“I must tell you something, Madame Koska,” said Mr. Korolenko, looking thoughtfully after the retreating figure. “It was in Constantinople that I first heard about the Eurasian gang. A man came to me and told me that he heard I was good at languages. He offered a sum of money, enough to sound extraordinary to a starving man, if I would be willing to translate some documents, and also interpret a short meeting.”
“Did you realize what they were?”
“Yes, I did. But I was at the end of my rope, and the European help that was promised to the refugees did not arrive. I did what the gang requested, and used the money to buy food not just for myself, but for many others. And as if it broke our chain of bad luck, the next week we got on the ship to Marseilles.”
“I will not ask you what it was about, Mr. Korolenko, so please don’t look so anxious. I understand that you needed to survive.”
“Thank you, Madame Koska,” said Mr. Korolenko. “I appreciate your practical and humane approach.”
“Not at all. Shall we go in? I think it’s time for tea,” said Madame Koska, and smiled at him as if none of the story signified. Nevertheless, to her it signified a great deal.
At dinner, the dining room sparkled. The chandelier exchanged lights with the many candles, the table crystal seemed to answer with its tiny rainbows, and the silverware gave its own deep glow. The flowers Gretchen helped with were mountains of crimson roses surrounded by lacey white gypsophila in silver bowls. Madame Koska, seated between Mr. Winston and Lord Plunkett, found their rather meaningless conversation restful, and enjoyed her excellent dinner. Suddenly, the conversation turned general when Lord Plunkett said, “Oh, excuse me, Madame Koska, I must tell everyone about a strange development—everyone, have you heard the news about the disappearance of the great sapphire?” Everyone looked up. “They are now certain it is in London,” added Lord Plunkett.
“What are you talking about?” asked Mr. Howard.
“Don’t you know? The Imperial Brooch, as they call it, the piece that was stolen from the museum in Russia?”
“I never heard of it,” said Mr. Howard, seemingly annoyed.
“It belonged to Catherine the Great, and after the Revolution it was put in a small museum in the provinces and was extremely well guarded. It vanished somehow.”
“What does it have to do with us?” asked Mr. Howard. “The Bolsheviks stole a lot of jewelry after they killed the rightful owners.”
“But my dear Mr. Howard, it has everything to do with us. It is in London! It will be sold illegally. The police made a statement. They promise to find it first.”
“So they say,” said Mr. Howard irritably. “I’ll believe it is in London when they find it.”
“Did they say who stole it?” asked Gretchen in a small voice, as if embarrassed to talk in public.
“No. They seem to have their suspicions, but nothing is revealed to the public yet.”
“So why did they release the information that it is in London?” asked Mr. Howard. “What’s the point of giving silly hints if they don’t tell us the whole story? This happens too often. I have no patience with such sensationalism.”
“To warn the public, I suppose,” said Lord Plunkett. “Or rather, not the public, but those who are able to buy it for their private collections. There have been rumors that certain individuals may wish to have it if it were available for sale.”
“No news in that,” said Mr. Howard, seemingly even more irritated. “There are always those immoral idiots who are willing to spend a fortune on illegal jewelry.”
“The Imperial Brooch is one of most important pieces that had ever been smuggled out of Russia,” said Mr. Korolenko. His tone of authority seemed to settle the senseless and slightly unpleasant argument. Mrs. Howard got up and invited the ladies to follow her to the drawing room where tea and coffee would be served, leaving the men to their port and cigars. Madame Koska wondered if Mr. Howard would apologize to Lord Plunkett about his behavior.
The elegant drawing room was full of indoor palms in decorative cachepots, a great fire roared in the fireplace, and the Christmas tree glittered with its shiny ornaments. After the gentlemen joined them, Mrs. Winston got up to sing an Italian song in a wonderful soprano voice. She was accompanied by her husband, an accomplished pianist. Mr. Howard, in restored good mood, recited a poem. The evening was highly enjoyable.
The next day, after attending church and having lunch, the guests were invited to take advantage of the sunny weather by ice skating on the frozen pond, to which the servants cleared a path. It was located at some distance. Madame Koska begged to be forgiven—she claimed she had started a slight cold and would rather not spend the hours outdoors. Everyone was sympathetic, and the Misses Plimpton-Anderson, who seemed to take a great interest in Madame Koska and her collection, offered to stay with her, but she made it clear that she was not so ill as to need help, but would like some rest, to shake off the cold. In truth, she knew that Gretchen’s room was at the end of the corridor, and she planned to go there as soon as everyone left and do a little sleuthing.
Once everyone left, and no noises were heard on her floor, Madame Koska opened her door quietly and looked around her to be sure no one was around. Just in case, she held a book in her hand, and if anyone caught her, she was ready to explain that she was returning a book that Gretchen had lent her. Walking softly, her steps made no sound since she wore cloth slippers, the ballet style she favored at any home that was adequately warm. Looking again over her shoulder, she silently opened Gretchen’s room, and was startled to see Mr. Korolenko standing in front of the bookcase, holding a book he was in the act of taking off the shelf. “Ah, Madame Koska,” he said. “I was expecting you.”
For one second, Madame Koska felt intense fear flooding her. The thoughts ran wildly in her head. What did she really know of Mr. Korolenko? What if he had to hide something terrible? Would he hurt her? But she calmed herself down and realized that such drama was not really possible. “Why would you expect me?” she asked calmly. “You did not know about the book I was returning to Gretchen’s room—”
“There is no need to pretend, Madame Koska,’ said Mr. Korolenko. “We are here for the same purpose. You wish to check if Gretchen is really the scatterbrained pretty girl she seems to be—and you cannot deny it since I was the one who told you about her precocious behavior as a child and her studying habits. I am here for the same reason.”
Madame Koska shrugged, defeated. “Well, yes. But I thought you were going to skate with the others.”
“I begged to be excused in the last minute. I told them a severe headache came upon me suddenly. They were all concerned that perhaps you and I are the first victims of an influenza epidemic. Well, here I am. Look at the room, and then look at the bookcase. This is very interesting.”
The beautiful room was relatively small and daintily furnished. Other than the bookcase, it contained a dressing table, a wardrobe, a pretty bed with many pillows piled on it, and a couple of small tables holding trinkets and bowls of pink hothouse flowers. The furnishing was classic white and gold, the fabrics dusty rose. “It looks perfectly nice and normal to me,” said Madame Koska. “I would say it fits Gretchen’s personality. This is the look one would expect from a young girl’s room in a wealthy home.”
“Exactly, but please step over here,” said Mr. Korolenko. She approached him by the large bookcase. “Just look at these books,” he added.