"A pink diamond from the French queen's personal collection was taken from my safe no less than a fortnight ago."
"I had no idea!" Mr. Barber exclaimed. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"I didn't consider the matter to be of any consequence to you," Mr. Francis said.
"You are my friend. Of course a theft at your house is of consequence to me."
"What did the police say?" I asked. "Were they able to find any clues?"
"I didn't bother to contact them. There's little hope they would recover the stone, and I prefer to keep my affairs private."
"Have you hired an investigator to pursue the matter?" I asked.
"No. I can't imagine there would be any point in doing so."
"You can't let such a thing go unreported," I said.
Mr. Francis was nonplussed. "When was the last time you heard of jewelry stolen by a cat burglar being returned to the rightful owner? It's a hopeless business."
"But Mr. Francis, it's imperative that the crime be investigated," I said. "Even if it goes unsolved, one must try to uncover the truth."
"I'd rather not upset my wife," he said. "She's exceedingly shy and suffers greatly when forced to talk to strangers."
"But surely she's noticed that the diamond is missing?" Cécile asked.
"It's not the sort of thing she would want to wear." He studied the ashes on the end of his cigar thoughtfully for a moment, then changed the subject. "Have you ladies been to the Royal Academy exhibition? Barber's got several good pieces in it this year."
"I've been twice," I said. "There is one sculpture that I remember in particular. A woman holding a basket of flowers. I believe it is yours, Mr. Barber."
"I'm pleased that you noticed it," Mr. Barber replied. "It's one of my favorites."
"I very much enjoyed it. You did a magnificent job capturing a sense of movement. I almost believed she would bend over and pick one of the blossoms at her feet."
"Thank you, Lady Ashton."
"Do you have an extensive collection of art, Mr. Francis?" I asked.
"Not so extensive as I would like."
"Francis spends as much money subsidizing studio rentals for artists as he does on their work," Mr. Barber said.
"No wonder you and Cécile get along so famously," I said. "I should love to see your collection."
"I'm afraid you would find it rather underwhelming."
"I consider that an insult, Francis," Mr. Barber said, grinning. "You've got some of my best pieces."
"I meant only that, given her own holdings, Lady Ashton would be disappointed in the scope and quantity of what I have."
"Quantity is a poor measure of the artistic merits of a collection, Mr. Francis. I'm fortunate that my husband possessed such exquisite taste," I said. "I've let his standards for acquisition guide me, although I confess that I'm guilty of keeping for myself some pieces he would argue belong in a museum." I twisted the gold ring with its image of the Trojan horse that I wore on my right hand. I'd been given it in Paris last year after trapping the man who had murdered Philip.
"But I understand that you've made many significant donations yourself," Mr. Francis said.
"Yes, but there are times when I'm quite overwhelmed with sentiment and find that I can't donate things that I ought."
"Peut-être Monsieur Bingham is attached to this dish you are trying to get from him," Cécile said.
"No, he's keeping it for himself simply out of spite. He's made no secret of the fact that he doesn't care for it." My gaze fell on Mr. Francis, and I felt compelled once again to return to the topic of the thefts, despite a worry that I was being too forward. "I really must implore you to report the loss of your diamond to the police. It is not something that affects only you. Surely you can't believe that there is more than one burglar in England seeking objects that belonged to Marie Antoinette?"
"Of course not," he replied.
"The police need to have as complete a picture as possible of this man's activities. Perhaps there is something at your house that may assist them in their investigation. Or a pattern of behavior that would be revealed by adding your location to the list of the crime scenes."
"She is right," Cécile said. "If you were the sole victim of this intruder, you could choose to keep quiet about it. But you are not."
"I suppose it would be wrong of me to do anything that might keep you from getting your earrings back," Mr. Francis said, smiling good-naturedly.
"It's not simply about recovering the earrings," I said.
"Je ne sais pas," Cécile said. "I would very much like to get my earrings back. They're a favorite pair."
"Of course," I said. "But isn't catching the thief and preventing further thefts of primary importance?" Cécile shrugged but did not answer. "If nothing else, I call on you, as a gentleman, to see to it that you do all you can to keep the name of poor Marie Antoinette from being subject to more intrigue and scandal."
"You are most persistent, Lady Ashton. I will talk to the police in the morning if you insist that it is the right thing to do. In the meantime, tell me what you thought of the play we saw tonight."
"I adored it," I said. "Hedda's plight is fascinating. She's incapable of taking pleasure in those things it is assumed will bring a woman happiness."
"So miserable, yet she seems the perfect wife," Mr. Barber said.
"It's rarely wise to accept at face value the image presented by a society wife," I said.
"Or a husband," said Mr. Francis.
"Quite." I smiled, all the while wondering what layers could be found beneath my guest's polished façade.
Mr. Francis was true to his word and spoke to the police about the pink diamond the very next morning. Within two days, the newspapers were filled with sensationalised stories about the thefts. All of society was buzzing about it, and Charles Berry made a great show of issuing a plea to the burglar through the Times, asking that all the objects that belonged to his great-great-grandmother be returned to their rightful owners. Those in possession of such items were thrown into a frenzy, desperate to protect themselves from the thief. Lady Middleton, who owned a chair purported to have been in the queen's bedroom at Versailles, caused a scene when she sent it to her bank and insisted that it be stored in the vault.
"The president of the bank tried to dissuade her, but she refused," Margaret Seward told me as we sat in the Elgin Room of the British Museum that afternoon. "I wish I could have witnessed their exchange."
"Who would dare cross Lady Middleton? I wonder that he even tried." I was sketching a piece of the east pediment of the Parthenon, which depicted the birth of the goddess Athena. Margaret, who read classics at Bryn Mawr, had brought a volume of Ovid with her, and she alternately read and chatted with me while I worked. Occasionally, she would meander through the museum, ready with amusing reports upon her return.
"I have just spotted a man nearly as handsome as Colin," she said after one such journey.
"Really?" This caught my attention.
"Well, not quite. I don't suppose there is another man as handsome as Colin. But this one comes close. He's walking with a terrified-looking young lady and her mother — a real dragon."
"Did you recognize any of them?"
"The girl is called 'Lettice.'"
"Ah," I said. "Lettice Frideswide. The man must be Jeremy."
"You know him?"
"Oh yes, quite well. He's the Duke of Bainbridge. Inherited last year. His estate is near my father's."
"Emily, I will never forgive you for hiding him from me. You know my parents have me here to look for a husband. My father won't settle for anyone without a title — it's crass, but that's the truth of it." Mr. Seward was a wealthy railroad man who, like so many other Americans, longed to see his daughter part of England's aristocracy. Margaret had agreed to do the Season only in exchange for her parents' promise that she could study at Oxford in the fall. "Tell me, is dear Jeremy engaged to the lovely Lettice?"