“I . . .” It was a rare day that words failed me, but they failed me now.
“There you are, Papa.” Cynthia charged into the room. “I have been trying to run you down all evening, but I didn’t want to say anything in front of Mummy.”
Lord Clifford beheld his daughter, whose fetching pink tea gown fluttered around her like rose petals, in some alarm. “Say anything about what?”
“I told Lady Cynthia about the necklace,” I said quickly. Lord Clifford had not yet reached the conclusion that while he’d seen me, I’d seen him.
His face lost color, his cheeky expression gone. “Now, Cynthia. Darling . . .”
“You promised, Papa,” Cynthia said severely. “There was to be no more of that.”
Lord Clifford folded his arms tightly across his chest. “For God’s sake, Cynthia, don’t tell your mother.”
“That rather depends on what you tell me. Why did you trot it out? Strapped for cash, are you? You told me you had plenty of funds.”
“Well, I do not,” Lord Clifford snapped. “Keeping up an estate is a devilish thing, which you’d understand if you ever stopped at home. The outbuildings are ever in need of repair, the bloody roof leaks, and I don’t want to talk about the state of the drains. The Duke of Daventry has more money than the Queen of Sheba, and now that the government is looking at him askance, I’d be doing the country a favor relieving him of some of his wealth. Less for him to send to nuisance-makers in Ireland.”
His words relieved me a bit. At least Lord Clifford had no intention of assisting the duke in his nefarious activities.
“Who are you working with?” Cynthia demanded.
Lord Clifford flushed. “Pardon?”
“The necklace scheme takes two. Who is your partner this time? Don’t let it be a beautiful woman again and break Mummy’s heart.”
“No, no, nothing of the sort. Besides, I’d never look twice at another woman—you know that. I love your mother without reservation.”
“Then who?” Cynthia persisted.
“You need not worry. He’s harmless, probably doesn’t even understand what I’m up to. He’s highly respectable. A parson, dog collar and all.”
“Oh.” My syllable cut through whatever Cynthia had drawn breath to say. “Your lordship, did you by chance meet this parson recently?”
Lord Clifford blinked at me. “As a matter of fact, I did. Here in London.” He slanted Cynthia a guilty glance. “I nipped out of the theatre when I was there with your mother the other night to take some air. He was wandering about the portico, as weary of the horrible play as I was. We began chatting.”
“Tell me,” I continued in growing disquiet, “is his name Mr. Fielding?”
Lord Clifford’s mouth dropped open. “Jove. How did you know?”
I shook my head, my dismay complete. “You might be the one who’s been had, your lordship. I do hope the necklace doesn’t make its way into his pocket.”
“What does she mean?” Lord Clifford asked Cynthia. To me he said, “The necklace the duke has is worthless, my dear. I have a dozen of the things.”
“You were trying to sell the Duke of Daventry false diamonds?” I asked in alarm. “He’ll have the law on you.”
Cynthia was shaking her head. “It’s not so simple, Mrs. H.”
Lord Clifford looked rueful. “What I showed him was the real thing, a family heirloom, as I told him. Then after he pocketed the necklace, I took it back, substituting one of paste. I certainly wasn’t going to leave my wife’s favorite necklace with him in truth.”
I recalled how Lord Clifford had clapped the duke forcefully on the shoulder, which now I realized had been to distract him while he’d done what my old pals had called a “dip.”
Cynthia heaved a sigh. “Let me explain, Mrs. H. You see, my father finds a man—or woman, he’s not particular—who wants money, lots of it. Papa trots up to him, usually at a large do, like the Duke of Daventry’s garden party today, and says either that his wife is worried about losing her necklace, or that he’s bought it for her as a surprise and worries about losing it himself. Would the duke hold on to it for him? Perhaps somewhere secure in his very secure home?”
I nodded as she seemed to want a response, but I wasn’t certain how this would make Lord Clifford or the duke any money.
“Exit Papa. Enter the friend—Papa’s friend, that is. He or she will purport to be a total stranger to Papa. He—in this case, Mr. Fielding—notices the necklace in the duke’s pocket or perhaps says he saw Papa handing it to him. Mr. Fielding asks to see it. He’s a trustworthy cleric, so the duke finds no harm in it. Mr. Fielding examines it, exclaims that it’s a masterpiece, and very costly. Would the duke sell it to him? Or perhaps to a wealthy friend or relative of Mr. Fielding’s, as vicars can be notoriously poor. Duke says, Sorry, old chap, it’s not mine. Holding on to it for a friend. Mr. Fielding says his relative or rich friend would pay several thousand guineas for it. He then hands the duke his card, saying if the duke changes his mind or convinces the owner to sell, then write or wire. Mr. Fielding toddles away. Then Papa turns up again. He’s sorrowful, with some story about debts, and if only he could sell the necklace, he could cover them. Would the duke be interested?”
“Oh,” I said. “I am beginning to understand.”
Lord Clifford broke in. “Yes, it’s all up to the duke, don’t you see? If he’s an honest man, he’ll offer me the several thousand guineas Mr. Fielding did, knowing that’s what the necklace is worth. But if he’s a scoundrel, which I suspect the duke is, he’ll say he feels sorry for me and will offer me a fraction of that, perhaps a few hundred quid. He can easily part with that much. Then when I’m gone, he writes to Mr. Fielding, says he now owns the necklace, and he’ll sell, thinking to himself he’ll reap several thousand guineas without having done a day’s work.” Lord Clifford shook his head, disparaging of the duke’s chicanery.
“Then Mr. Fielding never answers,” I said slowly. “The duke is out a few hundred pounds and is the proud owner of a paste necklace.”
“She’s got it,” Lord Clifford said approvingly to Cynthia. “A clever young lady, as I suspected.”
Cynthia scowled at him. “And if Daventry decides to seek you out and demand to know what the devil you meant by it?”
“Why should he?” Lord Clifford opened his hazel eyes wide. “I’ve done nothing wrong. He’s the greedy toad who tried to cheat me out of several thousand guineas. If he discovers the necklace he has now is fake and upbraids me about it, I can claim I had no idea. A very good copy is worth a bit anyway, so he’d have paid a fair price. Mr. Fielding has done nothing wrong either. He never promised to buy the thing, only asked the duke to write him.”