“He did.” Tombstone nodded. “Why do you ask?”
“Because I saw it. When I took Fitzroy’s jewels, it was in his collection.”
Tombstone stood up suddenly. “Show me.”
CHAPTER 27
“What are you doing?” Tombstone asked in panic as they entered the building that housed the maids’ chambers.
“Well, you have no power to move the guard from our chamber door anymore, do you?” Gwynnie reminded him.
As a maid walked past them, Tombstone grabbed her lawyer’s bonnet and pulled it further down her brow. Gwynnie waited until the maid’s footsteps had retreated before she pushed the hat back up again. She glanced at Emlyn, who shook her head in bemusement.
“I see you know how to act with perfect ease,” Gwynnie muttered wryly. For a change, her mother smiled at her sarcasm.
“Leave it to me.” Emlyn walked down the corridor, her stance widening as she walked, and she laid her hands on the weapons belt of her yeoman’s uniform.
“What is she doing?” Tombstone stepped forward, evidently intent on following her.
Worried that his alarm would reveal their identity to the guard who stood by their chamber door, Gwynnie moved in front of him and stepped on his toe, stopping him from going any further.
“Ow! What was that for?”
“My mother is adept at getting into places that are guarded. You wish to see that brooch? Then leave it to us.” Gwynnie folded her arms and stood calmly beside him.
Emlyn must have told the guard there was a shift change, for the guard nodded and headed for the nearest staircase. She took his place outside their bedchamber, leaning against the wall as she waited for Gwynnie to approach, Tombstone behind her.
“I cannot believe that worked,” he said under his breath. “He didn’t even look at your face.”
“People see what they expect to see. They don’t often look beyond to see what is wrong with the picture.” Emlyn reached into her doublet and produced a key, which she passed to Gwynnie.
Within seconds, Gwynnie had the door open. Their chamber was much as they had left it, except it had plainly been searched. The covers on the beds weren’t quite flat, and the coffer lid was open, with half the contents strewn across the floor. Emlyn shot an accusing glare at Tombstone as Gwynnie moved toward the stone windowsill.
“Pascal,” Tombstone explained.
Gwynnie lifted the stone with some difficulty, grunting as it came away, then reached inside and pulled out the linen-wrapped bundles. She dropped them onto her bed and unravelled each one, revealing the jewels. She sifted through the glittering gold and precious stones they’d held back before she found the brooch she was looking for. Slowly, Tombstone walked forward, his jaw slack as he stared at the mound of jewels on the bed.
“I didn’t think… I didn’t want to think that you…” he hissed, glaring at her.
“What? Are you like your employer in that you do not think a woman can be a thief?” Gwynnie asked, gesturing to the jewels.
“No.” Tombstone’s glare was not half so level as it had been before. He constantly looked away, as if the foundations he stood upon had been shaken. “I just remember seeing your face the morning Florian Battersby was discovered.”
“You noticed me that much?”
“You were the only maid around the body,” he reminded her. “Perhaps I did not want to think that someone who could feel such grief, who had a heart, would be a thief.”
Gwynnie’s hands grew slack around the Celtic brooch. She thrust it toward him. “Being a thief does not give me a heart carved of black stone.”
Tombstone said nothing. He took the brooch and moved to the window, the better to see it. He buffed the metal with the sleeve of his doublet, sniffed once more and looked out of the window. For a few seconds Gwynnie thought he was holding back more tears.
Emlyn shrugged and leaned against the closed door. Her eyes lingered on Tombstone, wary that he was going to turn them in at any second.
“Is it his?” Gwynnie asked.
“It’s his.” Tombstone turned back to face her. His face was red, but he didn’t let his tears fall. “Very well, I believe you. I believe that you saw what you say you saw. Nothing else would explain why Fitzroy had this in his possession.” He clutched the brooch so tightly that his knuckles went white. “But I can’t take this to Pascal or Cromwell. At this point, neither one of them would believe me. I have no power anymore.”
“Unless…” Gwynnie stepped forward. “What if we could find Jerome? Another body would force the investigation to cover two murders, rather than just one. And the first happened before my mother and I arrived. It would be impossible to blame us for it.”
“Then we need to find where Jerome is now.”
“You are certain of this?” Tombstone asked, his pace so fast that Gwynnie had to run to keep up with him, struggling in her footman’s garb. They had left Emlyn standing in the archway, beneath Donsen Tower, as they marched across the dock on the river Thames.
“Old Rudyard saw them,” Gwynnie puffed, out of breath. “He saw Fitzroy and Woodville together. They stood here, hooting at the moon, on New Year’s Eve.”
Tombstone came to a sudden halt in the middle of the dock as Gwynnie caught up to him. She rested her hands on her knees, breathing deeply.
“Here?” Tombstone turned on the spot.
“Yes.” Gwynnie stood tall and looked out over the river, surprised at how much the flooding had retreated. More and more of the wooden dock was visible, the icy banks plain, with frosted grass on either side. She peered into the distance, toward London town, wondering if the wherrymen would soon be working again.
There was now a chance that she and Emlyn could escape from the palace, if the river continued to recede.
“New Year’s Eve,” Tombstone muttered, more to himself than to her.
“Did you not see him that night?” Gwynnie asked, glancing back at him.
“No. I was not here. I was on business for Pascal.” Tombstone moved his hands to his hips. “If what Florian accused Fitzroy of was right, then…” He turned on his heel and looked back toward Donsen Tower.
