She shook her head. “Next door to Rare Confectionery is a world-class, fine jeweler. Haven’t you noticed it? Asprey’s?”
“Truthfully? No.” He cocked his head and looked so appealing she almost sighed. “When I am anywhere near your shop, I’m usually in an almighty hurry to get inside and see you. I have my blinders on, my pace quickens, and I rush for the door.”
“You should probably take the collar to Asprey’s,” she persisted.
“Maybe to sell it, yes. But I think I should let Mr. Molino take a look. I already said I would. Tomorrow.”
“Are you taking Miss Sylvia with you?”
“No, I was hoping you would keep her safe here. Today. Right now, actually. If I had been a minute later going back to my room, she would have been gone.”
Beatrice could hardly imagine his horror. “And with a potential fortune around her neck!”
“Exactly,” he said again. “You understand the situation. May she stay with you? And I’d like to leave the collar here, too. I can’t risk it at my fleabag hotel. I’ll come pick up the collar tomorrow, about this time.”
“Of course, but I have to go to work in an hour. We can lock Miss Sylvia in my room, once we catch her, and I’ll tell the maid not to open my door. I’ll go ask if we have some sardines in the pantry.”
“Perfect. Thank you.” He took hold of her hand. “May I escort you to the confectionery in an hour?”
“I would like that.” She considered a moment. “But only if you’ll let me go with you to see the antique dealer tomorrow.”
Greer laughed at her suggestion.
“Why is that funny?” she demanded.
“You may come,” he agreed. “After all, you’re so good at charming people.”
***
BEATRICE MIGHT NOTbe the most affable of people, nor get along with everyone as Charlotte and Amity did, but she considered herself a good judge of character. And from the moment she entered Mr. Molino’s dimly lit antique store the next day, the back of her neck prickled.
Perhaps over a meal at a chophouse, the man seemed like a good sort of fellow, but the way he looked at her when Greer introduced them made her think he had something to hide. That and the layer of dust on many of his wares had her questioning his business sense. If she were running the shop, she would add more lamps, sweep the place, dust everything, and paint the walls a cheerful color.
Greer shook the man’s hand. “As promised, I’ve brought my cat’s collar for your appraisal.”
When he drew it out of his pocket, Beatrice almost wished he would put it away at once. Mr. Molino’s glance landed on the collar as quickly as Miss Sylvia had pounced on the sardines the day before, and his eyes flickered with interest. His face, however, remained impassive. From behind the counter, he brought out a black velvet pad and gestured for Greer to place the collar atop it. Then drawing out a magnifying glass, the man peered through it, his face inches from the stones.
When he raised his head, the evidence of several thoughts crossed his face. Beatrice wondered what they were.
“Well?” Greer asked, and she could hear the hopefulness in his tone.
After the briefest hesitation, Mr. Molino shook his head. “I’m sorry to say, I think they are imitation jewels. A few look like good quality paste.”
“Paste?” Beatrice questioned. She imagined the pasty chocolate fondant Amity made or Charlotte’s marzipan paste.
“That means hand-cut leaded glass, Miss Rare-Foure. Sometimes the glass is polished with colored metal or, alternately, it is set upon a foil base, colored to match whichever type of gem one seeks to imitate. Then it’s polished until it resembles a ruby or an emerald.”
She felt Greer’s disappointment emanating from him.
“So they are worthless?” he asked.
“Not necessarily,” Mr. Molino said. “I think these were made in the 1730s or thereabouts. Good quality fakes, I would say, over a century old. Someone will pay handsomely for them as each can be set in a ring or a pendant.”
“How much?” Greer asked, sounding defeated. “I don’t expect paste is worth what a true gemstone would be.”
“No, certainly not. A fraction of the value, but not worthless, by any means.”
‘Thank you,” Greer said, “for looking at them.”
