Mr. Molino set the collar back upon the velvet and gave Greer a long look. “I know this is important to you.” His glance took in Beatrice, too. “There are many ladies who want to have fine but inexpensive jewelry that appears to be what it is not. Leave it with me, and I can fetch you the best price.”
As he began to close his fingers around the collar once again, Beatrice reached out and snatched it from his grasp, holding it tightly in her own.
“Eh?” Mr. Molino exclaimed in surprise.
“Consider Miss Sylvia,” Beatrice said to Greer, “and your mother. If it’s not worth much, then—”
“Who is Miss Sylvia?” Mr. Molino interrupted, his glance darting to the collar in her hand and looking more animated than he had since they’d arrived.
She just knew in her gut if she hadn’t taken it, he would never have given it back.
“My cat,” Greer said, his tone amused. “Miss Rare-Foure, I doubt Miss Sylvia will care about her collar, and my mother is no longer of this world to have an opinion. Let’s leave it with my friend and see what price he can get for it.”
Mr. Molino put his hand out, palm up.
“Well, yes, we could certainly do that,” Beatrice agreed, opening her satchel and dropping the collar inside so there would be no possible way either of the men could recover it. “And perhaps we will. However, you know what they say about decisions made in haste.”
“What do they say?” Greer asked, looking surprised at her forcefulness in taking his cat’s collar.
“Something about haste in every business brings failure — from Herodotus, I believe.” She blinked at the antiquarian.
Mr. Molino folded his arms, looking displeased. “Perhaps you were thinking of Congreve’s comedyThe Old Bachelor, a favorite of mine in which he warns about marrying in haste and repenting at leisure.” He nodded to Greer as if sending him a message, and Beatrice was sure she had been insulted.
“In any case,” the man continued, “perhaps your lady friend is correct. Hold onto it until you decide. However, even paste gems should be kept safe. Your hotel is not the best, as I recall.”
“You’re right about that,” Greer said. “My room has already been broken into once. Miss Rare-Foure will hold onto the collar for me.”
Back outside, he turned to her. “What was all that about?”
“I didn’t like him, nor trust him.”
Greer smiled. “He’s never given me any reason to distrust him, and he suggested we keep the collar safe.”
“It sounded to me as if he wanted to know where you intended on keeping it.”
This time he laughed. “Such devious thoughts. I will trust you to keep the paste stones safe, but I would still like to know how much I can sell them for.”
***
HAVING BEEN DROPPEDoff directly at the confectionery after the dingy antique shop, Beatrice told Charlotte of the morning’s events.
“Such a shame,” Charlotte said. She’d said the same thing the night before when trying to make friends with their home’s new resident. Naturally, Miss Sylvia had hissed and retreated under Beatrice’s bed with an angry swish of her absurdly fluffy tail.
“It’s not your fault,” she’d assured Charlotte who’d looked disenchanted. “I think Miss Sylvia has experienced too much upheaval and is fair sick of it.”
“The way you behaved the first night we were away in France last time,” her sister had teased.
“This is more than a mereshame,” Beatrice said, removing her coat and hat, and tying on her apron. “This could be the ruination of my future happiness, and I don’t intend to give in so easily.”
“What can you do?” Charlotte asked.
“I’ll get the toffee made first, and then I’m going next door to ask for a second opinion. I know Asprey’s is not strictly a jewelry store, but if anyone will be honest, it is a company that holds a royal warrant.”
“That’s a grand idea,” Charlotte agreed.
Two hours later, she entered the neighboring shop. It smelled like polish and leather, as well as the heady aroma from the sumptuous fresh flower arrangements in crystal vases dotted around Asprey’s displays. She was greeted immediately by a shopgirl, dressed in a well-starched uniform.
Was she interested in a dressing case, the clerk wanted to know, or one of the leather travel cases that could withstand the rigors of the railway? Beatrice shook her head. Passing between the advertised “articles of exclusive design and high quality,” as Asprey’s proudly proclaimed in the papers and in their window, Beatrice reached the inobtrusive counter on one side of the store. Her mother had a long-standing friendly relationship with the store manager, Mr. Russell, and Beatrice asked for him at once.
