Page 10 of To Catch an Earl

The Nightjar had written an open letter to the editor, publicly denouncing revolutionary leader Georges Danton as a traitor to France. He claimed the theft of the French crown jewels from the Louvre had been an inside job, masterminded by Danton himself. The jewels, he said, had been used as bribes to purchase support for the Republique and, later, for the Emperor Napoleon, from foreign powers such as the Austrians and the Prussians.

“I vow to steal back our country’s bounty from those who have received it unjustly,” the Nightjar had written. “The jewels shall be recovered for the glory of France and held secure until the upstart Napoleon has been ousted and the Bourbons are once more restored to their rightful place upon the throne.”

Alex sat back in his chair with a slow exhale. As a declaration of intent, it was certainly impressive.

On the following page Vidocq had compiled a list of the jewels missing from the national archives and correlated them with the gems the Nightjar was known to have stolen. They matched perfectly. The Nightjar had, apparently, been doing exactly as he’d promised.

“The thefts aren’t random at all,” Alex said. “He’s stealing back the crown jewels of France.”

“Exactly.”

Alex pointed at one of the lines on the list. “The diamond taken from Rundell and Bridge must be this one the French call the ‘Regent’s Diamond.’ Which means there are only three major jewels still unaccounted for. The blue diamond they call the ‘Bleu Du Roi,’ a ruby, and a thirty-carat sapphire known as the ‘Ruspoli.’” He flipped through the remaining pages. “Do we know the location of these three jewels?”

Seb leaned back in his chair with a satisfied grin. “As a matter of fact, we do. Vidocq didn’t discover where any of the jewels had gone until Napoleon declared a twenty-year statute of limitations on crimes committed during the Revolution. Since the original theft occurred in 1792, that meant nobody could be prosecuted for the crime after 1812. As the deadline neared, Vidocq told his agents to listen out for information regarding the gems. Sure enough, not two days after the statute of limitations expired, a London jeweler named John Francillon sold a forty-five-carat blue diamond to the diamond merchantDaniel Eliason. Vidocq believes that stone is the ‘Bleu Du Roi,’ cut down and reshaped to disguise its origins.”

“Where is it now?”

Seb tapped another piece of paper. “Eliason failed to find a buyer. Perhaps afraid of having it stolen from his own premises, he decided on what you might call the old ‘hide-in-plain-sight’ tactic. He loaned it to the British Museum. For the past three years, it’s been on public display in their rocks and minerals gallery.”

Alex couldn’t prevent a chuckle. “Clever. And what of the others?”

“The ruby has been incorporated into a necklace that was purchased by Lord Carrington for his wife, Lady Sophia. She’s worn it on numerous occasions in public. During the season, they reside on Park Crescent. The sapphire, according to Vidocq’s sources, is in the possession of a disgraced Italian diplomat named Franco Andretti who now lives in a small village just outside Gravesend.”

Alex took a deep draught of wine. “If this information is correct—and provided this new Nightjar has the same goal as his predecessor—then we have an excellent chance of predicting where he’ll strike next.”

“Indeed we do.”

“All right, then. Tomorrow we’ll investigate the security arrangements at both the British Museum and the Carringtons’ town house. And I want to know more about the family of Louis d’Anvers. Especially his son. Do they ever attend any functions in theton? Do we have any common acquaintances who might make an introduction?”

Seb shot him a cocky grin. “I knew you’d say that, so I strolled over to visit my great-aunt Dorothea, the Dread Dowager Duchess, this morning. She expressed amazement at seeing me clothed, shaved, and sober before midday. The old battle-ax knows everybody in theton, andshe has the memory of an elephant. Never forgets a thing. She’s like a walking, talking Debrett’s.”

Alex gestured for Seb to get on with it.

“Turns out Dorothea is good friends with the comtesse. She couldn’t believe I’d never made her acquaintance, although she did concede that being absent for three years ‘fighting that odious Bonaparte’ was a partial excuse. She confidently expects to see the comtesse and her grandchildren this very evening at Caroline Turnbull’s soirée.”

Alex smiled. “I’m sure Caroline will be delighted to see us.”

Chapter 5.

Lady Caroline Turnbull’s soirée was fashionably crowded by the time Emmy, Luc, and Camille arrived. The sound of animated chatter and a lively English reel greeted them, and Emmy wasted no time in finding a vacant chair at the side of the room for Luc.

After twelve years, he walked with only the slightest limp and required no one’s arm for support. He did use an elegant silver-topped cane, but that was more for ornament than necessity. He was convinced it gave him a rakish edge. Sally mocked him about it constantly.

His injury had been caused by grapeshot—a bag of musket balls set on iron rings that when fired from a ship-mounted cannon resulted in a supersized blast. Luc was fortunate not to have bled to death on the deck, but thankfully the surgeon who’d operated on him had been experienced in dealing with such wounds. Emmy had read about many other poor souls who’d ended up with what they called a “sugar loaf stump,” an amputation performed too close to the bone, resulting in a conical stump which was difficult to heal.

Since Luc was missing only the lower portion of his leg, Camille had instructed a Jermyn Street shoemaker to fashion him a prosthetic foot with a jointed ankle made from wood and leather. It had taken Luc some time to grow accustomed to the contraption—he’d spent many hours leaning heavily on Emmy or Sally and cursing his inability to balance—but now he walked with a confidence that showed little hint of the struggle he’d endured. Emmy had nothing but respect for the way he’d dealt with such a dramatic change in his life.

Even so, she had no doubt their father’s criminal escapades, and her own “miseducation,” had provided her brother with a welcome diversion during his long convalescence. He’d needed something to engage his clever mind. Helping to plan the next heist had stopped him from dwelling on his injury.

With Luc suitably settled, Emmy accepted a glass of champagne from a passing servant and proceeded to make herself inconspicuous.

In the animal kingdom, especially when surrounded by carnivores, one of the best strategies is to fade into the background and disappear. She had become adept at avoiding notice, like one of those color-changing lizards she’d seen at the Exeter Exchange. It was not that thetonitself provided any specific threat, but she was ever-conscious of the fact that she was unlike any other woman in the room. She had far more to hide than a penchant for gambling or an illicit assignation with someone else’s husband. She couldn’t afford to let anyone get too close, for fear they would uncover her secrets. Her family had to be protected.

Clusters of people formed, separated, and reformedlike the jewel-colored contents of a kaleidoscope. Camille came to stand beside her, and together they looked out over the crush of dancers.

“Lord Eversleigh is here,” Camille murmured, and Emmy didn’t bother to suppress a groan. The man was a corseted fool who persisted in pursuing her despite a complete lack of encouragement.

“He doesn’t even notice when I’m being rude to him,” Emmy whispered back. “He never listens to a word I say. He just stands there and stares at my décolletage.”

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