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Clara knew that no good could come from going to the Beltza townhouse. But now that she was aware of the emerald's power, she could not give it to Trevor and she could not sell the stone to get back the money for him. And so the carriage rocked its way up the boulevard towards the Beltza family's city home.
They arrived far too quickly. It was a white, Georgian townhome upon a semi-circular crescent street overlooking a park in the finest area of town. The trees lining the street were blossoming and spring bulbs around their base were in bloom. Red stepped down to open the door for her.
"Do you want me to come in with you?" he asked.
Clara felt her knees knocking together, but shook her head. "I cannot afford to have Trevor knowing of any others I care about. It would be best if you kept as low a profile as possible."
Red nodded his head in understanding. "I will wait out here for you, but if you have any trouble at all, just scream and I will come running."
Clara gave him a grim smile before making her way to the door. She rang the bell and it was opened by the familiar face of Mr. Hopper, the butler who had taken care of the Beltza estate. Clara was surprised that he had not gone to seek employment elsewhere.
"Mrs. O'Hare," he said stiffly.
"I was wondering if I might have a moment of Mr. Beltza's time," Clara said.
"Lord Beltza is in his study, ma'am," he replied. "I shall see if he is available. Please come in."
Clara walked into the foyer. Marble staircases rose up to the upper levels. Murals of the gentry in various stages of revelry were painted on the walls. In a few minutes, Mr. Hopper had returned. "Follow me, please," he replied.
Clara climbed the steps behind him and followed him into the second story study. It was papered in scarlet brocade and the walls were filled with bookshelves. All the books looked practically new. Clara would not have been surprised at all if they had been placed there more for show than education.
Trevor was in an armchair by a window, smoking a large cigar. His feet were propped up on a large, ornamental vase whose value Clara could not even possibly imagine.
"Ah! Mrs. O'Hare! How lovely to see you again so soon! I hope that you are well?" the ridiculous man greeted in an entirely too friendly manner.
When she did not reply, he nodded at Mr. Hopper to leave them.
As soon as the door shut, Clara turned back to Trevor. "I have learned that the money is gone," Clara replied.
Trevor leapt to his feet angrily, all pretense of ease and goodwill disappearing. "Gone? What do you mean it is... gone?"
Clara wetted her lips and continued. "My husband took the money and then rid himself of it. I have searched my house. I have searched his accounts. It is gone. If you wish to find the money, perhaps it would be best to continue the line of investigation that everyone else seems to think is true: find out what Peter Nero did with it."
Trevor laughed. "Uncle Peter? You must be joking. That blowhard couldn't have found his way out of a bucket with a map."
"If he was so good at getting lost, it holds to reason that he could easily have lost something like a large sum of money."
Trevor pointed his finger at Clara and shook his head. "No. You are lying to me. You know where that money is and you will return it."
"I cannot," she stated again. "It is gone."
Trevor picked up a porcelain statuette of a couple dancing and hurtled it against the wall, shattering it into small pieces. He then regained his composure. He tugged at the bottom of his waistcoat and smoothed back his hair. "Mrs. O'Hare. I hate to have to do this, but I told you that if you did not return the money, I would ensure that Wesley Lowenherz never saw the light of freedom. Do you remember when I said that?"
His words chilled her to the bone, but she had no hope to offer him. "I cannot give you something I do not have," she replied, trying to make him see reason.
"I am a man who keeps my promises," said Trevor with deadly earnestness. "And I need to make sure you understand I am a man of my word. I am going to ask you one final time: bring me the money."
"I cannot," Clara said again, trying to will him to accept this truth.
"Then what happens next is upon your head," Trevor stated calmly. He reached over and pulled on a tapestry bell. Mr. Hopper returned to the room. "Please escort Mrs. O'Hare out," he replied dismissively, walking over to his desk without another look back. He glanced up at her only once, but a stillness had overcome him, like a predator hiding in the grass.
"Ma'am?" Mr. Hopper asked, motioning with his hand towards the door.
Clara stepped out. Terror ran through her veins. The calmness which followed Trevor's outburst scared her more than if he had thrown one hundred priceless porcelains against the wall.
She increased her speed and Mr. Hopper had to walk faster to keep ahead of her. He opened the door just as she reached for the handle herself. She ran down the steps and to the cab.
"Red?" she said. "I fear for Wesley's life. We must get to the police station with all speed!"