This is kind of a follow-up to the story "Tea and Togetherness," but it can also be a stand alone story. I'll probably go through this story over time, doing more edits and polishing it, but this is the first iteration of what I had in mind. As I write this, I'm listening to a playlist on spotify "you're a jewel thief and tonight is a heist night baby"!
November 1924, London, Roxton Residence
The evening air was crisp with the onset of November's chill, but inside the Roxton family home in London, warmth pervaded the spacious master bedroom. Marguerite and John were sitting on the bed with little William between them. Marguerite was holding his hands gently, as he stood upright with both feet planted firmly on the mattress.
"Can you believe it's already been a year?" Marguerite asked.
John smiled warmly. "I can't. It feels like only yesterday we were preparing the nursery, waiting anxiously for him to arrive. And now, look at him. Our little explorer."
William looked adoringly at Marguerite and let out a joyful, "Mamma!"
John leaned closer, encouraging him, "And what about me?"
Without hesitation, William turned his gaze towards John and repeated with a clear and deliberate effort, "Dadda!"
"Oh, John, can you believe he's already talking?"
"He's going to be quite the conversationalist if he's starting this early."
"Who's excited for their birthday party?" Marguerite asked.
William, still holding her hands, started jumping up and down, and with a clear, eager voice, he declared, "Me!"
Both Marguerite and John exchanged a look of surprise and amusement.
"Is this normal?" Marguerite asked.
"Why not? Who wouldn't be excited about their own birthday party?"
"No, I mean, a one-year-old-baby shouldn't really have a concept of self yet."
"Maybe we just have an extraordinary little boy on our hands. Or perhaps he's just eager to celebrate with everyone."
Marguerite scooped him in her arms and kissed the top of his head, breathing in the sweet scent of baby shampoo.
"I just want to hold onto these moments a little longer," she whispered. "They're fleeting, like the last leaves of autumn."
"We will. And even as the seasons change, the memories we're making will stay with us, timeless and enduring."
Marguerite and John preferred a more private lifestyle at this point so they opted for the more intimate nature of the gathering. Close family and friends attended Wiliam's birthday party, including the Blackwell family, the Challengers, John's mother Elizabeth, Ned, and Veronica. This small circle made the celebration feel personal and special.
There was a beautifully decorated cake and a hearty rendition of "Happy Birthday," which delighted little William. However, as the first signs of his adorable yawns interrupted his giggles, the nanny had whisked him away to the nursery, allowing the adults to linger and converse more freely.
"It's good that you chose a family-only celebration. One can never be too cautious with the Unicorn on the loose." Catherine said.
Professor Challenger looked up with intrigue. "A unicorn? Brilliant! Where?"
"Not the actual unicorn, Professor. The Unicorn - the jewel thief." Catherine corrected. "He just struck again. He managed to steal Lady Rosamund's pearls right from under her nose."
"Funny place to wear pearls." Marguerite said.
Emily laughed. "I find the whole spectacle hilarious. Watching those affluent ladies fret over a few missing trinkets—it's endlessly entertaining."
"You never take anything seriously, do you?" Catherine asked.
"On the contrary, Mother! I take things so very seriously that I'd be embarrassed to fuss over such trivial matters, when there is a real struggle in the world. Whoever the Unicorn is, I salute them."
Marguerite added, "Whoever the Unicorn is, it's completely unethical they're riding on the coattails of the original."
Malone leaned forward. "And you knew the original?"
"I knew of him. I followed his story. He was quite an artist. His every endeavor was a masterpiece. This one is just a lousy copycat."
Marguerite had been following newspaper articles about the Unicorn. She wasn't particularly concerned that high society ladies were losing their jewelry either, but it greatly irked her that this new thief was operating under the old glory of his predecessor.
"Could we, perhaps, find a more suitable topic?" Elizabeth gently requested.
"Of course, Lady Avebury." Emily said. "We could discuss politics."
Elizabeth gave a small, polite smile, "Not quite what I had in mind."
"I hope you're not too disappointed that the liberals lost, Emily." Malone said.
"Not at all. There's always next time. This is just an indicator that we have a lot of work in front of us, to educate young people, from every class. Perhaps we could even disassemble the class altogether. However, I must admit, I'm rather disappointed that Marguerite betrayed us."
"Betrayed who?" Marguerite asked.
"The Liberal Party."
"I never said I would vote for them."
"You allowed your husband to dictate your political stance."
"That's not true. My husband and I share most of our views, and where we don't, I change his. Am I right, my darling?"
John confirmed with a playful nod, "Absolutely, my dear."
Jessie Challenger spoke next. "Emily, you've mentioned a poetry club. Perhaps you could tell us more about it?"
"Certainly. It's a wonderful gathering of clever and interesting people. We meet once a week at various places. This Saturday they've asked me to go to somebody's house for a party."
"But we are traveling to the Highlands on Friday." Catherine reminded her.
"You see, I'm not going with you. I'd rather go to this party."
"I've heard of these parties," Elizabeth shared, "Full of lively discussions, jazz music, and rebellious spirit that goes against the old norms. It's all very modern and exhilarating, from what I gather."
Catherine nodded, "Quite correct. Not suitable at all."
"Well, I disagree." Jessie Challenger said, "These gatherings of young intellectuals and artists are exactly what the new generation needs. Creativity and new ideas. They can very well shape our future."
One afternoon, John was out, still entangled with obligations at the House of Lords. The general elections had just concluded, bringing a flurry of legislative reviews and urgent discussions that demanded his attention. Veronica and Ned were also out, exploring cultural and entertaining aspects of London. There were plenty of theatrical performances, operas, ballets, black and white silent films, museums, and nightclubs to visit.
Back at home, Marguerite found herself having an unexpected visitor.
It was French inspector Edgard Perrault, a ghost from her past. Today he was an old man. Although he wasn't much younger when she first met him. His face was marked with years and a dogged determination that she knew all too well. She was in utter shock to see him standing there. It brought so many unpleasant memories. She paused for a moment, collecting herself before inviting him in.
"Good afternoon, Marguerite." He said as he walked in.
"Edgard… What are you doing here and how did you find me?"
"You're hardly a ghost, Marguerite. The social circles have been buzzing with the news of your return. And to top it off you've married none other than John Roxton, the renowned adventurer. Both of your names are on everyone's lips. As for my reasons for being here—I suspect you can already guess."
"Enlighten me."
"Have you heard about the International Criminal Police Commission?"
"Yes, founded last year in Vienna, if I'm not mistaken. Are you working with them now?"
"You could say that. One of the cases they're working on involves the infamous Unicorn. They called me in to join the case because of my previous experience with the Unicorn. According to them, a gang of women has been orchestrating heists across Europe."
"But you know that's not quite accurate." Marguerite said as she crossed her arms.
"I know the Unicorn isn't a gang but rather a singular, beautiful, bewitching and exceptionally clever woman who has eluded me for more than a decade. It's a pity the ICPC wasn't around back then. Their resources would have come in handy."
Marguerite eyed Edgard warily. "That's all very nice, but what are you doing here?"
"I came here to inform you that I am on your trail. Ten years ago, you always gave me a heads-up about your next con. Now, I'm extending the same courtesy to you."
Marguerite scoffed. "I see you're still as delusional as ever."
"You're a wicked woman, Marguerite, and you must be punished for it. You know that. Wicked women who do wicked things must be punished."
"And you're obsessed."
"Yes… With justice," Edgard corrected sharply. "If you surrender voluntarily, I will show you mercy. If you force me to catch you, there will be no mercy for you."
Without another word Marguerite stood up and pressed a button near the door. Moments later, the butler appeared in the doorway.
"Mr. Perrault is just leaving." Marguerite informed him with calm authority.
That night, as Marguerite prepared for bed, John noticed the tension in her movements. The way her brows furrowed and her eyes lost focus on the present. He recognized that kind of distant, haunted look. It was one he had seen more times than he cared to admit.
"Everything alright, love?" He asked.
Instead of addressing his question directly, Marguerite simply replied, "Does anything ever escape your observant eye?"
"Never. Especially not if it involves you. If something is troubling you, it troubles me too."
Marguerite smiled at his words. He was so dear and observant, always keen to sense her moods. It was this understanding that deepened her love for him, making her feel safe and cherished.
As she completed her nightly routine, Marguerite joined him in bed. She slid under the covers, adjusting the pillows behind her to make herself more comfortable. She then took a deep breath, a prelude to her thoughts.
"You're right. Something is troubling me. And since we've agreed there are no more secrets between us, there is something I need to tell you."
She paused and looked into his eyes.
"Then tell me," he urged.
"It might be a bit of a long story."
"I'd say we have all night."
"Alright. I had a visitor today. An old acquaintance from before the war. He's convinced that I am the Unicorn."
"And are you?"
"Seriously?"
"I have to ask. With you, one never knows."
Marguerite let out a small laugh. "So, you think that on top of all my responsibilities, I have time to lead a double life as a thief who robs the English aristocracy?"
"Of course not. That was thoughtless. I'm sorry."
Marguerite waved it off. "Don't be. It's not your fault. Anyway, his name is Edgard Perrault. He's French and he's working with ICPC. If you ask me, he's obsessed, mentally deranged and probably even dangerous."
"He won't lay a finger on you. I won't let him come near you." John assured her. "But you have to tell me, why does he blame you?"
"Do you remember Adrianne Montclair?" Marguerite asked.
"Of course. Your friend from Paris who stole some jewelry and then met a tragic end."
"Yes. It all started in Paris, 1910..."