by Amanda Quick
“We must assume that whoever burned the diary and left it for Mr. March to discover is trying to tell us that the blackmail is finished. I suspect you will not receive any more notes from the person who sent that waxwork to you. I believe he has lost his taste for blackmail.”
“You may well be right. The knowledge that I had employed professionals to make inquiries into the matter no doubt alarmed him greatly and drove him back into the shadows. Nevertheless, I must know who he is. I’m sure you understand.” Joan smiled humorlessly. “I cannot tolerate strangers sending death threats.”
“No, of course not. In your shoes, I would feel the same way about the matter. Last night in bed I thought about some aspects of this situation. It occurred to me that there might be more to this than ordinary blackmail. Please do not be offended, but I must ask you something.”
“What is it?”
“Before you answer, I hope you will think carefully and be honest.” Lavinia hesitated, searching for the most polite way of asking the question. “Is there any reason why someone might wish to harm you?”
No emotion flickered in Joan’s eyes. Not surprise or outrage or fear. She simply nodded, as if she had anticipated the question.
“I cannot think that anything I have done would make someone want to murder me,” she said.
“You are a very wealthy woman. Have you conducted any business dealings that might have caused someone great financial distress?”
For the first time, a whisper of emotion appeared in Joan’s eyes. It was a sad, wistful expression that was quickly veiled.
“For many years, I was married to a very wise, very clever man who managed my affairs and his own quite brilliantly. I learned a great deal about investments and financial matters from him, but I do not believe I shall ever become as proficient as he was in such things. I have done my best since Fielding’s death. But it is all enormously complicated.”
“I understand.”
“I am still struggling with many aspects of the investments and business affairs he left to me. It is all quite arcane. Nevertheless, I feel certain that nothing I have done since his death has caused anyone to lose money.”
“Forgive me, but is there anything in your personal life that might be involved? Something of a romantic nature perhaps?”
“I was deeply in love with my husband, Mrs. Lake. I was true to him during the whole of our marriage, and I have not formed any connections of an intimate nature since his death. I do not see how there could be any personal reason for someone to threaten me.”
Lavinia met her eyes. “Nevertheless, a death threat is a very personal thing, is it not? More personal, when you think about it, than blackmail, which is more in the nature of a business transaction.”
“Yes.” Joan rose from the chair. The beautifully cut skirts of her gown needed no adjusting. They fell instantly into graceful folds. “That is why I am asking you to continue your inquiries into the matter.”
Lavinia got to her feet and started around her desk. “I shall send a message to Mr. March at once.”
Joan went toward the door. “You and Mr. March are very close, are you not?”
Quite inexplicably, the toe of Lavinia’s shoe snagged on the carpet. She stumbled and was obliged to grab hold of the side of the desk to steady herself.
“Ours is a business connection,” she said. Her voice was a little too loud, she realized. A bit too forceful.
She straightened and rushed forward to open the door.
“You surprise me.” Joan looked politely bemused. “Judging by your concern for his safety and well-being last night, I would have guessed the two of you had a personal as well as a professional relationship.”
Lavinia yanked open the door. “My concern for him is nothing more than the feeling anyone would have for a business associate.”
“Yes, of course.” Joan walked out into the hall and paused. “By the way, I very nearly forgot. This morning my coachman told me he had found something on the seat of the carriage.”
Lavinia’s mouth went dry. Her hand locked on the doorknob. She knew she had probably turned a dreadful shade of pink, but there was nothing she could do.
“On the seat, you say?” she managed weakly.
“Yes. I believe it belongs to you.” Joan opened her reticule and removed a folded square of muslin. She held it out to Lavinia. “It certainly isn’t mine.”
Lavinia stared at the cloth. It was the fichu she had worn last night. She had not even noticed it was missing. Her hand went to her throat.
“Thank you.” She hastily plucked the fichu from Joan’s fingers. “I had not realized I lost it.”
“One must take care in a carriage.” Joan lowered the veil of her hat. “Especially at night. In the shadows it is often difficult to see clearly. It is easy to lose something valuable.”
She sent the message to Tobias minutes after Joan departed in her elegant maroon carriage.
Dear Sir:
I have been offered a new commission from our former client, who wishes us to continue making inquiries on her behalf. I have her firm promise that she will abide by certain strict requirements. Are you at all interested in resuming your position as my business associate for the purpose of continuing on in this affair?
Yrs.
Mrs. L.
His reply came back less than an hour later.
Dear Mrs. L.,
Rest assured I will be delighted to assume whatever position suits you in this affair of ours, madam.
Yrs.
M.
Lavinia studied the short note for a long time. Eventually she concluded it would be best if she did not attempt to read any hidden meaning into what Tobias had written. He was not given to subtlety and nuance in his communications with her.
The man was not a poet, after all.
“Destroyed, you say?” Neville looked thoroughly confused by the news. “Bloody hell. Completely burned?”
“If I were you, I would lower my voice.” Tobias glanced meaningfully around the lightly crowded club room. “One never knows who may be listening.”
“Yes, of course.” Neville shook his head in bewilderment. “I forgot myself. It is just that I am quite startled by this turn of events. There was nothing left?”
“A few pages had been spared. I believe that was done to allow me to confirm that I had discovered the diary I sought.”
“But all of the pages containing the entries pertaining to the members of the Blue Chamber—they were all unreadable?”
“I went through the ashes very carefully,” Tobias assured him. “There was nothing of interest left.”
“Damnation.” Neville’s hand closed into a fist, but the gesture had a theatrical quality to it. “This means the affair is finished, does it not?”
“Well—”
“It is all quite frustrating, of course. I very much wanted to know the name of the one surviving member of the Blue Chamber, the man who turned traitor during the war.”
“I understand.”
“With the diary destroyed, we shall never know his name, nor will we ever learn the real identity of Azure.”
“Given that he is dead and has been for nearly a year, perhaps that does not matter,” Tobias said.
Neville frowned and reached for the bottle of claret. “I suppose you are right. I would have given a great deal to have got my hands on that diary. But in the end, the crucial thing is that the Blue Chamber no longer exists as a criminal organization.”
Tobias leaned back in his chair and put his fingertips together. “There is one small problem.”
Neville paused in the act of pouring his claret and looked up sharply. “What is that?”
“Whoever destroyed the diary may well have read it first.”
Neville started visibly. “Read it. Bloody hell. Yes, of course. I had not thought about that aspect.”
“Someone out there now knows who Azure really was. That same person also knows the identity of the one remaining
member of the Blue Chamber.”
The claret bottle shook a little in Neville’s hand. “Hell’s teeth, man. You’re right.”
“Whoever he is, he may have no intention whatsoever of revealing the secrets of the diary. In fact, I assume that is what he was attempting to tell us when he arranged for me to find the burned pages.” Tobias paused deliberately. “Nevertheless, he knows the answers to our questions. That makes him dangerous.”
“Well.” Neville set the bottle down very carefully. “Well, yes, it does. What do you suggest?”
“I am prepared to continue my inquiries into the matter.” Tobias smiled. “If you are prepared to continue paying my fees.”
thirteen
There was no denying that Priscilla Wortham was an extremely attractive young lady. But tonight, in Lavinia’s opinion, she was a bit overdone in her fashionable gown of pink muslin.
Her experiences at Madame Francesca’s establishment in the past few days had taught her a great deal, she reflected. The modiste held very precise views on the subject of fashion, and she was not at all hesitant to impart them. Thanks to what Lavinia had learned in the course of ordering gowns for herself and Emeline, for example, she could tell at a glance that there were too many scallops at the hem of Priscilla’s dress.
In addition, Priscilla’s pale hair was piled a bit too high in a profusion of artfully arranged curls ornamented with a number of satin flowers that matched the gown. Her gloves were also very pink.
All in all, Lavinia concluded, Priscilla resembled a rich cream cake covered in pink icing. Emeline more than held her own in the theater box.
Seated next to Priscilla, as Lady Wortham had insisted, Emeline was a striking contrast to her friend. Lavinia was relieved to note that the tyrannical Madame Francesca had been correct when she had insisted upon the simple gown in an unusual Egyptian green gauze. Emeline’s dark hair was pinned up in an elegant, uncluttered style that emphasized her fine, intelligent eyes. Her gloves were a few shades darker than the dress.
The sacrifice of the Apollo had been worth it, Lavinia thought proudly as the lights came up between acts. Earlier in the evening her chief concern had been that Lady Wortham might view Emeline as competition rather than a suitable prop against which to display Priscilla. But those fears had proved groundless. Lady Wortham had taken one look at Emeline’s simple, elegantly cut gown and had not troubled to conceal her relief at the knowledge that Priscilla’s gown had not been overshadowed.
The two young women had drawn their share of admiring glances this evening. Lady Wortham was clearly pleased. She obviously believed the looks were directed at her daughter. Lavinia was quite certain a good number had been aimed at Emeline.
“An excellent performance, don’t you think?” Lavinia said to Lady Wortham.
“Tolerable.” Lady Wortham lowered her voice so that Emeline and Priscilla could not hear her above the background noise of conversation humming through the theater. “But I feel I should mention to you that your niece’s gown is much too severe for a young lady. And that odd shade of green. Not at all the thing. I must remember to give you the name of my modiste.”
“Very kind of you.” Lavinia injected a note of regret into her voice. “But we are quite satisfied with the one we have.”
“How unfortunate.” Lady Wortham’s disapproving gaze rested briefly on Lavinia’s own satin gown. “A good modiste is worth her weight in gold, I always say.”
“Indeed.” Lavinia snapped open her fan.
“I’m sure mine would never have recommended that particular shade of purple for you. Not with your red hair.”
Lavinia gritted her teeth. She was saved from the necessity of responding when the heavy velvet curtains at the back of the box parted.
Anthony appeared, looking extremely handsome in his fashionably cut coat and elaborately tied cravat.
“I hope I’m not intruding.” He executed a graceful bow. “I wished to pay my respects to all of the lovely ladies in this box.”
“Anthony. I mean, Mr. Sinclair.” Emeline gave him a glowing smile. “How lovely to see you.”
Lady Wortham nodded pleasantly. There was a sparkle of satisfaction in her shrewd gaze. “Do sit down, Mr. Sinclair.”
Anthony drew up a chair and positioned it precisely between Emeline and Priscilla. The three young people immediately launched into a lively discussion of the play. In the neighboring boxes, heads turned.
Lavinia exchanged a knowing look with Lady Wortham. They would never be close friends, she thought, but in this they were united. They were both well aware that, in the marriage mart, nothing aroused interest in a young lady as effectively as seeing a presentable young man pay court to her. Anthony was an asset to the box.
“Where is Mr. March?” Emeline asked during a short break in the conversation.
“He’ll be along in a moment.” Anthony cast a sidelong glance at Lavinia. “Said something about wanting to have a word with Neville first.”
That caught Lavinia’s attention. She had been curious about Tobias’s client. “Lord Neville is here tonight?”
“In that box across the way.” Anthony angled his head very casually toward the balcony on the other side of the theater. “He is sitting with his wife. Tobias is with them now. I expect he’ll make his way over here when he’s finished.”
Lavinia raised her opera glasses and followed his direction. Tobias came into view and she caught her breath. It was the first time she had seen him since the encounter in Mrs. Dove’s carriage last night. She was appalled by the distinct thrill of excitement that swept through her.
He had just entered Neville’s box. As she watched, he bent politely over the hand of a woman dressed in a low-cut blue gown.
Lady Neville appeared to be in her early forties. Lavinia studied her for a moment and concluded that she was one of those females for whom the phrase “a handsome woman” had been coined. She was a tall, stately lady who had no doubt been considered plain in her youth. She possessed the sort of features that achieved a patrician quality with maturity. Her gown was cut in an elegantly strict style that made Lavinia wonder if she was another one of Madame Francesca’s clients. Even at this distance, the jewels at her throat and ears sparkled as brightly as the theater lights.
The looks of the large, heavily built man who sat beside her appeared to have matured in a manner that was the direct opposite of his wife’s. Lavinia had no doubt but that Lord Neville had cut a dashing, athletic figure in his younger days. But his well-sculpted features had begun to thicken and coarsen in an unbecoming fashion that spoke of debauchery and self-indulgence.
“Are you acquainted with Lord and Lady Neville?” Lady Wortham inquired with unconcealed interest.
“No,” Lavinia said. “I have not had the pleasure.”
“I see.”
Sensing that she and Emeline had fallen a notch or two in their hostess’s opinion, Lavinia sought to recover whatever territory she could.
“But I am very well acquainted with Mr. March,” she offered. Good heavens, she must be desperate indeed. Who would have thought she would find herself tossing out Tobias’s name in a frantic bid to raise her own social standing?
“Hmm.” Lady Wortham eyed the other box with a speculative look. “Mr. March is the gentleman who is conversing with Neville?”
“Yes.”
“I have never met him, but if he is on such familiar terms with Lord Neville, he must be acceptable.”
“Hmm.” Lavinia wondered what Lady Wortham would think of Tobias’s acceptability if she knew what he had done in the carriage last night. “Are you acquainted with Lord and Lady Neville?”
“Over the years, my husband and I have received invitations to several of the same balls and parties as Neville and his wife,” Lady Wortham said, coolly vague. “We move in the same circles.”
Rubbish, Lavinia thought. Receiving invitations to the same social affairs hardly counted as a proper introduction, and they both knew it. Desp
erate hostesses routinely sent out invitations to everyone in Society. It did not follow that everyone accepted.
“I see,” Lavinia murmured. “Then you really don’t know Lord and Lady Neville?”
Lady Wortham bristled. “As it happens, Constance and I were launched the same Season. I remember her well. She was quite ordinary, to say the least. If it hadn’t been for her huge inheritance, she would have remained on the shelf.”
“Neville married her for her money?” Lavinia asked curiously.
“Of course.” Lady Wortham snorted genteelly. “Everyone knew it at the time. There was certainly nothing else to recommend Constance. She had no looks and no sense of fashion.”
“She appears to have acquired a considerable amount of the latter,” Lavinia said.
Lady Wortham raised her quizzing glass and peered across the theater. “Diamonds will do that for a woman.” She lowered the glass. “I see your Mr. March has left their box. When he arrives, we shall have quite a nice little gathering here, won’t we?”
Lady Wortham was almost rubbing her hands together and chortling in anticipation of having a second gentleman to display in the vicinity of Priscilla, Lavinia thought.
The velvet curtains behind her parted again. But it was not Tobias who entered the box.
“Mrs. Lake.” Richard, Lord Pomfrey, gave her a smoldering look that was somewhat marred by his obvious air of inebriation. “I thought I saw you from across the theater. What luck running into you again. You have been on my mind since Italy.”
His words were slurred and he was a little unsteady on his feet.
The shock of seeing him again after all these months froze Lavinia in place for a few seconds. She was not the only one who was stunned into immobility by Pomfrey’s entrance. Beside her, she sensed Lady Wortham turning to stone.
Her hostess was clearly well aware of Pomfrey’s reputation as a debauched womanizer, Lavinia thought. He was definitely not the sort of presentable gentleman she wanted here in the box with her innocent daughter. Lavinia did not blame her. She did not particularly want Pomfrey anywhere near Emeline.
It was Anthony who rose gallantly to the rescue. He took one glance at Lavinia and got to his feet. He put himself in Pomfrey’s path.
