and made his way across the garden to where Celia was waiting, a sour expression painting her face in stormy tones.
"Well?" said Charlotte, when they were alone again.
"He was eavesdropping." Olivia answered.
"Celia probably sent him over for a little reconnaissance, the jealous thing."
"Behave yourself. Why don't we go inside?"
The rest of the evening was spent chatting, making more introductions, drinking, laughing and wandering through rooms packed with guests. Music was provided by phonographs playing jazz records, but since there was hardly any room to dance, those moved by the music simply jittered from one foot to the other and tapped the edges of their glasses with their fingers.
Olivia was having a marvellous time. "I could get used to this," she whispered. "It's so refreshing not to worry about anything for an evening."
"What have I been telling you for donkey's ages? You've got to get out and have some amusement once in a while. James may be wonderful, but he's only one man. And a woman needs more than that. You need more than that," Charlotte said in a kind, but reproachful tone.
Before Olivia could reply Linny Parson-Smythe appeared out of the crowd and tugged sharply on Charlotte's arm.
"Charlotte! You must come quickly!"
"What is it, Linny?" Charlotte moved her drink out of harm's way, attempting to detach herself from Linny's grip.
"You must come quickly!" Linny hissed, looking around to make sure no one could hear her. "There's been another! You know, another. "
Olivia was quicker on the uptake, and grabbed Charlotte's other arm. "Lead the way!"
Linny manoeuvred a path through the crowd, up a side stairwell, down a corridor and into a bedroom, where they found Lydia Reynolds sobbing onto her husband's chest. A maid was laying on the floor, another maid knelling over her and pressing a wet cloth with spots of blood seeping through it onto the prone woman's forehead.
Charlotte looked to the window.
It was open, the curtains drawn back. The room itself was in chaos. Drawers had been pulled out of dressers and the contents strewn across the rugs.
"Let me guess, Lydia," Charlotte said. "Your diamonds are gone."