1.5 The Mystery of the Skelton Diamonds Read online

  The Mystery of the Skelton Diamonds

  A Detective Lavender Short Story

  by

  Karen Charlton

  The Mystery of the Skelton Diamonds

  © Karen Charlton 2014

  The right of Karen Charlton to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the

  Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of Karen Charlton at Famelton Publishing. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to:

  [email protected]

  Alternatively, the author can be contacted through her website:

  www.karencharlton.com

  Visit Karen Charlton’s website to learn more about her historical novels, The Regency Reivers Series and The Detective Lavender Series, published by

  Famelton Publishing

  (a specialist, independent publisher of historical fiction and fantasy.)

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  In loving memory of

  Moonyeen Blakey

  1946 - 2014

  A great historical novelist

  Sadly missed

  The Mystery of the Skelton Diamonds

  Detective Stephen Lavender climbed down from the swaying hansom cab and glanced up at the impressive, cream façade of the Honourable Joseph Wharton’s London home. Above his head, a continuous ornate stone balcony ran the entire length of the first floor. No doubt, the balcony, accessed by several sets of tall French windows from the reception rooms, gave an excellent view into the leafy park in the centre of the square. Lincoln’s Inn Fields was no longer the most fashionable part of London since the new developments in the burgeoning West End; but a home like the one which towered above him denoted old money, an ancient lineage and respectability.

  He recalled his first meeting with Wharton, the Member of Parliament for Beverley, about five years ago. Lavender had been leading a patrol through the silvery mist of the dangerous marsh land known as Five Fields, south of Hyde Park. They sought a notorious gang of highwaymen who terrorised the area.

  Suddenly, they heard the sound of pistols discharging their shot from the other side of a copse. They urged their horses forward, circled the trees and reined in sharply when they discovered that the exchange of fire was between Wharton and another portly gentleman, who were involved in an illegal duel.

  Fortunately, both gentlemen had missed their intended targets and decided that honour had been satisfied. Now they were beating a hasty retreat with their seconds before the beadle arrived. Disappointed that his mission had been distracted by a sideshow, Lavender managed to head off Wharton and his valet but the other fellows had already scarpered. Flustered and sweating, Wharton fiddled with his whip, full of apologies for inconveniencing the detective and his men. Wharton gave Lavender an impassioned explanation about how the other cad had spread disturbing rumours about his sister’s honour.

  Lavender summed up the situation in seconds. Arresting this loquacious member of Parliament for taking part in an illegal duel would mean two things: firstly, the end of his hunt for a dangerous gang of criminals; secondly, a fruitless trip back to Bow Street to bring charges which would never see the inside of the magistrates’ court. He had no doubt that the wealthy and persuasive Wharton would bribe and charm his way out of the situation within hours.

  He gave Wharton a curt reprimand for his foolishness, sent him scurrying back to the city and urged his own men forward to continue their search for the highwaymen. This turned out to be a good decision. He caught the gang a few hours later.

  Now Wharton had surprised him. He had personally requested Detective Lavender’s assistance in recovering his mother’s stolen diamonds, which had been taken from this house the night before.

  Why?

  Yes, Lavender knew he now had a reputation in London for solving difficult crimes, but he and Wharton had not parted on good terms during their last encounter. His instincts warned him to be wary about this apparently flattering development.

  ‘Glad to see you safely returned from Nottinghamshire, sir,’ said a familiar voice in at his elbow.

  Lavender started. For a big man, Constable Woods could move quietly. He glanced behind and saw the officer’s horse tied by its reins to the park railings.

  ‘It’s good to be back, Ned. Well met.’ The two men shook hands.

  ‘Magistrate Read sent me along to assist you. How are the provinces?’ Woods asked.

  Instinctively, Lavender’s hand moved to the top of his crisp, white cravat and he touched the irritating rash beneath his clean-shaven chin. ‘Provincial,’ he replied, sharply.

  Mischief flashed in Woods’ eyes. A knowing grin spread across his ruddy cheeks. ‘You’ll be glad to leave the false beard behind for a while, I’m sure. False hair and glue are an itchy combination.’

  ‘Nothing escapes your notice, does it, Constable?’

  Woods’ broad face creased into an even wider grin. ‘No, sir, it don’t. So are they rioting up in Nottingham, or what? Will we get one of them revolutions like the French?’

  ‘Every tavern and marketplace in the county is full of the sullen mutterings of rebellion,’ Lavender confirmed, quietly. ‘But it is proving impossible to identify the main instigators. There have been a few isolated cases of arson but nothing to prove they were acts of sedition.’

  Woods nodded and sighed. His smile drooped. ‘Perhaps if the mill and pit owners were prepared to pay the joskins a bit more than starvation wages, they wouldn’t be quite so sullen,’ he said. ‘They squeeze every last ounce of blood out of their workers – and then come running to us and the militia for help when things start to turn nasty.’

  Lavender raised an eyebrow at Woods’ outspoken liberality but he said nothing. He’d known the older man since the first day he’d gone on patrol on the crime-ridden streets of the capital. He trusted Woods with his life and respected his compassionate outlook and solid common sense. Privately, he agreed with him.

  They moved out of the blinding sunlight into the shade of the ornate awning which covered the flight of cream marble steps leading up to the house.

  ‘Before we go in, tell me what happened to the countess’ diamonds. Magistrate Read said you were the first officer on the scene,’ Lavender said.

  Woods glanced over his shoulder to check they were not overheard and lowered his voice. ‘I were approaching the Islington gate on the Old Road last night, when I heard a right rumpus. I thought at first it were an argument about the cost of the toll. There were a smart coach and six waiting to go through. The carriage door was open and the footmen had got down from their seats and were hanging around. It turned out the rumpus were the countess raising merry hell because she’d just opened her jewel case and found out her sparklers were gone.’

  ‘The jewel case travelled with her inside the coach?’

  ‘Yes – along with her maid and her grandson, the earl. The old tabby were livid and berating the maid; she claimed the chit had filched them. She shouted fit to raise the devil himself. I accompanied them all back here to her son’s house and took the maid down to Bow Street for questioning.’

  Lavender frowned. ‘When were the diamonds last seen?’

  ‘Only an hour before. The old lady put them in the box herself and handed them over to her maid to give to a footman, who plac
ed them in the coach.’

  ‘So, somewhere between her bedchamber and the Islington gate, the diamonds disappeared?’

  Lavender mounted the steps, ignored the ornate brass lion’s head door knocker and rapped smartly on the gleaming wood with his gilt-topped tipstaff.

  ‘Yes, but there’s something else, sir.’

  ‘What, Ned?’

  ‘The jewellery box were locked – and only the countess had a key. It’s a bit of a mystery, like… ’ His constable’s voice trailed away dramatically.

  Lavender smiled. Woods enjoyed an element of mystery in a case as much as he did.

  One of the great doors swung open and a bewigged and liveried footman glared at them down his pinched nose. His sharp eyes took in every detail of the smart tailoring of Lavender’s black coat and hat, before he moved onto the more crumpled and muddied figure of the large patrol officer lurking behind him.

  ‘Detective Stephen Lavender from Bow Street, to see the Honourable Mr. Joseph Wharton.’

  ‘The tradesman’s entrance is around the back,’ snapped the footman. He made to shut the door in their faces.

  Lavender stepped forward, raised his tipstaff and set it firmly against the edge of the door. The footman froze. ‘If I was a tradesman I’d use it – but I’m not. I’m a principal officer with the magistrate’s court at Bow Street and my presence has been requested by your master to solve the heinous crime which has taken place in this household.’

  For a moment, the servant hesitated. His face creased and twitched with confusion. Then he yielded, stepped back and allowed them entrance. He led them into an ante-chamber and coldly bade them wait.

  Woods grinned from ear to ear. ‘I love it when you do that, sir. These lackeys just don’t know how to take you.’

  Lavender shrugged, sat down on an uncomfortable upright chair and flicked a speck of dust from his highly-polished boots. Woods was right. The servant class had trouble understanding the social position of the Bow Street principal officers but it didn’t surprise him. He knew he was part of a rare species. Fêted by High Society the small band of detectives were regularly welcomed into the drawing rooms of the rich and noble and they were the only police officers allowed in Buckingham House. The fame of their exploits had made them a curiosity.

  ‘How did you find the maid when you questioned her?’ he asked.

  Woods frowned. ‘To be honest, sir, I don’t think she knows anything about it. She were greatly distressed to be arrested and taken to Bow Street. She said she were horrified when the box were opened and the sparklers were gone.’

  ‘Was the countess in the habit of checking her jewellery on long journeys?’

  ‘Yes. That’s what the young maid said. Only someone on the inside could do a job like this but I agree with the chit, it doesn’t make sense to filch them knowing that the old tabby counted her sparklers on a regular basis. This robbery were allus due to be uncovered smartish. Me and the lads searched the coach and the countess confirmed that there’d been nothing unusual about the journey.’

  ‘I trust your instincts, Ned,’ Lavender said, thoughtfully. ‘It would appear that the diamonds never left this house – and I have no doubt that there is more than one key to that jewel box.’

  The footman returned, more sullen this time, and showed them up the sweeping, marble staircase towards the breakfast room. Generations of Skelton ancestors glared down at them from the plastered walls. Lavender’s eyes flicked from one gilt-edged frame to another.

  He paused before an oval portrait of a thin, sour-faced woman from the previous century. Posed stiffly in an elaborate lace and brocade dress on a chaise longue with her fan, the woman dripped with ostentatious diamond jewellery. A tiara of large stones weighed down her head and swirled in a circular pattern through her powdered wig. More diamonds drooped pendulously from her ears. A matching necklace dominated her wash-board flat bosom.

  Initially, Lavender had the impression that the stones were the size of small coins but a closer inspection revealed that the glistening circles were in fact swirling gold casings embedded with smaller, individual diamonds.

  ‘Are these the stolen jewels?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, them’s the famous Skelton diamonds.’ The footman stopped reluctantly and half turned back. ‘That’s the third countess in the portrait – great-grandmother of the current earl.’ The man’s tone was high-pitched and affected and Lavender could see his nostrils pinched with condescension. He hid a smile. He and Woods may be valued and well-paid servants of the Government, but in this man’s eyes, they were still just that: servants.

  They barely had time to inspect the portrait before the lackey moved on, flung open the doors to the breakfast room and announced them to the family. Lavender had to blink to protect his eyes from the brilliance of the light after the gloom of the hallway. Light poured in through tall, arched windows, and bounced around the golden walls, towering gilt mirrors and crystal chandeliers of the elegant and spacious chamber.

  A portly man of average height rose from a low-slung padded chair by the marble fireplace, and moved to greet him with a relieved smile and an outstretched hand. ‘Detective Lavender! I’m glad you could get here. Magistrate Read sent word that you might be delayed out of town. We need your help.’

  Lavender nodded and bowed. Although unremarkable in appearance, Lavender recognised Joseph Wharton immediately from their previous encounter. Plain-faced and slightly bald with greying sideburns, Wharton would have been inconspicuous in any crowd. Even his expensive silk waistcoat was patterned with a subdued stripe. But no-one survived in politics in Westminster for twenty years without sharpened wits and guile and Wharton’s brown eyes shone with intelligence as they held his own steady gaze.

  ‘May I introduce my mother, Lady Skelton, and my nephew, the earl?’

  From her chair by the fireplace, the dowager Countess of Skelton, stiff-backed and autocratic, glowered at the two policemen through a turquoise encrusted quizzing glass, clutched in a gnarled hand.

  Lavender bowed low. ‘Good morning, your ladyship.’

  Her hair, which was rolled into an unattractive pile of grey sausages beneath her lace cap, quivered angrily as the matriarch nodded her head in icy response. ‘So, you are the policeman charged with the recovery of my diamonds?’ she said. ‘I trust that you will apprehend the thief quickly – this is a scandalous crime against my family.’

  Lavender bowed again. ‘I am at your service, Lady Skelton.’

  ‘I should hope so, although I have to confess I had expected a detective with more experience to deal which such a serious crime.’ Her voice cut through the room like a knife.

  ‘Yes, grandmamma – he doesn’t look nearly old enough to be a policeman. No, this won’t do at all.’ The voice which spoke these words rose and fell with the tell-tale squeak of adolescence.

  Wharton flushed with embarrassment but Lavender’s face remained impassive as he contemplated the smug and pimply youth, sprawled opposite the countess on a silk chaise longue.

  The 6th Earl of Skelton stared back defiantly. Lavender gauged his age at about fourteen. So this is he, Lavender thought. The orphaned boy-earl.

  He fought back an overwhelming urge to comment that the aristocrat was far younger than he had expected, but he held his tongue. Most of London was familiar with the tragic story of Skelton’s parents, who had died when their coach overturned in a terrible accident. The snarling youth before him had inherited the earldom in his infancy.

  But why isn’t he behind his desk in his school room, on a Monday morning? Lavender wondered.

  ‘Detective Lavender is an experienced principal officer at Bow Street, Mama,’ Wharton explained patiently. ‘And he served me very well in another matter a few years ago. Although the less said about that the better,’ he added with a laugh and wink.

  ‘Of course,’ Lavender replied, calmly. ‘And I assure you, your ladyship, I am a lot older than I appear.’

  ‘He’s one of our best,
’ said his faithful constable, from the doorway behind him.

  The countess now shifted her glare to the burly patrol officer and scrutinised him through her quizzing glass. Woods shuffled from one foot to another beneath her inspection.

  ‘Constable Woods has been assigned by Bow Street to help me in my enquiries,’ Lavender said. ‘I’m sure that you remember the assistance he gave to you at the Islington gate, last night?’

  ‘Yes,’ Wharton said enthusiastically. ‘My mother was most grateful.’

  ‘I trust that you have forced a confession of guilt out of that useless girl by now?’ Lady Skelton sounded anything but grateful,

  ‘Perhaps you should use torture?’ her grandson suggested. Lavender grimaced. He saw the cruelty shining in the boy’s eyes. He did not use torture on his suspects. He considered it a sign of failure; that all other means of detecting the truth had failed.

  ‘Actually, there has been a development in our own investigation since last night,’ Wharton said quickly.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘One of our footmen has disappeared. He failed to return to the house last night. We suspect he may be in league with the maid.’

  ‘Have you searched his room?’ Lavender asked. ‘Is there anything to suggest he has absconded with the jewels?’

  ‘All the servants’ rooms have been searched, naturally,’ Lady Skelton said, sharply. ‘That was the first thing we did after our return to the house. The entire building has been turned upside down in a futile search for my diamonds.’

  ‘Danby’s belongings are still in his room,’ Wharton added.

  Lavender frowned as his hope of an easy resolution to the case faded. ‘With your permission, Mr. Wharton, I would like Constable Woods to speak with the butler and the other servants, while I continue here.’

  Wharton nodded and Woods backed gratefully out of the door. He was always far more comfortable – and efficient – with the servant class.