The newsstand at Paddington Charlotte had raided previously had no other novels by Mr K. Huntley, and Charlotte was obliged to move further into the cacophony of the yawning station hall to try her luck. 

Travellers heading for the Underground hurried past her, staring at their pocket watches or wristlets. Everywhere she looked there seemed to be families with children, businessmen, workers, and then men and women standing in everyone's way, craning their necks to see if the people they were waiting for were coming down the long platforms yet. Charlotte dodged the many, many porters with their carts ferrying luggage and goods to and from the hulking trains spewing steam up into into the iron girders, filling the hall with the stench of hot embers and axel grease. 

Through the bustling crowd, Charlotte spotted another newsstand next to the entrance to the Tea Room. It turned out to be rather better stocked than the one by the entrance and had two from Mr Huntley on hand: The Rat-Chewed Rope andThe Corpse in the Kitchen. Both with even more lurid, sensationalistic covers than Bloody Murder in the Fens. 

If such a thing were possible. 

"How do you look yourself in the mirror every morning, Mr Huntley?" Charlotte mumbled to herself as she flipped through some of the pages, assuring herself the two novels were indeed Inspector Bump cases. Giving the rack one final check to make sure she hadn't missed anything, she stepped forward and placed the books on counter. 

"That'll be two -" 

"Charlotte! What are you doing here?" a male voice cut in. 

Charlotte turned to see Carlton, dressed in boater hat and starched collar, standing not two steps away from her. A flush of red rushed into her cheeks. Had he seen what she was purchasing? She reached for a Vogue magazine and laid it over the novels. 

The attendant looked at Carlton, then at Charlotte, and said, "Five shillings, four pence." 

Charlotte laid eight shillings on the counter,  took up her purchases-- making sure to keep the books out of sight-- and began to walk away with a "I don't believe I'm speaking to you" tossed in Carlton's direction.

"Look, Charlotte, I'm sorry about. . ." Carlton dodged a porter. "I'm sorry about that silly slip I made to the Penderhursts. I was going to ring--"

"Then why didn't you?" Charlotte attempted to keep up a brisk pace, but it was difficult in such a large, milling crowd and she found herself dodging left and right around people.  

"I didn't know if you were still cross with me and I didn't want a row over the blower. Charlotte." Carlton reached out and took her by the arm, tugging on her a little to make her stop. "Charlotte, you mean the world to me. I never should have breathed a word to anyone about our intentions. You know I have only our happiness in mind."  

Charlotte stopped, forcing a family to part and move around them. "Carlton, I like you very much, but you really must stop this marriage nonsense. Marriage is not in my foreseeable future, get that into your onion, will you? I know you care, but you are making me feel as if I cannot breathe and that I cannot abide. If you ever want me to speak to you again, then remove the words marriage and engagement out of your conversation this very instant. I would not advise you to quarrel with me on this topic."  

Carlton looked for all the world as if he'd just been slapped twice across the chops with a very fat and oily fish. "Oh. Right. Well. I suppose."

"You'd better do more than suppose." Charlotte stepped away. Carlton kept on her heels. 

"I can't see you home, I'm here with the motor to fetch my aunt and uncle. They're coming down from Oxford for the weekend. But say, Brent and Phillipa Montjoy are throwing a party this Friday at their home in Knightsbridge. What do you say we go? Hm? Have a bit of fun."

Charlotte sighed. "Perhaps," she said, putting effort into sounding bored. She hadn't seen Phillipa in ages and the prospect of an evening among friends did sound more than pleasant. 

"I'll give you a ring in a few days, alright? Alright, darling? And we'll make arrangements." 

"If you must. Now, I really must dash, Carlton. Good bye." Charlotte quickened her pace, leaving Carlton where he was. Once she was out of the station and safely in a hackney cab sputtering her way home through the drizzle did she let out a sigh of relief. 

That had been close. She gazed down at the magazine and the two paperbacks on her lap, fairly certain Carlton hadn't taken any notice of them. She really was going to have to do something about him, but she still couldn't make up her mind. He was a good sport and fun to be around, distractingly handsome, of course, but. . . she sighed. 

She really was going to have to do something about him, and soon. But not right at that moment. Not when there was a mystery to be solved. 

Preston opened the front door as she stepped out of the cab. "Journey successful, ma'am?"

Charlotte held the bundle in her hand out to him to take. "Very. Put these in the sitting room for me, will you? And I could murder for some tea."

"Very good, ma'am."

She went upstairs to wash the soot and grime from the station off and change into at-home clothes, which consisted of a lovely house robe with puffed sleeves and matching slippers her seamstress had concocted from pictures of an Italian countess. It reminded her of Anne's painter's dress after a fashion. 

Twenty minutes later, she was settled into the wing chair in the sitting room again and Preston was pouring a deliciously fragrant tea into a bone china cup.  A plate of biscuits had already magically appeared on the side table next to her chair. 

Preston cleared his throat. "While you were away, ma'am, I took the liberty of continuing to think on the idea of luring the diamond thief into a trap."

Charlotte raised an eyebrow. "And here I thought you disapproved of the entire notion. Well, where did it lead you, this think of yours? Don't leave me hanging, I'm on the edge of my seat." Charlotte slapped the padded leather of the wing chair's armrests.   

Preston placed the tea cup onto the table next to Charlotte. "I do not disapprove of the idea in the slightest, ma'am. That would be an impertinence on my part and a slight on the criminalist brilliance of Mr Huntley. I am merely concerned for your safety as well as the safety of your property, of which I am guardian. For that reason, I would like to suggest having a false set of diamonds created and tempting the thief with those. In the unlikely event that the trap fails to close properly, you will not suffer a significant loss of any sort."

"Have a false set of diamonds made up, you say?"

"Yes, ma'am. Made of glass and paste, I believe. Remarkably realistic from a distance of ten or so paces. Sufficient for a larger social gathering. I've been informed that certain duchesses have just such duplicates of their most valuable pieces."

Charlotte took a sip of tea, grinning into her cup. "Let me guess. The Butler's Telegraph?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I see. Well, that certainly would be a false rumour in the truest sense of the word, wouldn't it? False diamonds to tempt a false man." 

"Yes, ma'am. Perhaps too literal of an interpretation of Inspector Bump's strategy, but it would protect your property and minimise actual damage, which would save bother with the insurance. And I am keenly aware of how much you wish to avoid bother."

"Indeed I do. The blasted insurance. Hadn't thought of that. Good thing I have you, Preston, or I would be up to my neck in policies and the dullest of fine print I would never bother to read, wouldn't I?  Say, has the Telegraph also been kind enough to provide the name and address of makers of counterfeit diamonds?"

"Indeed it has, ma'am."

Charlotte thought for a few moments. Preston waited patiently, gloved hands clasped professionally behind his back. 

"If we take that course of action, then I shall be forced to attend more parties than I normally do. I shall have to show the paste duplicates around to as many pairs of eyes as wish to see them, and you know how much I shall despise that."

"A terrible burden, ma'am. Especially at the very loud soirees where the champagne flows in rivers and dancing is strictly enforced."

"Are those the same ones where the pixies come out to paint the roses with perfume after everyone's done vomiting in the garden?"

"The self same, ma'am."

"Wretched. However shall I survive."

"Shall I make arrangements with the jeweller?"

"Please do. What would you recommend? So far, a collier, earrings, a diadem and something we don't know anything about, have gone missing. That leaves rings and brooches. If indeed the thief is out after a full set of diamond jewellery."

Preston paused for a few moments. "That was a possibility I hadn't yet considered, ma'am. Allow me to put more thought into it?"

"Certainly. I've got nothing else to do this week besides a few social engagements and tennis on Wednesday. Oh, and I'll be attending a party at the Montjoy's place with Mr Wheatley on Friday." 

Preston's head tilted slightly as he thoughtfully stroked the side of his nose. "I was unaware Mr Wheatley had rung."

"He hasn't. I ran into him unexpectedly at Paddington and he mentioned something on Friday. Said he would ring later."

"In that case," Preston said, slowly, "I would suggest not wearing the false diamonds to that particular party, ma'am." 

"Why? Oh, right. So Carlton doesn't start with a barrage of irritating questions and ruin the evening? Good thinking. Although I believe I gave him enough of a tongue lashing, he could still find something to complain about." Charlotte looked to the two new novels screaming for her attention on the table. "Now, I think I shall see if Inspector Bump has any new suggestions for me."

"Very good, ma'am." Preston gave a slight bow and left his mistress to her sleuthing.