Charlotte Wynthorpe and the Case of the Disappearing Diamonds

12. Sorry, George

"Here's the plan," Charlotte said, addressing the small, attentive cluster of people assembled in the front salon in hasty, breathless words. The bash at which she hoped to catch the thief was due to start in a few hours, and the entire house was engaged in a mad rush of activity. 

"Clara, Jenny and Brooks, you will serve the drinks and change the records on the phonograph while keeping an eye on the guests. Mr Morris will man the door and take coats, keeping an eye on who comes in and goes out, as well as if anyone goes upstairs. Don't stop them if they do, Mr Morris, simply make note. 

Olivia and James, you will circulate amongst the guests, both inside and in the garden, listening for any pertinent information and monitoring to see if anyone is scaling the side of the house. I seriously doubt that, but we can't leave anything to chance. 

That leaves Preston, Mr McCrory and myself, who will be upstairs waiting for the thief in my rooms. And hopefully apprehend him. That should be all, I think. Any questions?"

"Won't the guests notice you aren't here?" Olivia said. "It's your party after all."

"The robberies have been taking place much later in the evening, so I shall go up at around ten thirty. Say I've gone to sample the booze supply should anyone ask after me." 

"Shall we also be going upstairs with you at ten thirty, ma'am?" Preston asked, throwing a sidelong glance at the tall, handsome Australian standing at attention next to him. 

McCrory was one of Olivia's veterans, and, as she had informed Charlotte, their most experienced animal wrangler down at the Cloud Hill estate. If anyone would be able to physically overwhelm a thief, it was him. Charlotte had no idea what was wrong with the man that he'd ended up as one of the Field Rabbits, but it certainly couldn't have been a physical injury. McCrory looked as if he could rip trees out by their roots with his bare hands.

"Yes, I think that would be best. Possibly a bit earlier, just to make sure we're all in position." Charlotte looked at everyone in turn. "No more questions? Good. Then the staff should now return to setting up and if Mr Morris and Mr McCrory would lend a hand there, we would be most appreciative." 

Yes ma'ams from Charlotte's staff mixed with two yes, misses from Olivia's veterans. Preston was engaged in conversation with Morris about wine and champagne crates before they were even out the door.

"What about me?" Brooks, Olivia's elderly manservant asked, his eyes twinkling. "Where can I make myself useful?" He'd been a bundle of excitement upon arrival and positively shot Charlotte through with questions concerning the burglaries. They'd exchanged opinions on Bloody Murder in the Fens, which Brooks returned to her after having devoured it at home, and were in avid agreement that Inspector Bump was indeed a giant among detectives. 

Charlotte told him he could familiarise himself with the phonograph records and the arrangement of the rooms. Brooks seemed disappointed not to be given something more important to do. He shuffled out the door, hands shoved deeply into his grey woollen cardigan. 

Charlotte turned to Olivia and James. "How are you both? Haven't seen you in a long while, James. Thank you for coming up." 

"Quite well, thank you. And no, I have no intentions of asking Olivia to marry me or us having children. Just to put your mind at rest." 

Olivia threw him a glance and he raised his eyebrows at her, a dazzling smile almost obscuring his deep set eyes. "Well, isn't that what she most wants to know? Isn't that what you most want to know, Charlotte?" he asked, turning to her. "If Olivia won't be coming up here to London so often because she's too busy playing dollhouses with me?"