C. Harris - What Darkness Brings

“Why?” asked Hero.

Bloomsfield lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “I never heard. But it’s not unusual. Did you know that more than half the gems in the British Crown Jewels are paste? The originals have been pawned over the years to pay for our various illustrious monarchs’ wars.”

“Not to mention their mistresses,” said Hero.

Bloomsfield’s soft brown eyes danced with amusement. “That too.”

Sebastian said, “I understand Eisler was handling the sale of a large diamond for someone. Did he do that sort of thing? Negotiate the sale of jewels for other people?”

“Frequently, yes.”

“Why?” asked Hero. “I mean, I can see why Eisler would do it, since he’d obviously make a fat commission on the transaction. But why wouldn’t a gem’s owner simply sell it openly?”

“Typically because they don’t want anyone to know that they’re selling. In general, if you hear a collector is selling one or more of his specimens, it’s a fairly good indicator that he’s found himself in financial difficulties. And that’s the kind of information most men don’t care to make common knowledge.”

“Do you know of any gem collectors who are selling at the moment? Particularly someone with a large blue diamond?”

Bloomsfield shook his head, although he looked vaguely troubled. “I haven’t heard of anyone, no.”

“What?” asked Sebastian, watching him.

“Did you say a large blue diamond?”

“That’s right. Why?”

“It’s just. . They’re very rare, you know. The only specimen I can think of that might fit such a description-” He broke off and shook his head again. “No, that’s impossible.”

“So you do know of such a diamond?”

The old man leaned forward in his seat, his hands gripping the chair’s arms, a surge of excitement quickening his voice. “I’m not aware of a large blue diamond currently in anyone’s collection. But I do know of such a specimen that was lost. And what is interesting is that it was lost exactly twenty years ago this month. Are you familiar with le diamant bleu de la Couronne ?” He glanced from Sebastian to Hero.

Both shook their heads. “No.”

“In English it’s known as the ‘French Blue.’ It was once part of the French Crown Jewels. They say it came out of India as an enormous roughly cut triangular stone of over a hundred carats. Louis XIV bought it for the French Crown and had it recut and set, I believe, into a cravat pin.”

“Must have made a very large cravat pin,” said Hero.

Bloomsfield’s eyes twinkled. “True. But then, Louis XIV was quite a large man. His successor Louis XV had it remade as the focal point of a magnificent Emblem of the Golden Fleece.”

“What happened to it?”

“It disappeared along with the rest of the French Crown Jewels during the Revolution-the week of 11 September 1792, to be exact. It has never been recovered.”

“The twenty years is significant,” said Sebastian. “Why?”

“Because in 1804, Napoleon passed a decree establishing a twenty-year statute of limitations for all crimes committed during the Revolution-although I’ve no doubt the French royal family would dispute the sale of the diamond and claim ownership, if they heard about it.”

Hero set aside her teacup. “Which would be another good reason for trying to sell the diamond quietly.”

“True,” said Bloomsfield.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, growing louder and louder as the wind dashed a driving rain against the drawing room’s windowpanes.

Sebastian said, “If Eisler were peddling the French Blue, who would the likely buyers be?”

Bloomfield sat in thoughtful silence for a moment, then dropped his gaze to the fire and blew out a long, troubled breath.

“Who?” asked Hero, watching him.

He looked up, his features drawn. “Prinny. That’s who I would try to sell it to, if I were Eisler. The Prince Regent.”

After Bloomsfield’s departure, Sebastian stood with his back to the fire and watched as his wife calmly poured herself another cup of tea. Both her posture and occupation were typically feminine and domestic. Only, he knew there was nothing typical about Hero.

She set aside the heavy silver pot and reached for a spoon to stir her tea. “I gather it’s the Frenchman Collot from the unsavory Pilgrim in Seven Dials who told you about this mysterious blue diamond?”

“It was, yes. He claims Eisler was selling the gem for Thomas Hope.”

She looked up. “Thomas, not Henry Philip?”

“That’s right. Hope denies it, of course.”

“But you don’t believe him.”

Sebastian smiled. “I’m afraid I don’t have a very trusting nature.” He felt his smile harden.

“There’s something else,” she said, watching him. “What?”

“Am I so transparent?”

“At times.”

He shifted his gaze to the burning coals beside him. “I ran into a man coming out of Hope’s house-a lieutenant in the 114th Foot named Matt Tyson. I knew him in Spain.”

“I take it he was not exactly one of your boon companions?”

“He was not. I sat on his court-martial board.”

“What had he done?”

“He was accused of murdering a Spanish woman and her two children so that he could steal their gold and jewels. Their throats were slit.”

“Did he do it?”

“He claims he did not. He says he happened upon the scene just in time to see another man-an ensign-commit the crime. Unfortunately, since Tyson shot the man dead, the ensign was not in any position to defend himself against the charge. Personally, I think Tyson and the ensign committed the murders together, and then Tyson killed his accomplice when he realized they were about to be discovered by a British patrol.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Tyson and I might not have been boon companions, but he and the ensign were.”

“Ah. Yet Tyson was acquitted?”

“He was, yes. A sergeant with the riflemen came forward to testify that he heard the woman screaming and then saw Tyson rush into the house in a futile attempt to save her. My fellow officers believed him.”

“Yet you did not. Why?”

“The patrol that came upon the murder scene said Tyson was covered with blood; the ensign was not. I think Tyson bribed the sergeant to perjure himself.”

She took a slow sip of her tea. “What manner of man is he, this Tyson?”

“About twenty-five, remarkably handsome. He comes from an old, respected family in Hereford. Did well at Eton. On first meeting, he comes off as affable. Engaging. Frankly likeable. But it’s all a carefully calculated facade. Beneath it lies one of the coldest, most brutally self-interested men I’ve ever met.”

“You think he could be Daniel Eisler’s killer?”

“I don’t know. There is no doubt in my mind that Matt Tyson is a killer and a thief. But that doesn’t mean he’s necessarily behind this killing and theft.” He hesitated, then said, “Interesting that Mr. Bloomsfield should choose this particular moment to pay you a visit.”

She set aside her teacup. “Actually, I went to see him this afternoon, but he was out. So technically, he was returning my call.”

“Ah.” His gaze went beyond her, to where Eisler’s tattered old manuscript lay on the table near the bowed front window. “I take it you showed him the manuscript?”

“I did. He says it’s called The Key of Solomon and it does indeed appear to be some sort of magic handbook.”

“So you were right,” said Sebastian, going to pick it up.

“I was, although I’m afraid poor Mr. Bloomsfield was quite shocked by the contents. He translated a few passages for me, then refused to have anything more to do with it.”