A Collector of Hearts by Sally Quilford Page B

know who does. But I think you do. There’s something going
on. At lunch today…”
                “That was just me being a bit silly. I realise now that
I’ve been mistrusting the wrong people. It’s certainly nothing that I would
want to trust to your confidence.”
                “I did not steal it, Mrs Oakengate. I’ve hardly left your
side since the lights went back on. Where do you think I could have hidden it?
I have no pockets and I assure you this bodice is far too tight to hide a
pendant the size of the Heart.”
                “That man you’ve been chasing all over the place. Blake
Laurenson. He disappeared for a while. He could have gone to hide the diamond
somewhere. He’s the sort of handsome devil who talks women into such things.
Like your father.”
                “He did not talk me into stealing the Cariastan Heart,
Mrs Oakengate.” Whether he had helped someone else steal it was a possibility
Caroline kept to herself.
                “Then it appears we have reached an impasse, because I
believe he did. Go on, leave here tonight. I have no wish to see you anymore.”
                “If I leave it will make everyone believe I am guilty,
and I’m not,” said Caroline.
                “Whatever you do, I do not want you here, sleeping in the
next room to me. Get your things and give me the key. I’ll sleep better with
the door locked.”
                Caroline had no option but to obey Mrs Oakengate’s
command. She was only able to attend the abbey as Mrs Oakengate’s companion.
She could not be there in her own right. Fifteen minutes later, she stood in
the hallway, with her suitcase at her feet and in her own clothes, having been
divested of her Lady Cassandra outfit. She had made a point of undressing in
front of Mrs Oakengate, to prove she did not have the Heart about her person.
    She wondered what on earth
she could do next and wished her Aunt Millie were there to talk to. Millie
would know what to do. If nothing else, she would believe unstintingly in
Caroline’s honesty. With that thought came action. Caroline carried her
suitcase downstairs into the hall. Most of the guests had dispersed, perhaps
having lost the party spirit. A few hardy souls still danced in the ballroom.
She could see others through the open drawer of the drawing and dining rooms,
chatting, presumably about her. Blake was nowhere to be seen.
                Caroline picked up the phone from the side table, and
took it into the small sitting room off the hall, stretching the cable as far
as it could reach. She shut the door, sat down on the floor and dialled the
operator to request the number. The Haxbys' telephone rang and rang, until
Caroline almost gave up in despair. Then Uncle Jim’s sleepy, but soothing
tones, came on the line. “Hello, who is this?”
                “Uncle Jim, I’m sorry to bother you so late. Is Aunt
Millie there? I really …” At the point all Caroline’s normal self-possession
crumbled, and she burst into tears.
                “My dear child, what is it?” said Jim Haxby. “Come on,
tell your Uncle Jim all about it.”
                Caroline poured it all out between sobs. About Blake,
about the prince, and about the Cariastan Heart having been stolen, with her as
the main suspect. “I’m so confused, Uncle Jim. I want to come home,” she said
when she had finished.
                “Of course, you don’t even need to ask. Aunt Millie and I
will drive up tonight and be there by the morning. Now you sit tight and I
promise you that everything will be alright.”
                “Thank you.”
                “Caroline, did I hear you mention that Count Chlomsky was
there?”
                “Yes, that’s right.”
                “Go to him and ask for his help. He’s a good man.”