Page 69 of Miss Dramatic
“I took nothing,” Drysdale said. “So what if I wanted another peek at an amazing display? Anybody would have been impressed.”
“You weren’t merely impressed,” Gavin said. “Tavistock was also careful to let you know that many others had access to that hiding place. My entire family, the marchioness, Lord Phillip, and his wife… We all know about the map cabinet, and you knew we know and could thus be suspected if an item went missing. You were tempted.”
“I took nothing,” Drysdale said again, “and I have no ruby necklace. I suggest we search Lady Iris’s effects for starts and perhaps Mrs. Roberts’s apartment in an abundance of caution.”
Oh dear. He ought not to have said that. Rose could feel the shift in Gavin, feel the leap of anger, stayed only by the firm hand of self-discipline.
“The difficulty for you, Drysdale,” Gavin said softly, “is that you knew the rubies had been taken. The owner knows, her professional snoops know, and the original thief—that would be you—knows. The riddle remaining is who stole the rubies from you?”
“He’s right,” Lady Iris said. “Lady Rutherford was keen to keep the loss private. At first, she wanted to believe she’d misplaced the gems, and she refused to implicate her own staff. The authorities know nothing. The local magistrate wasn’t even informed. She had contacted us before the house party for extra security, and she continues to rely exclusively on us to this day.”
“Us?” Tavistock asked.
“The Mayfair Blossoms,” Lady Tavistock said. “They apparently have something of a reputation if one knows where to ask.”
“I have no necklace,” Drysdale said, “and I was a victim of thievery as well. The entire sum paid to me for our efforts in Derbyshire went missing and has never been recovered. Our door at that house party had no lock worth the name, and you know, DeWitt, how casual the Players are about privacy. You took that money on a lark, just to see if you could.”
“Drysdale, cut line,” Gavin said patiently. “You accused me of taking both and claimed the valuables were in close proximity. You were caught trying to steal from Tavistock not thirty minutes past. Regarding the necklace, you had motive, means, and opportunity. If you admit the specifics of your crime, we might be able to track down the second thief.”
Rose had been watching Gemma Drysdale throughout the conversation. Gemma’s expression remained one of mild curiosity, despite the noose tightening around her husband’s neck, setting Rose’s imagination to work on the question ofhow.
How would anybody in a close-knit troupe living in one another’s pockets hide anything of value, much less a distinctive necklace? Who among all the Players would have had that much privacy, that good a hiding place?
Who knew precisely where Hammond Cicero Drysdale would never bother searching?
“Let’s have a look at the Players’ store of props,” Rose said. “The costume jewelry in particular. I’m sure we’ll find a very fine ruby necklace among the paste and pinchbeck, won’t we, Mrs. Drysdale?”
“Gemma?” Drysdale’s bewilderment was real. “Gemma? What is she saying?”
Gemma looked at her hands. She looked at the clock. She looked at her husband. “Mrs. Roberts is saying that you were going to get us all hanged.” She rose and crossed the room to the great harp, taking up a study of its elaborately carved pillar. “I meant to return the necklace, but the opportunity never presented itself, so I thought to put it in Mrs. Roberts’s jewelry box—she would notice such a fine piece among her widow’s collection—but she had… company. I had to improvise. I suppose we’ve reached the part where I go mad or drink poison.”
Gavin went to the sideboard and poured a tot of brandy. “Or we’ve reached the part where you tell us the rest of the story, and we listen as open-mindedly as we can.”
“I don’t understand,” Drysdale said, looking old and confused. “I don’t… Gemma, I don’t understand.”
She sipped her brandy. “You never have, Hammond. You’ve never even tried to understand.”
Gavin’s imagination had painted Drysdale as the lead in some sort of deep scheme—stealing the necklace, realizing Lady Iris was on to him, and then pretending to lose the necklace while pointing an accusing finger at innocent parties.
In the alternative, Drysdale might have been in league with Lady Iris.
Lady Iris might have been diligently framing Drysdale for her own ends.
Rose’s conjecture—that Gemma Drysdale figured centrally in the drama—made all the sense in the world, with the benefit of hindsight.
“As Drysdale’s wife,” Gavin said, resuming his seat beside Rose, “you had two problems. Your husband was a thief, and I was outshining him on the stage.”
“The connection isn’t as simple as you think,” Gemma said, tracing a vine carved into the rosy maple. “You inspired Drysdale to think beyond our humble sphere, to get ideas. He could stage a few of the lesser tragedies with you to lead the cast. He could aspire to longer works, because your memory is apparently limitless. His ideas cost money. Hammond’s ideas always cost money. You were a problem precisely because you are so talented, DeWitt.”
Drysdale watched her caressing the wood as if he’d never before in all his born years beheld her. “You stole the necklace.”
She closed her eyes and steadied herself against the harp, unwittingly adopting the signature pose of the tragic heroine.
When Gemma turned her gaze on her husband, her expression was full of banked rage. “Let us be very clear, Hammond: You stole the necklace from its rightful owner and after our hostess had so generously paid us. Lady Iris does not make a very convincing maid, and there were a couple of footmen who always seemed to be lurking in alcoves with nothing to do. I realized that if our effects were searched, we would be bound over for the assizes before you could say, ‘Out, damned spot.’”
“You stole the money too?” Drysdale asked.
Gemma took the stool beside the harp. “Can a wife steal from her husband when she’s considered nothing more than a legal afterthought to his personhood? I hadn’t planned to take the money, but when I went to put the necklace in Mrs. Roberts’s jewelry box, I had the sum in my pocket, lest somebody else relieve you of it. I saw that Mrs. Roberts had company, and that was a solution to my other problem.”
