The Theft (Thornton 2)

"No, that night she was too hurried to put on jewelry."

"I see." Noelle's mind was racing. "Does anyone else know about these earrings?"

Silently, Mary shook her head.

"May I take them with me? I promise to take excellent care of them."

"I have no use for them," Mary said in a watery tone. "Not with my mistress gone. Go ahead—take them. I never want to see them again."

At last. Something tangible.

Clutching the earrings tight in her palm, Noelle contemplated this new and unexpected avenue. Had the earrings been purchased in London and, if so, could their buyer be traced? Would that lead them to Baricci?

If so, that would be the first step towards proving that more than a casual affair existed between him and Lady Mannering—an allegation he would doubtless make to the police if they questioned him. It was up to Noelle and Ashford to supply a more devious motivation for Baricci's seduction of Emily Mannering; a motivation that would show his interest in her to be centered around her Rembrandt, not her sexual charms.

"When did Lady Mannering receive these?" Noelle tried, hoping she could narrow down their hunt by securing a date—a week, even a month, when the earrings had been purchased. "Can you remember? How long ago did her suitor gift them to her?"

"A month and a half ago, I'd say. At the most, two months ago. Just a short while after they met."

Their meeting; now that conjured up another means to an end.

"Did Lady Mannering tell you where they first met, or who introduced them?" Noelle tried, wondering if she could establish a connection between the circumstances in which Baricci sought Lady Mannering out and those in which he'd discovered she owned the Rembrandt.

Another frown of concentration. "I don't think so. Although I had the distinct impression they met at a concert or ballet."

"Why would you say that?"

"Because she told me several times that he was immersed in a world of cultural beauty, beauty that made him appreciate the unheard melody that sang within her. She'd stare bitterly at Lord Mannering's empty chambers and murmur about how the man in her

life was connected with an expressive world too colorful and vital for a frosty Englishman like her husband to understand."

Noelle wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. "That could certainly apply to dance and music." She gazed steadily at Mary. "On the other hand, it could also apply to art."

Mary gasped. "Art—you mean, like paintings?"

"That's exactly what I mean." Noelle's grip tightened, as if to signify how imperative it was for Mary to accurately recall every detail. "You said this suitor wasn't here very often. How many times did he visit in all? Surely you must remember the number of occasions when the servants were sent away; possibly even the dates when this occurred."

"It only happened four or five times. The first time we were sent off for several days. After that, it was only for overnight periods. I do remember that one of those overnight events was on a Tuesday. I know because it was my day off. Not last Tuesday, but the one before that. Then, obviously, there was the night of the robbery." Mary shook her head in frustration. "I'm sorry. I don't remember the exact dates of the other times."

"But all this took place over a period of two months?"

"Yes."

"One last question," Noelle concluded, praying this all-important finale would yield some results. "Before you left the house on the night of the robbery, did Lady Mannering say anything, do anything, that stuck in your mind? Anything that now, knowing what I've told you, stands out as being significant?"

Mary drew a shaky breath and nodded. "Yes. In fact, this is what kept nagging at me, making me feel uneasy about not coming forward. Yet, at the same time, there was nothing to say, nothing I could prove. It was only a feeling."

Anticipation coursed through Noelle. "What feeling?"

"Each time her gentleman caller would visit, Lady Mannering would act like a schoolgirl as she dressed, glowing while I chose her gown and arranged her hair. But that last night was different. Oh, she was just as eager to see him, and yet at the same time she seemed unusually jittery and distracted. She kept looking over her shoulder, almost as if she expected him to appear in the doorway of her bedchamber, having arrived ahead of schedule."

"Did you question her about this unusual mood she was in?"

"I did. She waved away my concern, saying only that her paramour was so intense, he sometimes overwhelmed her senses. And that this particular night she felt unusually on edge—eager to see him, agitated by the worry that she might not be able to satisfy him. And that if she let him down, the outcome would be unbearable. But it was the way she said it—almost as if she were afraid of him. I have no proof, mind you. Not even the word of my mistress. She never actually said she was frightened. It was only a feeling on my part, an instinct, if you will."

"You never saw him arrive that night?"

"No. Not that night or any other night." Mary withdrew her hand, taking out a handkerchief and dabbing at her eyes. "As I said, Lady Mannering was very discreet. I never witnessed her suitor coming or going from the Town house. She was always alone when I left her. Except that on that particular night—when I returned the next day…"—a broken sob—"she was dead."