Star of the East: A Lady Emily Christmas Story (4 page)

“My wife will not like it no matter how you do it, my boy, so I would not trouble myself about taking special pains on her behalf. You are good to do this for us. Is there any possibility that the incident is something more than a simple theft?”

“I wondered the same thing,” Colin said. “Her Majesty sent a note imploring me to be sure not to miss seeing the maharaja here, and I confess it makes me think that she—or, rather, someone in the palace—was concerned. If I may use your telephone, I shall ring one of my colleagues to make further inquiries.”

“Anything you need, Hargreaves.” He rose from his desk. “Right. I shall leave you to it, unless you would prefer to inform the maharaja of what is happening before you ring the palace?”

We agreed that it would be best to deal with speaking to the maharaja and searching the house as quickly as possible. My father sent for him and his wife—instructing the butler not to bring Lady Catherine with them—and we sat down in a sitting room that had been decorated in jade-colored silk.

“I am more distressed than I can say that such a thing should happen when you are guests in my home,” my father said after explaining the situation.

“You are not to blame, Bromley,” the maharaja said.

“It is that awful diamond,” the maharini said. “It brings misery to everyone. I am almost glad that it is gone.”

“Do not say such things,” her husband snapped and then laid a gentle hand on her arm. “Forgive me, my dear.”

“I know you are upset,” she said.

“Has either of you noticed anything strange since you arrived in England?” Colin asked. “A person who seemed to be watching you, perhaps, or someone trying to contact you for reasons you couldn’t understand?”

“No,” the maharini said. “Everything has been lovely since we arrived. If anything, we are treated with more kindness by the British here than we are in India.”

My father pulled a face. “Wretched business that some imbeciles don’t know how to behave when they are abroad. It is a frequent problem in colonial governments, I am afraid, and I apologize on behalf of my ill-mannered countrymen.”

“You are most gracious,” the maharini said and turned back to Colin. “I cannot recall anyone or anything that has made me uneasy during the course of our trip.”

“I do remember a young man catching my attention,” the maharaja began, tugging at his beard and looking out the window as he spoke. “It was when we arrived in Southampton. We were greeted by a friendly crowd that included a small band playing a song of welcome.”

“Yes, I do remember a man there, now that you mention it,” the maharini said. “He was standing near the band, wasn’t he?”

“Behind the drummer,” the maharaja said. “He was British, of that I am sure, with pale skin—”

“Almost translucent,” the maharini added.

“And a long beard. His hair was extremely blond.”

“Why did you notice him in particular?” I asked.

“Because he was wearing a spectacular saffron-colored turban,” the maharaja said. “At the time, I thought nothing of it other than that he was getting into the spirit of things as young men are wont to do. It is not uncommon to see Englishmen in Simla adopting the turban as a means of adding a flair of the exotic to their dress.”

“Be that as it may, it is hardly a common sight,” the maharini said, “and I have seen no one else dressed in such a manner here.”

“Have you seen him on any other occasion?” Colin asked. “Or only at the dock?”

“He was also at Victoria when we were preparing to board the train to come here,” the maharaja said. “We have been greeted warmly wherever we have gone.”

Even though the queen’s Diamond Jubilee year was winding to a close, the newspapers continued to cover the stream of honored guests from throughout the Empire whom Her Majesty had chosen to fête in conjunction with the ongoing celebrations. The maharaja, who had been named a Knight Companion of the Order of the Star of India, had proven a popular figure in the press, who reported his every move. I did not doubt that the beauty of his wife and his daughter influenced their coverage as well.

“I do not believe the young man meant us any harm,” the maharini said, “but he was the only person of English descent I have seen since we arrived to dress in such a way.”

Colin shot me a puzzled look. Having not the slightest idea what he might be thinking, I gave a little shrug and subtly shook my head. Before he could clarify his meaning, my mother entered the room.

“Oh dear, I do hope my daughter has not done something to cause you undue distress,” she said. “Emily, why don’t you go sit with Sunita? She is all alone in the music room.”

“Right now, Lady Bromley, we need to search the rest of the house, and I am afraid that I shall require my wife’s assistance,” Colin said. He took me firmly by the arm and steered me out of the room before my mother could object. At least, that had been his intention. My mother, however, was not so easily thwarted.

“Mr. Hargreaves!”

He stopped, astonished, no doubt to hear her address him so formally.

“I do believe I still have some say in what occurs in my own house,” she said, calling from her seat in my father’s study. “My daughter will go sit with Sunita. There is nothing further to say.”

I felt like a naughty child. We had taken only two steps from the room and were still in clear view of my mother. Colin bent over and kissed me, full on the mouth.

“She will not tell me how to treat my own wife,” he said, too quietly for anyone but me to hear. “So she will have to come to terms with me kissing you if I am not to be allowed to work with you.”

An unattractive sputtering sound came from the general direction of the study. I did not give it the slightest notice. Colin went upstairs, and I was off in search of Sunita, who was no longer in the music room. Not seeing her in any of the adjacent rooms, I considered my options. Darnley House had well over a hundred rooms. I had just decided to start by going up to her bedroom when a glimpse of movement out the window caught my eye.

“Henry!” My son, whom I was beginning to consider something of an expert at escaping from Nanny, was standing in a snowdrift, buried almost to his waist.

“Lady Emily, is everything all right? I heard you cry out.” Jones entered the room and followed the direction of my gaze. “Oh dear. Fear not, I will send one of the footmen after him.”

“Thank you, Jones. Have you seen the princess this morning?”

“I believe she is in the billiard room, madam. If you will excuse me, I shall organize young Master Henry’s rescue.”

I thanked him profusely, asked him not to mention the incident to my mother, and started for the billiard room, pausing to look out each window I passed until I saw Henry safely in the arms of a burly footman. Sunita, who was carefully positioning a cue over the billiard table when I entered the room, shushed me and took her shot, neatly sending two balls into two pockets.

“You’re quite good,” I said.

“Do you play?” she asked.

“Abominably,” I said.

“That’s a pity, as it leaves me with no one to play against but myself.” She silenced me again as she lined up her next shot. This time she missed. She returned her cue to the rack on the wall and selected another one. “Important, I think, to maintain the veneer of there being two separate players.”

“Who taught you to play?” I asked.

“My brother. He and Ned are devoted to all forms of games and entertainment. When they were in India last year, they tried to force me to play cricket, but I draw the line there. Do you know I read all of
Pride and Prejudice
in less time than it took them to finish a single cricket match? Admittedly, I devour Austen like cake—she’s my absolute favorite—but I do not think that changes the fact that cricket takes far too long.”

“I quite agree,” I said. “What else do you like to read?”

“Your father tells me you spend most of your time reading ancient Greek epics. I am afraid my tastes are far more pedestrian.
Vanity Fair
and
Tess of the d’Urbervilles
are two books I cannot read often enough.”

“I would hardly call either of them pedestrian,” I said.

“Whenever I pick up
Tess
I cannot help but be consumed by a longing that this time she won’t come to such an awful end. I know it’s impossible, but don’t you find that the best stories make you ache no matter how many times you read them?”

“Absolutely,” I said, silently agreeing with the maharini that her daughter ought not be married yet. There was too much about her character that still needed reconciling, and I hoped that the erudite reader would win out over the petulant girl stomping on discarded gowns. “Have you spoken to your brother this morning?”

“Not yet, but I have no doubt he will have something to say about the disappearance of the dreaded Star of the East.”

On this front, she was quite correct. Before a quarter of an hour had passed, we heard a commotion from beyond the door. Ranjit, resplendent in a frock coat and scarlet turban, entered.

“This bloody diamond!” He sank into one of the deep leather chairs at the far end of the room. “Do forgive my language, Emily. You are quite sure it’s gone, Sunita?”

“Of course I am—how stupid do you think I am? The case is empty.”

“And the bangle is gone as well. Hargreaves told me as much. He’s searching all of our rooms right now.”

“I do hope, Ranjit, he doesn’t find anything unbecoming a gentleman in yours,” Ned said, following his friend into the room.

“You would do well not to suggest such things in front of my sister,” Ranjit said. “You know what an innocent she is.”

“Stop teasing, Ranjit,” Sunita said. “It is a terrible thing that has happened.”

“You only say that because you know that no bride in our family can be married without wearing the Star of the East,” Ranjit said. “Without it, you are doomed to spinsterhood.”

“Colin will recover the jewels,” I said. “There is no need for concern. It snowed quite heavily last night, and there are no footprints that suggest someone has stolen out of the house. Lord and Lady Ackerman and their daughters were the last to leave, but you, Sunita, were still downstairs then, and still wearing the
tika
, so they could not be our culprits.”

“What about Mr. Benton?” Ned asked. “He returned to the house this morning, did he not?”

“I have not seen him,” I said.

“I heard him speaking to your father when I went downstairs for breakfast. It was quite early, and I was surprised to see someone call at such an hour.”

Jones opened the door. “Lady Emily, Mr. Hargreaves has requested that you join him in the Chinese Room.”

I thanked him and crossed to the door. “Your son is right as rails, madam,” he whispered. “Cook has sent up some hot chocolate for him—warm, but not too hot, she told me to tell you, so as not to burn his little lips. And some for Masters Richard and Tom as well. It is nice to have children in the house again.”

When I reached our room, Colin was sitting in a chair, his arms folded across his chest, and a stern look on his face. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

“Tell you?” I asked. “You are very fierce. Did you find the jewels?”

“I hardly know where to start,” he said. “Is there any chance that you have recently been in contact with your old friend Sebastian Capet?”

“Sebastian? Good heavens, no,” I said. “I shouldn’t know how to reach him even if I wanted to. I haven’t seen him in years.” Sebastian Capet—as he styled himself, though I doubted that was his actual name—was something of a notorious thief, whom Colin and I had first encountered before we were married. Sebastian did not view his actions as immoral; rather he saw them as righting wrongs. He had extremely refined taste, and objected strenuously when he felt that things of beauty—paintings, jewelry, other objets d’art—were owned by individuals whom he believed did not truly appreciate their merits. Most of the time he gave whatever he had stolen to someone he considered worthy of owning it, but often he admitted that no one would better appreciate the object than himself. At the time we first met, he was collecting items that had been owned by Marie Antoinette, including a particularly fine pair of diamond earrings then in the possession of my dear friend Cécile du Lac. In the course of attempting to recover the earrings and a host of other pieces he had liberated, we learned that he had a special connection to the French royal house, one that eventually led him to promise to abandon his thievery and employ his talents in a more honorable direction. Subsequent encounters with him, however, had led me to believe that he would never be able to entirely abandon his old ways.

“Has he reached out to you?”

That, dear reader, was my husband’s real question. Sebastian operated under the unfortunate delusion that he was in love with me, and had, periodically, left small gifts and romantic notes for me. That the notes were written in ancient Greek infuriated Colin, who, although he steadfastly insisted that he was not jealous, felt it was not fighting fair to appeal to my love of the classics.

“I would have told you.”

“The Englishman in the turban,” he said. “It could be Capet.”

I groaned. The turban would have provided Sebastian with just the sort of theatrical flair he adored. “It is possible, but I do not think he would steal anything from guests in my parents’ house.”

“He knows how you feel about your mother,” Colin said. “He might consider it a way of paying you a delicate attention.”

I chewed on my lip, unable to deny the possibility.

“The thing is, my dear, I have found the diamond.”

“That is wonderful!”

“Not entirely,” he said. “It was in your jewelry case.”

“Mine? You cannot possibly think—”

“That you took it on Sebastian’s behalf?” His smile, as always, reduced me to a pleasant pool of jelly. “No, I do not think that, although as to what your mother might say …”

“If Sebastian took it, he would not have left it among my possessions,” I said. “He would never do anything to impugn my character.”

“Other than sneak into your bedroom to leave roses and love notes,” Colin said. It was true, this had been a preferred method of his.