Shades of Earl Grey by Laura Childs

say you took our warning very seriously. When I spoke to you about the wedding ring disappearing from the Lady Goodwood Inn, you were extremely agreeable about taking precautions. You even approved the expenditure for the electronic equipment. Which means you did everything right, Timothy. No one could possibly fault you or hold you responsible.”
    Timothy grimaced, unwilling to meet Drayton’s earnest gaze. “Oh, but I’m afraid they will,” he replied, his voice quavering.
    â€œTimothy,” said Theodosia, determined to bring him back to the subject at hand, “we’ve got to face reality. Whoever is responsible for these thefts has to be one of our own.”
    Timothy’s eyebrows rose like two question marks on his pale face as he stared at Theodosia with trepidation. “Explain,” he said. One hand gestured at her weakly, urging her to continue.
    â€œIf it isn’t someone from our own circle,” said Theodosia, “then how else would they have known about Camille’s wedding ring at the Lady Goodwood? Or the European Jewel Collection?”
    â€œThey read the paper? Studied their intended target?” proposed Drayton.
    â€œThe European Jewel Collection was written up in the paper, yes,” said Theodosia. She thought for a moment. “But there was nothing about Camille Buchanan’s wedding ring. That was . . . that was . . .”
    â€œAn accident?” proposed Drayton.
    â€œYou’re not going to like this, but I’d say it’s more likely an inside job,” said Theodosia. “As far as the Lady Goodwood’s silver goes . . . well, you’d just have to know about that.”
    â€œSo whoever perpetrated the crime was right there,” said Timothy slowly. “They were right there among us last night. Probably sipping drinks, chatting with guests.”
    They all sat in shocked silence for a moment, pondering the implications.
    Finally, Theodosia spoke up. “There’s something else, too.”
    â€œWhat’s that?” asked Drayton.
    â€œIf the two thefts are related, and I think we have pretty much come to the very unsettling conclusion that they are, then poor Harlan Wilson could be in danger,” said Theodosia. “Because he’s probably the only witness we have.”
    â€œBut he’s still in a coma!” exclaimed Drayton.
    â€œWhich is very good news for our thief,” said Theodosia. “Unless Mr. Wilson suddenly comes to and is able to provide the police with a careful description. Of course, we don’t know for certain that Mr. Wilson even saw the robbery take place. Let’s assume that he did, however, and act accordingly. Err on the side of caution.”
    â€œSo what do we do now?” asked Timothy. He suddenly looked terribly defeated.
    â€œObviously we need reinforcements,” said Theodosia. “And protection for Mr. Wilson.”
    â€œThe police,” said Timothy with resignation. “They’re already on it. I spoke with two investigators this morning.”
    â€œDid you voice your concerns about a connection with the ring disappearing at the Lady Goodwood?” asked Drayton.
    â€œNo,” said Timothy. “I guess I just didn’t want to believe . . .” His voice trailed off.
    â€œThen might I suggest we call in the big guns?” said Theodosia.
    â€œYou mean . . .” said Drayton, glancing sharply at her.
    Theodosia nodded. “That’s right. Detective Tidwell.”
    Â 
    Henry Marchand, Timothy’s butler and housekeeper for the last forty years, suddenly appeared behind them. For someone who was so advanced in years, Henry moved with amazing stealth. They had heard nary a footstep.
    â€œSorry to interrupt, sir, but you have a phone call,” Henry said in his somber, papery voice.
    Theodosia glanced down at Henry’s feet. He was wearing a pair of Chinese shoes. Thin-soled slip-ons made of black