The Viscount Always Knocks Twice by Grace Callaway

Chapter Thirty

Early next morning, Richard accompanied Violet to see her brother. Not wanting to add to their sins, they confessed what they’d discovered last night, telling Kent about the map and hidden passageway. Kent didn’t appear best pleased by the news that the pair of them had been skulking around unchaperoned in the dead of night; luckily, Mrs. Kent was there to intervene.

“The horses have bolted, darling,” she murmured to her husband. “No use slamming the barn door now.”

This gave Richard the opportunity to officially ask for Violet’s hand. He still couldn’t believe that she’d said yes to him, that she was going to be his. And he had their burning passion to thank for it. He was no Casanova by any stretch of the imagination; that inspired bit of naughtiness in the passageway had surprised even him. Yet Violet had that effect on him, unleashing an inner wildness that felt strangely… liberating.

And she was going to be his viscountess. His. His insides billowed with warmth as he looked at her beautiful, blushing face. He felt as impatient as a Thoroughbred at the gates—and equally restless. For he couldn’t deny that the pleasure of her acceptance was accompanied by a strange apprehension.

What he wanted was within his grasp… but she wasn’t his yet. Nothing was set in stone. Promises made could be broken; it wasn’t the first time a lady had accepted his offer.

Violet said yes, he told himself. Leave it at that.

After a brief discussion with the Kents, they all agreed to keep the engagement under wraps until after the party. There were too many distractions at the moment, the most pressing of which included speaking to their host.

Thus, with the Strathavens in tow, they hunted Billings down in his study.

“We believe we know why Monique was in the library,” Kent said without preamble. “And why she was killed.”

“Well don’t just stand there. Spit it out,” the banker said.

“First, I have a question. Do you keep valuables in this chamber?”

From the way Billings’ eyes shifted, the answer was clear. “Why?” he said.

“Because we believe Monique might have stolen something from this room.”

The banker’s lips formed a hyphen. “Impossible. I have a footman guarding the entrance to this room day and night.”

“One of the entrances,” Kent corrected.

“What do you mean? There is only one door.”

“That you know of.” Richard spoke up. “Last night, we discovered a hidden passageway between the library and this study. I believe the entrance is behind that panel by the hearth.”

“You can’t be serious,” Billings said incredulously.

Going over to the hearth, which was nearly identical to the one in the library, Richard searched the roses on the plinth. He pushed two of the petals down. There was a clicking noise… and then the panel separated from the wall, revealing the gaping darkness behind.

“Heavens, how exciting,” the duchess breathed.

“That’s one way to describe it, pet,” Strathaven said wryly.

Billings turned paler than a banknote. Without another word, he headed back toward his desk and past it, to the painting of the dead game on the wall. He reached for some hidden mechanism in the frame. The painting swung open, revealing an iron box concealed in the wall.

Removing a key from his pocket, Billings inserted it into the lock.

When the compartment opened, Richard saw a collection of velvet boxes within. With methodical precision, Billings removed each one, piling them upon his desk. He opened the lids: there was a dazzling array of jewelry—necklaces, bracelets, even a diadem. In the morning light, gems glittered in a rainbow of colors, precious metals gleaming.

The banker patted his brow with a folded handkerchief. “Everything’s here and accounted for. I purchased these for Gabriella at an auction, outbidding several members of the aristocracy.” Satisfaction threaded his voice. “It was mentioned in The Times, I believe.”

“Yes, I recall the hubbub,” Mrs. Kent said. “A stunning array, I must say.”

She examined the jewels, Billings hovering beside her as if he expected her to make away with the lot. A muscle ticked in Kent’s jaw.

“Well, if everything’s here, then perhaps Monique didn’t manage to take anything?” Her Grace suggested. “Maybe her lock picking skills weren’t up to par.”

“I don’t think that’s the case.” Mrs. Kent was perusing a sapphire necklace intently—the one, Richard recalled, that Miss Billings had worn at supper that first night. “Something’s amiss here.”

“I beg your pardon?” Billings said.

“May I?” Mrs. Kent arched her fair brows.

The banker gave a nod, and she lifted the necklace from its box. Everyone crowded in to have a closer look. The large, faceted blue stones flashed, their depths clear. The web of diamonds that connected them was similarly bright. Richard was no connoisseur of jewels, but, to him, the necklace appeared flawless.

The duchess canted her head. “What’s wrong with the necklace? The sapphires have a nice, clear sparkle, don’t they?”

“Aye, pet, and that’s the problem,” the duke replied. To Mrs. Kent, he said, “May I?”

She passed him the necklace, and he turned it this way and that, inspecting it. “No inclusions to the naked eye. The depths are far too clear. The color is straightforward, bland, with little richness.”

“So you’re saying… it’s a fake?” his wife said.

“Yes. Though an excellent copy,” he replied. “That is your opinion as well, Mrs. Kent?”

“Indeed,” the blonde said. “Quite convincing to the casual observer.”

“Thank heavens you’re the one who buys my jewelry, Strathaven,” the duchess exclaimed. “How I should hate to be taken by cut glass, no matter how prettily made.”

His Grace’s lips twitched. He chucked his wife under the chin. “I know how you like a bargain, sweeting.”

“Now wait just a minute.” Billings’ voice shook with outrage. “I had these pieces authenticated by a top jeweler. He assured me these pieces, including the necklace, were the genuine articles.”

“They are. As was the necklace I saw your daughter wearing at supper that first night,” Mrs. Kent replied. “But the necklace before us now is a copy made of glass.”

The explanation was clear.

“Monique made a switch, by God.” Kent’s irises blazed. “This was all part of a premeditated plan. She comes to the party with a map of the house, a replica of the necklace, and means to break into the safe box.”

“But something unexpected happens,” Mrs. Kent murmured. “After stealing the necklace, Monique returns to the library, only to encounter the murderer. Is he or she an accomplice in the theft—or is this a meeting of chance?”

“We don’t know,” her husband replied, “but let’s say he or she pushes Monique into the mantel. She hits her head but does not die. So the villain has to finish the job, smothering her with a pillow and dragging her body into the shelves. He or she takes the necklace and leaves.”

Frowning, Richard said, “That sounds logical, but what I don’t understand is why Monique stole only the necklace. Why didn’t she take all the jewelry?”

“Perhaps she was being cautious,” Mrs. Kent said. “Replacing one piece with a forgery is one thing; taking the entire collection increases the risk of getting caught exponentially. And let’s not overlook the fact that the necklace is the most expensive piece by far.”

“How much is it worth?” Violet asked.

“By my estimation, at least nine thousand pounds,” the blonde replied.

“Over ten thousand,” Billings said in a brittle voice, “according to the appraiser.”

Violet let out a low whistle. “By Golly, that is a haul, isn’t it? But why would Monique risk everything to steal this necklace?”

“From the little Garrity was willing to disclose, she was making her payments to him in a timely fashion,” Richard said. “He implied that she was a prime customer, one in good standing. But who knows what other debts she might have had.”

“Jeanne, her maid, might know,” the duchess suggested. “Now that we have evidence of Monique’s plot, we ought to question Jeanne again.”

“My thinking precisely.” Kent summoned in a footman and gave orders to fetch the maid.

When the door closed again, Billings said cuttingly, “I don’t give a damn why that French bitch stole from me, I want to know where the bloody necklace is now!”

“I advise patience, sir. The two questions are interrelated; finding the answer to the former may lead us to the latter.”

Billings turned red in the face. “In the meantime, I am out ten thousand pounds. That is entirely unacceptable, do you hear me?”

“I believe the entire party can hear you,” Strathaven drawled. “You were interested in discretion, were you not, Billings?”

It took visible effort for the banker to rein himself in. Clearly, money was the one topic that could rile his emotions.

“Yes, we must be discreet in the search for the thief. Men from the stews,”—Billings straightened his lapels—“they take offense at the slightest provocation.”

“If you think cutthroats are touchy, try accusing a dowager of theft,” Mrs. Kent said.

“You must not offend anyone,” Billings said with finality. “You must find the necklace while maintaining an appearance of decorum.”

“Assuming the jewelry is still here,” Violet pointed out.

“My gut says that it is.” Kent drummed his fingers against the desk. “Working on the assumption that whoever came upon Monique saw a crime of opportunity, he or she was not prepared to take possession of a priceless piece of jewelry. No one has left the estate since we discovered Monique’s murder, and the necklace is too valuable to simply send off somewhere—the killer wouldn't risk letting it out of his or her hands. So that leaves the possibility that the necklace is hidden somewhere in the house... or on the estate.”

Richard considered the vastness of Traverstoke. “Performing a search will be no small task.”

“Indeed,” Kent said. “We’ll have to start with the most obvious place—the guest chambers—and fan out from there.”

“And how do you plan to do this without the guests knowing? Because they must not suspect a thing,” Billings insisted.

“We need a diversion,” Strathaven said.

“Something that will get everyone off the estate.” The duchess tapped a finger against her chin. “A trip to the village, perhaps? An organized activity to draw everyone out.”

“How about a fair?” Billings said.

“That would work splendidly,” Her Grace said.

The banker gave a curt nod. “Leave that to me. I’ll set it up for tomorrow.”

“You can set up a fair in one day?” Violet said.

“Money can move mountains, Miss Kent,” Billings said crisply. “What’s a country fair?”

“A fair’s not a bad idea,” Strathaven acknowledged, “but we will need someone to accompany the guests and keep an eye on them. The last thing we want is for the culprit to get wind of things and slip away.”

“I’ll speak to Jones. He can set up a perimeter around the village—yes, discreetly.” Kent forestalled their host’s predictable refrain. “Having a few constables present at the fair, on the pretense of securing goods and preventing pickpockets, will seem like nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Then I’d best go make arrangements,” the banker said.

When the door closed behind him, Kent raked a hand through his hair. “Bloody hell, I wish I could just search the place and the people and be done with it, discretion be damned.”

“Much as I hate to defend Billings, he might have a point. Best to act with stealth when it comes to cutthroats,” the duke drawled.

“Aye. Although it will be no small feat to do a thorough search of this place,” Kent muttered.

“Could the magistrate lend you some men, darling?” his wife asked.

“Whoever he can spare. Don’t forget, he needs to surveil the village.”

“The Blackwoods could help,” Richard said.

“I’ll speak to them. God knows I’ll need all the help I can get.” Lines deepened around Kent’s mouth. “Moreover, we can’t all stay here tomorrow; that would rouse suspicion. We’ll need to split up, send a few of our team to the village to keep an eye on things.” He gave a sigh. “Not to mention on Polly and Primrose.”

“I’ll go,” Violet volunteered. “They’ll be plenty of chaperones present, so the rest of you could stay here and help in the search.”

“I’ll go with you,” Richard offered.

Kent narrowed his eyes. The investigator might be weighed down with numerous duties, but evidently he wasn’t about to relinquish those of a protective older brother. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for the two of you to go together,” he said stiffly.

“Come, darling, they’re practically engaged,” his wife murmured. “And there’ll be so many others present. I’ll ask Lady Ainsworthy to chaperone; she’s a stickler for proprieties.”

After a moment, Kent relented. “All right. But no more escapades, Violet, do you understand? You must stay with the group and Lady Ainsworthy.”

“Of course.” Violet’s expression was as innocent as an angel’s.

The gazes directed toward the ceiling conveyed that she fooled no one.

A knock sounded.

“Must be the maid. Time to get her to disclose her mistress’ true motives.” In a louder voice, Kent called, “Come in.”

The door opened to reveal a young footman. He was alone.

“Where is the maid?” Kent demanded.

“That’s just it, sir. I couldn’t find her.” The footman lifted his liveried shoulders, his expression perplexed. “She wasn’t in her room, and all her things are gone.”