by Amanda Quick
Gabriel raised his brows. “You make an excellent point, Miss Sawyer.”
“But it does not fully explain why Mrs. Fleming took such an intense dislike of me,” Venetia said, brows crinkling. “Granted, she may have been irritated by the fact that she had to take time out of her social rounds to sit for the picture. Nevertheless, her reaction seemed quite extreme.”
“Not if you consider the difference in your positions,” Beatrice said. “In fact, her dislike of you strikes me as eminently reasonable.”
“How can you say that?” Venetia demanded. “I did nothing to offend her.”
Beatrice’s smile was a strange mix of wry amusement and resigned worldliness. “Don’t you see, my dear? You offended her simply by being what you are, a woman who has become successful in her own right, one who does not need to depend upon a man to support her.”
“Hah.” Venetia made a face. “Judging by her clothes and jewelry and the furnishings of her town house, she is doing far better from a financial standpoint as Ackland’s mistress than I can ever hope to do with my photography.”
“Yes, but she stands to lose it all tomorrow should Ackland take it into his head to cast her aside in favor of another mistress, doesn’t she?” Beatrice said quietly. “In addition to the income, she would lose what she no doubt values most.”
Gabriel folded his arms across his chest. “Her status in Society.”
Beatrice nodded. “Precisely. Mrs. Fleming does not appear to have any important social or family connections of her own and no independent source of income. Society finds her beautiful and entertaining because the wealthy Lord Ackland does. But if he loses interest in her, or if he is so thoughtless as to drop dead tomorrow, the Polite World will snub her immediately. Her only hope in such a situation would be to find another gentleman who will keep her in the same style. In addition, the clock is always ticking for a woman in Mrs. Fleming’s profession. She is not getting any younger, is she?”
“I suppose that is true.” Venetia gave Gabriel a meditative look. “There was something else that struck me as odd, however. Mrs. Fleming spent a great deal of time taunting me about how unfortunate it was that my husband had returned from the grave. There were some rather pointed remarks to the effect that being a widow was vastly superior to being a wife.”
Gabriel raised his brows. “I do hope you are not planning on doing me in a second time, Mrs. Jones. I understand from young Edward that I narrowly avoided being shot to death by outlaws and trampled by wild horses on the last occasion. Luckily, I was able to survive the fall into the canyon but if you concoct an even more diabolical plot, I may have some difficulty bouncing back.”
She blushed. Her fine brows snapped together. “That is not amusing, sir. As it happens, I informed Mrs.Fleming that you were a very modern-thinking sort of husband who took an enlightened view of marriage.”
He wondered how Venetia would react if she knew just how primitive his thoughts were when it came to her.
She made a face. “Unfortunately that information only served to outrage her all the more.”
“Because you appear to enjoy the best of both worlds, my dear,” Beatrice said. “You have your independence and your career and a husband who is not alarmed by either of those conditions.” She abruptly closed the embroidery bag and got to her feet. “Well, what is done is done. It was most unfortunate that Mrs. Fleming chose to take such a strong dislike of you, Venetia. We can only hope there will be no unpleasant repercussions.”
Venetia set her cup and saucer down very carefully. “Do you think I was wrong to insist upon using the front door at Mrs. Fleming’s house today, Aunt Beatrice?”
“Absolutely not.” There was no trace of doubt in Beatrice’s voice. “I told you when you first embarked upon a career as a photographer that if you ever once allow your clients to treat you as an inferior, the Jones Gallery would instantly lose its cachet. Now then, I must go and have a word with Mrs. Trench. I fear that since we now have a man in the house, she has gone quite mad and completely forgotten that there is a budget for food.”
“My fault entirely, Miss Sawyer.” Chagrined, Gabriel opened the door for her. “I should have considered that my presence here was inflicting additional costs on the household. I have been occupied with other matters. Rest assured that I will make a contribution to your budget this very afternoon.”
“You will do no such thing,” Beatrice said. “You are a guest and as such you are not expected to pay for your room and board.”
“Ah, but I am not a guest, madam. I am well aware that I have imposed myself upon you. I will cover the costs of my lodgings.”
“If you insist,” Beatrice said with the air of a lady reluctantly granting a great favor.
“I do, madam.”
She gave him a benign smile and swept out of the room.
It was then that Gabriel realized that the casual mention of the strains he was placing on the household budget had not been quite as offhand as it had been made to appear.
He closed the door and turned to see a small, knowing smile tugging at the corners of Venetia’s mouth.
“She could have simply asked me for the money,” he said dryly.
Venetia shook her head. “Impossible. Aunt Beatrice is far too proud. But I had a hunch that sooner or later she would bring up the subject of the household budget. My aunt was a governess for many years. It is a notoriously low-paid profession that instills in one an acute awareness of finances.”
He went to the window and stood looking out into the tree-shaded lane. “Discovering that Mr. Cleeton, your father’s man of affairs, had run off with the money that should have come to all of you after your parents died no doubt brought back a lot of her old anxieties regarding finances.”
There was a short silence behind him.
“Edward told you about Mr. Cleeton?” she asked finally.
“Yes. He also informed me that your father was a bigamist.”
“I see.” There was another long pause. “You and Edward appear to have become quite close in a very short period of time.”
He turned back to look at her. “You must not blame your brother for confiding in me, Venetia. Edward did not mean to break any confidences. It was his understanding that in my role as your husband, I am now a party to your family’s secrets. He assumes that I am another member of the cast of actors in this play that you are all performing with such grand success.”
“How can I possibly blame him?” She sighed. “Poor Edward. We have placed a great burden on his small shoulders. I know it weighs very heavily upon him at times.”
“You must know as well as I do that the secrets that you have asked Edward to hold fast are not nearly as dreadful as some.”
“I suppose that is true.” Her mouth tightened. “Aunt Beatrice has told me some tales from her days as a governess that are the stuff of nightmares. She said that there were goings-on in some of the so-called respectable households where she was employed that were so dreadful she was forced to resign her post on more than one occasion.”
“I can well believe it. There is no need to worry about Edward. He will survive his burden. But in the meantime, it might be wise to allow him a bit more freedom. He has expressed a wish to go to the park and fly kites and play games with other boys.”
“I know. We do take him to the park as often as possible but Aunt Beatrice is terrified that if he makes friends with boys his own age he will inadvertently reveal the truth about Papa.”
“I do not think you need be concerned on that point. There are secrets in every family and children are astonishingly good at keeping them.”
She blinked as though he had said something that caught her by surprise. Her eyes narrowed very faintly in a way that he was starting to recognize.
He smiled. “Are you trying to make out my aura?”
She blushed. “You could tell?”
“Yes. You are wondering if I have a few family secrets of my own, aren’t you?”
> “The thought did cross my mind.”
“The answer, of course, is yes. Doesn’t everyone? But as my secrets do not represent a threat to you or your family, I trust you will allow me to keep them.”
She turned an even brighter shade of pink. “For heaven’s sake, I did not mean to pry.”
“Yes, you did, but we will let that go for now. We have other, more pressing problems.”
“One of which,” she said, recovering her composure, “may prove to be Mrs. Fleming.”
He propped one shoulder against the wall and folded his arms. “I do not think she will dare to cause you too much trouble. Not as long as Ackland is an admirer of your art. He may be a doddering old fool but he is the source of her finances. As your aunt just pointed out, no one knows that better than Mrs. Fleming.”
“You did not see what I saw when I looked at her through the eye of the camera this afternoon.”
“You perceived her aura?”
“Yes. I did not tell Aunt Beatrice because I knew she would only worry, but the truth is, I do not think that what Mrs. Fleming feels for me is mere envy or even dislike. She hates me. It is as if she believes that I am standing between her and something she wants very badly, as if she views me as a direct threat. That simply makes no sense.”
He felt everything inside him tighten. “The more you explain her reaction to me, the more I am inclined to agree. Perhaps we should try to find out a little more about Rosalind Fleming. Harrow seemed somewhat acquainted with her history.”
“Harrow knows a great deal about almost everyone in Society,” Venetia said, brightening. “And what information he does not already possess, he knows how to uncover. I will send a message to him immediately. I’m sure he will assist me.”
“Very well.” This was all he needed, he thought. One more convolution in an already overly convoluted mystery.
Venetia looked at him. “Have you had any word from Mr. Montrose yet?”
“I went to see him while you were taking Mrs. Fleming’s photograph. Like me, he cannot see anything unusual or meaningful about the list of herbs on the strongbox lid, or the leaf design. In addition, the names of those I found interesting at Farley’s exhibition, including one in particular named Willows, have proved to be unlikely suspects for one reason or another.”
“What will you do next?”
“I have asked him to concentrate on the names of those members of the Arcane Society who have died in the past few years.”
“Why are you interested in members who are deceased?” she asked.
“It occurred to me today that perhaps the man I am hunting is no longer a member of the society because he is no longer among the living.”
She stilled. “What do you mean?”
“I faked my own death because I wanted to create confusion in the mind of my opponent. What if he has done the same?”
“I sense more secrets, Mr. Jones.”
He smiled. “You must possess psychical powers, Mrs. Jones.”
24
THE RESPONSE FROM Harrow was gratifyingly swift. The note and a package arrived at the back door of the house in Sutton Lane at five o’clock that afternoon. Venetia tipped the young boy who had delivered the items and then carried the package and the note upstairs.
When she arrived on the landing, Gabriel’s voice halted her in mid-stride.
“What have you got there?” he asked from the shadows of the attic stairs.
She looked up, holding the box very tightly, and watched him come toward her. The man did have a knack for appearing just when one wished he would be occupied elsewhere, she mused.
“I received a note from Harrow saying that he has found someone who can help me with information about Mrs. Fleming. Harrow has arranged for me to meet the person this evening.”
“I see.” Gabriel stopped in front of her. He, too, carried a package. It was tucked under his arm, wrapped in brown paper and oddly shaped. “What time will you be leaving?”
“Harrow says that I am to arrive at nine.”
Gabriel nodded. “I will accompany you.”
“It won’t be necessary to change your plans,” she said quickly.
“It is no trouble.”
“I assure you, I will be quite safe.”
“I realize that Harrow is your friend and no doubt trustworthy, but I must insist on accompanying you, especially since you are not personally acquainted with the individual you will be meeting.”
She hugged her package tighter. “Sometimes you sound distressingly like a real husband, sir, one of those who is not a modern thinker.”
“I am crushed by your poor opinion but I shall endeavor to carry on.” He lounged against the railing and glanced casually at the box she carried. “Not that you are an expert in the matter of how real husbands act.”
Anger flashed through her. “If you are implying that because my father was not legally married to my mother I do not know anything of proper husbandly behavior—”
He winced. “I meant nothing of the kind. I was referring to the fact that you have never been married yourself.”
“Oh.” She relaxed. Curiosity replaced the momentary outrage. “What of yourself, sir?”
“No, Venetia, I have never had a wife. Given our lack of mutual experience, I feel we are doing rather well at the business of marriage, don’t you? Which is not to say that there are not some areas of our association that could stand improvement.” He indicated the box she held. “A gift?”
“The clothes that I will wear this evening.”
“A new gown? I hope it is not solid black. If you do not move out of mourning soon, people will begin to think that you are not pleased to have your husband back.”
“Black has become my hallmark, sir.” She looked at his package. “Where are you off to?”
“I have an appointment in the park with your brother.”
25
IT IS THE MOST beautiful kite in the world, sir.” Entranced, Edward gazed upward. “Look how high it is now. Higher than any of the other kites.”
Gabriel studied the soaring paper wing he had purchased earlier that day. The kite had caught the wind eagerly, delighting Edward, who had quickly mastered the technique of handling the string. The boy was intelligent, Gabriel thought, like everyone else in the Milton family.
“Better reel it in a bit,” he advised. “We don’t want it to snag on those trees.”
“Yes, sir.” Edward concentrated hard on easing the kite down.
Satisfied that the kite was under control, Gabriel took the opportunity to study the lightly crowded park. Several of the benches were occupied by nannies and governesses garbed in dreary gowns. They chatted among themselves while their charges played simple games. The older boys flew kites or played hide-and-seek in the trees.
He had assumed that there would be few adult males in the vicinity. He had been right. Those who were present appeared to be older brothers, uncles or fathers who had accompanied their younger male family members.
The man in the dull brown coat and trousers stood out for the simple reason that he was alone. He occupied one of the benches, his low-crowned hat pulled down over his eyes.
From a distance he appeared to be watching a group of boys play with a ball.
Half an hour later Edward reluctantly brought the kite back to earth. Gabriel showed him how to pack it up so that the string and tail did not become tangled.
“That was great fun, sir.” Edward grinned. “My kite was the best one in the park today. It flew better than anyone else’s and it never crashed into the trees.”
“You did an expert job of controlling it.” Out of the corner of his eye, Gabriel watched the man on the bench get to his feet and amble slowly after them.
They all walked back to Sutton Lane, Brown Coat trailing at a discreet distance. When Gabriel and Edward arrived at the front door, Mrs. Trench opened it.
“There you are, Master Edward.” She smiled at him. “Did you enjoy the kite-flyin
g expedition?”
“Very much.” Clutching the kite carefully in both hands, Edward looked up at Gabriel. “Thank you, sir. Do you think we might go back to the park again soon?”
Gabriel ruffled his hair with one hand. “I don’t see why not.”
“And perhaps play cards some evening? Amelia and I are very good at card games.”
“I’ll look forward to it.”
Edward glowed brighter than a gas lamp and hurried off toward the stairs.
Gabriel looked at Mrs.Trench. “Please tell Mrs.Jones that I’ll be back shortly. I have some business to attend to.”
“Yes, sir. She’s in the parlor. I’ll let her know.”
He went back down the front steps and walked along the street at a swift, purposeful pace. Brown Coat would have to hurry to keep him in sight, he thought.
At the corner, he turned abruptly to the right. In the brief time that he was certain that Brown Coat could not see him, he ducked into a narrow walk that led to the service entrance between two ranks of town houses. He flattened himself against the wall and waited.
Brown Coat dashed past the opening looking extremely anxious a moment later. Gabriel seized him by the arm, dragged him into the narrow passage and slammed him up against the brick wall.
“Bloody hell, what do you think yer doing?” Brown Coat yelped. His eyes widened when he saw the pistol in Gabriel’s hand.
“Why are you following me?” Gabriel asked.
“See here, I don’t know what yer talking about.” Brown Coat was unable to take his eyes off the pistol. “I swear it.”
“In that case you are not of much use to me, are you?”
Brown Coat’s mouth went slack. “You can’t shoot me.”
“Why not?”
“You’ve got no right. I’m an innocent man.”
“Explain to me how innocent you are.”
“I’m just going about my daily business.” Brown Coat squared his shoulders. “I’ll have you know I’m a photographer, sir.”
