His wife nodded gravely.
“Quite certain,” Catherine said beside him. Her voice was steady, though he could see the tension in her frame, the paleness in her face.
She stepped forward, her gloved fingers tracing the edge of the shelf where the ring had been displayed. “It was the forty-seventh entry. Gold, Roman, first or second century. Carnelian intaglio. Reclining hound. The label remains. The piece is gone.”
Marcus exhaled slowly. He had catalogued the ring himself when he acquired it. It had belonged to a private collector in Bath who believed it to be of little scholarly interest. Marcus knew better. The artistry of the carving, the wear patterns consistent with military burial, the provenance confirmed weeks later. It had been one of the collection’s most distinctive treasures.
Now it was gone.
He turned from the display, his jaw set.
“And the adjacent pieces?” he asked as dread built within him.
Catherine nodded again, turning his stomach to ice.
“Subtly adjusted,” she said. “Enough to disguise the absence. But I know the spacing. I know what I placed where.”
Of course she does, he thought, chiding himself.Her records are immaculate. I watched her compose the master ledger by candlelight, her handwriting precise, her columns exact. There could be no mistake. How could I dare to question her, however benign the doubt?
Marcus struggled to find a reply, but his thoughts were soon disrupted. Footsteps approached, brisk but quiet. Marcus turned as Alexander appeared in the doorway with Rosalind just behind him. At the sight of Marcus’s rigid posture and Catherine’s stricken expression, Alexander paused.
“Forgive the intrusion,” he said. “But I could not help noticing Catherine’s urgency. Has something occurred?”
Marcus glanced at Catherine. She gave a single nod.
“Close the door, if you please,” Marcus said.
Rosalind did so at once, turning immediately toward Marcus and Catherine with earnest interest in her features.
“You are both to swear absolute discretion,” Marcus said without preamble. “What I am about to say must go no further than this room.”
Alexander stepped closer, his expression darkening.
“You have my word,” he said with a solemn nod.
Rosalind stepped forward, putting a gentle hand on Alexander’s shoulder.
“And mine,” she said softly.
Marcus nodded once. If he could not trust his dearest friend and his cousin-in-law, there was no one in the world he could trust.None other than Catherine,he silently amended, barely acknowledging the thought.
“A piece has been stolen,” he said. “From this room. From my private collection.”
There was a stunned pause. Alexander’s brows drew together.
“Stolen?” he asked, his incredulity immediate and genuine. “When? How?”
Marcus turned to his wife, meeting her eyes with a slight inclination of his head.
“Sometime between last evening and this afternoon,” she said. “The ring was present when I verified the inventory after the morning presentations.”
Rosalind’s eyes widened.
“And you are certain it was not misplaced?” she asked.
Marcus glanced at Catherine, whose lip began to tremble.
“Yes,” he said. “The piece had no reason to be moved. It was not part of the rotating table set. It remained in that alcove throughout the exhibition period. Its absence has been disguised, not explained.”
