Alec’s heart sank. Juliet might never know what had happened to her friend. Still, there might be some clue here in Turlington’s house that would lead them to Mrs. Turner.
As if he heard Alec’s thoughts, Greenshaw gestured to the far corner of the chamber. “I suppose you’ll want to see Turlington now.”
When they reached the scene where Turlington had met his fate, Alec saw at once what Greenshaw had meant by the artist’s manner of death being unpleasant. His head and upper torso visible over the rim of a hip bath, Turlington’s face was contorted into a frozen expression of agony, his hands clasped round his own throat, as if he’d throttled himself. Alec had never made it a practice of studying the various ways in which someone might dispatch themselves, but there had been a housemaid at their country house—probably, in retrospect, one of his father’s cast-off lovers—who had killed herself by taking rat poison, and she too had fallen into the sort of rictus Turlington exhibited.
“Did he die by his own hand?” he asked Greenshaw, noting the crystal decanter on the floor beside the tub, and the empty tumbler which had rolled away, spilling some of its contents onto the floor. But even as he spoke he knew it was unlikely. “It’s hard to imagine a man choosing to die such an obviously painful death.”
“Aye, it does seem an odd choice,” the investigator agreed. “Especially when you take into account the note we found with him.”
Alec turned to look at the man. “What note?”
Going to the mantelpiece, Greenshaw took down a marker, the sort that was used to display the title and artists of a particular work of art. In fact, it was much like the markers in Turlington’s horrible gallery downstairs.
Alec took it from the runner’s proffered hand.
A FALLEN MAN, FOUND DROWNED the placard read. But it was the artist’s name that caught his attention. And the handwriting, which he knew so well from the letters he and Juliet had seen on their wedding journey, sent a chill down his spine.
LA MAESTRA.
Which in Italian translated to “the schoolmistress.”
“This is Anna Turner’s handwriting,” Alec said.
“Aye,” Greenshaw said. “I thought it might be. I’m afraid I’ve got no good news for you on that front.”
“She staged her own disappearance then?” Alec had been suspecting something of the like for some time now. But he hadn’t connected the dots between Anna Turner and Lord Turlington. His gut tightened as he thought what the news would do to Juliet.
“It looks likely, my lord.” Greenshaw’s homely face took on a hangdog expression.
“But what is her connection to Turlington?” Alec demanded. “Is he the father of her child?”
“I can’t be sure. But what I do know is that Lord Turlington and Mrs. Turner have known each other for some time. Going back to her youth in some village in Kent.”
“Little Wittington?”
“Aye, that’s the one.” Greenshaw nodded. “Seems Lord Turlington spent the summers with his uncle, a country squire by the name of Ramsey. And Mrs. Turner’s father was the local vicar.”
Alec remembered the tale that Signor Boccardo had told him and Juliet. “So Turlington and Mrs. Turner met again in London? And began a romance?”
“I think it more likely that Lord Turlington was holding a past indiscretion over the lady’s head.”
“Yes,” Alec confirmed. “He would have known about her fall from grace at his cousin’s hands.”
“Whatever it was, she was afraid enough of it getting out that she was willing to do anything to stop him from revealing it,” Greenshaw said.
“So Turlington is Alice’s father?” Alec asked.
“I think it likely,” the other man said. “Of course, we have no way of knowing what hand she had in these paintings. Did she help him lure these women to his studio? Did she help him do away with them? Who knows. There’s no way of knowing for sure until we find Mrs. Turner and ask her.”
And that, Alec knew, had just become more important than ever.
“I would suggest, my lord, that you not tell your lady about this just yet,” Greenshaw said, his brow furrowed with worry. “For her own protection.”
Thinking of how devastated Juliet would be to learn of her friend’s perfidy, Alec silently agreed. He would put off the moment when she learned of Mrs. Turner’s crimes for as long as he could. She deserved that much peace, at least.
* * *
When Alec had returned the night before, Juliet had been fast asleep, despite her attempts to stay awake. Then, to her frustration, he had risen earlier than usual, leaving her with a kiss and a promise to recount his meeting with Greenshaw as soon as he returned that evening.
She wanted to know whether there had been anything about Turlington’s death that pointed toward Anna’s whereabouts, but if there had been she knew Alec would have told her.
What had begun as a relationship based upon his desire to protect her from her mother and marriage to Turlington had developed into a marriage the likes of which she’d never dreamed of having. He was everything she could have wished for, if she had ever dared to dream of such a thing as a happy marriage. Not only was he a thoughtful and passionate lover, he had proved to her again and again that her infirmity was for him simply another facet of her, not something to be ashamed of. And with his help, she was coming to feel the same way. Oh, she still had her days of frustration at her inability to simply walk on her own, but no longer did she see herself as the flawed creature who had been bullied into living a lie by her mother.
Her one regret was that she could not share her happiness with Anna. Knowing just the sort of difficulties her friend had endured when she’d been seduced and discarded by Alice’s father, she wanted to prove to her friend that not all men were callous blackguards. She even hoped that one day Anna would be able to settle down with Mr. MacEwan. That she could love him as Juliet loved Alec.
The truth of her feelings for him had only dawned, ironically, when he was nowhere to be found, she thought as she buttered her toast at the solitary breakfast table. Her sisters-in-law had already eaten and departed for a visit to Hatchard’s, leaving Juliet alone with her tea and her thoughts.
Idly she sorted through the stack of invitations that had arrived that morning, no doubt as a result of her success last evening at the theatre. She made a mental note to send a thank-you note to Admiral Frye that afternoon.
Though she would much prefer to stay home tonight, she had set aside the three gatherings she thought Alec and his sisters might prefer when Hamilton entered the breakfast room with yet another missive.
“My lady, this just arrived,” he said, offering the letter to her on the customary salver.
Taking up the note, Juliet bit back a cry of relief as she recognized the handwriting.
“Thank you, Hamilton,” she said, “that will be all.”
When the butler had gone, Juliet hastily opened the note but was disappointed to see only a few lines.
The Sydenhams’ masked ball. Tonight. The portrait gallery. Eight o’clock. Tell no one. Please.
Your dear friend, Anna Turner
* * *
“Will I do?” Juliet asked her cousins as she performed a small twirl so that they could see her costume in all its glory.
“You are magnificent,” Cecily breathed, her own gown marking her as an Amazon warrior princess. “Though I must say I’m a trifle jealous that you are attired as the most famous Egyptian of them all. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it.”
“You’ve wished to be an Amazon princess since we were in the nursery, so do not try to cozen us,” Maddie said with a dismissive wave of her hand. She herself wore the wide panniers and tall powdered wig of a lady of the previous century.
Though Anna’s note had warned her to tell no one about the proposed meeting at the Sydenhams’ ball, Juliet had seen nothing wrong with requesting her cousins to accompany her to the entertainment. She could hardly go unaccompanied, and inviti
ng them along had not necessitated her telling them her reason for wishing to attend the party upon such short notice.
She had hoped to bring Alec, but he’d sent a note that afternoon informing her that he’d be dining with Winterson and Monteith at his club, so she had decided to make the evening a Ducklings’ night out. Always ready for an entertainment that involved costumes, Cecily and Maddie had accepted her invitation with alacrity.
“Do you think anyone will guess that the asp curled round my staff is really a walking stick?” Juliet asked, nervously adjusting her wig. “I don’t want anyone to guess it’s me.”
“No, it’s perfect,” Maddie assured her, “after all, you can hardly be Cleopatra after the asp has bitten her. That would be gruesome.”
Juliet agreed, especially in light of the ghastly Il Maestro paintings they’d been forced to view in the search for Anna. Hopefully tonight’s meeting would put an end to that search. And now that Turlington, who must surely have been Il Maestro, was dead, perhaps there would be no more of those horrid paintings either.
“We had best depart.” Juliet pulled on her gloves. “The Sydenhams’ ball is always a crush, so I have no doubt we’ll spend more time than I would like simply waiting in the carriage to get to the door.”
As it happened Juliet’s prediction that the carriage line would be a long one proved correct. It was nearly eight when she made her way through the costumed throngs dancing and chattering in the Sydenhams’ lushly decorated ballroom. Pushing past a satyr who seemed intent upon luring her into a secluded alcove, and a Roman centurion who claimed to know her from their previous acquaintance in an earlier century, she was nearly out of breath when she finally slipped into the gallery Anna had indicated.
Though the party was crowded, no amorous couples had yet sought out the wide room that ran the full length of the house for assignations yet, much to Juliet’s relief. She had no idea just what sort of trauma Anna had endured during her disappearance, and her friend would doubtless prefer privacy to relate her story.
A little disappointed not to find her friend already there, she stepped farther into the gallery and made a desultory review of the Sydenham ancestors lining the walls as she waited. She was examining a compatriot of Henry VIII when a Grecian lady, complete with laurel threaded through her dark hair, entered. The mask she held to her face obscured her identity, but Juliet knew in a glance that it was Anna.
Twenty-two
“What do you mean you don’t know where they are?” Alec demanded, pacing up and down Winterson’s study. “You were supposed to be keeping an eye on them.”
When he had returned home from yet another meeting with Greenshaw, he had been unhappy to learn that Juliet had gone to spend the evening with her cousins. After what he’d learned today, he wanted to see with his own eyes that his wife was safe and well and, most importantly, out of harm’s way.
“They are ladies, Deveril,” the duke replied patiently, “not children in leading strings. I can hardly require my wife to ask my permission before she leaves the house. Besides that, I think it would just encourage her to defy me out of sheer principle.”
“Well, you may do as you like with your own wife…”
“Thank you for that,” Winterson muttered sotto voce.
“… but Juliet is not as able to take care of herself as Cecily is and I dislike the idea of her being unprotected while her former friend is on the loose,” Deveril finished, thrusting both hands through his hair, as if he were trying to keep his head from flying off his body.
“I think Lady Deveril has proven herself quite capable of taking care of herself,” Monteith said from his chair before Winterson’s desk. “You shouldn’t underestimate her.”
“That’s all well and good for you to say, Monteith,” Alec said dismissively. “But Anna Turner, who spent the better part of a year luring young women to their deaths at the hands of Turlington, is out there and likely has my wife in mind for her next victim. And even Juliet would admit that she is not as physically able to escape danger as other ladies are.”
“Good God,” Winterson said, frowning. “So Juliet’s Mrs. Turner was helping Turlington?”
“Yes.” Alec continued to pace. “And she killed Turlington. And might very well be searching for Juliet even as we speak.”
“How do you know this?” Winterson asked. “And why didn’t you tell me so that I could act accordingly?”
“I only just learned of it this afternoon. Turlington left a letter with his solicitor confessing to all, but only to be opened in the event of his death.” Alec paced the room. “I don’t know when Mrs. Turner changed from unwilling participant to accomplice, but change she did. And she has nothing left to lose now, so I very much wish to know where my wife is!”
“What do you need from me?” Winterson stood, his hand going unconsciously to his side, as if looking for his sabre. “I can ask Cecily’s dresser if she knows where her mistress has gone. I confess when she said she’d be spending the evening with her cousins I didn’t think any more of it. I know those three can get up to mischief when they are together, but Cecily has shown herself to be quite levelheaded since we put to rest that business with her father and the Egyptian Club a few weeks ago.”
“I have been guilty of the same,” Alec said, shaking his head. “What troubles me most is that I knew of Mrs. Turner’s involvement last night but did not tell Juliet. I was trying to protect her from the news for as long as I could. And now in doing so I have endangered her more.”
“We’ll find them,” Monteith said firmly, laying a comforting hand on Alec’s shoulder. Though grateful for his friend’s assurance, Alec, remembering Turlington’s twisted body, was not so sanguine.
“I’ll go find Cecily’s maid and see what she knows of her mistress’s plans for the evening,” Winterson said, striding from the room.
“Never thought I’d see the day,” Monteith said, shaking his head as he watched his friend leave.
Trying not to let his anxiety take control of him, Alec made himself pay attention to Monteith’s words. Anything to distract himself from his worry. “What?”
“You’re just as bad.” Monteith turned back to Deveril. “The two of you are being led about by the ear by your wives. Fortunately, I have no plans to become ensnared by the parson’s mousetrap, so at least one of us will remain rational.”
“Monteith,” he told the other man, his heart constricting at the idea of the peril Juliet might be in, “you have no idea.”
* * *
“Juliet.” Mrs. Turner lifted her mask to show her face, which seemed thinner than it had when last Juliet had seen her. “You don’t know how good it is to see you. I was afraid you would not get my note or, worse, that you would not come.”
Rushing forward, Juliet hugged her friend. “I did get it. And of course I came! How could I not when I have been worried for you these past weeks? You’ve had me so worried! How on earth did you escape? Or was there even a need to escape?” The questions seemed to burst forth from her before she could stop them.
Seeing the impatience in her friend’s face, Juliet broke off. “But of course you will tell me all of that later,” she said, squeezing Anna’s outstretched hands. “For now you must be desperate to see Baby Alice. We have her at Deveril House and … Lord, so much has changed since you left. I cannot even begin to tell you.”
“I am eager to hear all of your news.” Anna smiled and Juliet was reminded of how grateful she was to see her friend and mentor safe and alive. “But we must return to my captor’s house at once to release the other women he is holding.” Even as she spoke, she pulled Juliet toward the door of the chamber.
“Then it was not Turlington who held you?” Juliet asked, confused. She had been so sure that Turlington was Il Maestro. The knowledge that there was another such monster chilled her to the bone.
“No,” Anna said gravely. “Though Turlington was a bad character, I was being held by someone else altogether. I do not eve
n know the man’s identity myself. But he has gone away for the evening so there is very little time for us to act.”
“Let me send a note to Deveril,” Juliet said. “He has been working with a Bow Street runner who will be able to help us as well.”
She had turned, on her way to request paper and ink from Lady Sydenham, when Anna stopped her with a firm grip on her shoulder.
“No, Juliet,” she said, her voice harsh, “there is no time. We must go now. Come with me. I have a coach and the footmen will be able to help us if we need assistance.”
Troubled by the worry in her friend’s voice, Juliet paused. “But Anna, I can hardly be of use to you in this instance. You know I have difficulty with my leg, and—”
“Darling Juliet,” Anna said with a reassuring smile, “you underestimate your own strength as usual. I will be grateful to have you by my side when we rescue these poor girls. Now that I know how to get in and out of the secret chamber where he held me, it will take but a few moments to get back in. Please, Juliet, come with me. I cannot leave the other women there to suffer more abuse at his hands.”
Grateful to have her friend back, Juliet gave a silent prayer of thanks for her return. “Then I will come with you, Anna. It will be a relief to do something to help these unfortunates if they’ve endured anything like what you’ve gone through.”
Though she’d agreed to leave with Anna, knowing they’d worry at her disappearance, Juliet dropped the note that Anna had sent requesting her presence here. She had no idea where they were bound, but she hoped that knowing she was with Anna would assuage her cousins’ worries for her safety.
Following Anna through the labyrinthine passageways that made up the Sydenhams’ servants’ quarters, before long they reached a door leading outside to the mews behind the town house. The smell of fresh hay and dirt from the back garden mixed with the sooty stench of London in spring. A hack, doubtless the one that Anna had used to get to the town house, waited just beyond the back gate.
Not waiting for the driver to assist them into the carriage, Anna climbed up inside, and reached back to offer Juliet her hand. It was difficult for Juliet to get into a carriage at the best of times, but tonight, in her thin dancing slippers without the strong arm of a coachman to help, it was particularly difficult. Feeling gawky and graceless, but telling herself it was for a good cause, she hoisted herself with her good leg, and braced her free arm against the carriage doorway into the interior. She was barely inside when Anna reached out and closed the door behind them and knocked on the roof to indicate that the driver should go on.
How to Romance a Rake Page 28
