Wicked Widow

by Amanda Quick

  “You own the Dream Pavilions. And you are Vanza. Between the two, I suspect that you have connections in places I do not.”

  He considered her for a long while. “Are you implying that I am acquainted with members of the criminal class, madam? “

  “I would not presume to guess the extent, let alone the nature, of your web of associates.”

  The scorn in her voice was particularly interesting, coming as it did on top of her unsettling knowledge concerning his very private business affairs. One thing was certain: He could not get out of the carriage and walk away at this juncture. Her knowledge of his ownership of the Pavilions was, on its own, more than enough to wreak havoc with his carefully laid plans.

  He was no longer amused by his own curiosity and anticipation. It was imperative that he discover not only how much Madeline Deveridge knew, but how she had come to learn such carefully concealed facts.

  He lounged in the corner of the black velvet seat and studied her veiled features.

  “Very well, Mrs. Deveridge,” he said. “I will do what I can to help you recover your missing maid. But do not blame me if it transpires that young Nellie does not wish to be found.”

  She reached out to lift a corner of the window curtain and peered into the fogbound street. “I assure you, she will want to be rescued.”

  His attention was caught and briefly held by the graceful, gloved hand that grasped the edge of the curtain. He was unwillingly fascinated by the delicate curve of wrist and palm. He caught the faint, tantalizing scent of some flowery herbs she must have used in her bathwater. With an effort he brought his attention back to the more pressing issue.

  “Regardless of how this matter is concluded, madam, I had better warn you that when it is finished, I will want some answers of my own.”

  She turned her head quite sharply to stare at him. “Answers? What sort of answers? “

  “Do not mistake me, Mrs. Deveridge. I am extremely impressed with the quantity and quality of the information you possess. Your sources must be excellent. But I fear you know a bit too much about me and my affairs.”

  ———

  It had been a desperate gamble, but she had won. She was face-to-face with the mysterious Dream Merchant, the secret owner of London ‘s most exotic pleasure garden. Madeline was well aware that she had taken a great risk by letting him know that she knew his identity. He had good reason to be concerned, she thought. He moved in high circles in the Polite World. He was on the guest list of every important hostess of the ton, and he was a member of all the best clubs. But even his fortune would not protect him from the social disaster that would ensue if Society discovered that it had admitted to its most exclusive ranks a gentleman who had gone into trade.

  She had to acknowledge that he had carried off an audacious performance. Indeed, Hunt had crafted a role for himself that was worthy of the great Edmund Kean. He had successfully managed to keep his identity as the Dream Merchant a secret. No one thought to question the source of his wealth. He was a gentleman, after all. Gentlemen did not discuss such matters unless it became obvious that a man had run out of money altogether, in which case he became the subject of considerable scorn and a great deal of vicious gossip. More than one man had put a pistol to his head rather than face the scandal of financial ruin.

  There was no getting around it. She had virtually blackmailed Hunt into helping her tonight, but she’d had no other choice. There would certainly be a price to pay. Artemas Hunt was a Vanza master, one of the most skilled gentlemen who had ever studied the arcane arts. Such men tended to be extremely secretive by nature.

  Hunt had gone to great lengths to hide his Vanza past—a very ominous move indeed. Unlike his ownership of the Dream Pavilions, a membership in the Vanzagarian Society would do him no harm in social circles. Only gentlemen studied Vanza, after all. Yet he was intent on cloaking himself in mystery. That did not bode well.

  In her experience the majority of the members of the Vanzagarian Society were harmless crackpots. Others were no worse than enthusiastic eccentrics. A few were quite mad, however. And some were truly dangerous. Artemas Hunt, she began to believe, might well be in that last category. When this night’s business was finished, she could find herself facing an entirely new host of problems.

  As if she did not already have enough to keep her occupied. On the other hand, given her inability to sleep through the night lately, she might as well keep busy, she thought glumly.

  A shiver went through her. She realized that she was very conscious of the manner in which Hunt seemed to occupy a great deal of the interior of the small carriage. In overall size he was not as large as her coachman, Latimer, but there was an impressive breadth to his shoulders and a dangerously languid grace about him that disturbed her senses in some peculiar manner she could not explain. The watchful intelligence in his eyes only served to heighten the unsettling sensation.

  She realized that in spite of all that she knew about him, she was fascinated by him.

  She wrapped her cloak more tightly around herself. Don’t be a fool, she thought. The last thing she had ever wanted to do was become involved with another member of the Vanzagarian Society.

  But it was too late to change her mind. She had made her decision. Now she must follow through on her scheme. Nellie’s very life might depend upon this bold stroke.

  The carriage clattered to a stop, shaking her out of her uneasy thoughts. Artemas reached out and turned down the carriage lamp. Then he grasped the curtain and pulled it aside. She watched, unwillingly riveted by the controlled power of his movements as he looked out into the night.

  “Well, madam, we have arrived at the west gate. As you can see, it is quite busy, even at this hour. I cannot believe any young girl could be spirited off in a carriage in front of so many people. Not unless she wished to be carried away.”

  Madeline leaned forward to examine the scene. The grounds were lit with a multitude of colorful lamps. The low price of a ticket made it possible for people from all walks of life to purchase an evening’s entertainment inside the Dream Pavilions. Ladies and gentlemen, members of the country gentry, shopkeepers, apprentices, maids, footmen, dandies, military officers, rakes, and rogues—all came and went through the brightly illuminated gates.

  Hunt had a point, she thought. There were any number of people and vehicles in the vicinity. It would have been difficult for a woman to be dragged forcibly into a carriage without someone taking notice.

  “The kidnapping did not take place directly in front of the gate,” Madeline said. “ Alice told me that she and Nellie were standing at the entrance to a nearby lane waiting for the carriage I sent to fetch them when the ruffians appeared.” She studied the dark entrance to a narrow street. “She must have meant that corner over there where those young boys are loitering about.”

  “Hmm.”

  His skepticism was palpable. Madeline glanced at him, alarmed. If he did not take the matter seriously, they would achieve nothing tonight. She knew that time was running out. “Sir, we must hurry. If we do not move swiftly, Nellie will disappear into the stews. It will be impossible to find her.”

  Artemas allowed the curtain to fall back into place over the window. His hand closed on the door handle. “Remain here. I shall return in a few minutes.”

  She sat forward quickly. “Where are you going?”

  “Calm yourself, Mrs. Deveridge. I have no intention of abandoning the quest. I shall return after I have made a few inquiries.”

  He vaulted lightly down from the carriage and shut the door before she could demand further details. Irritated and dismayed by the manner in which he had suddenly taken charge, she watched him walk toward the entrance to the dark lane.

  She saw him make a few deft adjustments to his greatcoat and hat and was astonished at the result. Within a few steps he had completely altered his appearance.

  Although he no longer looked like a gentleman who had just come from his club, he still moved with a fluid
self-confidence that she recognized immediately. It was so very similar to the way Renwick had carried himself that it sent a shudder through her. She would forever associate that sleek, prowling stride with skilled practitioners of the fighting arts of Vanza. She wondered again if she had made a grave mistake.

  Stop it, she scolded herself. You knew what you were about tonight when you sent the message into his club. You wanted his assistance and now, for better or worse, you have got it.

  On the positive side, in terms of his physical appearance, Hunt bore no resemblance at all to her dead husband. For some reason she found that fact oddly reassuring. With his blue eyes, pale hair, and romantically handsome features, Renwick had mocked the golden-haired angels in the paintings of the great artists.

  Hunt, on the other hand, could have posed for the devil himself.

  It was not just his near-black hair, green eyes, and stark, ascetic face that gave the impression of dark, unplumbed depths. It was the cold, knowing expression in his gaze that sent icy little frissons along her nerves. This was a man who had explored the outer reaches of hell. Unlike Renwick, who charmed everyone who came near him with a sorcerer’s ease, Hunt looked every bit as dangerous as he no doubt was.

  As she watched, he disappeared into the waves of shadow that lapped at the island of bright lights that was the Dream Pavilions.

  Latimer climbed down from the box. He appeared at the window, his broad face creased with anxiety.

  “I don’t like this, ma’am,” he said. “Should have gone to Bow Street to find a runner instead.”

  “You may be right, but it is too late to try that approach now. I have committed us to this path. I can only hope—” She broke off as Hunt materialized behind Latimer. “Oh, there you are, sir. We were beginning to worry.”

  “This is Short John.” Artemas indicated a thin, wiry, unkempt lad of no more than ten or eleven years. “He will accompany us.”

  Madeline frowned at Short John. “It’s quite late. Shouldn’t you be in bed, young man?”

  Short John’s head came up in an unmistakable gesture of deeply offended pride. He spit quite expertly on the pavement. “I’m not in that line o’ work, ma’am. I’m in a respectable trade, I am.”

  Madeline stared at him. “I beg your pardon? What do you sell?”

  “Information,” Short John said cheerfully. “I’m one of Zachary’s Eyes and Ears.”

  “Who is Zachary?”

  “Zachary works for me,” Artemas said, cutting short what would obviously have proved to be an involved explanation. “Short John, allow me to present Mrs. Deveridge.”

  Short John grinned, jerked off his cap, and gave Madeline a surprisingly graceful bow. “At yer service, ma’am.”

  Madeline inclined her head in response. “It is a pleasure, Short John. I hope you can help us.”

  “I’ll do me best, ma’am.”

  “Enough, we cannot waste any more time.” Artemas glanced at Latimer as he reached for the handle of the carriage door. “Hurry, man. Short John here will guide you. We are going to a tavern in Blister Lane . The Yellow-Eyed Dog. Do you know it?”

  “Not the tavern, sir, but I know Blister Lane .” Larimer’s face darkened. “Is that where the villains took my Nellie?”

  “So Short John tells me. He will ride with you on the box.” Artemas opened the door and glided into the carriage. “Let us be off.”

  Latimer bounded back onto his seat. Short John scrambled up behind him. The carriage was in motion before Artemas got the door closed.

  “Your man is certainly anxious to find Nellie,” he observed as he took his seat.

  “Latimer and Nellie are sweethearts,” Madeline explained. “They intend to wed soon.” She tried to read his face. “How did you learn that Nellie had been taken to this tavern?”

  “Short John saw the entire event.”

  She stared at him, astonished. “Why on earth didn’t he report the crime?”

  “As he told you, he’s a man of business. He can’t afford to give away his stock-in-trade. He was waiting for Zachary to make his usual rounds to collect information, which would, in turn, have been turned over to me in the morning. But I showed up tonight instead, so the boy sold his wares to me. He knows that I can be trusted to give Zachary his usual fee.”

  “Good heavens, sir, are you telling me that you employ an entire network of informants such as Short John?”

  He shrugged. “I pay them much higher wages than the receivers to whom most of them used to sell the odd stolen watch or candlestick. And when Zachary and his Eyes and Ears deal with me, they do not risk being clapped into prison as they did when they were employed in their former careers.”

  “I don’t understand. Why would you pay for the sort of rumors and gossip a gang of young ruffians might collect on the streets?”

  “You’d be amazed at what one can learn from such sources.”

  She sniffed delicately. “I do not doubt that the information would indeed be quite astounding. But why would a gentleman in your position want to know any of it?”

  He said nothing. He just looked at her. His eyes gleamed with humorless amusement as he withdrew into some dark place within himself.

  What had she expected? she wondered. She should have guessed that he would be a thorough-going eccentric.

  She cleared her throat. “No offense, sir. It is just that it all sounds somewhat, uh, unusual.”

  “So very arcane, complex, and secretive, do you mean?” Artemas’s voice was far too polite. “So very Vanza?”

  Best to change the subject, Madeline thought. “Where is this Zachary person tonight?”

  “He is a young man of a certain age,” Artemas said dryly. “He is out courting his young lady this evening. She works in a milliner’s shop. This is her night off. He will be sorry to learn that he missed the adventure.”

  “Well, at least we know what happened. I told you Nellie did not run off with a man.”

  “So you did. Are you always so quick to remind people when you have the right of the matter? “

  “I cannot be bothered to beat about the bush, sir. Not when it comes to something as important as an innocent young woman’s safety.” She frowned as a thought struck her. “How did Short John learn the location where Nellie was taken?”

  “He followed the carriage on foot. He told me it was not difficult because the traffic was moving so slowly on account of the fog.” Artemas smiled grimly. “Short John is a bright lad. He knew that a young woman being carried off near one of the entrances to the Pavilions was just the sort of tidbit for which I would pay very well.”

  “I should think that you would indeed want to be aware of such criminal activity taking place in the vicinity of your place of business. After all, as the proprietor of the Pavilions you do have a certain responsibility.”

  “Quite right.” Artemas seemed to withdraw even deeper into the shadows. “Can’t have that sort of thing going on in the neighborhood. Bad for business.”

  Chapter Two

  The thick glass panes in the windows of the Yellow-Eyed Dog glowed with an evil light. The fire on the hearth created menacing shadows that lurched and swayed like so many drunken ghosts.

  The inhabitants were no doubt drunk, Artemas thought, but they were certainly not harmless phantoms. Most were likely armed. The Yellow-Eyed Dog was a gathering place for some of the roughest elements of the stews.

  Madeline studied the scene intently through the carriage window. “Luckily, I thought to bring along my pistol.”

  He managed not to groan aloud. He had been in her company for no more than an hour, but he already knew the lady well enough not to be startled by that piece of news.

  “You will be good enough to keep it in your reticule,” he said very firmly. “I prefer not to resort to pistols if they can be avoided. They tend to precipitate untidy messes.”

  “I am well aware of that,” she said.

  He recalled the rumors he had heard concerning the demis
e of her husband. “Yes, I imagine you are.”

  “Nevertheless,” Madeline continued, “snatching a young woman off the street is hardly a tidy crime, sir. I suspect it will not have a tidy solution.”

  He set his jaw. “If your Nellie is inside the Dog, I should be able to retrieve her without the use of a pistol.”

  Madeline still looked doubtful. “I don’t think that will be possible, Mr. Hunt. The patrons appear to be a rough lot.”

  “All the more reason to avoid loud noises that would draw their attention.” He fixed her with a meaningful look. “My plan will work unless you fail to follow instructions, madam.”

  “I have agreed to abide by your scheme, and I will do so.” She paused delicately. “Unless, of course, something goes awry.”

  He would have to be content with that weak promise, he thought. The Wicked Widow was obviously accustomed to giving orders, not taking them. “Very well, let us be about the business. You understand your role?”

  “Do not concern yourself, sir. Short John and I will have the carriage waiting at the mouth of the alley.”

  “See that you do. I will be more than a little annoyed if I come out the back door with Nellie and see no handy means of leaving the vicinity.” Artemas tossed his hat down onto the seat and got out of the cab.

  Latimer turned the ribbons over to Short John and climbed down from the box to join Artemas. He looked even larger standing on the street than he had huddled on the driver’s box. The coachman’s massive shoulders blotted out much of the glow of the single carriage lamp.

  Artemas remembered his early impression of Larimer. More guard than coachman.

  “I’ve got me pistol, sir,” Latimer assured him.

  “Do you and your employer always go about armed to the teeth?”

  Latimer appeared surprised by the question. “Aye, sir.”

  Artemas shook his head. “And she thinks me eccentric. Never mind, are you ready? “

  “Aye, sir.” Latimer glowered at the windows of the Yellow-Eyed Dog. “ ‘Od’s teeth, if they’ve harmed my Nellie, I’ll make every last one of’em pay.”