“It’s possible,” Byron said. “You mentioned on Monday that there had been more burglaries here in Bath, yes?”
“Three. One being within our circle. The Meredeths had a necklace stolen a week before our robbery,” Mary said.
“Shall we take the conversation inside?” Mrs. Sherard stated, already moving.
Once they were seated in the parlor again, Byron said to Mira, “You seem to be deep in thought. What’s your view?”
The whole company of Sherards turned to her and her stomach twisted.
“The window bothers me,” she said, trying to focus only on Byron. “If we extrapolate from the discernible facts, the thieves set up a wire to trip anyone, should they be discovered. They borrowed a ladder from the shed and accessed the window with it. But the latch is on the inside. The thief wouldn’t have been able to pick the lock and the window wasn’t forced.” She straightened her shoulders, finally looking at the rest of the family. “So someone had to have unlocked it from the inside.”
“I’ve been wondering that too.” Byron pulled out his notebook and flipped to a new page. “Did any of your guests leave the group at any time?”
“Surely you aren’t suggesting that it’s someone in our circle,” Mary said, incredulous.
“We can’t rule anything out yet,” Byron said, raising an eyebrow. “Well?”
“Mrs. Risewell and Miss Risewell both left to freshen up between courses,” Mrs. Sherard said. “And Miss Harris stepped outside for some air before joining the ladies in the drawing room.”
Castel frowned. “Admiral Hoddle asked for directions to the WC after the women left the dining room.”
Byron hummed. “That doesn’t narrow it down much.” He looked up at Mira. “We’ll need to make some inquiries.” Aftera disapproving look from his sister, he said, “Discreetly, of course.”
Mrs. Sherard stood and pulled a cord near the fireplace. A faint ringing sounded, and a few moments later, the butler appeared.
“Greerson, I need you to send a note to the Risewells asking if they might allow for some additional guests for the ball this evening.” She turned to Mira. “How many were in your party with the Renaldis?”
Mira blinked. “One gentleman and four ladies, counting myself.”
Mrs. Sherard nodded, speaking to Greerson again. “You’ll want to verify that Ambrose is invited as well. Send one of the footmen in the carriage and make sure that he doesn’t return without the response.”
“Yes, madam,” Greerson said, leaving the room.
“There. That’s settled,” Mrs. Sherard said. “You best let your friends know, Miss Blayse, as I doubt the Risewells will refuse.”
February 8, 1889: Evening
Indeed, the Risewells did not refuse, andneither did the Blayses nor the Renaldis. As such, Mira entered Wynmar Park on Ambrose Sherard’s arm at precisely nine o’clock. A footman greeted them and directed them down the hallway, where another footman received them.
“The ballroom is just through here,” the man said, his voice a little shaky. He ducked his head and extended an arm towards the open door.
The Risewell estate was west of Pucklechurch, a good hour from the city, but that didn’t preclude half the society of Bath from attending. Perhaps that was an exaggerated estimate, but there were at least a hundred people from what Mira could see. The Georgian-style ballroom was breathtaking with ceiling roses, decorative plasterwork, columns, and cornices.
Mira adjusted the sleeves of her blue silk evening gown. The gathering was more akin to a soirée than a ball. The guests flitted about between the refreshment tables and conversations. A few tables were set up for cards and there was a young lady playing the piano in the corner.
For the case of the stolen Sherard jewelry, Mira and Byron determined there were five main points of inquiry. The firstwas the servants at number eighteen, Royal Crescent. They had already exhausted that line of questioning earlier in the day and determined it to be unlikely that any of the staff had been an accomplice, due to their long history of service and loyalty. That left the dinner guests. Specifically the ones who left the group for a period of time: Mrs. Risewell, Miss Risewell, Miss Harris, and Admiral Hoddle. Any of the four could have slipped up to Mrs. Sherard’s bedroom and unlocked the window.
Mrs. Risewell and her daughter, Theresia, stood greeting guests at the entrance of the ballroom. Admiral Hoddle was gesticulating widely, his drink sloshing around, as he told a story to a group of men near the fireplace. Maureen Harris stood by the refreshment table talking to a young man.
Another footman, standing just inside the ballroom, directed them towards the Risewells.
“—this is my youngest son.” Mrs. Sherard said, making the introductions. “And this is Mrs. Davidson,” she pointed to Aunt Eleanor, “Mrs. Renaldi and her daughter, and Mr. and Miss Blayse.”
Mira nodded. “Thank you for extending the invitation to include us.”
“Oh, we were happy to do so,” Mrs. Risewell said, her eyes crinkling at the corners. She wore a blue dress with a frilly bodice and enormous sleeves with a dark choker around her neck.
Theresia stepped forward. She was willowy and wore a red and pink dress with lace detailing and roses along the sleeves. Her honey-brown hair was piled on her head with ringlets and roses placed around the crown. She fluttered her fan just beneath her chin. “I was wondering when we would have the pleasure of meeting you, Mr. Sherard. Your sister has told us so much about you.”
