After a thorough inventory, Holmes counted at least seven different muscle groups bruised and sore from last night's surreal escapade. Pain had not been his only souvenir, however. The feather that mysteriously replaced Miss Lefay's ring was safely nestled in his breast pocket. Though not a superstitious man, Holmes thought it prudent not to spare precaution when dealing with the unorthodox. And to his simultaneous relief and worry, Unorthodox Herself had made no appearance for the entire morning.
Holmes paced the circumference of the library adjacent to the east salon, resolved to at least confirm whether she still breathed before he went to question the mysterious jeweler named Hangley. It had not been the first time that name had surfaced in this investigation, and last night's findings made the man his prime suspect.
At long last he heard the distinct sounds of self-assured footsteps paired with the rustle of expensive skirts. He stepped into the hallway to see her patiently waiting for him. She may have been a trifle paler than usual, her violet eyes a little faded, but that seemed to be the only evidence of her injury. She didn't seem daunted by last night's setbacks. Her expression was self-confident, even gloating.
That crooked smile of hers only accented the excessive amount of rouge discoloring her face. Her hair was also tightly curled and impractically piled on top of her head, which felt incongruous for her character, and her dress fit far too snugly for her social station. What was she planning?
Celeste wryly grinned when she noticed Holmes' raised eyebrows. "The way I work is my business and mine alone, Derryn," she taunted slightly.
Miss Lefay turned to leave, flourishing her right hand in farewell. Holmes' eyes narrowed as he noticed the glimmer of a familiar ring on her middle finger. It cast a dancing spotlight on her wrist, which was slightly marred by a gauzy bandage blotted with red.
Before she disappeared down the hall, Holmes spoke up. "It was the iron, wasn't it?" He asked. Her back stiffened, and she turned to face him slowly.
"Alas, we are not invincible, Mr. Holmes."
She turned on her heel and did not look back until she was safely nestled on the seat of Duncan Grange's cart, the sight of Mr. Sherlock Holmes looking for alternative transportation to town shrinking onto the distance.
Fortunately for Holmes however, when the act of breathing earns the adoration of the local constabulary, getting to and from town can be a relatively simple affair. After getting some discreet directions and some very indiscreet well-wishes from Andrew Clifton, Holmes made his way to the local jewelry shop.
He looked into the window to see Miss Lefay was already at the counter and talking to Hangley. He seemed a genial-enough looking young man, with tousled black hair and a languid smile. He stood at least six inches over the Officer as he showed her a tray of opulent dinner rings.
Miss Lefay was doing such an expert job of attracting Mr. Hangley's full attention that Holmes slipped into the shop and behind a casing completely unnoticed. Upon closer inspection, a few more unsettling qualities about the jeweler revealed themselves. His well-groomed hands constantly grasped at hers, pulling them closer and possessively holding just a hair too long. Every other sentence was a flattering comment that flew by so rapidly, it didn't have time to be sincere. The man acted like he knew women, and far too well.
Celeste giggled demurely at one of Hangley's compliments. The man eyed her like a tomcat would a plump mouse. Holmes was worried for Miss Lefay, but then he remembered her face wreathed in lightning. The fearless Officer who nearly broke his nose and launched herself at a grave robber last night was only hidden inside that coy ingenue batting her eyes. The Lothario wasn't trapping a mouse but testing a leopard.
"If it's opals you fancy, I have a fine collection of exquisite estate jewelry in my office," said Hangley with a cavalier grin.
Miss Lefay flushed and bit her lip. "Oh, I wouldn't want to cause too much trouble?"
"Certainly not. It would be half payment just to see your eyes light up."
It took a good deal of effort for Holmes not to snort derisively. Celeste's shoulder twitched slightly. She seemed to be having the same problem, but she recovered quickly by girlishly putting her hands to her mouth and actually squealing, "Oh Mr. Hangley!"
Without warning, Hangley took Celeste's arm and drew her close. "I only speak the truth," he said in a honeyed voice. "And do call me Thornton."
Miss Lefay smiled bashfully as he led her to the back stairs. "Well, if you insist, Thornton."
It could have been a hand spasm. There might have been an insect on her wrist. She could have been making a rude gesture, but the point remained that Celeste had wiggled her hand behind her back, and Holmes got the distinct feeling that anyone outside this building would be oblivious to the actions inside.
Not one to waste an opportunity, Holmes crept up the stairs after Celeste Lefay and Thornton Hangley. The mirror on the stairway landing afforded an excellent view of Hangley's office, and he did not close the door. He wouldn't immediately close it, of course. Cads were a theatrical lot, and he would only do that as the final act of dominance to show the mouse she had been caught.
Hangley showed Celeste to a chair and turned to a casing behind his desk. She deviously smiled her crooked grin at his back. The true Celeste was shining through. Her trap was nearly sprung, and she was ready to pounce. In a flash the smile turned from diabolical to vapid and flirtatious when Hangley turned around.
He leaned casually against the desk in front of her. "Now my dear, who has left you so lonely you must turn to these old jewels?"
"Do you think it would be for the same reasons as Mrs. Agnes Dover?" Celeste asked lightly. Her eyes turned predatory as she slowly turned her head to stare him down. The jeweler stiffened. "Or perhaps it was Mrs. Emmeline Marsh." She rose and loomed over an uncomfortable Hangley. "Or maybe Coraline Beldam? Leonora Valentine?"
Celeste had almost backed Hangley onto his desk at this point. His shoulders tensed as he tried to take back control of the situation. There grew a wild look in his eyes. "Now, my sweet girl, I don't know what you mean. Which of the old town gossips told you such foolish things?"
"Get the right tongues wagging and all truths come to light," Celeste purred. Hangley attempted to snake his arms around Celeste's waist in what might have been a ravishing dip, the cad's coup de gras, but she swiftly planted a hand on his sternum and pushed. The desk squeaked from the force.
"Dear little lady, if you have a penchant for confrontation, I am perfectly willing to play along…" Hangley caressed up her forearm, but this time Miss Lefay rebuffed with a knife, pointed much further south than his chest.
"I assure you sir, if any appendage approaches me again, it will be cut off without hesitation. "Hangley gulped, his eyes wide. "Ah, glad to see you're listening. I've heard much about your habits with women. My sources tell me you like them Fae and, in most cases, married. But you have not limited yourself to these specifications, oh no. For the entire month leading up to her death, you have been seen almost exclusively with Lilith Montclair, unwed sister of Lady Weatherby. I'm sure you've been acquainted; you've cursed her mourning jewelry."
"You don't know anything about it," Hangley grumbled petulantly.
Celeste's hand latched closer to his throat her thumb resting casually on his wind pipe. "And I'm hoping you'll care to enlighten me. Now, when exactly did you decide to expand from lechery and larceny to murder?
Hangley's expression seemed to curdle. "Wa-What? MURDER! There's no way in Hell you're going to pin a murder on me. I did nothing to the girl!"
"Oh, you're calling it nothing now," Celeste purred sweetly. "I wonder the other women would call it nothing when you left them bewildered and in tears. I wonder if their husbands would consider it nothing. Shall I trot off and find them to see?"
"NO!" The cad yelped as if he had been burned. "I mean, I don't do long exclusive engagements. Little songbird should've known that, but she started getting notions. Why do women always get notions?"
Celeste was unsympathetic. "Indeed. Why do men always get notions they can change the subject. Where were you the night before Miss Montclair fell sick?"
"I was here, plying my trade."
"Then surely there is a ledger if you made a sale. If you would do me the honor of showing me your books."
With a beleaguered sigh, Hangley opened a drawer and selected a book from the top. In turning to the proper entry, a small journal fell from the pages, landing open-faced. The few words visible caused the jeweler to blanch and his interrogator's eyes to lit up.
"Is that a lust diary we have there? How quaint. Now, you can save yourself considerable time and embarrassment by giving it to me."
Hangley hastily pulled the journal to his breast. "Never."
"I take it you're again warming to my company. Perhaps now we can discuss how you really obtain all this 'exquisite estate jewelry'. Gerry Dodders certainly had interesting things to say regarding your joint business venture. I'm sure you wouldn't mind filling in all the little details."
"Fine," snarled Hangley, all pride drained from him. "If you need to get the dust out of your knickers that badly." He tossed the notebook on the desk disdainfully.
With one knife pointed to Hangley's neck, Celeste took the book and curled it into the crook of her arm.
"It has been an absolute pleasure conversing with you, sir." she grinned like a Cheshire cat as she withdrew her weapon and walked away. "Do stay in town. I dare say I'm not particularly finished with you."
She was at the door when the jeweler seemed to regain an imitation of confidence. "Is it true? How witches like you don't have hearts. That there's nothing but ice in your tits?"
Celeste stopped cold without turning around. Her face a violet-eyed thunderstorm reflected in Holmes' mirror. Without a word, she whirled around and carved a wide arc in the air with her knife. A violet shock wave pulsed from the gesture and hit Hangley square in the chest. He was catapulted backward over his desk, landing in a groaning heap on the floor.
With that, the Leopard seemed satisfied, and Sherlock Holmes had seen quite enough. He hurried down the stairs ahead of her and stealthily crept between jewelry casings to the door. Remembering to muffle the bell on his way out, Holmes slipped around the corner and watched for the Officer's exit.
He saw her wrap the incriminating journal in her shawl in the doorway to the shop. Mis Lefay had barely turned the corner when Holmes bumped into her on the street. He kept his face turned away and his apology a low mumble. In the momentary confusion, he managed to grasp a firm handful of the book wrapped in silk from Miss Lefay's bag and stride swiftly away.
By the time he passed through the village square, Holmes noticed the laughter, her laughter. In a rapid flash of enlightenment, he inspected more thoroughly his new prize. He unrolled the green stole to find no book hidden anywhere within its folds. Holmes could have sworn he had that blasted thing firmly in his hands.
Looking back, he saw Celeste Lefay flourish her empty palms toward him like a melodramatic magician. Still laughing, she grinned devilishly at him before turning down a side street with a swish of her skirts, leaving Sherlock Holmes to throw down the offending shawl with a frustrated huff.
Despite all sundry complications, Celeste still considered the day to be a success. By mid-afternoon she had retreated to the rose garden to read the cad's ledger in solitude. Indulging in a playful pat on the gargoyle's head, she sat leaning on the statue while pilfering through the journal for the desired names and dates.
When she found what she was looking for, it took three seconds until Celeste screamed in rage.