Page 42 of Marriage and Murder
Stokes and Barnaby had been studying the list the young constable had provided.
“Possibly,” Barnaby conceded, sitting back. “But if we do strike any glimmer of a lead, we’ll need Stokes there to exercisehis authority, and any delay might give the workshop in question time to hide any evidence.”
Stokes nodded. “An excellent point.” He looked at Penelope and Madeline. “And we’ll also need both of you to use your sharp eyes and your knowledge of jewelry to ask the right questions.” He shook his head. “Splitting up won’t work.”
Reluctantly, Penelope conceded their points. “All right. So we stay together and visit the four shops.” She paused, eyeing Stokes, then ventured, “Actually, Stokes, it might be best if you remain in the carriage, out of sight, while the three of us go in and learn what we can. You do seem to set off alarms even before you speak.”
Stokes grimaced but couldn’t deny that. After his long years in the force, a certain aura hung about him like a cloak and all too often was readily detected by wrongdoers. “Well, we can try that and see how it goes. If you get any sense of something shady going on and need my authoritative presence, you can send Madeline out to fetch me.”
Everyone was agreeable.
Penelope looked at Barnaby. “Where are these minor jewelers located?”
Stokes produced the map the constable had sketched, and with Madeline’s knowledge of Salisbury’s streets, they traced the quickest route that would take them first to the undertakers, then to all four shops.
With that done, they rose. Barnaby paid the bill while Stokes fetched Morgan, and they left the Haunch of Venison, crossed the street, and climbed into the carriage.
They settled, and Barnaby consulted the map, then called to Phelps, “Gibsons’ Undertakers on Canal Street, Phelps. Canal Street should be just ahead on the left.”
A second later, Phelps set the horses in motion, and they rattled off along the street.
After Madeline, supported by Barnaby and Penelope, called at the undertakers and made the necessary arrangements, they returned to the carriage and continued along Canal Street to the first of the jewelers on their list. When the carriage halted outside a smallish shop on the north side of the street, Penelope faced the others and said, “I’ve been thinking. Perhaps if Barnaby, Madeline, and I enter as a group, and Madeline and I ask the jeweler about the necklace design—without letting him get a close look at the stones—and if, as we suspect he will, he doesn’t claim the piece as his, Madeline and I can look further at his wares, and under cover of that, Barnaby can quietly ask the owner about substituting paste replicas. Just a very general leading query. From the owner’s reaction, we’ll at least get some idea of whether he’s willing to entertain doing such work.”
Barnaby, Madeline, and Stokes shared glances, then all agreed there was nothing to be lost by attempting such a charade.
Subsequently, Penelope pushed open the door to Findlayson’s Jewelry Shop with Madeline at her heels with, as a last touch, Madeline wearing the necklace.
With Barnaby bringing up the rear, the ladies made for the nearest glass-topped counter and pored over the pieces displayed beneath the glass. The salesman came up on the other side of the counter. Smiling, he said, “Good afternoon. I’m Mr. Findlayson, owner of this shop. Are you looking for anything specific, mesdames?”
Penelope and Madeline exchanged a glance, then Penelope leaned forward and confided, “Actually, we’re interested in finding pieces of a similar design to this necklace.” She indicatedthe links draped about Madeline’s throat. Madeline stepped back a pace as if to better show off the piece, ensuring the stones were sufficiently far away from the jeweler that he was unlikely to detect that they were fake. Penelope went on, “The necklace belongs to a friend of ours. It was a gift, so she doesn’t know who made it. We’ve borrowed it for the day, hoping to locate the jeweler who created it.” She opened her eyes wide. “Was it you or one of your workers?”
When Findlayson looked torn, Madeline added, “We’re interested in commissioning several pieces.”
Findlayson faintly grimaced. “I’m afraid that’s not my work, but”—with a sweep of his hand, he indicated the other display cases in the shop—“if you care to look through my wares, it’s possible something might catch your eye.”
Penelope and Madeline looked duly disappointed, but consented to look over the man’s offerings, which, indeed, were very different in design and, to some extent, even in execution. The work on the necklace was quite fine, while Findlayson’s pieces were heavier.
Barnaby had been trailing the ladies, doing his best to look suitably bored. When, eventually, the pair stopped and appeared to be debating the merits of a cuff, Barnaby halted a little way away and endeavored to catch Findlayson’s eye.
Seeing that the ladies were absorbed, Findlayson responded to Barnaby’s unvoiced summons and backtracked until he stood opposite Barnaby. “Can I help you, sir?”
“I’ve heard,” Barnaby murmured with a glance in Penelope’s direction, “that the latest paste imitations are really very good, easily passing for the real thing. I wondered whether you or anyone you might know sometimes fabricated pieces with paste instead of stones to bring the overall cost down.”
Findlayson straightened, his expression turning first to one of horror and then to personal affront. “Really, sir,” hespluttered, “I…I don’t know what to say. I would never consent to doing such a thing—never! And I’m shocked you would think I would even consider it.”
The growing ire in the jeweler’s gaze had Barnaby quickly backing down. “Just an innocent inquiry.” Barnaby held his hands wide. “I had no intention of casting aspersions—not at all.”
Penelope and Madeline—who had, of course, been listening avidly—pretended to have just noticed the discussion. Penelope came bustling across. “What’s that?”
“Nothing, nothing, my dear.” Hurriedly, Barnaby turned her toward the door. “But I think it’s time we left.”
“Indeed!” Poker-straight and glaring from behind the counter, Findlayson added, “And I would take it kindly, sir, if you did not return!”
Barnaby bundled Penelope and Madeline from the shop and followed on their heels. The three piled back into the carriage, with Barnaby pausing on the pavement only long enough to tell Phelps, “Go! On to the next one.”
After clambering into the carriage and closing the door, Barnaby collapsed on the seat beside Penelope, who was grinning widely.
“That was interesting,” she observed, merriment dancing in her eyes.
