Lady Killer

by Michele Jaffe

  YOU FAILED THE WOMAN YOU—

  “How?”

  “Well, I suppose I will send over to Beaumond. He has such lovely things. Or per—”

  “I mean, how did they receive the news.”

  “Well, naturally they were upset. I mean, it is such a scandal for the family.”

  Miles was as close to committing murder as he had ever been. “By what means did they receive the news,” he asked, his grip leaving permanent indentations on the wood of the chair. “Who told them? Or who sent a message?”

  Mariana looked confused. “Why should that matter?” Then, apparently recognizing in her betrothed’s expression something akin to that of a baby lion ready to make its first kill, she said, “I believe the warden told them. When they arrived at Newgate. Her body had just been found in her cell.”

  The floor, which had been reeling under Miles, suddenly straightened. The sun, which had gone out, bloomed again. Mariana, who had been about to be murdered, was given a reprieve. Clio was not dead. Clio was alive. But one of his men was dead. It was the decoy for Clio that he had sent who had been killed, the fake Clio—

  The floor stayed put, but the sunlight dimmed again. He had sent a man to his death and Clio was in grave danger. If someone would kill her imposter, what might they do to her?

  “And the scandal was really unnecessary,” Mariana was saying, “because poor dear Clio was not the vampire at all. Another body was found this morning, and she could not have been responsible, could she?”

  Miles, halfway to the door, stopped and turned. “What? Another body?”

  “Yes. The body of that dear woman Lady Starrat Peters. They found her curled up in her bed with those horrible marks on her neck. But even though poor dear Clio was not the vampire, I am not sorry she is dead. She had such a sad and lonely life. It must have been dreadful to be so unlovely. However, it does present some difficulties for my wardrobe.”

  Mariana had only begun wondering aloud whether she should have her mourning clothes made in silk or velvet—did the darling viscount think it was going to be a mild summer or a cool one, she would be guided by him—when Miles disappeared out the door.

  At that moment, nothing, not Justin, not the vampire, nothing mattered except protecting Clio.

  Unfortunately, he was already too late.

  Clio stopped walking and the footsteps behind her stopped. She resumed walking and they resumed. After performing this experiment three times she was sure she was being followed. She would have been sure after the first time, but with the way she was feeling this morning, she would not trust her senses.

  She had absolutely no recollection of what had happened to her after leaving Miles’s house. With any luck, and a little work, she would manage to obliterate the memory of what she had seen there just as completely.

  And then she would go on with her life as if she had never made love with him. She had been happy before. She would be happy again. Without him. Without the taste or smell or touch or memory of him. Without—

  Damn! There were tears in her eyes. This was not the place for tears. She had determined that she could cry about what had happened from nine to half past nine every morning, and no more. It was now ten o’clock, which meant no crying.

  And that she had an appointment.

  She stopped, but this time the footsteps continued. She swung around to look behind her, and saw only a wizened old woman with a dusting cloth wearing heavy clogs. Clio watched as the old woman paused to run her cloth over the bronze candlesticks in one of the family chapels that lined the wall, then moved on to the next one, and the next. Just like Miles, Clio thought, moving from one woman to—

  She was losing her mind. She had known she could never have Miles, so why did she care who he slept with? And even if she did care, this was not the occasion to dwell on it. Pressing those thoughts deeply away, Clio turned from the old woman and continued toward the end of the nave where the crypts were. She moved away from the walls that contained the family chapels and the footsteps behind her ceased. The crowds, which had been large in the farther part of the church, thinned as she approached the altar, and she was almost alone by the time she reached the stairs that descended into the crypt.

  The warmth of the summer day seemed to vanish abruptly at the top of the stairs that led downward. As the staircase wound down and around, the light from the nave above disappeared. Candles flickered in wall sconces but did almost nothing to lift the gloom that intensified as Clio descended. With tremendous relief, she felt her mind prepare itself for work, and all thoughts of Miles, all emotions, receded. Her head became blissfully empty, blissfully sharp, a blank sheet ready to record every impression. It was this feeling—the feeling of being entirely independent and self-contained, entirely cerebral—that she loved, and that kept her investigating. Pain and loneliness, along with love, and fear, meant nothing to her when she was like this. The only thing that mattered was what was immediately around her, and she let her eyes roam.

  She had reached the bottom of the staircase and was standing in a low chamber. In the hazy circle of light given off by a lantern hanging to her left, she could see that the floor was made of packed dirt, and that the wall nearest her was badly, and not recently, whitewashed. But the rest of the chamber was hidden in shadow, and she could not even be sure how large it was.

  “Hello?” she said, her voice disappearing in the cold, damp air. There was no answer, not even an echo, suggesting that the chamber was large. She took a deep breath, removed the lantern from the peg on which it was hanging, and, holding it above her head, moved more deeply into the shadows.

  As she made her way carefully toward the center of the space, the hair on her arms stood up. She took two more steps then stopped. She had heard something—a footfall?—behind her. There was someone else with her. For the third time in four days, she knew she was not alone.

  She swung around. The lantern swung in her hand, and the chamber was filled with crazy shadows. Noses and chins and foreheads twisted together as the light bounced off the faces of the people along the walls. Grinning faces, deathly pale, watched her, staring out of lifeless, pupil-less eyes. For a moment Clio’s calm abandoned her and she began to tremble and she thought her legs might give out, leaving her there, trapped with them.

  “No!” she shouted and this time it did echo—no no no no no—and as her words returned so did her reason. Statues. They were statues, funeral monuments made by families in memory of their loved ones.

  They bad looked so real.

  Clio swallowed hard and made herself breathe slowly, deeply. Statues. She held the lantern up and forced herself to look at each one. There were a dozen of them, all from the same family, there a young boy, then an old man, here a lovely young woman. Clio raised the lantern higher to see more of that one. Someone had obviously loved the woman, for great care had been taken with her statue, every detail of her gown had been rendered, each curve of her face. Her fingers were done with such precision that they could have been alive, long fingers, clasped across her chest, entwined around a single rose bud. Clio extended her fingers toward the woman’s hands, and, unable to stop herself, reached for them, letting her fingers slip between those of the statue. The marble was warmer than she would have expected, and in the light of the lantern glowed as if it were alive. She bent down to brush her cheek against the fingers and felt a soft exhale of breath against her neck as a voice whispered, “Clio.”

  She stood up fast, staring at the woman’s face. It was the same, immobile, but it had whispered to her, she had heard it, felt it. Clio backed away, quickly, and that was when she ran into him.

  She swung around and then stared, incredulous. “Justin,” she breathed finally. “You? It was you?”

  “I know,” Justin replied coolly. “I always knew.”

  “You knew? Knew what?”

  Justin smiled and spread his hands. “Knew you were in love with me. I never doubted it for a moment.”

  “What?
That is why you asked me to meet you here?” Clio was outraged. “Do you know what I’ve gone through because of you? I’ve spent months trying to pay back your debts. I don’t love you.”

  “You will admit it. In time.”

  “I’ll do nothing of the kind. Why did you send me that strange note? Why did you want to see me?”

  Justin’s hand closed around her upper arm. “Because I want what I deserve.”

  There was something in his tone that made her shiver. “What you deserve? It will be easier for me to disembowel you if you unhand me,” she said sweetly.

  “Clio, my silly little fool. That love note you found to Plootie, when I wrote it, I was thinking of you. I really was.”

  “I was not talking about the correspondence you had her landlady forward to me. I meant the other note.”

  “Clio, Clio, Clio,” Justin shook his head. “I can’t believe you would let the note of debt I left in your name with Captain Black upset you so much. Would you really have money come between us?”

  “Money? You think I am annoyed at you because you cost me five hundred pounds?” Clio was so angry she was almost shaking. “Tell me why you sent for me, Justin, so I can go.”

  “Why do you keep asking me that? I didn’t send for you.”

  Clio frowned. “How did you know I was here?”

  “I followed you. I know you wanted me to. Up there, in the church, you kept turning around to make sure I was still behind you.”

  “Then you are not the person I am supposed to meet,” she said as much to herself as to him.

  Justin gave her a strange smile. “If you are waiting for Dearbourn, he is not coming. I had a conversation with him last night and we got things settled between us.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I offered to take you off his hands, and he was only too happy to oblige. Said you were amusing at first, but now everything has palled.” When Clio did not say anything, he went on. “You did not really think he would devote himself to you? Poor, foolish little Clio.”

  “I think you should go now,” she replied, her voice cold but not as cold as she felt.

  Justin moved closer to her and tightened his grip on her arm. “You do not understand, do you?”

  “Understand what?”

  “That you are mine now and there is no way for you to escape.”

  “The only way I will ever be yours is if you take me by force,” Clio told him, “Just because you managed to assuage Viscount Dearbourn, does not mean you can kidnap me with impunity. There are other people who care about me. Other people who will notice, and report, my absence.”

  “Your certainty is touching, my dear, but I would not count on that,” Justin said with a grisly smile. “With the precautions I have taken, I assure you that it will not occur to anyone to report you missing.” He was obviously trying to keep his voice level, even, calm, but Clio did not miss the manic undertone.

  She saw that there was only one thing to do. She shuddered slightly and her shoulders slumped. “Perhaps you are right,” she said after a pause in a voice that was equal measures disbelief and contrition. “Perhaps I have been a fool.”

  Justin smiled. “I knew you would understand. Now come with m—” the last syllable was more of a strangled gasp than a word, as Clio drove her knee into Justin’s groin. His grip on her arm loosened for a second, and she dodged away, dropping the lantern to the floor and plunging them in darkness.

  “Bitch,” Justin whimpered behind her.

  She had only examined the chamber for a brief time, but her mind told her that there was a corridor in front of her and to the left. Groping with her hands over the marble faces of the statues, she heard Justin behind her fumbling in the dark to relight the lantern. She was close to the opening of the corridor, she knew, but not there. She heard the sound of metal on metal and saw a spark and the protective darkness disappeared.

  “Where are you?” Justin demanded, holding the rekindled lantern over his head. Clio, crouched behind the statue of the young boy, thought the pounding of her heart would surely give her away. She heard his footsteps slowly circling the chamber and carefully peered out from alongside the statue. Justin’s back was to her and he was on the other side of the crypt, next to the stairs that led out, leaning over the statue of a married couple, checking behind it.

  “You cannot escape me,” he announced to the room, moving toward the next statue, the one farthest from her, leaving her part of the chamber deeply in shadow.

  She seized her chance. Pressing herself against the wall, she slid from the niche behind the statue toward the opening of the corridor. Justin chose that moment to spin around, and his lunge for her was good. He got his hand around her arm again, and dragged her toward him.

  “Stupid bitch,” he told her, crushing her against his chest. “You are coming with me.”

  “Why?” Clio demanded, struggling to pull away from him. “What do you want with me? You don’t even care about me. Why—”

  Then nothing.

  Miles had not expected it to be easy, but, he asked himself, did it really have to be this hard?

  “Don’t you have any idea where she went?” he demanded again of Mr. Williams. “Did you see which direction she went in?”

  Mr. Williams regarded Miles skeptically. “Why are you asking me if those were your men posted out back. They could have seen her come and go just as well as me.”

  At the mention of his men, Miles’s jaw tightened. Three men. There had been three men assigned to watch Clio at all times. Three men who had all inexplicably taken ill at the same time in the night. It was just too damn convenient. “My men were posted in front. I did not—”

  Mr. Pearl’s soft voice interrupted him. “Clio’s in danger, isn’t she?” he asked, and his eyes were worried.

  “Yes. Do you know where she is?”

  Mr. Pearl shook his head and looked at Mr. Hakesly who said, “She went on an appointment. Appointment at ten, that’s what she said. And if you know anything, boy, you know it’s not good to ask her too many questions, not if you like your head about your shoulders.”

  “Ten?” Miles interrupted ferociously. “It’s nearly eleven. Where was this appointment? With whom?”

  “Don’t know,” Mr. Hakesly replied, pulling away from Miles slightly. “Looked strange, though. Told us all to stay here.”

  “What do you mean, strange?” Miles demanded.

  “Bit like you do right now. Scary. Or maybe just scared. Yes, I’d say scared. Wouldn’t you, Mr. Pearl?”

  “Yes.”

  “Of course, she looked strange all yesterday,” Mr. Williams put in, with a pointed look at Miles. “Not at all herself since she came back from your house.”

  But Miles neither heard his words nor saw his rancor. His mind was racing. Clio had gone out and no one knew where. Or even what direction she had gone in. Which meant that she could be anywhere in London. Alone. With the vampire. Without even her monkey for company.

  One woman in a city of sixty thousand. One woman and a deadly killer.

  Not one woman. Clio.

  “I’ve got an idea,” Miles said, abruptly. It was probably the strangest plan he had ever devised. It was also, he knew, his only chance of finding Clio while she was still breathing.

  Consciousness came slowly to Clio, as if she were fighting her way through a vat of sticky pudding. There were faces and voices all around, people touching her, fingering her head, her side, whispering to each other. She wished they would stop, because it hurt, but then the hurt disappeared and above all the whispering, she heard another voice, a voice she recognized from the dream she had after the fair, the voice of her father. “I love you Clio,” he said and she called out to him, begging him to tell her what she was. She saw him holding something, and heard him whisper, “Look in the mirror, Clio. It is not how you begin, it is how you end up that matters.” She did not understand and she pled with him to stay, but he just backed away, repeating, “Wha
t you are you are you are you are,” over and over again and she could not tell if it was a statement or a question. She pushed as hard as she could to the surface, struggling to catch him, reaching for him. “Wait,” she wanted to call to him, “Wait, wait I am coming,” but the sticky pudding clogged her mouth and she could not speak.

  She awoke coughing and gasping for breath. Her eyes flew open but she could see nothing. It was black in the crypt, and quiet. She could tell that she was propped against a wall, and when she tried to stand, she felt a sharp pain in her side. Wincing, she used the wall to support her and dragged herself to her feet. Over the pain, the only thing she was aware of was the need to escape. She could not remember what had happened, had no recollection of how she had freed herself from her pursuer, but she knew she had to get away. Justin might come back at any moment.

  She felt her way around the wall to the opening she had tried to leave through, and then to the staircase. She paused before she stepped onto it, summoning her energy. Every step up felt like a stab wound in her side—which, later, she would learn was exactly what she had—but she forced herself to keep going. She was so weak. She counted the stairs to distract herself, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one. At thirty-two she had to stop and rest. At thirty-six she saw a faint light and knew she was getting close.

  That was when she heard the footsteps behind her. They started out faint but got louder as they got closer. Whoever it was had more strength than she did, and was actually running. She wrapped one arm around her aching side and with the other supported herself against the wall of the staircase. Thirty-eight. Thirty-nine. At forty she tripped and fell forward. She was so tired. So exhausted. Maybe if she just rested for a moment. Maybe—

  The footsteps were closer now, and she could hear panting. She dragged herself to her feet and kept going. Forty-one. Forty-two. It was getting lighter. Forty-three. Forty-four. Forty—she tripped again. This time there was no strength left. The darkness tugged at her, pulled at her mind, warm, soothing darkness, a place beyond consciousness, beyond pain. She would just slip into it and everything would be fine. Her eyes, so heavy, began to close.