by Amanda Quick
But it was the color of the strands of the real hair used on the head of the tiny sculpture that riveted Lavinia’s attention. They were blond, streaked with silver. Just like Joan’s, she thought.
She looked up from the picture. “This is a most unusual and excellently made waxwork, but I don’t understand why you have brought it to me.”
“Look closely at the image of the woman.” Joan clasped her hands together very tightly in her lap. “Do you see the red on the floor beneath her?”
Lavinia examined the scene. “She appears to be lying on a crimson scarf or perhaps a scrap of red silk.” She trailed off as the reality of what she was seeing finally sank in. “Dear heaven.”
“Yes,” Joan said. “It is a dab of red paint beneath the figure. It is obviously meant to represent blood. The woman is clearly dead. It is a scene of murder.”
Lavinia slowly lowered the horrid little picture and met Joan’s eyes. “The lady in this waxwork is intended to be you,” she said. “It is a death threat.”
“I believe so.” Joan looked at the picture in Lavinia’s hands. “That green gown is the one I wore on the night of my daughter’s engagement ball.”
Lavinia thought about that for a few seconds. “Have you worn it on any other occasion?” she asked.
“No. It was made especially for the affair. I have had no other occasion to wear it.”
“Whoever created this image must have seen the gown.” Lavinia studied the figure. “How many people attended your daughter’s engagement ball?”
Joan’s mouth curved humorlessly. “Unfortunately, the guest list had well over three hundred names on it.”
“Oh dear. That does give us a long list of suspects, does it not?”
“Yes. Thank heavens my daughter is out of town for the month. This would upset her greatly. She is still not entirely recovered from the shock of her father’s death.”
“Where is she?”
“Maryanne is visiting some of her fiancé’s relatives at their estates in Yorkshire. I want this matter resolved before she returns to London. I trust you will begin your inquiries immediately.”
One had to be very careful when dealing with persons of quality, Lavinia reminded herself. They could afford one’s fees but they were also adept at not paying their bills.
“You wish to give me a commission to discover the identity of the person who sent you this picture?” she asked carefully.
“Why else would I have come here today?”
“Yes, of course.” Persons of quality could also be extremely brusque and quite demanding, she reflected.
“Mrs. Lake, you indicated that you were already in the process of conducting inquiries into this affair. Your conversation and your card gave me to understand that you would be willing to accept a commission from me. Is the offer still open?”
“Yes,” Lavinia said hastily. “Indeed it is. I will be pleased to accept your commission, Mrs. Dove. Perhaps we should discuss my fees.”
“There is no need to go into the details. I do not care what you charge for your services so long as I receive satisfaction. When you have concluded the affair, send the bill, whatever it is, to me. Rest assured, you will be paid.” Joan smiled coldly. “Just ask any of the people who do business with me or who supply my household. They will tell you that they always receive their payments in a timely manner.”
It would be simple enough to discover the truth of that statement, Lavinia thought. In the meantime, the last thing she wished to do was jeopardize the commission by irritating the client with a discussion of fees.
She cleared her throat. “Well, then, let us begin. I must ask you several questions. I hope you will not feel that I am intruding unnecessarily into your private life.”
She broke off at the sound of the front door being opened in the hall.
Joan tensed and glanced toward the closed parlor door. “It appears you have another visitor. I must insist that you do not tell anyone about my reasons for calling on you today.”
“Do not distress yourself, Mrs. Dove. That will likely be my niece returning from a call on her new acquaintance, Priscilla Wortham. Lady Wortham invited her to tea this afternoon. She was so kind as to send her own carriage for Emeline.”
Lavinia hoped she did not sound as if she was boasting. She knew very well that an invitation from Lady Wortham would mean little to a person who moved in Joan Dove’s wealthy circles. But the invitation to tea had been a social coup for Emeline as far as she was concerned.
“I see.” Joan did not take her eyes off the door.
An all-too-familiar masculine voice rumbled in the hall. “Never mind, I’ll see myself in, Mrs. Chilton.”
“Bloody hell,” Lavinia muttered. “His timing is, as always, extremely annoying.”
Joan glanced quickly at her. “Who is this?”
The parlor door opened. Tobias walked into the room. He came to a halt at the sight of Joan Dove and made her a surprisingly graceful bow.
“Ladies.” He straightened and raised one dark brow in Lavinia’s direction. “I see you have made some progress in my absence, Mrs. Lake. Excellent.”
“Who is this gentleman?” Joan asked again, very sharply this time.
Lavinia gave Tobias her most repressive glare. “Allow me to introduce my associate, Mrs. Dove.”
“You made no mention of an associate.”
“I was just getting around to it,” Lavinia said soothingly. “This is Mr. Tobias March. He is assisting me in my inquiries.”
“In point of fact,” Tobias said with a meaningful look at Lavinia, “Mrs. Lake is assisting me.”
Joan searched his face and switched her gaze to Lavinia. “I do not understand.”
“It is really very simple.” Lavinia deliberately turned her back on Tobias. “Mr. March and I are partners in this endeavor. It is actually something of a bargain for you. As my client, you will enjoy the services of both of us for no additional cost.”
“Two for the price of one,” Tobias said helpfully.
Lavinia managed what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “Mr. March has had some experience with this sort of thing. I assure you he is extremely discreet.”
“I see.” Joan hesitated. She did not look entirely satisfied, but she was clearly a woman who lacked choices. “Very well.”
Lavinia turned back to Tobias and thrust the waxwork into his hand. “Mrs. Dove came here today because a short while ago she received this. She believes it to be a threat on her life, and I agree. The gown the figure is wearing is one of Mrs. Dove’s and, as you can see, the hair is the same color as her own.”
Tobias examined the picture for a long while. “Odd. One would expect a blackmailer to threaten to expose an old secret, not to send a death threat. Hardly logical to murder the source of one’s income.”
There was a short, charged silence. Lavinia traded glances with Joan.
“Mr. March has a point,” Lavinia muttered ungraciously.
“Yes, he does,” Joan said with a thoughtful expression.
Lavinia noticed that her new client was studying Tobias with considerably more interest than she had exhibited a moment ago.
Tobias lowered the picture. “On the other hand, we must bear in mind that we are dealing with a new villain now, one who has already committed murder. This cut-throat may feel that a threat of death is a more effective method of inducing his victims to pay.”
Joan nodded in agreement.
It was time to regain control of this affair, Lavinia thought. Tobias was showing every sign of assuming command.
She looked at Joan. “I must ask you a very personal question, Mrs. Dove.”
“You wish to know what Holton Felix found in the diary that made him think I would pay him for his silence.”
“It would be helpful to know the specifics of his threat, yes.”
Joan cast another assessing glance at Tobias. Then she contemplated Lavinia for a moment.
“I shall be as brief as poss
ible,” she said finally. “I found myself alone in the world at the age of eighteen and was obliged to pursue a career as a governess. When I was nineteen, I made the mistake of giving my heart to a man, a frequent visitor in the household where I was employed. I believed myself to be in love and assumed my sentiments were returned in full. I fear I was so foolish as to allow him to seduce me.”
“I see,” Lavinia said quietly.
“He brought me to London and set me up in a small house. All went well for a few months. In my naïveté, I assumed that we would be married.” Joan’s mouth twisted wryly. “I discovered my mistake when I learned he was already contracted to wed a wealthy heiress. He had never had any intention of marrying me.”
Lavinia tightened one hand into a fist. “Dreadful man.”
“Yes,” Joan said. “Quite. But a rather common story. In the end, of course, he cast me aside. I was desperate and without funds. He stopped paying my rent. I knew I would be forced to move out of my home at the end of the month. My lover had given me nothing in the course of our affair that I could pawn or sell, and I had not thought to extract anything except promises from him. I could not obtain another position as a governess because I had no references.”
“What did you do?” Lavinia asked softly.
Joan looked past her toward the window, as if there were something in the steady rain that fascinated her.
“It is difficult to think about it now,” she continued quietly, “but at the time my spirits were very depressed. Every night for a week, I walked to the river and considered ending the nightmare. But every night, I walked home before dawn. I suppose one could say I lacked the courage.”
“On the contrary,” Lavinia said firmly, “you displayed remarkable strength of will in resisting the river. When one’s spirits are extremely low, one sometimes cannot imagine getting through another day, let alone a lifetime.”
She felt Tobias’s gaze slide to her, but she did not look at him.
Joan flashed her a quick, unreadable look and then once more fixed her gaze on the rain. “One night on the way back from the river, I found Fielding Dove waiting for me in the doorway of my house. I had met him a few times in the course of my connection with my lover, but I did not know him well. He made it plain he was interested in forming a liaison. He said he had paid my rent for me and I was not to worry about it.” Joan smiled wryly. “I understood he meant to become my new protector.”
“What did you do?” Lavinia asked.
“I can hardly credit it now, but from out of nowhere, I recovered my pride. I told him I was not in the market for a lover but I would very much appreciate a loan. I promised to repay him as soon as possible. To my amazement, he merely nodded and asked me how I planned to invest the funds.”
Tobias lowered himself somewhat stiffly into a chair. “Dove gave you the money?”
“Yes.” Joan smiled wistfully. “And some investment advice. I put the money into a building venture he recommended. We met and talked many times while the houses and shops were being built. I came to think of Fielding as a friend. When the properties were sold a few months later, I received what seemed like a fortune at the time. I immediately sent a note to Fielding telling him I was in a position to repay him.”
“How did he respond?” Lavinia asked.
“He called upon me and asked me to marry him.” Joan’s eyes were shadowed with memories. “By then, of course, I was deeply in love. I accepted his offer.”
Lavinia felt the moisture gathering in her eyes. She sniffed twice in a vain attempt to keep the tears from streaming down her cheeks. Tobias and Joan looked at her.
“Forgive me, Mrs. Dove, but yours is a very affecting tale,” Lavinia said.
She yanked a hankie out of her pocket and hastily blotted up the tears. When she was finished, she blew her nose as discreetly as possible.
She lowered the little square of embroidered linen and saw that Tobias was watching her with a derisive gleam in his eyes. She gave him a disgusted look. Obviously the man possessed no refined sensibilities. But then, she was already well aware of that fact, she reminded herself.
She wadded up the hankie and stuffed it back into her pocket. “Forgive me, Mrs. Dove, but may I conclude that Holton Felix threatened to expose the liaison in which you engaged prior to your marriage?”
Joan glanced down at her hands and then nodded. “Yes.”
“What a horrid little man he was,” Lavinia said.
“Huh,” Tobias said.
Lavinia gave him another repressive look. He paid no attention.
“No offense, madam, but I fail to see how that particular threat would have created much of a scandal,” he said. “After all, the affair ended over twenty years ago.”
Joan stiffened. “My daughter is engaged to Colchester’s heir, Mr. March. If you know anything at all about the family, you will be aware that his grandmother Lady Colchester controls much of the family fortune. She is extremely high in the instep. The least hint of scandal would be more than enough to convince her to force her grand-son to call off the marriage.”
Tobias shrugged. “I would not have thought that such old scandal broth would have caused much of an uproar.”
Joan sat motionless. “I will be the judge of what is at risk here. My husband was delighted with the Colchester alliance. I will never forget the happiness in his eyes when he danced with Maryanne at her engagement ball. And as for my daughter, she is deeply in love. I will not let anything get in the way of this marriage, Mr. March. Do you comprehend me?”
Lavinia rounded on Tobias before he could respond. “It is all very well for you to entertain doubts, sir, but I will thank you to keep them to yourself. What do you know of marital alliances formed in such elevated circles? A young woman’s future is at stake. Her mother has every right to take precautions.”
“Yes, of course.” Tobias’s eyes glinted with ironic amusement. “Forgive me, Mrs. Dove. Mrs. Lake is quite correct. I have not had a lot of experience with marital alliances formed in, uh, elevated circles.”
To Lavinia’s surprise, Joan actually smiled.
“I understand,” Joan murmured.
“I assure you, the fact that Mr. March does not move in exclusive circles will not prevent him from being able to conduct his inquiries,” Lavinia said hastily. She gave Tobias a speaking look. “Will it, sir?”
“I generally manage to find out what I need to know,” Tobias said.
Lavinia turned back to Joan. “Rest assured we shall begin our inquiries immediately.”
“Where do you propose to start?” Joan asked, genuine curiosity in her eyes.
Lavinia stood and walked to the table where Tobias had placed the waxwork death threat. She examined it closely again, noting the fine details.
“This is clearly not the work of an amateur,” she said slowly. “I believe we should begin by seeking advice from some workers in wax. Artists often have distinctive styles and methods. With luck we may find someone who can tell us something about the unique elements of this particular sculpture.”
Tobias regarded her with poorly veiled surprise. “That is not a bad notion.”
She clamped her teeth together.
“How will you discover the names of these expert modelers in wax?” Joan asked, clearly oblivious to the byplay.
Lavinia drew a finger slowly along the frame of the picture. “I shall ask my niece for some advice in the matter. Emeline has been going about to a great many museums and galleries of all sorts since we returned to London. She will likely know the ones that exhibit waxwork sculptures.”
“Excellent.” Joan rose gracefully and adjusted her gloves. “I shall leave you to it.” She paused. “Unless you have some more questions for me?”
“Only one.” Lavinia hesitated, gathering her nerve. “I fear you will find it presumptuous.”
Joan appeared dryly amused. “Really, Mrs. Lake. I cannot imagine a more presumptuous question than the one concerning why I am being blackma
iled.”
“The thing is, my niece has received a small number of invitations, thanks to Lady Wortham. But Emeline requires some new gowns if she is to go about with Priscilla. I am wondering if you would be so kind as to supply me with the name of your modiste.”
She could almost feel Tobias raising his eyes to the ceiling, but he had the good sense not to speak.
Joan contemplated Lavinia with a thoughtful expression. “Madame Francesca is very expensive.”
“Yes, well, as to that, I have a plan to finance at least one or two nice gowns.”
“I am sorry to tell you that she takes new clients only on recommendation.”
Lavinia’s spirits plummeted. “I see.”
Joan walked toward the door. “I shall be happy to supply you with one.”
They showed the malignant little waxwork to Emeline a short time later.
“If I were you, I would start with Mrs. Vaughn in Half Crescent Lane.” Emeline studied the picture with a troubled expression. “She is by far the most proficient worker in wax in London.”
“I have never heard of her,” Lavinia said.
“Probably because she does not receive many commissions.”
“Why not?” Tobias asked.
Emeline looked up from the waxwork. “You will understand when you see her creations.”
seven
“I congratulate you on securing a client to pay your expenses in this affair.” Tobias lounged in the hackney seat. “It is always pleasant to know that when one is finished one can send a bill to someone.”
“I very nearly lost her, thanks to you, sir.” Lavinia pulled her serviceable woolen cloak more snugly around herself, warding off the damp chill. “I do not believe you could have been any more rude if you had tried.”
He smiled slightly. “At least I did not presume to inquire the name of her modiste.”
Lavinia ignored him. Very pointedly she looked out the carriage window.
London was a study rendered in a thousand shades of gray today. Paving stones gleamed damply beneath a lowering sky. The rain had driven most people indoors. Those who braved the weather took refuge in carriages or dashed from doorway to doorway. The coachmen huddled on their boxes, swathed in their many-caped great-coats, hats pulled down over their ears.
