City of Secrets

by Victoria Thompson

“But we could at least find out who the blackmailer was and turn him over to the police.”

  “What good would that do?”

  “He’d be arrested and tried and punished,” Gideon said. “And he’d never be able to do this to anyone else again.”

  “Would he really be arrested?”

  Gideon opened his mouth to assure her that he would but caught himself when he saw her skepticism. And she was right, unfortunately. He closed his mouth with a snap.

  “Just as I thought,” she said. “A blackmailer would think nothing of bribing the police to keep from being arrested. And even if he really was arrested and brought to trial and even found guilty, how would that help Priscilla? Would it get her money back?”

  “That’s . . . unlikely.” The police often confiscated money from criminals, but it rarely found its way back to the original victims.

  “And imagine how the newspapers would report on a blackmail trial. They create scandals even when they don’t exist. This is a real scandal, and when people find out why Mr. Knight was being blackmailed . . .” Elizabeth shuddered delicately.

  Gideon winced at the thought of how the press would swarm on a story like this, like a school of hungry sharks. “But Knight is dead. Scandal won’t hurt him.”

  “You’re right, he’s dead,” Elizabeth said, “so Priscilla is the only one left to suffer. The scandal could certainly hurt her and her poor little girls, too. A story like that would follow them for the rest of their lives.”

  “And it would ruin the rest of their lives,” Gideon said.

  “So what can we do? How can we help her?”

  Gideon could hardly bear to look at her, the woman he loved more than life itself. The woman who had every right to turn to him for help and expect to receive it. The woman he would die to protect. How could he admit that he was powerless here, that he had no answer for her? “I . . . I’ve never dealt with a case of blackmail before, and criminal law is not my area of expertise. Let me see what I can find out. There must be something . . . some way to help her.”

  “Yes, there must,” she said, although she didn’t sound very hopeful.

  She reached for the ledger that lay in his lap, but he stopped her. “Leave these things here.” He snatched up the photograph and stuck it back into its envelope. “I’ll put them in my safe. We wouldn’t want them falling into the wrong hands.” He also didn’t want her to ever see that photograph again.

  “Of course.” She managed a smile. “Will I see you this evening?”

  “At the salon?” He smiled back, although it felt a little strained. “I’ll escort Anna as usual, although I think her mother is getting the wrong idea.”

  “Mothers often do, but don’t worry. Anna has promised not to steal you away from me.”

  He took her hand in his again. “No one could.”

  * * *

  • • •

  “LIZZIE, YOU KNOW I HATE THESE SOIRÉES OF CYBIL’S,” THE OLD man said when she opened the front door to him that evening. He’d come early, as she’d asked, and as usual, he was immaculately dressed. He really was a handsome man, even in his middle years, tall and slender with silver hair and amazingly blue eyes.

  Elizabeth’s Aunt Cybil and her “close friend” Zelda were busy preparing refreshments for the guests who attended the event they held every Monday evening at their ramshackle home in Chelsea. This left Elizabeth with some free time to discuss her current problem with her mentor, the Old Man.

  “You don’t have to stay for the salon,” she told him. “I just need some advice from you. Let’s go upstairs so nobody overhears us.”

  “This sounds serious,” he said, following her up the stairs. “Has your young man proven false?”

  She gave him a glare over her shoulder. “Do you really think I’d ask you for romantic advice?”

  “You wound me to the quick.” He laid a well-manicured hand over his chest, taking care not to dislodge the diamond stickpin he wore.

  “I doubt it.”

  She led him into her bedroom and shut the door. He lowered himself into the stuffed chair in the corner of her well-decorated room while she sat down on the bed.

  “How can I help you, my dear? Does your swain demand a larger dowry?”

  “You know perfectly well he doesn’t even want the one he’s getting. No, this isn’t about me at all. I have a friend who asked me for help.” She quickly explained Priscilla’s marital history and the discovery of her financial situation after the death of Mr. Knight.

  “So you think someone conned him?”

  “No, although that was my first thought. It turns out someone was blackmailing him.”

  The Old Man raised his eyebrows. “I hope you don’t think I know anything about it.”

  “No. Blackmail is beneath you, I know.” Although cons were right up his alley. “I wanted to ask you about brothels.”

  He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Why on earth do you need to know anything about brothels?”

  “Because this Mr. Knight was apparently frequenting them and doing things that, well, that most people would consider shocking.”

  “I have observed that most people are easily shocked.”

  “I saw a photograph, and believe me, it would shock even you.”

  He frowned his disapproval, but unlike Gideon, he knew better than to express it. “And you think this is why he was being blackmailed?”

  “Yes, that’s pretty clear. The question is, who would know about his, uh, activities?”

  He gave the matter a few moments’ thought. “If his appetites are as strange as you say, I think you’re correct in assuming this man would have to indulge them at a brothel. Depending on what those appetites were, he would also have to find one that specializes in his particular tastes.”

  “They specialize?” she asked in amazement.

  He smiled a bit sheepishly. “I’m not sure this is an appropriate topic to discuss with a maiden lady.”

  “No one ever seemed to hesitate to discuss their adventures with ladies of the evening in front of me before.”

  “Oh dear. I must speak to the boys about being more careful when you’re around.”

  “I won’t be around them anymore,” Elizabeth reminded him. “I’m a respectable lady now.”

  “A respectable lady who wants to know how brothels specialize,” he added with some amusement.

  Elizabeth sighed in frustration. “Are you going to answer my questions or not?”

  “I suppose so. There’s no telling who you might ask if I don’t, and I don’t imagine young Gideon would approve.”

  “Young Gideon doesn’t have experience in this area.”

  He raised his eyebrows again but had the good sense to say nothing.

  “So,” she continued, “they specialize?”

  He sighed in defeat. “Some do. Men with, uh, unusual appetites require cooperation from the, uh, bawds they hire. And, sometimes, uh, special skills.” He shrugged apologetically. “They also require a certain level of confidentiality. All of this costs money, too. A lot of money.”

  “Because a man would be ruined if people found out,” she mused, “and that would also make the men vulnerable to blackmail.”

  “As your Mr. Knight apparently was.”

  “Who would blackmail him, though?”

  “I don’t know much about blackmail. It’s not a crime people talk about, as you can imagine. But I suppose anyone who found out his secrets could do it, although I’m sure he took great pains to ensure that no one did.”

  “So it would have to be someone at the brothel.”

  “Maybe. That seems logical, but he might have confessed to a friend.”

  “Or a minister,” she mused.

  “Did you say minister?”

  “Yes, he was a church elder.”


  “Ah, so he had even more reason than most to hide his unusual tastes.”

  “Unless he was confessing to unburden himself.”

  “I can’t help you there. I’ve never been tempted to unburden myself, and certainly never to a minister.”

  She smiled at that. “I’m sure you haven’t.”

  “So, when is the wedding? I thought young Gideon would be quite eager to take you for his bride.”

  “We have to wait a bit. He can’t be seen to be snatching up his best friend’s discarded fiancée.”

  “Why not? If his best friend was foolish enough to let you slip away . . .”

  “It’s one of those strange rules they have in society.”

  “They have a lot of them, I assume.”

  “More than you can imagine. Some woman wrote a whole book about them.”

  “Dear Lord. But I suppose you think Gideon is worth it all.”

  “He is.”

  “Will he be here this evening?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I want to have a word with him.”

  “About what?” she asked in alarm.

  “I haven’t decided yet.”

  * * *

  • • •

  “YOUR FATHER KEEPS GLARING AT ME,” GIDEON WHISPERED TO Elizabeth when he managed to catch her alone in the hallway later that evening. The crowd at the salon tonight was smaller than usual, only about a dozen people, which meant he had at least a chance of having Elizabeth all to himself for a few moments.

  “Don’t call him that,” she scolded him. “Someone might hear you.” But she was smiling, so he knew she was teasing.

  “What’s he doing here anyway? He doesn’t seem interested in talking to anyone.”

  “He said he wanted to talk to you.”

  Gideon managed not to groan aloud. “Why?”

  “He didn’t confide in me. Go sit with Miss Adams. She’s been left all alone on the sofa.”

  He glanced into the parlor, where the ancient Miss Adams sat in solitary splendor. “All she ever wants to talk about is poetry.”

  “Good, then you’ll be safe from my father with her.”

  “Don’t call him that,” Gideon countered with a grin. “Someone might hear you.”

  He was heading into the parlor, Elizabeth’s laughter tinkling behind him, when the Old Man stepped out in front of him and blocked his way.

  “Step outside with me a moment, will you? I’d like to smoke,” he said.

  Gideon could have pointed out that it was freezing outside and, besides, he didn’t smoke, but instead he found his overcoat amid the jumble on the coat tree and followed the Old Man out onto the large front porch. He was, after all, Elizabeth’s father.

  “Elizabeth said you wanted to talk to me,” Gideon said as the Old Man pulled out a cigar, cut off the end and lit it, puffing furiously to get it started.

  When he had finished with the ritual and the cigar was burning to his satisfaction, he said, “Lizzie asked me about brothels.”

  Gideon swore under his breath. “I told her I would handle all that.”

  “She said you don’t have much experience in the matter.”

  “That doesn’t mean—”

  “I don’t either, at least not in the kind of brothels she was interested in.”

  “She told you?” Gideon asked, not sure if he was more angry or horrified.

  “Not the details. Her mother raised her to be a lady, in spite of the education she got from me. All she said was the man in question had rather odd tastes.”

  “Indeed he did.”

  “She said there was a photograph.”

  “She didn’t describe it, did she?” Gideon asked with renewed horror.

  “No, and I’m disappointed that you allowed her to see it,” he said mildly.

  “I didn’t allow her to do anything, since I knew nothing about any of this until she brought it to me and started asking me about brothels!” Gideon said in a furious whisper.

  The Old Man calmly puffed on his cigar. “Yes, of course. Well, there’s no remedy for it now. The question is, how do we throw her off the scent?”

  “You mean you think you can convince her to forget about helping her friend?”

  The Old Man smiled slightly. “You make it sound impossible.”

  “It is impossible. And what is also impossible is getting her friend’s money back from a blackmailer, but that’s what she wants to do.”

  “Is it, now?”

  “Yes, it is. After she showed me what she’d found, I talked to some of my partners in the firm. None of them had ever dealt with a blackmailer, either, but they all agreed it was foolhardy to even try, because—as we already determined—the very reason the blackmail took place is because the victim wanted to avoid scandal, and exposing the blackmailer also exposes the scandal.”

  The Old Man didn’t reply for a long moment, allowing Gideon to think he’d stymied him. But only for a moment. “I wonder if it’s possible to blackmail a blackmailer.”

  “What?”

  “You know, beat him at his own game.”

  “You mean find out a secret about him and threaten to expose it?”

  The Old Man puffed on his cigar again. “That’s my understanding of how it works.”

  Gideon considered the concept for a few moments of his own. “If you’ve got the stomach for it, I suppose it could work, but first you’d have to find out who the blackmailer is.”

  “Ah, yes, and you don’t know, do you?”

  “I don’t, and Elizabeth doesn’t. The widow doesn’t, either. She also doesn’t know her husband was being blackmailed. She doesn’t even know about her husband’s, uh, perversions.”

  “I think I’d like to see this photograph.”

  “Why?” Gideon asked suspiciously.

  “Not to blackmail anyone,” the Old Man assured him with a smile. “They’ve already been bled dry, in any case. No, I’d like to get an idea of what kind of brothel we’re looking for.”

  “We?”

  “Did I say ‘we’? I meant you. You and Lizzie, although I don’t like to think of her looking for brothels.”

  “She won’t be.”

  “That’s why I taught her the grift, you know,” he said, staring out into the darkened street. “I didn’t want her involved in my business. I hope you believe that. But her mother died, and I did the best I could, but I knew I wouldn’t always be around. Life is uncertain for a female alone. She can’t be sure she’ll find a good man to take care of her. Far too many men are like this fellow we’re talking about. Idiots, the lot of them. And a young woman on her own . . . Well, it’s hard for a woman to support herself honestly. I wanted to make sure she’d never be taken advantage of, if you know what I mean.”

  Gideon found himself in the awkward position of feeling obliged to thank this man for turning his fiancée into a con artist. “I’m sure she’s very grateful” was as close as he could come, however.

  “Oh, I know what you think of me. I sometimes think the same things, but I took care of my wife and my children, and when I’m gone, they’ll be provided for. How many men can say that?”

  A lot, Gideon hoped, but he didn’t say it aloud. “So you think if we could figure out who the blackmailer is . . . ?”

  “That we could blackmail him in return? I think it might be the only hope of getting this poor woman’s money back.”

  “So that means we need to figure out where the dead man went for his entertainment.”

  “Which is why I need to know more about him. That photograph—I don’t suppose you have it with you?”

  “Of course not! It’s locked up in my office.”

  “Then tell me about it.”

  Gideon glanced around to make sure no one was near enough to hear. Then
he whispered the awful details to the Old Man.

  He whistled. “I don’t expect many places cater to things like that.”

  “Then it should be easy to find them.”

  “Easy? Do you think they’re listed in the city directory?” the Old Man asked, amused.

  “Well, no, but . . .”

  “And don’t look at me. My tastes run to a feather bed and a willing wench. Nothing exotic about that. You’re going to have a hard time finding the kind of place you’re looking for, because everything about them is a secret that the men who use them pass by word of mouth and only to people they know and trust.”

  Gideon frowned. The men at his club often joked about various houses of ill repute but he’d never heard anyone mention one that catered to the kind of appetites Endicott Knight had had. Short of ruining his own reputation by inquiring outright about such places, he didn’t have the slightest idea of where to start.

  Before he could mention this to the Old Man, the front door opened and Elizabeth stepped out.

  “It’s freezing,” she said, instantly wrapping her arms around herself against the chill. “What are you two doing out here so long?”

  “Discussing your little problem,” the Old Man said. “We’ve decided we might be able to blackmail the blackmailer, if we can figure out who he is.”

  “What a marvelous idea!” she exclaimed.

  “Gideon thought of it,” the Old Man said, earning a black look from Gideon, which he ignored. “But we need to know more about this fellow. Who his friends were. That sort of thing. They’ll know something.”

  “His widow doesn’t know any of his friends, except for the people he knew at church,” Elizabeth said.

  Gideon sniffed. “I hardly think Reverend Honesdale and the other elders will be of much help with this.”

  “Who?” the Old Man said in surprise.

  “Reverend Honesdale,” Elizabeth said. “He’s the minister at—”

  But the Old Man was laughing.

  “What’s so funny?” Gideon demanded.

  “I think your job just got a lot easier, son. There’s a man who owns several brothels in the city, the regular kind you understand, but maybe he also runs some of the more secret kind, and his name happens to be Matthew Honesdale.”