Though her shoulder was bandaged, there were dark circles under her eyes and dabs of mercurochrome at the scratches on her throat, Olivia Marlow looked more beautiful than ever, sitting up in bed in her blue satin nightgown and bed-jacket. There were get-well cards and flowers everywhere, filling the hospital room with colour and fragrance.
Outside, the excited young nurse had said in a whisper that, yes, the police had been in, and the detective gentleman, Mr Woodley-Foxe, who had come in this morning with his assistant. He’d taken a statement from Miss Marlow, and she’d been ever so helpful and nice. She’d even given that young man a signed photograph of herself, because he’d looked so star-struck … Ooh, and yes, there had been reporters and photographers, Miss Marlow had in the end consented to just a few pictures, they’d likely be in the papers tomorrow … and yes — there had been a telegram from the Prince of Luxenstein … But here, she was talking too much, the lady had to forgive her, it was just that things were pretty exciting, right now, she hadn’t seen anything like it in all her time nursing …
Mrs Ashfield told her there was nothing to forgive, it was all quite natural to be interested. And was Miss Marlow awake, right now?
She was indeed. Daisy looked at the young woman as she rested so prettily back on her pillows and thought, it’s not everyone who can manage to look photogenic after such an experience. Daisy listened as the actress told her a simple version of last night’s events. She couldn’t remember much and hoped other witnesses might be more helpful.
Mrs Ashfield said, ‘Oh, I’m sure they will. For instance, I believe Mr Golightly’s been quite useful.’
‘Oh, that’s good,’ said Olivia Marlow, absently. After a little pause, she said, ‘Mrs Ashfield, do you think these thieves will try again? I mean, after all, they didn’t get what they came for.’
‘It’s possible,’ said Mrs Ashfield.
The actress’ big blue eyes opened wide. ‘Oh, do you really think so? Well, I will certainly put the Blue Moon away in a bank vault till they are caught!’
‘Very wise.’
‘It is, of course, a pity. I did so love wearing it …’
‘I do believe they make very good paste replicas, these days, for just such occasions,’ said Mrs Ashfield, thoughtfully. ‘Why, just the other day I was in Carter’s and …’
The actress made a sudden movement. She stared at Mrs Ashfield.
‘Mr Carter told me that his firm often makes replicas when a valuable gemstone has to be kept locked away but the person has to be seen wearing it, nevertheless.’ Mrs Ashfield’s eyes narrowed. ‘He also said there were other, less reputable, jewellers who would undertake such work for other reasons. A piece would be sent in for ‘restoring’ by its owner, the real gem extracted, and a paste one put in its place. The real stone can then be disposed of, sold in secret.’ She paused. ‘He even sent me a list of such clients. It made for interesting reading.’
The film star had paled. But she recovered, and laughed. ‘Why, what a preposterous idea! Why would anyone do such a thing, if they own the gemstone in question?’
‘Because they need ready cash. Because there’s no question of selling the jewel openly. Because they’ve been given the piece in question by someone who will be very angry if they discover it’s been disposed of.’ She leant forward. ‘Miss Marlow, I’d like to tell you a story.’
‘A story? What on earth do you mean?’ said the actress, rather wildly. Daisy looked from one to the other, her head whirling with thoughts. It wasn’t just the extraordinary idea Mrs Ashfield had come out with, it was something else, an idea of her own, something she’d half-suspected since yesterday, but now was sure of …
‘Perhaps you don’t want to hear it.’ Mrs Ashfield stood up. Her voice was rather stern. ‘In that case we’d better leave. I suppose I should tell the police and Mr Woodley-Foxe what Mr Carter told me. It might prove useful, don’t you think, Miss Marlow?’
‘No!’ The actress sat bolt upright. There were two red spots on her cheeks. ‘Please, sit down. What is this story you want to tell me?’
Mrs Ashfield resumed her seat. Daisy held her breath.
‘Well, Miss Marlow, it’s a rather romantic story, rather touching,’ said Mrs Ashfield. ‘It starts with a successful young woman, an adopted child, who always wondered who her real parents were. One day, she finds out. Her father was a young gentleman from an old county family — terribly snobbish, her mother a little clerk from the nearby town. They fell in love and got married, in secret. The boy did intend to eventually tell his parents he was married. But his young wife died in childbirth, and he died not long after, from a broken heart. He’d always been a delicate young man. Their baby was now an orphan. She was adopted out …
Now cut to the present. Our heroine discovers that most of her real father’s family is dead — except for an aunt, her father’s older sister. So she writes to her aunt, visits her, secretly, because she needs to make sure she really wants to be connected publicly to this family. And she finds out that she likes her aunt a great deal. She also falls in love with the family’s beautiful old estate. But alas! Our heroine also discovers the estate is in dire financial trouble. It will most likely be lost. She is not poor, but not so rich that she can afford to pay off all her aunt’s debts, and get the estate back to its former glory. She’ll need a real fortune for that.’
Mrs Ashfield looked at Olivia and Daisy. Her voice sharpened. ‘How can she get her hands on such money? She thinks and thinks. And then she has an idea … a stunning, daring, brilliant idea. She knows nothing is more easily transformed into hard cash than rare gemstones. She researches the world’s most valuable diamonds and finds the perfect one. But it cannot just be stolen in the usual way. It is too well guarded. And so, with the help of her aunt, and a very good friend, she creates a myth. A daredevil thief out of a penny novelette, or a detective story magazine. A mysterious thief who calls himself The Shadow and who has an obsession with diamonds. The Shadow has his practice run — his first night, you might call it — in Biarritz, last September.’
‘They stole the Countess’ ring!’ breathed Daisy.
‘Yes. Because it’s only practice, they return the ring. Then they steal a few other jewels, here and there. They only take minor pieces. These they did not return — it would become too risky — but they do not sell them, either, because they want no links with the underworld, no-one who might betray them. They are building up an image. The thefts so far have only been a blind. Their real attention is focussed on that one very valuable diamond, you see.’
‘A very melodramatic story,’ laughed Olivia Marlow. But despite her words, there was real fear in her eyes. Daisy held her breath, enthralled and astounded.
‘It’s not quite finished, yet, Miss Marlow,’ said Mrs Ashfield, calmly. ‘The diamond belongs to a certain prince. He is a rather poor specimen of a young man, under the thumb of a tyrannical mother. He often holidays in Biarritz. At the same time as The Shadow makes his practice run, our heroine sets out to dazzle the Prince. It’s almost too easy. He succumbs to her advances like a lamb and gives her the precious diamond, left to him by his father. His witch of a mother is deadset against the romance and furious that he has given away the diamond. She wants to blacken the girl in her son’s eyes. She wants to get that jewel back.’
Daisy said, ‘But if the Prince gave the diamond — then why not sell it openly?’
Mrs Ashfield looked at Olivia Marlow, who was very pale. ‘It cannot be sold openly. It is the property of the royal family. It would be a mortal insult to the Prince and all his family if his gift was sold. It can only be disposed of under the cloak of a robbery.’
Olivia Marlow laughed. ‘Absurd! But do go on, I want to see how you resolve this silly pot-boiler.’
‘Our little gang has plotted its coup well. There are those minor thefts, and lots of clues. Cheeky calling cards, the smoke from an unusual brand of cigar (our heroine’s friend was given one of these cigars in Biarritz, by the Countess). Our heroine even writes a comic strip — you see, she wants to attract attention to the whole daredevil, mocking character of this master thief, this Shadow … It is fun, as well as risky. And these three rascals love fun and risk. So confident are they of their plan that our heroine even inserts hints into the comic strip, which is otherwise quite harmless. And so The Shadow grows as a presence, becomes solid. It’s all bait …’ She stopped as the door opened and Harry Golightly put his head around the corner.
‘Sorry. You have visitors, Miss Marlow. I’ll come back …’
‘Oh, no, Mr Golightly, I’m sure Miss Marlow would be happy to have you here while I finish recounting the amazing story of The Shadow,’ said Mrs Ashfield, coolly. Daisy looked at the young musician. He had gone pale, but recovered, quickly. He glanced at the actress. ‘What would you have me do, Miss Marlow?’
‘You’d better come in, Harry,’ said Olivia Marlow, quietly. ‘She knows it all.’
He looked from one face to the other. He shut the door, and leant a chair against it. ‘Now what exactly have you been saying?’ he said, looming over Mrs Ashfield. He was really quite a big man.
‘You’d better not touch her, or I’ll scream and scream, and the whole hospital will come running!’ Daisy said, hotly.
‘Oh, he won’t do a thing, my dear,’ said Mrs Ashfield, smiling at Daisy. ‘Will you, Mr Golightly?’
He gave a deep sigh, and sank down onto a chair next to the bed. ‘Oh well! I suppose someone was bound to find out, sooner or later. What are you going to do?’
‘I haven’t finished,’ said Mrs Ashfield, in a reproachful tone. ‘It was all bait, I said. But bait for whom? Listen. The aunt herself was threatened by The Shadow. A master detective — a celebrity investigator known for his wide public profile, a vain man who’d created his own legendary image — would be called in. He would be in his element — this is a case just like the ones he presents in his articles and books — those very articles and books our young heroine so likes to read. Attacked by The Shadow, the diamond bracelet gone, the detective would be a perfect witness to the reality of our arch-criminal. What is more, his pride would be stung by his failure, and the indignity of having the police called! He would doggedly follow the planted clues — they would lead him infallibly to the Brooks, and the Blue Moon. He would then be right on the spot when the spectacular theft of the Blue Moon was staged by The Shadow! Again he would be a dream witness. He would investigate in his usual way. He wouldn’t even imagine the diamond had vanished long before the dramatic so-called robbery. Little would he know the Blue Moon that glittered so brightly on our heroine’s throat was a fake.’ She paused. She did not look dowdy or meek anymore, but like a glittering-eyed hawk, about to plunge on her prey. ‘That was how it was meant to be. But our gang’s plans had to change quickly, when they found out there was another investigator at the Brooks.’
‘You!’ said Daisy.
Mrs Ashfield shook her head. ‘No. Not me, but Mr Felici — who works for the Princess of Luxenstein. The young man found that out quite by chance. He almost panicked.’
Daisy looked at Harry Golightly. That’s why he had to meet Olivia Marlow, at the British Museum!
Mrs Ashfield went on, ‘But the young woman kept her head. The robbery should still go ahead, as planned. But it should appear to fail! She would fight back against the thieves. Her bravery would be reported back to Luxenstein. Suspicions would be allayed! And so it proved to be.’
‘If the real diamond was already gone — if the necklace was a paste replica … then why was Mr Meyer in the hotel? Wasn’t he the buyer?’ said Daisy.
‘Yes. Or at least, that’s what he was led to believe. The man you knew as Cornelius Meyer was a petty criminal, a Dutch fence impersonating the real Cornelius Meyer, diamond merchant of Amsterdam. He was small fry, though — he’d have to be, to believe the set-up he was given. Naive, greedy small fry who thought all his Christmases had come at once when he was contacted by a mysterious stranger and asked if he’d like to earn a commission to sell the Blue Moon Diamond, which was going to be stolen. The robbery was to take place at the Brooks Hotel, he was told. He should be on the spot to take custody of it once it was stolen. When the robbery supposedly failed and he realised there were detectives in the room, he was a little concerned. But he wasn’t really worried until he realised someone had been snooping in his room. I fancy that when he looked in his attache case and found the comic there — planted by our heroine — he’d have panicked. He’d not know why it was there, but his instinct would tell him it would not do him any good. He may even have thought the whole so-called robbery was a police sting to trap him. So he fled, instantly making himself a suspect.’
She paused. The silence in the room was profound. ‘Really, everything worked out so well! No-one suspects the robbery of being anything other than a robbery, especially after Mr Meyer fled. The jewel is supposedly safe. Then to cap it all off, Mrs Peabody, this loud, theatrical Australian widow of a rich jeweller, can’t be found anywhere! Who knows for what reason she has vanished? It doesn’t really matter. All that matters is that she can be made to fit the whole set-up.’
There was a long silence. Then Harry Golightly said, with a curl to his lip, ‘Seems to me you’re mighty quick to piece together a fairytale, when the real facts are that an attempt was made on the diamonds, they’re still there, and this Meyer and Peabody have actually disappeared! Obviously, neither of them was up to much good! Obviously both were impostors! How about you investigate that, eh?’
‘Harry …’ began Olivia Marlow. But the musician wasn’t finished.
‘Those are facts, are they not? If you were a proper detective, instead of a teller of fairytales, you’d know that! And if Olivia and I — if you mean us to be the culprits, then how do you explain the fact we were in the room when the lights went out? And what about the pistol shot, eh? It came from a pop-gun, apparently. Well, neither of us had any such thing! There are dozens of witnesses to prove it! And what about Olivia’s wounds? They’re real enough!’
‘A cork blown out of a trumpet can emerge with great force,’ said Mrs Ashfield, gently. ‘The scratches … well …’ She looked at Olivia Marlow’s well-tended long fingernails. The actress swallowed. ‘The wound made by the flying glass was a fortunate accident,’ went on Mrs Ashfield. ‘Risk again! You were lucky no-one else got hurt, actually. As to the lights, well, I was most interested to notice a page boy hanging about the back entrance this afternoon … a boy whose face, I fancied, reminded me faintly of a very talented young London picklock …’ She shook her head. ‘Dear, dear! I hope he was well-paid. Risky to contract things out, you know.’
‘We had no choice,’ Harry Golightly burst out, then checked himself.
Olivia Marlow put a hand on his. She said, steadily, though the red still burnt in her cheeks and her eyes were bright, ‘Oh well, I suppose that’s it. You know it all and you’re going to turn us over to the police.’
‘I never said anything about the police,’ said Mrs Ashfield.
‘If you think we’re going to pay you to keep your mouth shut …’ began Harry Golightly, menacingly, beginning to get up. Olivia Marlow hushed him.
‘What did you say then, Mrs Ashfield?’
‘I believe I just said I was telling you a story,’ said Mrs Ashfield, calmly. ‘Mr Golightly has mentioned facts. What I’ve recounted aren’t facts, but elements in a story. But if you want to speak of facts — I agree, it’s a fact both Meyer and Peabody are gone, and it’s a fact both were impostors — after all, there was a real Mr Peabody, who wrote that film book, isn’t that right, Daisy?’
Daisy nodded, hardly daring to breathe. There was a bubble of laughter in her chest, laughter she was trying her hardest to hold back.
‘It’s quite likely they were both engaged in nefarious activities,’ went on Mrs Ashfield. ‘But I’m not investigating the case. Mr Woodley-Foxe is. He is quite keen on the idea of an international gang of diamond thieves, perhaps led by Peabody. I’m sure you’ll read his account of the case in due time.’ She looked at the dumbfounded couple. ‘Oh — that telegram from Luxenstein, Miss Marlow. The Prince, no doubt, wishes to visit you.’
‘Yes,’ said the actress, dully.
‘He will want to see you wearing the necklace. What will you do?’
‘Wear it,’ said the actress, grimly.
‘And if he finds out it’s one of those clever imitations, I suppose you’ll be able to act shocked?’
The actress swallowed. ‘Yes,’ she murmured.
Mrs Ashfield nodded. ‘A quick, flexible mind indeed.’ She looked at the band leader. ‘Mr Golightly, are you prepared to allow the woman you love to keep lying? More to the point — are you prepared to let her become the wife of the Prince of Luxenstein?’
He was scarlet. ‘Never! I would much rather go to gaol! Oh! We were mad, to think we could get away with it! Oh, Olivia, darling, we must go and see …’
Mrs Ashfield stood up, and put on her hat. ‘Before you do anything rash, Mr Golightly, I think it is almost certain that the Princess of Luxenstein will persuade her son that Miss Marlow carries scandal and havoc wherever she goes. He will have a last spurt of rebellion — granting her the Blue Moon permanently, against his mother’s express wishes — and then he will bow to her command. He will feel good all his life, though, about having done just this one thing against his mother. Princess Hildegarde will be angry about the loss of the jewel. But she can do nothing about it.’
‘You … you think so …’ he stammered.
‘If I know something of that boy — of that family, which I do — that is how it will go. If not — well, you will have to cross that bridge when you come to it.’ She paused, her hand on the door handle. ‘I’ve seen Charlton Hall. It’s a beautiful place. One could make a real home there. It’s much more worthwhile than any diamond ever was. But the proceeds of the Blue Moon must only be used for that.’
‘Oh, we give you our word on that,’ said Harry Golightly, eagerly. ‘Why, Olivia just loves that place — she’d do anything for it.’
‘And you’d do anything for her, Mr Golightly.’ She looked at the actress. ‘You are a fortunate woman, Miss Marlow. More fortunate than you know.’
‘Oh, I do know — now,’ said Olivia Marlow, softly, and she took Harry’s hand. ‘Mrs Ashfield … how can we possibly thank you … will you perhaps accept a gift …’
‘No, no,’ said Mrs Ashfield. ‘It has all been quite amusing. But there’s just one thing I want you to do. Send back all the other diamonds. I know you still have them. The Blue Moon is worth hundreds of them. You won’t need any others.’ Her voice became stern. ‘The Shadow must permanently retire, however — except maybe as a character in your comic strip. That must be clearly understood. Or I go immediately to the police and tell them my fairytale.’
Daisy caught the wistful look on Olivia Marlow’s face. Olivia was regretting the passing of The Shadow, Daisy thought — and no wonder, it was probably the greatest role she’d ever played. But she nodded, and so did Harry. ‘We understand, Mrs Ashfield,’ she said, quietly. ‘Goodbye, and thank you.’
Out in the corridor, Daisy stopped. ‘Mrs Ashfield, I know why you really let them get away with it.’
Mrs Ashfield paused. Her violet eyes were thoughtful. ‘Do you now, Daisy?’
‘I think you admire their nerve and their imagination. You think they did it all in a good cause. You think no-one’s really been harmed. But I think it’s more than that. It’s because of Mrs Peabody.’
Mrs Ashfield raised an eyebrow. ‘Whatever can you mean?’
‘You didn’t want them to know … you wanted them to think … you wanted everyone to think Mrs Peabody really existed. As an impostor, even, some kind of arch-criminal. Anything, rather than have them know the truth.’
Mrs Ashfield repeated, softly, ‘Whatever can you mean?’
Daisy’s words tumbled out. ‘I thought, why the wigs, why the glasses, the loud clothes, the loud voice, the make-up — they drew attention, that’s why. People saw the exterior not the person. It was like with The Shadow — you saw the story that was made around it, and not the real thing.’ Her eyes met Mrs Ashfield’s. ‘Smoke and mirrors! Olivia and Harry were acting, but they never noticed someone else was. You said Mrs Peabody was an impostor, but it was much more than that. She never existed, Mrs Ashfield. Because Mrs Peabody was you! You took the name from that film book, you put on extravagant clothes, and wigs, you always wore glasses — because the one thing you must always keep hidden are your eyes. They’re eyes no-one can forget, if they really see them. And Irene — she was in on it. She had to be — she was at such close quarters to you. I saw her astonishment when she walked in and saw us. It was more than just ordinary astonishment — she was dismayed. I think she must be one of your associates. She was probably out with Mary Stewart to pump her for information on Olivia Marlow.’
Mrs Ashfield was silent an instant. Then she gave a little laugh. ‘Daisy Miller, you really are the most extraordinary girl. When did you know?’
‘I suspected it last night, but I knew for sure in there. The mention of Carter’s clinched it. That letter you sent me to get — it was that list you were talking about, wasn’t it?’
Mrs Ashfield nodded, slowly.
‘Are you actually Australian? Or was all that made up too? You don’t have an accent, now.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Mrs Ashfield. ‘I’m a Sydney girl, born and bred — but I left Australia when I was seventeen to come to England — just a year younger than your mother when she came. I worked in small theatrical companies for a few years before I met my husband. I haven’t been back to Sydney for more than twenty-five years. Not many people realise I’m Australian — not even Philip Woodley-Foxe. As you say, normally I don’t have any accent. I’ve studied so many different accents as an actress that my own has vanished. Pretty useful, actually.’
Daisy nodded. ‘You suspected Olivia Marlow quite a while ago, didn’t you?’
‘Yes. But I couldn’t understand why she’d risk doing such a thing. From one of my associates, I’d had word she’d been glimpsed going to Charlton Hall. She’d kept all that very quiet, obviously. I ferreted around a bit, and found out her aunt was just about bankrupt. I had a glimmer of the truth, then, but not enough. Then I learnt she was going to be at the Brooks, with the diamond. I felt sure something would happen there. So I created Mrs Peabody. And I disposed of her quite ruthlessly, when the time came — actually, when you captured me, Daisy. I was lying there on your floor thinking how I was going to get out of that pickle, and deciding Mrs Peabody must disappear. When I learnt the robbery had supposedly failed, it made Mrs Peabody’s disappearance seem all the more natural. I could see the advantage in that.’
She smiled wryly. ‘Nobody else has guessed, certainly not our pair of desperadoes in there, who can only focus on their own concerns right now. Even if they might suspect it, later, they’re hardly going to say so, are they? The Countess might suspect it, but she’s unlikely to say a word. I’m not important enough, and besides, it probably amuses her. She’s not the sort of woman to care for convention.’ Mrs Ashfield paused. Then she said, ‘Well, I suppose I’d better ask you not to spill the beans. Any of them.’
‘Oh, I won’t,’ said Daisy, ‘on one condition.’
Mrs Ashfield looked wary. ‘What might that be?’
‘A job,’ said Daisy, at once. ‘Well, I think it’s only fair! After all, Mrs Peabody’s disappearance makes me unemployed. And I’ve quite enjoyed all this sleuthing, though I never thought I would. That was George’s thing, not mine. Well, it just goes to show, doesn’t it?’
Mrs Ashfield gave a great peal of laughter. ‘I was wondering if you’d ever get around to asking me that! Why do you think I asked you to come today?’ She put out a hand. ‘Welcome, and most heartily, Miss Daisy Miller, to Fletcher’s Advice Bureau. I can’t pay you quite as much as Mrs Peabody was willing to, mind, but it’ll be interesting work.’
Daisy shook hands. ‘I’m sure it will! Oh, one more thing, Mrs Ashfield. Mrs Peabody — I was part of her cover. But I was needed for a specific reason.’
Mrs Ashfield said, slowly, ‘Yes. It was for the same reason I persuaded the Countess that her grandson wasn’t to be told I was on the case. Because …’
‘Because you thought he might have been involved, because of his feelings for Olivia Marlow, last year,’ said Daisy. ‘And you thought — well, he might make friends with me, and he might tell me things …’
For the first time, Mrs Ashfield looked uncomfortable. ‘I’m really sorry, my dear, but I did think that at first, though I never told the Countess. I soon realised Victor had nothing to do with it. But Olivia and Harry kept their friendship very quiet. Even though I soon learnt he had been in Biarritz at the same time as she had, their paths never seemed to cross. I will admit I did not have an inkling of the truth until I saw them together that day, at the British Museum …’
‘Oh,’ said Daisy. She went on, ‘But what about Mr Woodley-Foxe, Mrs Ashfield? Aren’t you afraid he’ll discover the truth?’
Mrs Ashfield smiled. It was a smile that said a lot of things. ‘I am sure Philip’s account of the case will make very good reading. It will enhance his reputation. Now then, Daisy, shall we go back to the hotel? I am sure you will want to call your mother.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Daisy. There’s George, she thought. Should I tell George the truth? But I can’t. I’ve promised not to spill the beans. Oh well, what George didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. And he’d be in all the papers now. He’d become known as the great detective’s promising young assistant. She didn’t want to spoil that image for him. No, it was all for the best, just as it was.