Charlotte Wynthorpe and the Case of the Disappearing Diamonds

13. I love you and I always will

Preston held out his hand. "Well, empty your pockets."

Arthur reached inside his suit jacket and pulled out the glass and paste bracelet. He handed it to Preston, who raised his eyebrows. 

Arthur shook his head. That was all he'd taken. 

"Do sit down, Mr Ricking. We need to have a little chat," Charlotte said, copying what Inspector Bump had said to Mr Harris, the butler in The Corpse in the Kitchen when he confronted him in the drawing room after catching him tipping arsenic into the tea.  

She still couldn't believe it. Arthur Ricking? Impeccably mannered Arthur Ricking? Did Sylvia know? 

Arthur sighed and sat in the chair she pointed to. Charlotte opened her mouth to ask about Sylvia, but Preston took the reigns. 

"What's all this nonsense about, Arthur? Thieving diamond jewellery like some common criminal. If you need money so badly, you simply could have said."  Arthur didn't seem to be able to meet Preston's eyes. His harried gaze wandered all over the carpet.

"Well?" Preston continued to press when he received no answer. "The police will have to be rung, you do realise that, don't you?  And I shall have to tell them everything I know about this whole affair because I'm a witness. I shall be the one to help them put you in gaol! Tell me you realise what a position you've put me in, do me the courtesy, Arthur."

Charlotte stared at her butler in disbelief. She had never heard him speak so directly, nor so harshly, to a member of her own class. She knew Preston as a professional, reserved servant who performed his duties without complaint or discussion. Now, he wasn't a servant; he was a man who felt bitterly betrayed in someone he trusted and was demanding answers beyond even what she would have.  

Arthur Ricking's eyes darted to McCrory, then to Charlotte, and back to Preston. "I'm terribly sorry, George, really I am, but I think you might be able to guess what this is all about," he said quietly.  

"I might be able to guess? Well, quite frankly, no. You aren't a gambler, nor do you speculate in business. What else could it. . ." Preston's voice trailed off. Then he closed his eyes as a expression of agony spread across his face, scrunching his features. 

Arthur nodded. 

Charlotte watched the pair, how they looked at each other, both of them seeming to be drowning in an ocean of despair she didn't comprehend. "Would one of you explain this to me?" she asked into the silence. "I'm afraid I'm lost. What has prompted Mr Ricking to take up thieving?" 

Preston shot a quick glance in her direction and then looked to Ricking, who shook his head almost imperceptibly.  

"I think it's best," Preston said, his tone now mild and forgiving. "Miss Wynthorpe has gone to great lengths to discover the source of these burglaries, and she deserves to know the whole truth." 

Ricking and Preston exchanged a series of glances that Charlotte couldn't read. It was as if they were carrying on a complex, secret conversation without needing to use words. She had the oddest notion that her understanding of the world was tilting in a rather bizarre fashion and there were miles of things going on right under her nose she hadn't the foggiest notion of. 

Ricking's eyes darted to McCrory. Preston nodded. "Ma'am. Perhaps Mr McCrory should wait outside. No offence intended, sir."

"None taken." McCrory nodded to Charlotte, and stepped out of the bedroom, the sounds of the party in full swing below drifting in before he closed the door behind him.

"Now, if one of you will put an end to the suspense?" Charlotte said, moving to sit on the edge of her bed. "How do you know each other, first off?"