Page 46 of Thief of the Ton
“What for?” Peregrine asked.
“For wasting your time.” She looked away. “I’ve been somewhat foolish. You see—the vase was never stolen.”
“Did you break it, Lady Francis?”
She gave him a thoughtful glance, as if she were working something out in her mind. Then she nodded, slowly.
“A shame,” he said. “A piece like that can never be replaced. But if it were purchased for half a crown, it’s no material loss to you.”
She exhaled, as if sighing with relief, then drained her teacup.
“More tea, Lord Marlow?”
He nodded and rose as she glided toward the table and refilled both cups.
“I find myself intrigued as to the price your late father-in-law paid for the vase,” he said. “I should still like to inspect it, if you’d be so kind.”
Her eyes widened, and panic flared in her expression. “I-it’s in the country,” she said. “And it’s in pieces. You’d not be able to make anything of it.”
“I flatter myself that I’m well placed to ascertain the authenticity of a piece, even if it’s been smashed into a hundred shards,” he replied. “I beg you to indulge me.”
She colored and looked away again. What the devil was going on?
“I…” She seemed to shake with distress. Then she let out a sigh. “I’m afraid I sold it.”
“You sold it?”
She nodded. “I-in London. I brought it here and sold it.”
“At a pawnbroker’s, I assume,” Peregrine said. “Can you recall which one?”
“A—a what?” she replied. “Oh—yes, I suppose so. No—I’m afraid I quite forget. They all look the same, don’t they?”
Peregrine fixed his gaze on her, but she seemed to be particularly interested in flicking a speck of dirt off her cuff.
After a pause, she glanced up, met his gaze, then looked away.
“What about the Phoenix?” he asked.
She made a dismissive gesture. “My husband has fanciful ideas.”
Peregrine drew out a piece of paper from his pocket, unfolded it, then held it up.
“How do you explain this, Lady Francis?”
She stared at the paper, with its drawing of a bird in flames, and paled. “I—”
“I believe this was discovered on an occasional table in your bedchamber,” he said. “The Phoenix’s calling card.”
“Are you impugning my honor, sir?”
“Not at all.” He tapped at the image on the paper. “I find it somewhat unusual, given that only the Phoenix, and his victims, have seen this drawing. So, I take it that the ginger jarwasstolen, but you’d rather Lord Francis believe otherwise?”
She stared at him for a moment, then let out a sigh. “My husband tells me you’re a man of discretion,” she said. “Can I rely on that discretion now?”
“Of course.”
“And I have your word that you’ll not repeat what I’m about to say to you now? Not even to my husband?”
