The Mystery of the Stolen Dowry (A Jules Poiret Mystery Book 35) Read online

  I had several questions, but did not wish to interrupt him. It was at that moment that Poiret was announced and entered the room. He was not at all pleased to see me talking to our host, but only said, “A thousand apologies for the intrusion, Monsieur, but please to continue,” and sat down.

  “The thief placed a ladder against one of the upper windows, opened it, and came in. He must have been perfectly familiar with the architecture of the house, because there is evidence that he went immediately to the boudoir of my niece, where the jewel case had been carelessly left on the dressing table. I tell you, Haven, these young folks take care of nothing, these days. It was in a box, and the box was locked, but, of course, that made no difference. The thief forced the lid off, breaking the lock, took the collar, and escaped by the same way he had entered the place.”

  “Monsieur,” said Poiret, “did he leave the window open, and the ladder in the place?”

  “Yes.”

  “That, it is extraordinary, n’est-ce pas?”

  “Why? The man is a habitual bungler!”

  “You speak of Monsieur Ficks?”

  “Yes, of course. Theodosius, not his elder brother George, who is a gentleman amongst men. No, the younger Ficks took no precautions against discovery that might have been expected from one of the craft. Indeed, the man’s carelessness in going straight across the grounds to his brother’s house, and leaving footsteps in the rain soaked earth, easily traceable almost to the boundary fence, shows he is incapable of any intelligent thought.”

  “Is Monsieur Theodosius Ficks rich?”

  “I say, Poiret, Miss Skegby, told us he was not very wealthy.”

  The old man frowned. “Have you met my niece,” he asked coldly.

  Poiret gave me a disapproving look, but said quite pleasantly, “Oui, Monsieur, a charming young woman of great beauty and intelligence.”

  “Well, to answer your question. He hasn’t a penny, unlike his brother.”

  “And did you attend the dinner party that night, Monsieur?”

  “Yes,” sighed the lord, “for the hundredth time. I attended the party. I had promised to do so.”

  “And Monsieur Theodosius Ficks, he was there, too?”

  “Yes! But, wait, he appeared late. He should have been present earlier, and his brother was seriously annoyed by his absence. And when he did finally arrive, he acted in a wild manner, giving the guests the impression that he had been drinking. Both myself and my niece were quite disgusted with his actions, and we were not the only ones, I must say.”

  “Monsieur, do you think your niece, she suspects him?” Poiret was asking Mr. Birstall the question, but his eyes stared at me. I hesitated for a moment, Miss Skegby had already answered this question, to reply. I was too late.

  “She certainly did not at first,” said the lord, opening a bottle of sherry and pouring himself a glass. “She was quite against the whole idea, when I told her that her stolen jewels were undoubtedly in Ficks Hall, though not round her neck, but I think her opinion has changed.”

  “Monsieur, please to go back for a moment,” said Poiret, giving me an annoyed look as the old miser put the cap back on the sherry bottle without offering either him or me a drink. “Did any of your servants see him prowling about the house?”

  “They all say they didn’t see him that evening, but I can tell you that I myself saw him. It was just before sunset. He was coming across the lawn towards the house, and next morning we found the same footprints both coming and going. It seems to me that the evidence is rather clear.”

  “I say! That seems clear as day. What more evidence are the authorities waiting for?” I asked.

  “They are waiting for him to attempt to dispose of the diamonds.”

  “Do you think he has not done so up to date, perhaps?”

  “I think he will never do so, Mr. Poiret.”

  “Never? But then why did he steal them?” I asked incredulously.

  “To prevent the marriage of my niece with Mr. Sean Darcy, of Andover. They are to be married early next year, don’t you know?”

  “Monsieur, it is not clear to Poiret, why the theft of the jewels should interfere with the wedding of Monsieur Darcy and Mademoiselle Caroline.”

  “Mr. Sean Darcy is a most eligible young man, who, however, does not live here, up North. He’s connected with the porcelain industry, and is a person of great wealth, with a large estate just north of London and a mansion near Regent’s Park. He’s a very strict and honest business man, a little, twenty years older than she is, and both my niece and myself agree that he’s a suitable match for her. I myself am also rather strict in matters of business, and I must say that Mr. Darcy showed a very generous spirit in our negotiations of the contract. You see, when Caroline’s father absconded he had run through all the money my sister possessed. Although a man of high rank, his income was mainly my sister’s share of the estate our parents left us. The Birstall Diamonds descend down the female line and, therefore, went from my sister to my niece. My poor sister had seen reason before death mercifully released her from the titled scamp she had married, and she very wisely placed the diamonds in my custody to be held in trust for her daughter. They are all my niece owns in the world, and could be sold, if auctioned in London today, for probably seventy thousand Pounds, although they are worth less. Mr. Darcy very amiably consented to accept my niece with a dowry of forty thousand Pounds, and I’ve offered to advance this sum, if I was allowed to hold the jewels as security. This was agreed to by Mr. Darcy and myself.”

  “But surely Mr. Darcy does not refuse to marry Miss Skegby, because the jewels have been stolen?” I asked, surprised.

  “He does. And why should he not?” came the cool answer.

  “I say! That’s not done! But surely you’ve offered to advance the forty thousand Pounds?” I said.

  “Sir,” he said angrily, “you forget yourself!”

  “A thousand apologies, Monsieur,” answered Poiret, standing up and bowing. “My associate, he is, how do you say, cut of the new cloth.”

  “I warn you, Mr. Poiret, no more of this.”

  “Monsieur, you have the word of Poiret,” said my friend, bowing again. He sat down and glanced at me. “Haven, the marriage between Monsieur Darcy and Mademoiselle Skegby, it will naturally be completed at the agreed upon time next year, after Monsieur Birstall has paid the forty thousand Pounds.”

  “No, it will not,” said the lord.

  “Pourquoi, Monsieur?

  “Because I’m a serious man and I refuse to be used like a pawn. Why should I?”

  “Well, it seems to me,” said I, with a slight laugh, “that young Master Ficks has very definitely checkmated both of you.”

  “He has, until I have laid him by the heels, and I’m determined to do just so, even though he is the brother of George Ficks.”

  “Monsieur, Poiret, he knows how busy you must be, but please to answer one more question. Do you wish for the return of the diamonds or to see the young man put in the prison?”

  “Of course I would prefer both.”

  “Merci, Monsieur,” said Poiret.

  The conversation with Lord Birstall had detained us in the study till after eleven, and then, as it was a clear, crisp winter morning, Poiret decided to stroll through the gardens into the park. We walked along the well-kept private road and silently thought about our course of action.

  “I say, Poiret! It would be of rather tremendous aid if Miss Caroline told us the secret, which she promised to impart to us yesterday.”

  “Mon ami, Poiret, he sees the solution not with the young woman but with the young man. We must find and directly talk to the young man.”

  “Do you suspect him, too?” I asked.

  “Poiret, he has no other option at the moment. We must convince him of the danger in which he is, and, if possible, persuade him to hand the necklace to Poiret.”

  As we walked under the leafless trees, we suddenly heard Poiret’s name called impulsively two
or three times, and turning round saw Miss Caroline running toward us. Her cheeks were bright red, and her eyes sparkled more dazzlingly than any diamond that ever tempted man to wickedness.

  “Oh, Mr. Poiret,” she cried, “I have been waiting for you. Have you seen my uncle?”

  “Mademoiselle,” said Poiret, flustered, tipping his hat with his gloved hand. “I have been with him since one hour.”

  “Well? Has he told you about Mr. Darcy?”

  “Oui, Mademoiselle.”

  “Please, Mr. Poiret, please tell me now you understand how important it is that I should have my diamonds back?”

  “Oui, Mademoiselle,” he said wistfully, “the house near the park and the great estate in the country.”

  She clapped her hands with glee, feet dancing a sort of skip-hop, skip-hop, sideways, as if she were a little girl instead of a young woman, who was about to be married, as she trotted along happily beside the little man with his big moustache, his exquisite clothes and scent, which reminded me of flowers on a warm spring day and my more stately step.

  “And that’s not all,” she cried. “Think of all the money I can spend! Oh, Mr. Poiret, you know Paris, and yet you do not seem to comprehend what it means to have lots of money!”

  “Mademoiselle, Poiret, he has seen Paris, and also the dark side, when he was the police officer. Please to remember that you may not get all the money you wish to spend after all, it is said and done.”

  “What!” she cried, stopping short, a little wrinkle appearing on her brow. “Do you think you won’t get the diamonds back for me then?”

  “Mademoiselle,” Poiret took her hand in his, and said, “Poiret, he pledges you his word.” He kissed her hand. “But there is something that confuses Poiret.”

  “Please tell me, Mr. Poiret, what is it?”

  “If Monsieur Sean Darcy before marriage, he calls the halt to the marriage, until your uncle, he places the forty thousand Pounds on the table, Poiret, he cannot be optimistic about your chances of obtaining the money to spend freely afterwards.”

  All her cheerfulness instantaneously returned.

  “Pooh!” she cried, dancing round in front of us, and standing there directly in our path, so that we were forced to halt. “Pooh!” she repeated, snapping her fingers, with an inimitable gesture of that lovely hand, and a toss of the small head on the long neck to the side. “Mr. Poiret, I’m disappointed in you. You’re not nearly as smart as the newspapers said you were. Also, dear sir, it’s very uncomplimentary of you to say that once I’m married to Mr. Darcy I shall not be able to get from him all the money I want.”

  Poiret glanced at her, and could not forbear smiling. He grabbed her hand and kissed it again.

  “Ah, Mademoiselle Caroline, how much despair you would have scattered in the royal court of Louis Quatorze!”

  “Ah, Mr. Poiret,” she cried, mimicking his voice, and imitating his manner with a precision that amazed me, “you are once more my dear little Poiret of last night. I dreamed of you, I assure you I did, and now to find you in the morning, oh, so changed!”

  She clasped her little hands and inclined her head a little to the side as I had seen Poiret, and the canaries he kept in London, do a thousand times, then she broke out in a mocking ripple of laughter.

  I thought to myself, “Where has this creature of the dull English countryside learnt all such frou-frou of gesture and tone, which one would normally only find in a West End theatre?”

  She grabbed Poiret’s arm, and said animatedly, “Do you know where you’re going, Mr. Poiret? You’re going to church with me. Oh, do not look surprised, not to a service. I’m decorating the church with holly, and you shall help me.”

  The small road, which up to this time had passed through farm fields and woods, now reached a small, stone church, built centuries before any of the mansions we had seen along the road. Beyond it were gray stone ruins, which Miss Caroline pointed out to us as remnants of the original Birstall Castle that had been built in the reign of the Tudors. The church used to form the private chapel to the castle, and, though not longer used, had been kept in repair by the lords of the manor.

  “Beautiful, is it not?” she asked rather seriously. “On weekdays this is the most undisturbed spot on the estate, and I regret to say that my uncle does not trouble it even on Sundays. I fear our family has grown quite degenerate, Mr. Poiret, for it must have doubtlessly been a deeply religious ancestor of mine, who built this church.”

  “It is beautiful, Mademoiselle,” said Poiret, when she stopped talking.

  “And to think that when the masons cemented those stones together, the women then and I, though three hundred years divide us, are in so many ways contemporaries. Oh, Mr. Poiret,” she suddenly cried out, “what’s the use of worrying about diamonds? As I look at this beautiful old church, even the mansion overlooking Regent’s Park appears as naught,” and to my amazement, the eyes Miss Caroline turned towards Poiret were wet.

  The front door was unlocked, and we walked into the church in silence. Holly and ivy were twined around the pillars. Great armfuls of the plants had been flung along the wall in two neat heaps. A small ladder stood in the aisle, showing that the decoration of the chapel had not yet been completed. A subdued melancholy had settled down on our erstwhile cheerful companion. It was doubtlessly caused by the solemnity of the place, around whose walls in brass and marble were written memorials of her forebears.

  “You promised,” I said, to break the silence, “to tell us how you came to suspect Mr. Ficks.”

  Poiret gave me a glance, but his gaze held no clue as to how he felt at that moment.

  “Not here, not here,” she whispered, then rising from the pew in which she had seated herself, she said, “Let us go, I’m in no mood for working this morning. I shall finish the decoration in the afternoon.”

  We came out into the cool winter sun again, and as we turned towards the mansion, her spirits immediately began to rise.

  “You see?” she said, breathing in deeply. “The open air is much better for me. Here I can think and breathe freely.” After walking for a minute in silence she continued, “I’m sure Mr. Ficks is innocent, although I’m just as convinced that he knows where my diamonds are.”

  “How do you know that? What investigations have you undertaken?” I asked rather clumsily, repeating the words Poiret would normally utter, if I made a statement like hers.

  Poiret, however, did not look round at me. Leaning heavily on his cane, he walked on looking rather sad, with his eyes turned towards the house in the far distance.

  “I’ve received a letter from him, in which he makes a proposal so extraordinary that I’m disinclined to accede to it, even though he says it will lead to the discovery of my necklace.”

  “He sent you this letter? I say!”

  “However, I’m willing to take the chance, if I receive the support of my friend Mr. Poiret.”

  “Mademoiselle,” said Poiret, “your wisdom, it is beyond your years. Poiret,” he continued with a bow, “is at your command. Please to begin by telling to Poiret the contents of the letter.”

  “Read it,” she replied, taking the folded sheet from her pocket, and handing it to him. Poiret took a look at it and gave it to me.

  She had been quite right in characterizing the message as extraordinary. Master Theodosius Ficks had the nerve to propose that she should go through a pagan form of marriage with him in the old church we had just left. If she did that, he wrote, it would console him for the endless love he felt for her and for the eternal unhappiness her marriage would cause him. She was free to bring whom she pleased to perform it. It would not be legal, as it would not take place between the hours of eight in the morning, and three in the afternoon and not be officiated by a real vicar. If she consented to this, the diamonds would be hers once more.

  “Mon Dieu!” cried Poiret, as I finished reading the letter. “This is the proposal of the madman.”

  “Well,” she replied, with a n
onchalant shrug of her shoulders, “if this make-believe were to console him for the rest of his life, why should I not indulge him in it?”

  “Mademoiselle Caroline, surely you would never even entertain the thought of desecrating the lovely old chapel with the mock wedding ceremony?” He looked at her, frowning. She remained silent. “Non, Mademoiselle, Poiret, he forbids it a hundred times!”

  Once more her eyes were twinkling with joy.

  “But Master Theodosius Ficks, as I have told you, is not in his senses.”

  “Then why should you indulge him?” I said, agreeing with Poiret, that the idea was wholly preposterous.

  “Why? Because of the diamonds, you silly man,” she said, laughing. “Oh, Mr. Poiret,” she cried pleadingly, clasping her hands, “will you not act for us the part of clergyman? I’m sure with a face as serious as yours, the robes of a priest would become you.”

  “Mademoiselle, Poiret, he should not dare to counterfeit the sacred office of the priest.”

  She turned away from him with a pretty pout.

  “Mr. Poiret, you said you were at my command. You lied!”

  “But nevertheless, you seem to place the great confidence in the belief that Monsieur Ficks, he will produce the diamonds.”

  “Sir,” she said solemnly, “although you refuse to comply with my first request, you will surely not reject my second. Please escort me to the church.”

  For a moment Poiret said nothing, but then his face lit up and he said, “D’accord, Mademoiselle, Poiret he will be here at the quarter past seven in the morning.”

  She seized both his hands, like a little girl overjoyed at a promised excursion to the zoo.

  “Oh, Mr. Poiret, you are a darling!” she said. “I feel as if I’d known you all my life, like a father. You will never regret having aided me,” then added a moment later, “if we get the diamonds.”

  “Ah,” said Poiret, “mais oui, if we get the diamonds.”

  We were now within sight of the house, and she pointed out the place we were to meet the following day, and with that she bade us goodbye.

  It was after seven o’clock next morning when Poiret and I reached the meeting-place. Miss Caroline was somewhat long in coming. When she finally arrived her face was glowing with delight at the prank she was about to play.