“We’ve just been to see Vladimir’s performance. Have you seen it yet? It’s most intriguing.” Jonesy cast a hooded glance at Clarice, whose response was an intimate smile.
Randolph eyed the two and took another sip of his drink, his recent encounter with Jane Goodwin lingering in his mind.
The barkeep reluctantly ambled to the table, not masking his unhappiness that he had to offer another round.
“What’ll it be, ladies?”
“Two pints, on the inspector,” Jonesy said, tossing him a smile.
The barkeep raised a bushy grey brow to Randolph, who just shrugged with a quick nod.
“Aye, then. Comin’ right up.” He shuffled away, shouting, “last call,” as he eyed the door with a scowl.
“To what do I owe this pleasure?” Randolph asked, anxious to skip past the pleasantries and end this discourse as quickly as possible.
“We stopped in for a drink. The fact that you’re here saves us tracking you down. We have a bit of news that you might find intriguing.”
The barkeep placed the ales on the table and shuffled away.
“Go on, tell him, Clarice.” Jonesy took a swig of her ale, wiping away the residue with the back of her hand.
He raised a brow, smiling as he brought his glass to his lips. He turned his eyes to Clarice, awaiting her explanation.
“It’s about Jane,” she said quietly.
He slowly lowered his glass. “What about her?”
Clarice shot a quick glance to Jonesy. “Do you remember the note she received?”
“Of course. I came to the house at Lady Hampton’s request. I have the note in my files.” He frowned, glancing from one woman to the other. “Miss Goodwin and I spoke about it. We agreed that she should not pursue anything further, to leave it to authorities.”
Clarice shook her head. “The agreement must not have been as mutual as you believed.”
Randolph’s shackles rose. The woman would be the death of him. He leaned forward, keeping his voice low. “What in blazes has she gone and done?”
Clarice pressed her lips together, hesitating before she spoke. “She went to McFarland Manor for an interview, she told me. She believes Master Vladimir placed her under some type of hypnosis while at the tea and that he is responsible for the note.” She studied his face. “There was something else, but I sensed she didn’t want to share it with me.”
“Not likely she should feel the need since the two of you aren’t that close.” Jonesy huffed.
Clarice pinned her with a look. “Miss Goodwin and I have an understanding. She accepts me without judgment.”
“Well, la-de-da,” Jonesy responded curtly.
“Ladies, please. You said she went to the manor?” Randolph’s eyes stung from lack of sleep and now he had the beginnings of a beastly headache. His hand doubled in a fist and he gently tapped the table. That fool woman! “What the bloody hell does she think she can find at the manor?” His voice was tense, hushed.
Jonesy’s eyes glittered. “Worried that someone might find out your decadent little pastime, guv’ner?”
“Jonesy.” Clarice shot the woman a warning.
Randolph’s jaw twitched. “Not half as afraid as that infuriating woman should be when I get hold of her.”
Jonesy pressed further as she eyed the exquisitely large ruby ring on her finger and ignored Clarice’s cautionary look. “How do you know she wouldn’t fit in there? Perhaps there is more to Miss Goodwin than you are aware?”
“Did you encourage her to go there?” He narrowed his gaze on Clarice.
“Who am I to say she can’t come and go wherever she pleases?”
“Why the bloody hell would you condone such a thing? You know the type of people who frequent that place.”
She cocked her brow. “Indeed. And very well, don’t I, inspector?”
She’d made her point. Backing down, Randolph eased back in his chair. He heard a low chuckle come from Jonesy as Clarice took a sip of her drink.
“I had no idea that the news would affect you so adversely, or I would have chosen a more appropriate time and place.” Clarice shrugged. “However, perhaps we should consider that Jonesy is correct. Maybe Miss Goodwin is not as innocent as she appears.” She gave him a coy smile. “I’m living proof that appearances can be deceiving.” She raised a brow. “Or are you simply afraid that she might find out your secret?”
“Clarice, at this point, if I cared one blessed breath about my reputation, would I be sitting here talking to the both of you in public? Doubtful,” he snarled in retaliation.
She sighed and looked away with an air of unconcern.
“The point is…” Randolph lowered his voice. “I did recognize the note as being on Manor stationery. And frankly, my first thought was that it is Vladimir. But I cannot prove that yet, and neither can she.”
“I doubt she thinks as you do,” Clarice stated. “From what I know of Miss Goodwin, she’ll keep digging until she finds the answer she’s looking for.”
“But what is she looking for?” Had this one note prompted this mysterious quest, or did the woman really think that somehow Vladimir was related to the murders? A greater concern rose inside him. In her attempts to leave no stone unturned, would she discover his membership—one that he’d fought to accept due his father’s involvement, but had succumbed to when her realized he needed the occasional respite from the horrors of his job. Was he not like other men with the same desires and needs as anyone else?
“I assume her goal is to flush out her stalker,” Clarice responded, pulling him from his thoughts.
“One note hardly constitutes stalking now, does it? No, there is more to this, I am certain.” Randolph swiped his hand through his hair and rested his chin in his palm. “Did Wesley accompany her?”
Clarice shook her head, “I’ve not seen Wesley in days. Not since he and Jane went to Vladimir’s performance. Perhaps something has happened between them?”
He tapped his finger on the table, recalling Jane’s strange behavior that night at the theater. Wesley, in retrospect, would barely look at her. It was Randolph, in fact, who had assisted her into the carriage. He twirled his glass between his palms. “Bloody stubborn American woman,” he muttered.
Both women raised their glasses. “Aye to that.”
What a bloody nightmare. “Have you spoken to her since she went there?” he asked, not really wanting to hear the answer. The hair on the back of Randolph’s neck prickled with unease. He rubbed the dull ache at his temple.
“You’d best tell him everything, Clarice.” Jonesy tossed back her drink, swallowing the entire contents in a few short gulps. She smacked the glass on the table. “He’s not going to be pleased.”
Shit. Randolph shot Jonesy a scowl.
Clarice lifted her eyes to his. “She mentioned to me in confidence that Madam McFarland had offered her employment. Something about doing an article that would allow the public to have an improved view of the club and boost its membership.”
“That’s rubbish. That place has had the same seedy reputation for as long as I can remember,” Randolph snapped back. What in God’s name was Madam thinking? Come one, come all, and join our little soiree of deviant behavior?
Clarice shrugged. “Perhaps membership is dwindling. So, too, have the number of special escorts in the past few months. There seems to be several who’ve left abruptly, without notice. Not unusual given how many run off with their clients and never return. And frankly, you and I both know that madam is not getting any younger.”
He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes, attempting to process this information as clearly as possible without becoming mad as hell. Considering all of the positions at the manor, those most readily available were those that did not directly mingle with club members. Kitchen help and servants prepared the rooms and meals, and even then, all staff had been required to wear masks for anonymity. “At least she’ll be placed in a position where she is rarely seen by the me
mbers. That should make it easier to keep an eye on her,” he responded, scratching his brow with his thumbnail.
“How very noble of you to volunteer to keep watch over her in addition to your many other responsibilities, Inspector Mansfield.” Jonesy looked over her shoulder at the barkeep and waved at him to bring her another drink. He frowned and shook his head.
“I already made the last call,” he growled, his bushy grey brows pushing together with a frown.
Jonesy shoved her hands under her ample breasts and blatantly pushed them upward as she gave the barkeep a seductive look.
He chuckled and returned, without as much as a raised brow, to polishing the bar. “Last call’s been served.”
“Fuck you,” Jonesy muttered, and twisted back around to face Randolph and Clarice.
“Can you possibly attract more attention to yourself?” Randolph warned quietly, chancing a look at the barkeep.
“Don’t encourage her,” Clarice cautioned him. “Especially when she’s in a snit.”
He glanced at the difficult woman and pointed a finger at her. “Do and I’ll put you in the cell overnight with the other ladies. I’m sure they’d love your company.”
“Probably some that I know.” She threw a sneer at him. “By the way, Clarice is too afraid to tell you the best part of this story. True, our dear Miss Goodwin has managed a position at the Manor, but there is more to that story, isn’t there, Clarice?”
Clarice placed her hand on her forehead, as though battling a headache of her own.
Jonesy continued, appearing to savor the news. “She's to be one of madam’s special escorts.” Her grin was wicked, all but ignoring Clarice’s scathing look. “She starts this coming Thursday night.”
He looked from one woman to the other. The idea, of course, was absurd. “Come now, ladies. It’s been one bloody hell of a day. I don’t find this one bit humorous.”
Clarice turned to him. Her luminous eyes regarded him cautiously. “I’m afraid it’s true. It seems our Jane is…I surmise, quite determined.”
In the span of a heartbeat, his day sailed from bad to worse. As though he didn’t have enough to deal with, she’d blatantly ignored his instructions to leave the investigation to him. He wearily ran his hand down his face, releasing a sigh.
Hadn’t he known the first time they‘d met that she was a force to be reckoned with? She’d refused to listen to his warnings. He drummed the side of his drink, considering what more he could say, what he could do to prove to her that she had no business delving into places and situations that she knew little about.
The idea came to him like a whisper and the more it simmered in his mind, the better it sounded. Admittedly, it was an unorthodox solution—a bit sinister, even. But it would obviously take extreme measures for her to learn her limitations. She’d left him with no choice, Randolph reasoned. After all, her refusal to heed his warning could be—as he’d told her—dangerous. What better way than for her to find out for herself just how dangerous?
Thursday evenings started out with a masked social, featuring “special” champagne and opium-pipes for smoking. He’d tried it once, but it rendered him without the control he preferred in the bedroom. It had been a long time since he’d attended the Thursday night event, and perhaps he was long overdue. On their first night, new escorts were given to the highest bidder in a private auction through Madam McFarland. He’d offer plenty for one night with her newest escort—a night that she would not soon forget. He’d personally see to it that her willfulness was challenged in ways that he bet she’d never seen in her prim little world. Yes, one evening with a masked stranger would suffice, he thought. After that little experience, Madam McFarland wouldn’t be able to pay her enough to return. “Thursday night, you say?”
Both women looked at him with quizzical looks. Clarice nodded, darting a glance at Jonesy.
“Do not mention to anyone, especially to Miss Goodwin, that you’ve spoken with me,” he warned.
“What are you up to?” Clarice asked.
He smiled. “I’m going to give our Miss Goodwin a little lesson in sticking her nose in where it does not belong.”
Clarice laid her hand on his and he shot her a look. “You’ll be kind, inspector. Not too rough on the poor, unsuspecting thing?”
Randolph scoffed. “Poor thing?” he shook his head. “My intent is to make her see that she is in over her head,” he said, easing Clarice’s concern and silently confirming his intent. “Perhaps the lesson I have in mind will succeed once and for all in getting through that stubborn head of hers. With any hope, she’ll give up this absurd notion of pretending that she is a bloody detective.”
“And what will you do, pray tell if it turns out she enjoys what you have in mind?” Jonesy rolled her dark gaze to his.
Randolph tossed back the rest of his drink. He didn’t want to think about that.
Chapter Fourteen
Jane fisted her hands at her sides, her palms damp, grateful for the shot of whisky Clarice had made her drink before she left. She had said it would help to calm her frazzled nerves—nerves that would then receive a greater shock when, purely out of curiosity, she happened to ask Isabella how Jonesy and Clarice had met and befriended Inspector Randolph.
Hesitant, Isabella cleared her throat. “Clarice was working at McFarland Manor when they met.”
Jane blinked. “Yes, Clarice told me she’d worked in the kitchen and had met Jonesy there.” She held Isabella’s solemn gaze as the pieces clicked together in her brain. Clarice's admission of being fond of both male and female validated her thoughts. Her tongue adhered to the roof of her mouth, made it difficult to force the words past her lips, “You mean, Inspector Randolph…” is a member of this club?” That certainly accounted for why he was so vehement against her pursuing an investigation of Vladimir.
“Well, truthfully, it’s been quite a few years ago.” Isabella fidgeted with her blouse cuff. “He was young, impetuous, as most men that age. You know how they are—invincible, sowing their wild oats, I suppose.” She met Jane’s stunned expression with a sincere plea. “Oh, but he’s a fine, upstanding citizen now.”
A number of “upstanding citizens” were on that membership roster, Jane thought.
“I doubt very much that Inspector Mansfield now has time for such things.” Isabella continued. “He’s quite a busy and well-respected man, you know.” She paused on her way out the door. “You’ll be sure to keep the door locked up after I leave?”
Jane nodded, averting her gaze to the door handle. Jane, too, had her secrets. “Yes, ma’am.” The whisky burned in her stomach.
“Very well. Have a pleasant evening, dear.”
She had a feeling she understood now why Clarice had given her the whisky.
Decadence.
As promised, Madam had what Jane was to wear ready in the office. Under her watchful eye, Jane quickly changed and followed Madam down the hall and into the foyer. The thick, pungent odor of sweet smoke assaulted her nose. The deep, seductive music of the cello wrapped around Jane’s senses. Between the smoky interior, the flickering candelabra’s casting carnal images on the curved rotunda walls, and the soft sighs of passion and desires, Jane was lulled into a surreal fascination of what was occurring around her.
Her gaze darted from group to group, in the back of her mind an awareness that the inspector could be there. Mesmerized, she scanned the room, absorbing the decadence—open affections between men and women—some engaged in passionate kisses, others entwined in intimate embraces. Many sat together on couches, passing a long slender bottle with a pipe on the end, their faces turning heavenward as they inhaled, lost in unmitigated bliss. A man in a gold painted mask offered her a puff of his ornately tipped pipe, and Jane declined with a nod. The man simply shrugged, and drew the young woman beside him onto his lap.
Most of the women were dressed in lavish, provocative finery. There were gowns made of sheer fabric with hooped skirts freely displayed the absence of
underpinnings. Others featured tight-fitting corsets that pushed plump breasts to full view over boned bodices. Her gown, given to her when she arrived at the manor, was made of a rich, red satin. Beneath, she wore a matching corset that shaped her figure into a proverbial siren’s, and ruffled pantaloons with high-topped boots. Jane was grateful that she wore more clothing than most and lost in the array of fleshly oddities, she’d nearly forgotten about all else
“Careful, love,” a woman said crisply as she cracked her short whip above her head. Jane nearly tripped over the legs of the woman’s lover sticking out from beneath her gown. She shifted her skirts to reveal his face as she straddled his back, holding fast to a set of reins attached in his mouth.
“My apologies,” Jane muttered, picking her way through a tangled mass of writhing bodies sprawled on a bay of pillows. Jane finally found Madam again, standing near the statue in the middle of the room. She felt a brush on her shoulder and looked back to see a group of women, presumably escorts, forming a circle around her. Their glassy-eyed gazes looked her over with hunger. Some licked their lips, seductively taunting her.
A tall man with a massive build, resembling a strong man at a circus, picked Madam McFarland up and perched her like a bird on his broad shoulder. She smiled and spread her arms wide as the man carried her through the crowd. “Tonight is a very special night. We have a new escort joining us for the first time. I want you all to welcome Lizzy to our little family.”
Startled, Jane took a step back and bumped into the ring of women that had formed around her. Madam swung her gaze to Jane.
“It’s tradition, love.” She waved her hand to the other escorts. The loud tap of a walking stick against the tiled floor echoed in the room. The crowd stepped away, but all eyes were on her. The music stopped for a beat and then began again. Around the perimeter of the room, strange carnival-like masks peered at her—watching, riveted with anticipation.
One by one, the escorts greeted her in a slow, sensual dance, each in her own way. A dark-skinned beauty with mesmerizing ebony-colored eyes and hair the color of midnight brushed her fingers down Jane’s cheek. Another, dressed in a translucent white gown with nothing underneath except a hoop skirt, twirled Jane into the arms of a woman with wide brown eyes. The woman cupped Jane’s face and kissed her fully on the mouth, lingering for a moment as the applause grew around them. Jane felt her body tremble and fought her fear. A soft hand touched her shoulder and she faced a woman wearing a mask that resembled a glittery cat, her lips painted crimson. Skipping her fingertips over the creamy swells produced by Jane’s snug-fitting corset, she brazenly lowered her head, sliding her tongue between Jane’s breasts. Caught off-guard, Jane held her breath, her arms outstretched. Someone placed a flute of gold champagne in her hand. The cat woman stepped away, lifting her glass along with the other escorts. They looked at Jane, their soft chant to “drink, drink” growing louder until Jane put the glass to her lips and took a deep swallow. The applause that followed brought a smile to her lips. Her head began to feel light, her inhibitions, less. She felt a heady sense of power in letting go, in allowing herself to feel without imposing boundaries.
The Dark Seduction of Miss Jane Page 14
