Page 60 of A Secret Correspondence
It was instantly apparent the letter was long. This was not a one-sentence clue. Given the haste and slant of the words, the writer had been angry when he had penned these words.
A dark smear the width of a thumb ran long the top of the sheet. She touched it, and her finger came away dirty. Rubbing her fingers together, it spread like dirt. She wiped the pads of her fingers on the edge of the paper to clear them and began to read.
I would like to believe you did not set out to trap me, for you were not home when I came by the other night. But upon finding a gentleman in your home, I could do nothing but defend myself, as I am certain you understand.
Marguerite grew cold. The tone of the letter was conversational in a way that implied she knew this person well, that shewouldagreewith their sentiments. She imagined Armand seated at a table, penning these words, and her stomach grew ill.
If I cannot trust you, we cannot trade. I would like this to be easy, Marie-Louise. You want your mother’s belongings. I want her diamonds. Give me what I want, and you can have the gowns and ribbons and things which are in her trunk. If you alert anyone else, we cannot trade. I will happily burn this trunk to ash. It will be easy. I have already done so with one item. Do you recall the yellow day gown your mother often wore at home? There were pink ribbons along the back and lace at the neckline. I’ve tossed it in the fire and provided proof of such at the top of the paper.
A small gasp left Marguerite’s throat. She recalled the gown easily. Her mother looked radiant in that yellow gown. Like sunshine, she had always thought.
Do you want to continue our trade? Or shall I come and take what I deserve? I will know soon. If you continue to include other people, I will understand which choice you have made. But if you would like the contents of your trunk to remain intact, gather the diamonds and prepare to meet me at the Locksley churchyard on Friday. You will locate the grave for Thomas Kingston near the talloak tree. Leave the diamonds wrapped in a cloth within his hands.
If they are not there by Friday at four o’clock, the trunk will burn, and I will come for them myself.
Marguerite lowered the paper and shut her eyes, breathing deeply through her nose. What was she going to do?
Chapter Twenty-One
“Paste diamonds!” Ruth said, looking between Oliver, Samuel, and Marguerite. The four of them were speaking in the corner of Samuel’s drawing room on the evening of the musicale. Ruth had dragged them aside, practically brimming with eager anticipation to share the idea which had dawned upon her in the middle of the night. “Why have we not already hired someone to make paste diamonds for us?”
Samuel looked at her skeptically, wishing it was as easy as that. “Do you know someone with this skill?”
“No.” Her eyes flicked between him and Oliver. “I assumed one of you did.”
They shared a look.
“I’m afraid we have never before dealt in fraudulent activity, darling,” Oliver said.
She scowled at him. “Of course not. But that doesn’t preclude you from knowing someone with the skill.”
Marguerite had been looking pale since she stepped through the door, but at this, she seemed to lose all remaining color. She shook her head. “Unfortunately, there is no time for such athing. It is a good idea, Ruth. It’s a shame it did not come to you earlier. We could have made use of it.”
“Not unless you know someone who deals with such things,” Samuel quipped.
Marguerite glanced at him briefly before looking away. “I’m certain it would not be difficult to find. Surely we could locate a jeweler who knows a man who could help us.”
Samuel frowned. She had been doing that all evening. It almost felt as though Marguerite would not look him in the eye, and when she would, it was not for long. Had he done something to offend her? Perhaps she could not bear to see his bruises. He believed the dark circle rimming his eye and climbing his cheekbone were roguish. The gash along his cheekbone was small and added to his swagger. He did not find the look appealing, of course, but he did not believe it was so ghastly that it needed to be avoided.
Marguerite, evidently, did not agree.
“You believe paste diamonds cannot be made swiftly, then?” Ruth asked, wrinkling her nose.
Marguerite smiled kindly. “I do not think a shape like this with such particular detail can be recreated easily. I am not familiar with the process, of course, but I imagine a mould would need to be made, and it is likely a lengthy process.”
“I would have to agree,” Oliver said. He took his wife’s hand. “I like your idea, darling, but not your insinuation that Samuel and I run with rougher crowds. When do you propose we rub shoulders with men of that ilk?”
“Particularly when you hardly leave one another’s sides,” Samuel said, swirling his finger toward Ruth and Oliver in a gesture that linked them together.
“I am not privy to the larks you got up to before we wed,” Ruth said innocently.
Oliver chuckled, drawing her closer to his side. “You meanmy meetings with your father in his study or the time I spent roaming my fields, attempting to bring them back to life?”
Ruth leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “Very well. I relent. It is a fruitless plan.”
Samuel glanced away. He searched the room for Miss Farrow and found her standing beside her mother, her eyes wandering. She was beautiful in her blue gown, her narrow waist accentuated by a silver ribbon.
“If Ridley and I are able to detain him this evening, none of these schemes will even matter,” Oliver muttered.
