Page 50 of The Gilded Heiress

Leo

“Where is this place again?” Ambrose asked as we walked along Twenty-Ninth Street.

I peeled off another section of orange and tossed it into my mouth. I hardly tasted it, but that wasn’t the point. My brain

needed to be sharp, and skipping meals because I missed Josie wouldn’t help me get back to Boston.

Almost there. One more loose end.

“Not far,” I said. “A few more blocks.”

My friend slapped my back. “Damn glad you came around to seeing things my way.”

“Yeah, well.” I swallowed another slice of orange. “I didn’t have much choice. Not many employers are keen to hire a man like

me.”

“I can’t fathom why you even bothered. Why go straight? We earn the easiest money in the world. I love this life.”

I believed it. I became a confidence man because it provided a great deal of money and I had the charm to carry it off. Ambrose,

on the other hand, was a born huckster. I couldn’t imagine him ever doing anything else.

We crossed the street and I said, “I’ll never make that mistake again. Once we finish this meeting today, I’m headed back

to Boston. A friend of mine has a pig in a poke idea, so maybe I’ll help him out.”

“Ah. Undertook one of those myself two months ago. Sold a fictitious plot of land in Ohio to an elderly couple. Couldn’t have been easier.”

“Remember the time we sold fake stock that we printed in your cellar?”

“Ha! Yes, indeed I do.” He elbowed me. “You and I make a good team. Why would you ever want to give this up?”

“Because I forgot the rule.”

“Never give your real name to the coppers?”

“That’s always a good one,” I said with a grin. “No, I meant the other one. St. Elmer’s seventh rule.”

“‘Never change for a woman,’” Ambrose recited. “They’re a waste of time, my friend. A foolish waste of time.”

I slipped another slice of orange in my mouth. Foolish, yes—though Josie would’ve been worth it. I would’ve done almost anything

to keep her. But I had to respect her wishes, and now she had an entirely different life ahead of her. Parties and balls,

Newport and operas. Anything money could buy.

Me? I’d stick with what I did best.

After last seeing Josie, I’d been at odds, living in Ambrose’s apartment and trying to figure out my future. He and I arrived

at a truce. After all, I couldn’t blame him for collecting that reward first. Four months ago, I would’ve done the same.

Ambrose and I crossed another street. The morning was a hot one, and I was already sweating inside my suit. I couldn’t wait

to get back to Boston and my family. Perhaps I’d leave tonight, after this errand wrapped up.

“There it is.” I pointed to the storefront. “I’m told he’s the best in all New York. Discreet, too.”

“And you’ve worked with him before?”

“Not me, but friends from Back Bay. They say he’s got the highest quality.”

Ambrose seemed skeptical, but it was to be expected in our line of work. We trusted very few people or institutions. In fact, Ambrose trusted banks less than he trusted the police. Which was to say not at all.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” my friend said as I reached for the door.

A bell tinkled overhead as we entered the unassuming porcelain shop. Figurines and teacups lined the shelves, while silver

spoons and platters resided in a glass case. An older man was behind the counter, polishing a silver vase. He looked at the

door. “Morning, gentlemen. May I help you?”

I strode forward. “Are you Mr. Mason?”

“Indeed, I am.”

I held out my hand. “I am Leo Hardy. My friend, Henrik, cabled you about an appointment today?”

Mason lowered his voice. “Quiet. Give me a moment.” He put down his cloth and came around the counter. At the front door,

he turned the lock and flipped the hanging shop sign to Closed.

When he started toward the back, he beckoned for us to follow. Ambrose and I trailed him to what turned out to be a sitting

area with a small table and chairs. A large black safe resided against the wall.

Mason gestured for us to sit. “Forgive me, but I don’t have these meetings in the front. Too risky. And I find my clients

prefer privacy.”

“Yes, we most certainly appreciate it,” I said as I lowered myself into a chair. “This is my good friend, Mr. Ambrose Lee.”

“Mr. Lee,” Mason greeted him, shaking Ambrose’s hand. “A pleasure. Henrik mentioned you are interested in purchasing some

items.”

“I’ve recently come into some money,” Ambrose said. “I want to spend it, but I can’t deposit it in the banks.”

“Why not?” Mason asked.

“Don’t trust them. First sign of a panic and all the money disappears.” Ambrose shook his head. “I’d rather keep it close,

if you know what I mean.”

Mason nodded like he’d heard this before. “Saw many men lose everything they had back in the panic of ’93. It was terrible. On my life, politicians and bankers are the least trustworthy souls alive.”

“Amen,” Ambrose said. “I was thinking gold bars. Or perhaps silver coins.”

Mason rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “The price of gold fluctuates dramatically these days. And if there is another panic, the

politicians will rush to devalue silver.”

“I remember when they did that,” I said. “Two years ago in that financial crisis. So what does that leave us with?”

“Us?” Ambrose stared down his nose at me. “You forfeited your right to the money days ago, Leo.”

I put my palms up. “I know, but I was hoping you might reconsider, especially because I found Mr. Mason here.”

Ambrose’s lips flattened into an unhappy line, but Mason spoke first. “It’s better if I show you what I have.” He pushed up

out of his chair and went to the huge safe. With a few flicks of his wrist, he turned the dial and opened the heavy steel

door. He leaned in and rummaged around for a long minute. Then he produced a thick brown packet.

After he resettled in his chair, he began unwrapping the paper. Soon, large round lumps began taking shape. Ambrose leaned

in, so I did as well. We were both eager to see what Mason had bundled so carefully.

A cascade of glittering white-blue fire tumbled out onto the green baize tabletop.

Diamonds .

Ambrose hissed through his teeth and I sucked in a sharp breath. They were gorgeous. There had to be at least twenty of them,

fat and round, sparkling even in the low light.

“Good god,” Ambrose said. “I’ve never seen anything so gorgeous in all my days.”

I whistled. “Are they real?”

Mason bristled, the flesh of his throat rippling. “Of course they’re real. You two came to me. I didn’t seek you out. If you don’t trust me, then you may show yourselves out.” He started to put the diamonds back in the brown paper.

“Wait.” Ambrose put a hand on the man’s forearm. “We don’t mean any harm. But you have to understand our hesitation. We’ve

come across a shady character a time or two. Now, we sure would appreciate it if you could prove these aren’t glass.”

Mason sighed. “I will fetch a jeweler’s loupe. You know how to use one, I assume?”

I looked at Ambrose and shook my head. My friend glanced around the tiny space. “Do you have a mirror handy? Real diamonds

will leave a scratch.”

“I do, actually.” Mason stood and found his way to the sideboard, where he lifted a small mirror and brought it over. Picking

up a diamond, he handed it to Ambrose. “Though I cannot believe this is necessary. Scratch away.”

Sure enough, the diamond left a scratch on the mirror.

Ambrose handed the gem back, but he left his palm out. “Another, please.”

Mason offered up a different diamond and Ambrose repeated the process. Then another. I said nothing during the third test,

but at the fourth request I lost my patience. “Ambrose, they’re all real. Stop wasting this man’s time.”

Ambrose sat back, seemingly appeased. “How much are these worth?”

“The whole lot? More money than you have, no doubt. Each one is in the neighborhood of one thousand dollars. Some more, some

less depending on the size.”

The check Ambrose received from Mr. Pendelton was for a hundred thousand dollars. I could see my friend doing the math in

his head. “I would need one hundred.”

Mason’s eyes rounded as his eyebrows shot up. “One hundred... Good heavens!”

Ambrose’s expression grew positively smug. “I told you it was a large sum of money.”

“I should say so.” Mason exhaled heavily and stroked his jaw. “I have something very rare. Very expensive. The only one of

its kind.” He rose and went back to his safe. This time he returned with a black case. He withdrew a tiny key from inside

his pocket, which he then used to unlock the case and retrieve a box from inside.

He placed the box on the table and opened the lid. A fat pink diamond nestled in the silk winked up at us. I whistled again.

“Holy shit.”

Ambrose examined the gem closer. “How many carats is it?”

“Six-point-four-eight. It’s flawless, mined in India and presented to Queen Victoria. Her son, the Prince of Wales, Prince

Albert Edward, brought it to North America in 1860 when he came to open Victoria Bridge. He stayed with President Buchanan

at the White House, and gifted the diamond to Buchanan’s niece, Miss Harriet Lane, who served as the unmarried president’s

hostess.”

I started to reach out and touch the exquisite piece, but Mason shoved my hand away. “Do not dare to touch this without gloves

on.”

“How did it find its way to you?” Ambrose asked.

“I am not at liberty to say, but the person was in need of money. I agreed to buy the gem.”

“Stolen, then.”

Mason didn’t confirm or deny the statement, which may as well have been a confirmation. Instead, he offered, “Let us say that

a museum may come looking for it one day. I would not flash it around, were I you.”

“What’s it worth?”

“A hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

“So out of your price range,” I said to Ambrose.

“Perhaps not,” my friend said. “How do I know what you’ve said is true?”