“He is rather . . . unattractive. Even if he is staggeringly rich.”
“True. But I believe there was more to it than that. She had formed a previous attachment to someone who was most unsuitable—a by-blow of her uncle or some such thing. There was no question of the family ever allowing anything to come of that. So in the end she gave up and married Hope.”
“Admirable,” said Sebastian with heavy sarcasm.
His aunt frowned at him. “Realistic.”
“A pity she doesn’t appear to have much of a fondness for Egyptian sarcophagi—or for Thomas Hope, for that matter.”
“Indeed. I fear she has turned into one of those females who seems to believe that just because they are unhappy they must needs devote their lives to an attempt to make the rest of the world miserable, as well.”
Sebastian smiled. “Not fond of the Society for the Suppression of Vice, are you, Aunt?”
“I always say there’s nothing wrong with a bit of vice as long as it’s not taken to the extreme. Give me someone with a touch of vice over someone with an excess of sanctimonious hypocrisy any day.”
He laughed and took another swallow of ale. “I understand she has a young cousin staying with her from Ireland. Have you met him?”
Henrietta’s scowl cleared. “I have, yes. Blair Beresford. Charming young man. As attractive as his cousin but with none of Louisa’s self-righteous drivel. I must say, however, that I do not care for that military man he has taken up with.”
“You mean Lieutenant Tyson?”
“I do, yes. He may be a fine figure of a man, and I know the Tysons are an old, respected Hereford family. But there’s something not quite right about him. And don’t ask me to explain it, because I can’t.”
She drained her teacup, set it aside, then fixed him with a level stare. “Now, not another word will you get out of me until you tell me how the Hopes could possibly be involved in Eisler’s murder. And there is no point in trying to deny that’s what this is all about, because I know you.”
“I don’t know that they are involved.”
“Huh. Well, I certainly trust you don’t intend to start suspecting everyone who ever bought jewels from that dreadful man.”
“Good heavens,” said Sebastian, opening his eyes a little wider. “Aunt Henrietta. What did you buy from him?”
She put up a hand to straighten her turban again, although it was not in need of adjustment. “That lovely little diamond bracelet I wore to the Queen’s Drawing Room recently—the one Claiborne made such a fuss over when he saw it. Mind you, I didn’t deal with Eisler directly. But I had no doubt where the piece came from.”
“So with whom did you deal?”
“A lapidary named John Francillon. He has an establishment on the Strand. I actually saw him there a few days ago.”
“You mean you saw Francillon?”
“No. I mean that I saw Eisler in Francillon’s shop.”
“What day was this?”
“Saturday, I believe. The two were huddled together in the back when I first walked in. I wouldn’t have paid much attention if Eisler hadn’t been acting positively furtive about the entire affair.”
Sebastian smiled. “So naturally then you did pay attention.”
“I did, yes. Although I managed to get only a glimpse of the stone involved—what looked like an enormous blue sapphire. After Eisler left, I asked Francillon if the item was for sale. He became quite flustered when he realized I’d seen it and begged me not to tell anyone about it. Which I would not have done,” she added, “if Eisler weren’t dead.”
Sebastian stood and planted a loud kiss on her cheek. “Aunt Henrietta, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Where are you going?” she asked as he headed for the door.
“To pay a call on your Mr. Francillon.”
Chapter 23
T
he rain started up again long before Sebastian reached the Strand, the low-hanging clouds robbing the city of color to leave only gray: gray wet streets, flat gray light, gray sky. The air was heavy with the dank scent of wet stone and coal smoke and the pungent odors of the nearby river.
Leaving his horses in Tom’s care, Sebastian ducked beneath a trim black awning with the name FRANCILLON neatly lettered in gold. He pushed open the door, the shop bell jangling. An older man behind the counter paused in the act of hanging a botanical illustration of an exotic lily and turned.