The Third Circle

by Amanda Quick

  Interesting was one of Caleb’s favorite words.

  “That occurred to me also,” Thaddeus said.

  “How do you intend to start the search for her?”

  Thaddeus reached into his pocket and brought out the wig. “I’m hoping this will lead me to her. The name of the shop where it was sold is inside.”

  Caleb took the wig and examined it intently. “This is excellent workmanship and the hair is genuine. I’m surprised she would make such an expensive investment in a disguise that was only intended to last for one night.”

  “I suspect that the wig may have been purchased originally for long-term wear and simply given to Leona to use last night.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Leona’s companion was a woman who was also disguised as a man, but, unlike Leona, he or rather she seemed quite comfortable with the disguise. I suspect she lives much of her life as a man. Either that or she is an actress who plays the parts of boys and young males on the stage.”

  Caleb went still. “The Janus Club.”

  “What?”

  “Gabe told me about it after the affair of the stolen formula. It is a secret club whose members are all females who go about dressed as men.”

  “Sounds like a good place to begin my inquiries.”

  “I fear it will not be that easy. You will not be allowed inside the front door. No, you will have to take a more subtle approach.”

  Thaddeus shrugged. “The wig.”

  “Yes.” Caleb tossed the wig back to him. “Notify me as soon as you recover the crystal.”

  “I will.” Thaddeus dropped the wig into his pocket.

  “One more thing.”

  Thaddeus paused at the door. “Yes?”

  Caleb contemplated him with a curious expression. “I have never seen you this intrigued by a woman. What is it about this Leona that compels you so?”

  “Let’s just say I find her interesting.”

  “She is attractive?”

  “She is—” Thaddeus groped for the right word. “Fascinating. But that is not the reason I must find her again.”

  “What is the reason?”

  Thaddeus smiled faintly. “She is the only woman I have ever met outside my family who learned the truth about me and was not afraid of me.”

  Sudden and complete understanding flashed in Caleb’s eyes.

  “An irresistible lure,” he said.

  10

  THE LEAN, HANDSOME MAN with the pale blond hair and the equally pale eyes looked as innocent as a choirboy, but there was something about him that rang faint alarm bells somewhere inside Dr. Chester Goodhew. He could not explain his reaction with logic, however, so he chose to disregard it. After all, the fobs on the gentleman’s watch were gold, the onyx ring looked real and there was no question but that his coat and trousers had been cut by an expensive tailor. In short, Mr. Smith, as he called himself, appeared to be an ideal client.

  “I have heard that you can refer me to a woman skilled at explaining troubling dreams.” Mr. Smith smiled his angelic smile, hitched up his fine wool trousers and crossed his legs. “I am quite desperate. Haven’t slept in months because of the nightmares.”

  He appeared surprisingly well rested for a man who suffered from chronic insomnia, but what was the point in making that observation, Goodhew thought. This was a business.

  “I may be able to assist you.” Goodhew lounged back in his chair, propped his elbows on the arms and tapped his fingertips together. Smith appeared to be a candidate for the new services he was selling.

  “May I inquire as to who recommended you to me?” he asked.

  Smith wrinkled his nose in pained disgust. “A quack in Crew-ton Street. Calls himself Dr. Bayswater. Tried to convince me to buy some of his patent medicine. I was not about to touch the stuff. One never knows what is in those tonics and elixirs men like him sell.”

  They both glanced somewhat reflexively at the array of bottles on the shelf next to Goodhew’s desk. The sign on the front door read: DR. GOODHEW’S NATURAL REMEDIES. The framed posters on the wall advertised the various nostrums sold on the premises: DR. GOODHEW’S HERBAL TONIC FOR LADIES, DR. GOODHEW’S STOMACH BITTERS, DR. GOODHEW’S COUGH SYRUP, DR. GOODHEW’S VITAL ELIXIR FOR MEN, DR. GOODHEW’S SLEEPING AID.

  “The effectiveness of a medicine is directly connected to the expertise of the doctor who prepares it,” Goodhew said smoothly. “You were wise to be wary of Bayswater’s cheap concoctions. Sugar and water for the most part, with a little gin or sherry tossed in to give it some flavor. I assure you my medicines are of the highest quality and contain the most efficacious ingredients.”

  “I do not doubt that, Dr. Goodhew. But as I made clear to Bayswater and several other doctors today, I am seeking a cure that does not rely on any sort of unnatural chemical.”

  “I use only natural ingredients.” Goodhew cleared his throat. “I must say, I’m surprised Bayswater sent you to me. He and I are not what anyone would call close.”

  Smith smiled benignly. “He did try to talk me out of my desire to consult with someone who employed crystals. Told me that all crystal workers were frauds. But I insisted. I made it worth his while to suggest another practitioner.”

  “I see.” Goodhew tapped his fingers together again. “Well, if you’re certain that you don’t want to try a scientific remedy such as my sleeping tonic—”

  “Quite certain.”

  “Then, I will be happy to make an appointment for you with Mrs. Ravenglass.”

  Smith’s long-fingered hand tightened around the carved head of his walking stick. A disturbing air of anticipation emanated from him.

  “Mrs. Ravenglass is the name of the woman who works crystals?” he asked.

  “Yes.” Goodhew sat forward and reached for his leather-bound appointment book. “Would Thursday afternoon at three be convenient?”

  “Thursday is three days away. Is there anything available today?”

  “I’m afraid not. Wednesday afternoon, perhaps?”

  A curious stillness came over Smith. Nothing changed in his expression, and he made no move, yet for some inexplicable reason an icy chill went down Goodhew’s spine.

  In the next moment, Smith appeared to relax. He smiled his engaging smile.

  “Wednesday afternoon will be fine,” he said. “What is her address?”

  “She has consulting rooms in Marigold Lane.” Goodhew cleared his throat. “You may be interested to know that I have concluded that the cause of disturbing dreams in men is a congestion of the masculine fluids.”

  Smith’s brows rose. “I see.”

  “Scientifically proven,” Goodhew assured him. “As it happens, for an additional fee Mrs. Ravenglass can be persuaded to provide a special therapy of a very personal nature in a private and very intimate setting that is guaranteed to cure that sort of problem.”

  “You don’t say.”

  Goodhew leaned forward and picked up his pen. “Shall I put you down for the special therapy?”

  “What the hell,” Smith said. “Why not?”

  11

  THADDEUS FOUND THE WOMAN who went by the name

  Adam Harrow in an art gallery examining a series of framed photographs.

  Adam was still in men’s clothes but she no longer wore the guise of a coachman. Today she was an elegant man-about-town, attired in well-cut coat and trousers. The wing-collared shirt and the four-in-hand tie were in the latest style. A knee-length overcoat swung from her discreetly padded shoulders. She had removed her hat, revealing light brown hair trimmed quite short and sleeked straight back from her forehead with pomade. It was a style perfectly suited to a gentleman of fashion.

  Thaddeus stood quietly at the back of the gallery for a moment, studying his quarry from a distance. If he had met Adam Harrow socially and not known that she was a woman, he would never have guessed the truth. If one knew to look for it, there was a certain delicacy about the face and hands, but he had met many young men who
presented an equally refined appearance. Judging by the ease with which she toyed with a handsome walking stick, her gracefully arrogant stance and exquisite air of ennui, Adam Harrow carried off the masculine persona with aplomb.

  Thaddeus thought about the cool manner with which she had handled a pistol and a team of horses. She had clearly had a great deal of experience in the role she had created for herself. He wondered why an obviously accomplished and educated young woman would choose to live her life as a man. It was an interesting question, but not the one that he had come here to answer.

  Sensing that she was being watched, Adam turned away from the photograph and looked in his direction. He knew the precise instant when she saw and recognized him. She covered her reaction almost immediately, hesitating for only a fraction of a second before concealing her shock beneath an expression of cool boredom.

  She walked toward him with long, confident strides, as though she intended to go straight past him and out the door.

  He stepped in front of her, forcing her to halt.

  “Mr. Harrow,” he said, keeping his voice very low. “I believe I have something that belongs to you. Allow me to return it.”

  He drew the wig out of his pocket.

  Adam’s mouth tightened. “Bloody hell. I told Leona that we should have got rid of you in a more permanent fashion.”

  “I’m glad that you mentioned Leona. She is the reason I am here.”

  “You actually expect me to tell you how to find her so that you can take the crystal from her?” Adam regarded him with scornful amusement. “Think again, Mr. Ware.”

  “Delbridge will be looking for her. If he finds her, he will very likely kill her.”

  Adam’s fine brows rose. “What of yourself, sir? You appear to want the stone as badly as Delbridge did. That makes you equally dangerous.”

  “Not to Leona. I will take the stone from her because she is in serious jeopardy every moment that it is in her possession. But I will not hurt her.”

  “So you say.”

  “She saved my life. I have no reason to harm her. All I want is the crystal.”

  Adam eased one hand into the pocket of her overcoat. “Leona told me that you were a powerful hypnotist. Do you intend to use your talent on me to force me to give you her address?”

  He considered telling her that if mesmerizing her had been part of his plan, he would have been on his way to Leona’s address by now and she would be looking at photographs on the wall with no memory of the conversation. But, willingly or not, Adam had helped save his life last night. She deserved better, a reassuring lie at the very least.

  “Calm yourself,” he said. “I can see that you do not know a great deal about hypnotism. Allow me to assure you that no hypnotist, regardless of his powers, can put an unwilling person into a trance.”

  Adam seemed to relax a bit at that, but she remained suspicious. “I would have you know that I am armed, sir.”

  “I do not think you will shoot me dead here in public. It would make for a great many questions from the authorities, and something tells me that you would rather avoid that sort of close scrutiny.”

  “I admit I would prefer to avoid any and all conversations with the police. However, if you do attempt to employ your powers of mesmerism on me, I will not hesitate to use my pistol. I would rather have an awkward conversation with the authorities than betray a friend.”

  Thaddeus inclined his head. “I respect your sense of loyalty. But if you care about Leona you will give me her address. She is in grave danger from Delbridge.”

  Adam hesitated uneasily. “Leona told me about the dead woman you found. Do you think Delbridge murdered her?”

  “I do not know, but he is most certainly capable of cold-blooded murder. He has killed twice already to acquire the crystal. He will not stop now.”

  “What of your own intentions? Do you want the crystal for your own collection?”

  Thaddeus felt his patience start to fray. “You must believe me when I tell you that I am not looking for Leona because I want that damn rock for my personal collection of antiquities. The crystal is the rightful property of a group devoted to research and study of the paranormal. I am here as an agent for that society.”

  Adam blinked, startled. “What is the name of the society you represent?”

  Thaddeus hesitated and then decided there was no reason not to tell her.

  “The Arcane Society. I doubt that you have heard of it.”

  Adam groaned. “I should have guessed.”

  Thaddeus frowned. “You know it?”

  “I count the wife of the new Master of the Arcane Society as one of my friends.”

  It was Thaddeus’s turn to be caught off guard. “You are acquainted with Mrs. Venetia Jones?”

  “Indeed. I am a great admirer of her photographs.” Adam waved languidly at the framed pictures displayed on the walls of the gallery. “As it happens, I came here today to examine her latest portraits.”

  “If you know Mrs. Jones, then you know that you can easily verify that what I am telling you is true. Will you give me Leona’s address?”

  “Probably.” Adam stepped around him and started once more toward the door. “But first there is someone you must meet. He will make the final decision.”

  Thaddeus fell into step beside her. “Who is this person?”

  “His name is Mr. Pierce. And I suggest very strongly that you avoid employing your mesmeric talents on him. He would be most annoyed. People who annoy Mr. Pierce live to regret it.”

  12

  THE DAY WAS CLEAR and warm. The leaves in the tiny scrap of a park were that perfect shade of green that was the banner of early spring. Lancing much preferred the physical sensations of the night and the promise of the hunt that came with them, but he was quite capable of enjoying the heat of the sun and the scent of new growth. His talents were those of the hunter and a hunter was, by nature, always in touch with his surroundings.

  He stood beneath one of the newly leafed trees and studied the front door of Number 7 Vine Street. An hour ago he had followed the mysterious Mrs. Ravenglass home from her consulting rooms in Marigold Lane. She had disappeared inside the house long enough to eat a light meal and refresh herself and then had reemerged to walk back toward her business premises.

  His first plan was to wait until night and then enter the house to search for the crystal. With his talents, it would be no trick at all to break into Number 7 without raising an alarm. It was how he had administered the vapor to Bloomfield and Ivington. Neither man had even awakened until he held the poison-soaked cloths over their mouths and noses. By the time they had opened their eyes, of course, it was too late.

  Delbridge had specified that there was to be no killing when he recovered the crystal today for fear of drawing the attention of the police. But Lancing took that to mean no unnecessary killing. It would not be his fault if Mrs. Ravenglass or her housekeeper, the only occupants of the house at Number 7, were to awaken while he was inside. He would have no choice but to cut a throat or two. In fact, he anticipated using the threat to force the crystal worker to give up the stone. And afterward he would be forced to kill her. Couldn’t leave any witnesses, now, could he?

  But as soon as he had seen the dog greet Mrs. Ravenglass at her door he had changed his plans for a midnight burglary. His paranormal talents made him faster than the average man and heightened his natural senses. Nevertheless, he was still a creature of nature— albeit a highly evolved one—not some magical or supernatural being. His speed and reflexes were far superior to those of others of his own kind, but he was no faster or better equipped to bring down prey than any of nature’s other superior predators: a wolf, for example.

  Mrs. Ravenglass’s dog looked as if it had descended from wolves.

  He did not fancy his chances against another such beast of prey. The dog would sense him the moment he entered the house. Lancing was not certain that his weapon of choice, a knife, would be effective against all those tee
th and primeval reflexes. Even if he managed to kill the dog, the creature might well alarm the entire street with his barking before he died.

  But large dogs required plenty of vigorous exercise, certainly more than could be provided in the tiny garden behind Number 7 or in the little park. Sooner or later someone inside the house would have to take the animal for a long walk.

  As he watched, the front door of the house opened. The housekeeper appeared. She wore a gray gown, sensible shoes and a bonnet. In one hand she held the end of a leash. The wolf-dog was at the other end of the long strip of leather.

  When the housekeeper and the dog reached the bottom of the front steps, the beast halted abruptly and looked directly across the street into the park, ears sharpened. He stared hard at Lancing. There was an intent, unnerving steadiness about the animal’s gaze. The housekeeper turned to see what had attracted his attention.

  Lancing angled his hat over the side of his face, shielding his features, and started quickly away toward the far end of the street.

  “Come along, Fog.” The housekeeper tugged on the leash.

  Reluctantly the dog trotted after her.

  Lancing exhaled slowly, but he did not stop walking until he reached the far end of the park. Then he allowed himself to turn around. The housekeeper and the dog had both disappeared around the corner.

  A short time later, Lancing made his way into the tiny garden at the back of Number 7. He took out his lock pick. He had the house to himself and plenty of time to search for the crystal.

  13

  THE DREAMS are becoming increasingly vivid,Mrs. Ravenglass.”

  Harold Morton leaned a little farther across the table. In the light of the glowing green crystal, his eyes glittered with excitement. “Dr. Goodhew explained that they are due to a congestion of masculine fluids.”

  Leona looked at him through the heavy black veil she always wore for her consultations. It had been Uncle Edward’s idea for her to dress as a widow when she worked crystal. At the start of her career the veil and the serious black gown had concealed her youth. She had been sixteen when she had begun working crystals professionally. Edward had explained that few clients would have trusted the experience and talents of such a young woman.