“And they believed her?” I asked.
“Isabel is a very persuasive woman,” Harry said with a faraway look in his eye. “She had them convinced, in part because she presented herself, most convincingly, as a lady of royal parentage. Sheappeared one day in Rio de Janeiro and distributed calling cards identifying herself as Her Royal Highness, the Princess Isabella de Armas de Gonzaga-Palmela. Now, an attentive person might have noticed that she cobbled together that title out of Spanish and Italian and Portuguese names, but that was actually quite intentional and rather a stroke of genius. No one could say for certain where she was meant to be from, so it was difficult for anyone to denounce her as an impostor. She presented a letter of credit to the bank in Rio de Janeiro drawn upon the Bank of Scotland and settled into the most expensive hotel in town, entertaining lavishly. It was all most convincing. Naturally, the businessmen who would not give a farthing to Isabel de Armas MacGregor were falling over themselves to write cheques to the Princess Isabella. At least, they said they would. When it came to it, they were reluctant to give the money directly to her on the grounds that it was distasteful to do business with a lady, even one of such august rank. So, she decided to find someone to play the part of a respectable man of business to collect the payments, present them to the bank in exchange for notes, and give them to her in exchange for a percentage of the proceeds.”
“Enter Harry Spenlove,” I guessed.
“Indeed.” He smoothed a hand over the stubble at his chin. “I assumed my most toffee-nosed accents and my soberest suit of clothes and took a suite of offices in the most expensive building in the city. Within days they were lining up, bringing me piles of money. I gave the first few lots to Isabel, but there came a day when the wealthiest gentlemen, a group of five who were very good friends and making the bulk of the investment, were scheduled to come together to present their monies and receive in exchange their certificates of ownership in the nonexistent railway. I took their funds and poured champagne and we all toasted to how rich they were going to be, and they staggered off to have a grand luncheon—to which I was not invited, by the way—and Isat there looking at the pile of cheques. Well, I am notproudof what I did next—”
Stoker held up a hand. “We can guess.”
“Yes, I suppose you can. Isabel, I will admit, did not take things in a sporting fashion.”
“I expect not,” I said. “How much did you swindle out of her?”
Harry murmured a figure and I felt my eyes go wide. “Good heavens. And where is it now?”
“Gone,” he said cheerfully.
“Gone where?” I asked.
“I spent it.”
“How in the name of seven hells could you have spent that amount of money?” Stoker demanded.
Harry ticked off the items on his fingers. “First-class passage to New York. The best suite at the Fifth Avenue Hotel. Dinner every night at Delmonico’s. Then I took a cottage in Providence for the summer,” he added. “A lovely Italianate-style palazzo I had from a Vanderbilt. Deathly expensive, but worth it. And then there was the yacht.”
I held up my hand. “Never mind.”
“And to travel in such circles, I needed the right clothes, everything from suits to cravat pins and watches. I tried my hand at polo but I must say I didn’t much care for it. I sold the ponies at a loss. I came back to the city for the autumn and stayed through the New Year, but America had lost its charm for me by then. New York is a rich man’s town, you know. One simply cannot enjoy it in an impoverished state. Besides, by that time I had got word that Isabel was on my trail, and I thought it wise to elude her as it seemed she was holding a grudge.”
“How do you know that?” Stoker put in.
“She sent a rather vivid caricature. She is not a bad little artist, although I cannot say I much cared for the subject matter,” Harry saidwith a shudder. “So I had a little wander about Canada for a few months to see if I could lose her, but she tracked me to Halifax. I had quite a narrow escape that time. I booked a steerage ticket for the very next steamer to England, which she must have anticipated. As soon as I disembarked at Bristol, they were waiting for me, Isabel and her pet Swede. She made it perfectly apparent that she was still angry, which I told her was not very understanding and that she ought to take it like a man.”
“But she isn’t a man,” I said.
“You needn’t remind me,” he replied. “The female of the species is indeed more venomous and far more capable of bearing a grudge. She gave her associate, the taciturn and disagreeable Göran, carte blanche to do as he pleased with me. He has a fondness for working with blades.” He broke off with a shudder. “In any event, Göran was preparing to murder me on her orders when I suddenly remembered Jonathan Hathaway and the pretty little collection of jewels his grandmother owns. And I recollected the story he told me of one stone in particular—the Eye of the Dawn. The plot was not a sophisticated one, but I thought of it on the spur of the moment, and for something born of purest desperation, it really wasn’t all bad,” he mused. “It was working quite well too. The jewels were inaccessible—Lady Hathaway kept them in a bank vault in Exeter, and whilst I am proud of my talents, I confess breaking into bank vaults requires skills I do not possess. I had only to wait comfortably at Hathaway Hall until Lady Hathaway decided to send for them. I was racking my brain, trying to hit upon a scheme that would entice her to do precisely that, but there was no need. Charles had already decided to commission a portrait of Mary and suggested she ought to be painted in the jewels. Rather ironic that it was on my behalf that Lady Hathaway actually brought them out, is it not? In any event, once they were in the house, it should have been the merest child’s play to lift the diamond, make my escape, andpresent it to Isabel with my fervent apologies. That diamond was the price of my head,” he added darkly. “And now it is forfeit.”
He gave a great yawn and slipped sideways, the cup tipping gently from his hand. His eyelids drooped, and I raised my hand to slap him smartly, but Stoker caught my wrist. “We have not finished our discussion,” I protested. “I merely meant to rouse him.”
“Let him sleep,” Stoker said, not dropping my hand. “We have much to discuss.”
CHAPTER
21
Stoker and I repaired to the main floor of the Belvedere, picking our way amidst the costumes and set pieces and leering marionettes. “I shall have nightmares,” I grumbled as I set aside a particularly venomous-looking donkey puppet.
Stoker perched atop a camel saddle, swinging one booted foot as we talked.
“I hardly know where to begin,” I said.
“I think we may agree that your taste in paramours has vastly improved,” he said soberly.
“Quite, although in the interest of perfect clarity, I ought to say—”
I looked up to find Stoker regarding me with an expression of cool detachment. I had seen his face arranged in precisely the same fashion when he stared at the thylacine’s scrotal pouch, I realized. It was an indication that he was assessing, dispassionately. Whatever confession I had intended to make died upon my lips. I could confide many things, but none of them to that face, I decided.
“Yes?” The voice was as cool as the expression.
