Whenever Asprey’s held a special function, they served Rare Confectionery, and when Beatrice and her family had left London for their country home the year prior, Asprey’s had taken the rest of their confectionery inventory, selling the sweets as a favor. Her father had been most impressed how Mr. Russell kept an account to the penny of what he owed them, not a piece of toffee or a chocolate unaccounted for.
While she waited for Mr. Russell to be summoned from his office in the back, Beatrice couldn’t help admiring all the pretty things. Some were for the house, some for personal adornment, everything well-crafted, refined, and beautiful. So much so that Queen Victoria herself had recognized their achievement.
What if she were bringing them jewels made of paste?
“Miss Rare-Foure,” came the booming voice of Mr. Russell. “To what do I owe this pleasure? Did you bring me something? Chocolate-covered toffee, perhaps?”
She smiled. She might be considered crabby, but she knew how to butter her bread. Setting a shiny silver Rare Confectionery tin on the counter, she said, “Toffee with chocolate for you, Mr. Russell.”
“You are a sweet girl.” Immediately opening the tin, he popped a piece in his mouth. “Help yourselves, girls,” he called to the shopgirls on the floor, who came over like bees to pollen.
“But you didn’t come by to bring me a gift, did you?” he asked, the toffee tucked into his cheek, which she politely ignored.
“No, sir. May I speak with you alone?”
He raised his eyebrows, then nodded. “Nancy, take the tin of sweets, make sure everyone gets a piece and save me some, will you?”
“Yes, sir,” and the shopgirl moved away with three others around her.
“Now, how can I help you?”
“I have a cat collar with jewels. They may be merely paste, but I thought you might know, or one of your jewelers could take a look.”
“Nothing wrong with paste,” Mr. Russell said while she set her bag on the counter and opened it. “Marie Antoinette wore paste jewels along with precious stones. Sometimes if something is pretty, it gives as much pleasure as something expensive.”
“These are not particularly pretty, to tell you the truth.”
She withdrew the collar and held it out to him on her palm. He swallowed loudly and then coughed. She hoped he didn’t choke on her sweet offering.
“A moment, if you will.” Still coughing, he bent behind the counter and opened a drawer, extracting a jeweler’s loupe fixed to a strap. He put this around his forehead before picking up the collar.
“Hm,” he said. “Hm, yes. As I thought. Yes.” He turned it over and over, examining each jewel, and then looked at the leather itself. “For Greer, with all our love.”
Her heart caught.Was that message from his mother?After all, she’d given him the cat.
“How did you come by this?” Mr. Russell asked.
“It belongs to my friend, Mr. Carson. He’s from America.”
“He may be, but the stones are European. And I was right, Marie Antoinette might have worn the like.”
Her blossoming hope withered. “Then they are paste?”
“Oh no, Miss Rare-Foure. These are very fine stones that any queen would be pleased, even honored, to wear.”
Her heart had sped up at his words and was threatening to burst from her chest.
“Are you saying they are actual gemstones? Real jewels?”
“Quite real,” he said. “And worth a king’s ransom.”
“Dear God!” she exclaimed.
“Precisely, Miss Rare-Foure. If I were you, I would tell your friend not to put this back on his cat but in a safe at a bank.”
“I believe he wishes to sell the jewels. Can you help?”
“Of course,” Mr. Russell said, with a small nod. “But he should allow me to sell each separately. He will get more than if he sells it as a cat collar.”
