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Elizabeth looked urgently towards the source of the sound. It had come from the other end of the dining table, and she saw a woman waving her arms in a great deal of distress. It was the rotund lady with the beautiful tiara, though that magnificent headdress was on her head no longer.
The lady clasped her hair and shrieked, “Oh! It is gone! It is gone! My tiara!”
Bingley sprang up from his place next to Jane and hurried across the room towards his guest. His face was set in lines of deep dismay. A robbery at his ball would spoil the enjoyment of all the guests and give the event a black reputation. It was the very thing he had feared and, despite all the measures he had taken to prevent such an occurrence, it now looked like it had all been in vain.
A large man with thick eyebrows and deep-set eyes walked into the room. From his dress and his manner, Elizabeth assumed him to be one of the Bow Street runners—and from his air of authority, probably the leader of the local team. He joined Bingley in attending to the distressed lady.
“My name is Forsythe, ma’am.” He made her a cursory bow. “I would be much obliged if you could explain how you came to discover the loss of your ornament. When were you alerted that it was missing?”
With the help of some hartshorn, the lady was finally able to recover her composure enough to answer. It appeared that her name was Mrs Rochdale, a distant relative of Bingley’s and a very wealthy widow.
“I was sitting here in this very spot,” she said. “I had noticed nothing amiss until I reached up to adjust my hair and realised that my tiara was no longer on my head!”
“Are you sure that you were wearing the tiara when you sat down, ma’am?” asked Forsythe politely. “Could you perhaps have lost it while dancing?”
“No, no.” Mrs Rochdale shook her head firmly. “I know I was wearing it when I sat down for I spoke to my friend, Mrs Guildford, not ten minutes ago and she admired my tiara as she was passing. Oh...!” Her face crumpled again and she pressed a handkerchief to her lips. “The tiara was the handsomest item in my husband’s estate! It was an heirloom passed down from a Russian tsarina... it is priceless! And now it is gone! Gone!” She sobbed into her handkerchief.
Bingley looked on helplessly next to her. “Please, Mrs Rochdale, do not distress yourself,” he said at last. “We have the best of the London constabulary here and I am convinced that they will retrieve your ornament.”
Forsythe’s face was grave. Elizabeth knew that he was wondering at his chances when so many had failed in similar robberies before him. However, he nodded and added his own words of reassurance to Bingley’s. Mrs Guildford came to the distressed lady’s side and, with the help of a maid, she escorted Mrs Rochdale out of the room and into another parlour for some rest and privacy.
Forsythe now looked around the dining room, his grey eyes narrowed and thoughtful. In a quiet, authoritative voice, he asked all those who had been in the room when the theft occurred to remain in their positions. They would not be allowed to leave, he stated, until they had removed their masks and been thoroughly interviewed and searched by one of the Bow Street runners.
“What, man, are you suggesting that one of us could be the thief?” demanded an elderly man, standing up. His face, beneath his half-mask, was red with indignation. He turned to Bingley angrily. “Bingley? What is the meaning of this? Is this how you treat your guests? Allowing us to be searched and interviewed like common criminals? I have never been so insulted in my life!”
“Lord Musgrove, I am sure Mr Forsythe was making no such accusation,” said Bingley hastily. “He is simply keen to find the culprit in as timely and efficient a manner as possible.”
“I beg your pardon if my words offended,” said Forsythe evenly. “However, I must insist on following the necessary procedures. It is the only way to discover if anyone has concealed the stolen tiara about their person or is guilty of—”
“A gentleman’s word ought to be sufficient!” spluttered Lord Musgrove, his face so red now he resembled a beetroot. “’Tis bad enough to be casting aspersions on one’s character, but if I give you my word that I did not steal the item, that should be more than enough without the need to search me or interrogate me!”
“Perhaps we can dispense with the search... and the need to remove masks,” said Bingley to Forsythe. “We can certainly depend on our guests’ good word for the veracity of their identity and their possessions.” He turned back to Lord Musgrove. “We would be much obliged, sir, if you could answer a few questions as your observations may help greatly with the investigation.”
Lord Musgrove harrumphed, but seemed to calm down and agreed to an interview, on the understanding that he was not considered a potential suspect but merely a possible witness. The other guests who had been in the dining room were treated likewise. The remainder—who had rushed into the room when they heard the commotion—were politely instructed to wait outside in the main ballroom.
Elizabeth was one of those obliged to remain, though her seat at the other end of the table from Mrs Rochdale precluded her from being of much importance. One of the runners questioned her perfunctorily, along with the other people who were seated close to her, then dismissed them and called eagerly to those who had been at the other end of the table.
Elizabeth followed the others of her group to the doorway as instructed, but instead of quitting the room, she hovered there, turning back to watch the proceedings. She noticed suddenly that Wickham was in the group of people currently being interviewed and she remembered that he was one of those who had been sitting next to Mrs Rochdale. She recalled the keen interest he had shown in the lady’s tiara during their dance and an uneasy suspicion formed in her mind. Had Wickham come to the ball not to flirt and dance, as he had intimated, but for a much bigger bounty? A private ball of this type, attended by wealthy members of the gentry, would provide rich pickings for a highwayman.
She watched apprehensively as Wickham sat down in front of one of the runners, but the highwayman showed no signs of fear or nervousness. Indeed, he appeared almost jovial, leaning back in his chair and talking and laughing as he answered the questions. Within minutes, he was released and sauntered back to the other end of the table.
But Elizabeth was not satisfied. Taking cover under the commotion, she quietly made her way across the room to Wickham, who was about to help himself from a whole roast chicken. She wondered that he could think of eating at a time like this!
“Was it you who stole the tiara?” she asked in a low voice.
He jumped and spun around, then his face relaxed into that familiar roguish smile. “Miss Bennet, how could you say such things? I am deeply wounded.”
Elizabeth looked at him searchingly, trying to read his eyes behind that Bauta mask of his. “You were excessively interested in Mrs Rochdale’s tiara when we were dancing... and it would certainly be a most coveted item for a highwayman.”
She glanced furtively around. They were speaking in whispers so that none around might hear; nevertheless, she was nervous about discovery. Should anyone overhear their conversation, not only Wickham but she herself would be reported to the authorities.
Wickham matched her low tone. “One might admire without wishing to acquire,” he said. “I am grievously wounded, Miss Bennet, to hear you speak so. Have I not behaved the perfect gentleman thus far? And to think that I braved the risk of discovery simply for the pleasure of dancing with you!”
“Those are pretty words, sir, but I wonder if that was truly your intent for coming to the ball,” said Elizabeth evenly.
“I have been questioned and the authorities are well satisfied. Have I not proved myself innocent of this accusation? There are those who would judge me simply by my undeserved reputation but I had not thought you one of the party, Miss Bennet, especially with your knowledge of my past abuse at the hands of Mr Darcy.”
He spoke with such eloquence and with such an expression of wounded emotion on his countenance that Elizabeth felt ashamed of her suspicions. She did not want to be accused of judging him unfairly nor acting on prejudice.
“I beg your pardon,” said Elizabeth, lowering her gaze. “Perhaps I jumped to conclusions.”
Here they were interrupted by Forsythe who announced in a loud voice that all persons were to leave the dining room now so as to enable the runners to conduct a thorough search of the area. An expression of chagrin came over Wickham’s face and he looked longingly at the food on the table. Elizabeth wondered if he suffered from hunger and had been hoping to partake of the banquet on display. She felt another wave of shame and discomfort. The uncertain life of a highwayman could offer little in the way of physical comforts—perhaps she should have shown pity for him instead of jumping to accuse him.
They joined the others filing out of the room and, once back in the main ballroom, Wickham quickly moved away through the crowds. Elizabeth watched him leave with little regret and hoped that she would not have to encounter him again that evening. Instead, she searched for her own family and hurried to join them.
The examination of the dining room did not take long and the doors were soon thrown open again to allow the guests to re-enter. Bingley was anxious that the food laid out on the dining table had now grown cold, but the guests did not seem to mind. The lateness of the hour had made the supper even more welcome, lukewarm as it was. Most sat down eagerly again to partake of the food.
Elizabeth found her own appetite sadly diminished. She found her previous seat at the end of the table, nevertheless, and made a valiant attempt to taste some of the dishes. Her attention, however, was caught less by the compote of pigeon and ragout of celery before her and more by the conversation being conducted behind her. She turned in her chair so that she could view the speakers. Forsythe, Bingley, and Darcy were discussing the results of the preliminary investigation.
“We have come up with nothing so far, sir,” said Forsythe in tones of great frustration. “It pains me to say this, but it does appear as if the tiara disappeared into thin air. I cannot fathom how such a theft was achieved. There is only one door in and out of this room and I had one of my runners standing outside it the entire time. To my certain knowledge, no one has left the room in possession of the stolen ornament.”
“Bingley, you should have let the runners search the guests,” said Darcy.
“Nay, but you saw Lord Musgrove’s reaction!” said Bingley. “’Tis bad enough that this theft has caused distress to one of my guests, but it would not do to offend and distress many more.”
Forsythe shook his head. “It is no matter. Whilst we were not permitted to physically search the guests, my men are trained to have excellent skills of observation and it is our certain belief that no one could have left the room with the tiara concealed about their person. It is of a significant enough size that it could not have been easily hidden in the tight-fitting clothing favoured by most of the guests here.”
Darcy gazed around. “So it is likely still in this room?”
Forsythe gave another frustrated sigh. “Yet we have searched the room thoroughly and not unearthed its hiding place.” He looked at Bingley. “Sir, have you a secret panel in the walls here perchance?”
Bingley shook his head. “Not that I am aware of, though I am, of course, not the owner of this estate.”
Darcy made an impatient gesture. “This robbery mirrors the others that occurred at other local balls recently. It is unlikely that they all took place in rooms with secret panels. This thief is clever and I cannot believe that he would rely on such coincidental construction for the success of his operation. No, he must have some other scheme.”
Bingley pounded one of his fists into the other. “Would that we could discover what it is!”
Forsythe bowed. “I will continue with my investigation.”
