A Crimson Warning

by Tasha Alexander

  Colin rubbed his forehead. “Forgive me. I’ve tried in vain to distract myself. It’s this paint.”

  “Have you learned anything new?” I asked.

  “The pattern of attacks seems to be changing. Two more victims, the Fannings and Althways, before the secrets of the previous ones—the Musgraves and Riddingtons—have been revealed.”

  “It’s early in the game to be analyzing patterns,” I said.

  “True.” He started to pace, and I followed him into our bedroom. “But if my instincts are right, this man is more calculating and vicious than I’d thought. He’s interested not just in exposing these people, but in tormenting them.”

  “By making them wait?” I asked. “It would be agony wondering what he’s uncovered.”

  “I don’t think they wonder about what he’ll expose, but when. People are keenly aware of those things they wish to hide.”

  “Do you have something you wish to hide?”

  “You can’t be asking that seriously,” he said. “If I have something that must be kept from public knowledge, I keep it private. There’s no wishing involved. As for our villain, I think the torture for his victims comes from the waiting, not the wondering. They know exactly what lies in store for them.” The clock on our mantel chimed. “Come. Meg’s right, we’ll not arrive before everyone’s called to go down to dinner if we don’t get a shift on.”

  The Fannings’ house should have done nothing but sparkle that night—between the diamonds around ladies’ necks, the garden lanterns bobbing in a perfect breeze, and the thousands of candles suspended from chandeliers in the ballroom, one wouldn’t have thought anything else possible. Social carnage was not welcome. Our hostess, certainly, was doing her best to carry on in what many would have considered a deadly situation. Not only had she brazenly refused to let the paint be cleaned off her doorstep, she’d chosen to wear a crimson dress and had every lady presented with a bright red rose as she entered the house. “Have you seen how unsuccessful other’s efforts were to remove the stuff?” she’d asked as she stood at the landing in the center of her stairs greeting us. “Far better to embrace a flash of color.”

  “She’s an impressive woman,” Colin said, escorting me the rest of the way up the grand marble staircase, moving us towards the sound of gay music. “I almost wonder if she’s proud of her secret.”

  “I think she’s terrified,” I said. Her smile had exuded a confidence belied by her eyes. “And much to be admired.”

  The room could not have been more perfect. Enormous urns overflowed with more red roses, guests devoured delicious lemon ices or drank champagne to cool down after taking vigorous turns on the dance floor. Every eligible bachelor in town was in attendance, which should have sent the mothers of debutantes into excited flutters. Instead, their heads bent together in worried conversation. Would it be wise to allow one’s daughter to enter into an engagement in the current climate and risk exposing her to untold scandal should her new fiancé wake up to red paint one morning?

  We danced and ate and drank champagne. It was like any other ball until a young man in a German officer’s uniform barreled past me, nearly knocking me into the pillar.

  “Sir, you—” Colin began to go after him, but the man didn’t pause. He stalked on, peeling off his gloves as he approached another gentleman, Harry Croft, and shoved his shoulder. Before Croft could react, the officer lifted a glove and used it to soundly smack his face.

  Croft appeared unsteady on his feet only for an instant, then stood tall and stepped closer to his attacker, his cheeks sucked in with rage.

  “You call me out?” he asked. The musicians had stopped playing and the room fell silent, all eyes focused on the altercation.

  “I do, sir, I do.” The reply came in a heavy, German accent.

  “For what?”

  “Your infamous affairs.”

  Everyone in the room was aware of Mr. Croft’s reputation. He was something of a dandy and would have made Casanova feel ashamed of his comparatively small success with the ladies. But his charm and good nature kept him in society’s good graces. After all, at least a third of its members were in love with him.

  “There’s nothing infamous about my affairs,” Croft said. “Step away from me while I’m still willing to let you save face.”

  “There will be no stepping away. I’d fight you now if I could. No decent person would forgive you for what you’ve done.”

  “Enlighten me.” Croft folded his arms. “My sins are no greater than any gentleman’s, my affairs no better or worse.”

  “I speak of your lovers, Mr. Croft.”

  If silence could become louder, it did in that moment.

  “You know to what I refer, don’t you?”

  Croft shook his head. “How dare you address me in such a manner! My personal relationships are no business of yours.”

  “Your personal relationships are insignificant to other gentlemen, perhaps. But I should think the ladies involved would feel otherwise.”

  “That’s quite enough,” Croft said.

  “What kind of man turns into rivals two such dear friends?”

  Now the eyes of the observers in the room began to dart around, and a soft murmur rippled through the crowd.

  “You will stop there.” Color drained from Croft’s face. “I accept your challenge. There’s no more to be said in the current company.”

  “I don’t agree.” The officer turned, searching the crowd around him. “Where is our inestimable hostess?”

  Mr. Fanning pushed his way to the man. “Remove yourself from my house at once.” He stood tall, his stout frame rigid with dignity, not the sort to be daunted by any controversy.

  “You should have this one ejected instead.” He glared at Croft, then raised his voice louder. “Lady Althway, how do you feel to learn the object of your affection is shared by your dearest friend?”

  “Get out now!” Mr. Fanning balled his hands into fists as his wife came to his side, her hands trembling.

  “Please, sir, please,” Mrs. Fanning said, in a voice so small only those closest to her could hear. “You’ve already done your worst.”

  “I have?” The man balked. “Where is Lady Althway? Surely neither of you can think I err in calling out this profligate?”

  “There’s some misunderstanding,” Mrs. Fanning said. “Mr. Croft would never have…”

  Now Lady Althway appeared, her face redder than the darkest of the roses, and stormed towards Mrs. Fanning. “You knew I loved him.”

  “My dear, I had no idea it was he who had so captured your imagination!” Mrs. Fanning reached for her friend’s hand but was rebuffed. Her husband looked on, growing increasingly pale. “And who’s to say he hadn’t captured mine first?”

  “What would you have me do, pull out letters to prove my claim?” Lady Althway thrust herself at Mrs. Fanning.

  Colin stepped between the two ladies. “This is hardly a conversation to be had in such a forum. Control yourselves.” He spun on his heels to grab the officer, who had turned as if to leave the room. “You, sir, are coming with me.” The man did not protest. Colin kept a tight hold on him, but paused and spoke to Mr. Fanning. “Leave this to me.”

  Our host stood, immobile, his eyes tight with pain. I heard Lord Althway’s voice booming from the back of the room, but I could not make out his words.

  “Emily,” Colin looked back at me. “Bring them.”

  I put a gentle hand on each lady’s arm. “Let’s remove you from this spectacle.” We followed him through a series of brightly colored sitting rooms into a much smaller salon furnished in the Georgian style. Lady Althway tugged her arm away from me.

  “I won’t stand for this,” she said. “I—”

  “Lady Althway, now is not the time.” Colin’s voice, simultaneously firm and soothing, was impossible to ignore. Quieted, she took a seat on a chair in the corner, as far away from Mrs. Fanning as possible. “At the moment, I want to focus on you, sir.”
/>   The officer threw his hands in the air, a lopsided grin on his face. “I thought it was a fantastic performance. I do hope you’re as pleased as I am.” The German accent had vanished in favor of a thick Northern English one.

  “Pardon?” Colin asked.

  “I was afraid for a minute I’d come on rather too strong, but the boss insisted I not hold back. Who am I to argue?” He tugged at the jagged dueling scar on his cheek, pulling it right off.

  “You’re an actor?” I asked, my mouth hanging open.

  “As you see,” he said. “But good lady, you can’t say this surprises you?”

  “Indeed I can,” I said.

  The actor laughed. “My performance must have been even better than I thought. You didn’t think the accent was too coarse?”

  Colin turned to the ladies. “Were either of you involved in the planning of this?”

  “What an outrageous suggestion!” Lady Althway snapped open her huge, painted fan and waved it with vigor in front of her face.

  “You can’t possibly think we would involve ourselves in such a scheme,” Mrs. Fanning said.

  “Who are you?” Colin asked, his attention back on the actor. “And who hired you?”

  “Timothy Blake,” he said with a bow. “Ordinarily I perform with a troupe of players based in York, but work’s been scarce of late, so I agreed to a solo performance.”

  “Who hired—”

  He didn’t let Colin ask again. “Don’t bother,” he said. “I have no details that would interest you. I received a letter from a Mr. Hopworth-Smythe, asking me to assist in the entertainments he’d been hired to organize for an upcoming party in London. I’d been told all the guests had been given parts to play, along with a handful of professional actors. That we were to stage a murder mystery of sorts and the assembled crowd would attempt to solve the crime. Rather a diverting concept, don’t you think?”

  “Who are the other actors?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “I’m afraid I haven’t the slightest idea. We weren’t to be able to identify each other—it was to add to the verisimilitude of the event.”

  “Have you ever heard of a Mr. Hopworth-Smythe, Mrs. Fanning?” I asked.

  “I can assure you I absolutely have not. We hadn’t planned any such entertainment, though I confess to finding the concept an excellent idea.”

  “You shouldn’t find it so when it destroys the happiness of your dearest friend.” Lady Althway sniffed.

  “In other circumstances, obviously.” Mrs. Fanning sat up straighter.

  “What did Hopworth-Smythe do to convince you he was legitimate?” Colin asked.

  “Paid me in advance at three times the rate I usually receive for the entire run of a play,” Mr. Blake said.

  “And you didn’t find that suspicious?” I asked.

  “Why should I?” He threw his hands in the air. “You aristocrats are wont to waste more money in a single night than I’m like to see in five lifetimes. Who am I to judge when some of the excess benefits me?”

  “How many times did you meet Hopworth-Smythe? Can you give me a description of him?” Colin asked.

  “I’m afraid not,” Mr. Blake said. “We communicated only by mail.”

  “You have his address?”

  “I was to reach him care of the Camden Town post office.”

  “Of course,” Colin said. “I’ll need to know how to get in contact with you—no post offices and don’t even consider running off. You’re not finished with this incident.” He pulled out the papers he always carried that identified him as an agent of the Crown.

  Mr. Blake nodded. “Whatever you say.” He scribbled down an address and handed it to my husband. “I’ve nothing to hide and am happy to help.”

  “That will be all for now,” Colin said. “Expect to hear from me again soon.”

  “Fair enough,” Mr. Blake said. “Must say I’m feeling a bit of a genius for having insisted on being paid in advance. Sorry to have bungled things for you ladies.” With another bow, he left the room.

  Colin put his hands on the back of a chair and leaned forward, facing Mrs. Fanning and Lady Althway. “Forgive me for having to be so direct, and for having to broach such a sensitive subject, but I’m afraid I have no option. These things Blake accused Croft of are true? You are—were—both involved with him?”

  “So it seems,” Lady Althway said. Mrs. Fanning remained silent, tears pooling in her eyes.

  “I’m sorry you’ve been so badly treated,” he said.

  There was nothing left for us to do. The ladies would have to face the unpleasant task of dealing with their husbands. Our villain had exacted another round of revenge.

  9

  While the Fannings and Althways struggled with the revelations of the previous evening, the rest of London waited, wondering when the Musgraves and Riddingtons would see their secrets exposed. Colin and I, longing for a quiet night at home away from rumor and gossip, planned an elegant dinner for ourselves. Settled into our dining room, which had been modeled on banqueting chambers found in ancient Roman villas, mosaics covering all the walls, we started with asparagus soup. Then salmon, followed by curried eggs and sweetbreads (I despised them, but my husband’s opinion was quite the opposite), lobster cutlets, then capon with ham and green peas. We skipped the game course—it seemed too hot for it to me—and prepared to move straight to sweets.

  Just as the footmen were clearing to make way for our final course, Davis entered the room, his head bowed, his expression serious. He crossed straight to my husband.

  “Sir, your presence is urgently required in the blue drawing room.”

  Colin folded his napkin and placed it on the table. I moved to follow him.

  Davis cleared his throat. Colin raised his eyebrows.

  “If I may speak, sir?” Davis asked.

  “Of course, Davis,” Colin said.

  “Madam may prefer to remain where she is.”

  I needed no further motivation. I sprung from my chair and followed my husband. Davis did not hide his displeasure, walking more stiffly than ever as he took us to the sitting room. I knew him well enough to understand he wasn’t prone to overreaction, and that the dear man was only trying to protect me. He hesitated before opening the door to the sitting room. Colin nodded at him, and with a sigh, our butler ushered us inside.

  A shaking, liveried servant jumped to his feet, nearly dropping the brandy snifter in his hand. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “Mr. Davis said it would be all right—”

  “If Davis saw it fit to install you in the sitting room and give you brandy, he must have had an excellent reason for doing so,” I said. “We never question his judgment. Do sit back down.”

  I took a chair across from him; Colin remained standing.

  “Please identify yourself,” he said.

  “I am Lord Musgrave’s valet, sir. I’ve come on his behalf … well, not precisely. He’s dead, sir, taken his own life.”

  Air flew into my lungs. The newspapers were all keeping close track of which families in town had suffered vandalism on the fronts of their homes—and equally close track of whether their secrets had yet to be revealed. Weeks had gone by since red paint marked the Musgraves, but so far, no one had discovered why they had been targeted.

  “It’s a dreadful scene, sir. Blood everywhere.”

  “Who found him?” Colin asked.

  “I did, sir.” The man looked longingly at his brandy. “He’d been in the bath rather longer than usual. I went to inquire if he needed more hot water. The door was locked, and I could raise no response from my master.”

  “How did you open the door?” I asked.

  “I’ve a key to the room,” he said.

  “Have you summoned the police?” Colin asked.

  “No, sir. Not yet. Lady Musgrave wanted you first, and asked me to fetch you. Will you come?”

  “Of course,” he said. “Emily, I’ll need your help with the lady of the house.”

  We piled i
nto the waiting carriage and made our way to the Musgraves’ house in Cadogan Place, not far from Sloane Square. Lights gleamed from every window of the façade, as if they’d been lit in an attempt to deny the grisly event that had just occurred. A dour butler threw open the door before we’d reached it. Lady Musgrave, appearing from behind him, waved her arms frantically.

  “Inside, quickly, quickly, please!” she said. “We’ve no time to lose.”

  Colin took the lead and bolted to her. “Is Lord Musgrave in need of medical attention? I was under the impression—”

  “No, no,” she said. “Nothing of the sort. But you must come upstairs at once and tell me who murdered him.” She took his arm and wrenched him forward. I followed, nearly tripping as I ran up the two flights of stairs that led to Lord Musgrave’s bedchamber.

  Lady Musgrave’s earnest pace slowed once we’d crossed the threshold of the room. “He’s through there,” she said, motioning across the room to an open door. Colin strode ahead, stopping me before I could take a single step.

  “Let me go first,” he said.

  “It’s all a terrible mistake, you see,” Lady Musgrave said to me once he’d disappeared from our sight. “His valet said he’d done a harm to himself, but that can’t possibly be true. And even if it were, imagine the scandal! It’s simply unacceptable.”

  How does one reply to such statements? I was saved from finding out by my husband’s return. “Emily? Are you up to it?”

  I nodded and went to him. We passed through Lord Musgrave’s dressing room into a small chamber containing the man’s bath. In the tub, submerged to the neck in bright red water, was the man of the house, an ugly gash slicing his jugular. I looked away.

  “Oh.” It was all I could manage.

  “You’ve seen worse,” Colin said, and I appreciated both his confidence in me and his recognition of what I’d done in the past. “I can’t identify any signs of a struggle. The instrument of his destruction is in the tub.”