by Amanda Quick
“I am loath to tell you this, Madeline, but the fact that you are acquainted with the use of pistols and knives and the like will be even more off-putting to many prospective husbands than your stubbornness.”
“Obviously if I am ever again in the market for a husband, I shall have to look for one who is open-minded on such matters.”
“Yes, you will, won’t you? But if he is that open-minded, I fear he will fall into the category of eccentric, and you have already made your position on eccentrics abundantly clear.” Artemas took a deep breath and frowned. “You are correct about the incense. I can smell it now.”
“Tie your cravat around your face,” she said urgently. “It will help to keep out some of the vapors.” As she spoke, she wrapped her light woolen scarf so that it covered her nose and mouth. She could still smell the pungent herbs, but the scent was not so strong now.
Artemas made a makeshift mask for himself and then went back to work. He lifted the corner of the carpet and continued to insert the point of his blade between the narrow cracks. Madeline was starting to wonder if his theory of a second exit was badly flawed, but she said nothing because she could not think of a better notion.
She stared at one of the patterns on the wall and thought it shifted slightly. She blinked and tried to clear her vision. The pattern wavered again.
“Artemas, the hallucinating effects of the herbs are beginning to take effect. We have very little time.”
Two squares in from the edge of the carpet, Artemas probed another space between two tiles.
The knife sank to the hilt.
“I think we have found our exit.” Artemas sheathed the blade.
He probed swiftly, found a niche for his fingers, and hauled upward on the edge of the stone. Madeline heard the squeak of hinges. A section of the flooring swung upward to reveal a dark passageway. Damp air wafted through the opening. It set some papers fluttering on the desk.
Artemas looked at her. “Are you ready? “
“Yes, but what about Mr. Pitney? We cannot leave him here.”
“I will carry Pitney.” He rose and thrust the lantern into her hand. “You must lead the way.”
She seized the lantern handle and plunged into the shadowy passage beneath the floor of the maze. Artemas scooped Pitney off the bloodstained carpet and slung him across one shoulder. He followed Madeline into the dank stone tunnel. He paused only long enough to pull the floor panel closed behind him.
Chapter Thirteen
The wound is clean.” Bernice finished tying the fresh bandage she had placed on Eaton Pitney’s thin shoulder. “I saw no signs of infection, sir. You are extremely fortunate.”
“You have my most profound thanks, madam.” Eaton’s rabbity features clenched in a grimace of pain, but he gave her a look of weary gratitude as he sank back onto the pillows. “I had some healing herbs in my desk drawer, which I managed to apply before I lost consciousness.”
“You were fortunate to have them available,” Madeline said from the foot of the bed.
“My study is fully stocked for just such emergencies,” Pitney said. “Extra rounds for my pistol, food, water, that sort of thing. Always knew that I might have to take refuge in my maze one day. The Strangers were bound to make their move sooner or later.”
The old man might be mad as a hatter, Artemas thought, but Pitney had been stouthearted and resourceful enough to elude whoever had shot him and chased him into that maze.
He glanced at Madeline. Speaking of stouthearted and resourceful, he thought. She appeared none the worse for the ordeal in the maze and the tunnel that had led them out of it. He felt a rush of admiration and pride.
She had bathed and changed into a pale gray muslin gown after they had returned from their venture. Her hair was once more neatly parted in the center and pinned into graceful waves on both sides of her head. Wispy little ringlets bounced in front of her ears. Had it not been for her concerned expression, one would have thought that she had done nothing more tiresome that afternoon than pay a call on an old friend.
It said a great deal about what she had been through in the past year that she could treat the day’s events so coolly.
The hidden exit in the floor had led them through an ancient, moldering stone tunnel that had eventually emerged in an abandoned warehouse. Muddied and burdened with Pitney, they had had some difficulty hailing a hackney. But in the end they had arrived home.
In the midst of hurried, incomplete explanations, Bernice had taken charge of Pitney. Under her care he had finally awakened and become aware of his surroundings. He had recognized her immediately.
“Can you tell us what happened?” Artemas said.
“I fear that I am not quite as agile as I once was,” Pitney said. “The Stranger took me by surprise. Wouldn’t have happened in the old days.”
Madeline gave a small sigh. Artemas did not blame her. Questioning Pitney was going to be difficult, he thought. The man apparently blamed everything on the illusionary beings he had invented.
Madeline looked at Pitney. “Do you know the identity of the, uh, Stranger who shot you, sir?”
“No. He had a cravat tied around his face in the shape of a mask, and he had a hat pulled down low over his eyes.”
“Can you tell us anything at all about him?” Madeline persisted. “So that we can watch for him?”
Pitney furrowed his brow. “Moved like a man in his prime. Not bothered with rheumatism or stiff joints, I can tell you. Carried a walking stick with a gold handle.”
Artemas saw Madeline’s hands clench fiercely around the bedpost.
“A walking stick?” she repeated cautiously.
“Indeed. Remember thinking it rather odd. Not the kind of thing a Vanza-trained man would carry with him in that sort of situation.” Pitney paused. “On the other hand, he had to approach the house from the street and no doubt he wished to effect a good disguise. A walking stick was appropriate to the rest of his attire, I suppose. Still, it struck me as unusual.”
Madeline exchanged a glance with Artemas. Then she turned back to Pitney. “Can you tell us anything else about him, sir?”
“Don’t think so. Didn’t recognize his voice and I’ve got a good ear for voices. As I said, he was a Stranger.”
Artemas took a step closer to the bed. “He spoke to you? What did he say, man?”
Pitney’s eyes widened in alarm at the sharp tone of the questions. Madeline shot Artemas a warning frown, shook her head once, very slightly, and turned back to Eaton with a soothing smile.
“Mr. Hunt is quite eager to identify this particular Stranger, sir. There is no telling what he might have done to all of us if he had succeeded in rendering us unconscious with his incense. The smallest clue might help us find him.”
Pitney nodded soberly. “Well, as to his exact words, I can’t recall precisely. Something about leading him to my secrets. Demanded the key to my desk or some such nonsense. Naturally, I knew immediately what he was after.”
“What? “ Artemas asked.
“Why, my notes, of course.” Pitney peered suspiciously toward the door as if to make certain no one was eavesdropping in the hall. “Been working on them for years. Getting very close to the secrets, and they know it.”
“Secrets?” Artemas glanced at Madeline. “Are you by any chance talking about the Vanzagarian Book of Secrets? The volume that was rumored to have been stolen from the Garden Temples last year? “
“No, no, no.” Pitney’s brows bristled in an expression of acute disgust. “The Book of Secrets is naught but a collection of ancient recipes for alchemical elixirs and potions. Complete rubbish. My researches go to the very heart of Vanza. I seek the great scientific secrets that the ancients discovered and which have been lost for centuries.”
Artemas managed not to groan aloud. Questioning the man was hopeless.
Pitney looked at Madeline. “Pity about your marriage, my dear. I must admit I was quite relieved to hear that Deveridge had died in that
fire. Excellent solution to a most unfortunate problem.”
Artemas frowned. “Did you know Renwick Deveridge?”
“Never met the man, but not long before his death I began hearing certain rumors.” Pitney nodded twice. “I have little doubt but that the man was a Stranger. They are very good at disguise, you know.”
Artemas curbed his impatience with an effort of will. “What rumors did you hear, sir?”
Pitney glanced at Madeline. “Shortly before your father died, he sent word to some of his oldest acquaintances warning us that, if Deveridge came around asking questions about the ancient Vanza texts, we ought not to be taken in by his son-in-law’s apparent charm. Knew right off Reed had discovered that he’d wed his daughter to a Stranger.”
Artemas hesitated and then decided to take the plunge. “Linslade thinks that Deveridge’s ghost paid him a visit in his library the other night.”
Pitney snorted. “Bah, Linslade is forever talking to ghosts. Man’s a crackbrain. Everyone knows it.”
Artemas wondered if madness was any easier to recognize in others if you were yourself a candidate for Bedlam. “Do you think it’s possible that Deveridge survived the fire and has come back in the, er, service of the Strangers to look for ancient secrets of Vanza?”
Pitney grunted. “Doubt it. Madeline here is her father’s daughter. The lady is no fool.”
“What is your point?” Artemas asked.
Pitney smiled benignly at Madeline. “Let’s just say that I feel certain she would have had the great good sense to make sure that Deveridge was very dead before the fire consumed the house. Isn’t that right, my dear?”
An expression of shock and dismay lit Madeline’s eyes. “Really, sir, you surprise me. I would never have guessed that you gave heed to the dreadful gossip that maintains I murdered my husband.”
Bernice made a brisk, disapproving sound. “Good heavens, Pitney, how on earth could you possibly believe such idle chatter?”
“Indeed, nothing but scandal-broth of the worst sort.” Pitney winked broadly at Artemas. “Never pay any attention to that sort of talk myself. What about you, sir?”
Artemas realized that Madeline was watching him with an anxious expression. He thought about the endless flow of rumors and snippets of information that arrived on his desk every morning, thanks to Zachary’s Eyes and Ears.
“I find common gossip to be extremely boring,” he said.
He was rewarded with the look of relief that flashed across Madeline’s face.
He had told the truth, he assured himself silently. Only uncommon gossip was of interest to him.
———
Henry Leggett closed his notebook and prepared to take his leave. “It sounds as if the two of you had quite an adventure.”
“That is certainly one way to describe it,” Artemas said.
“Eaton Pitney is a very lucky man. He could easily have perished from his wound, even though he escaped the intruder.”
“Pitney is tough.”
“True. Nevertheless, it was a near thing. And if it had not been for her ...” Henry paused. “Well, I must say, she is certainly a fine figure of a woman.”
Artemas poured himself another cup of coffee and carried it to the window. He looked out into the garden and summoned up an image of Madeline. It was an easy task.
“Yes,” he said. “Very fine.”
“And possessed of a most impressive intellect.”
“Indeed.”
“A strong-minded woman, too. In fact, I found her conversation quite stimulating.”
“Yes, she can be very . . . stimulating.”
“Had a long chat with her today. I must say, a man doesn’t encounter that sort of female very often.”
“Very true.”
Henry started toward the door. “I’ll be off now. I regret that I have as yet been unable to turn up any further information on Renwick Deveridge, but I shall continue to make inquiries. I believe I shall go to some shops that make unusual walking sticks this afternoon. Perhaps I shall learn something about this gold-headed stick your villain carries.”
“Thank you, Henry. If you learn anything at all, send word at once.”
“Yes, of course.” Henry opened the door.
Artemas turned slightly. “Henry? “
“Yes?”
“I am pleased to hear that you have begun to see Mrs. Deveridge in a more positive light. I know that you had some doubts about her because of the unfortunate rumors.”
Henry gazed at him quite blankly for a few seconds. Then his expression cleared. “I was not speaking of Mrs. Deveridge. I was referring to her aunt, Miss Reed.”
He went out the door and closed it firmly behind himself.
———
Artemas was still at work at his desk an hour later when Bernice entered the library. He took note of the resolute look in her eyes as he rose politely to greet her.
“Is there something I can do for you, madam?”
“Yes, I wish to speak with you on a somewhat delicate matter.”
Artemas stifled a groan. “Please be seated.”
She sat down on the other side of the desk and fixed him with a determined expression. “I’m sure you know what this is about, sir.”
Instinctively he looked for a way to avoid a conversation that showed every indication of being quite unpleasant. He glanced at the door. “Where is Madeline?”
“Upstairs with Mr. Pitney. I believe she is seeking his opinion concerning an odd little book that was sent to her recently from one of Winton’s old colleagues in Spain.”
So much for hoping for rescue from that quarter.
“I see.” Artemas sat down. “Speaking of Pitney, I must tell you that I am most impressed with your medical skills, Miss Reed. Madeline is right, you are extremely adept with herbs.”
“Thank you. Several years ago Winton brought back some volumes of notes on the herbs and plants native to the Isle of Vanzagara. I have devoted a great deal of study to the subject. But that is not what I wish to discuss with you today.”
“I feared as much.” He picked up the watch fob seal on his desk and fingered it absently. “This is about Madeline, is it not?”
“Yes.”
He studied the engraving on the seal for a few seconds. Then he looked up. “You are concerned about my intentions.”
Bernice raised her brows. “You go straight to the heart of the matter, sir.”
“I have spent a great deal of time pondering the subject myself.”
Anger glinted in Bernice’s vivid blue eyes. “I trust that is the case. After all, when a gentleman seduces a lady—”
He stilled. “She told you that I seduced her?”
Bernice brushed the question aside with a short, crisp movement of her hand. “There was no need. I knew something had happened as soon as I saw the pair of you together this morning at breakfast. I am well aware that some gentlemen regard widows as fair game, but I confess, sir, it never occurred to me that you would use my niece in such a way. You must know that in spite of her status, she has had very little experience of men.”
“I am aware of that,” he said through set teeth.
She gave him a very pointed look. “No doubt.”
“Hold one moment here, madam.” Artemas tossed aside the seal and sat forward. He folded his hands on the desk. “I am not the one you should be pressing so strongly. It is your niece who refuses to take a properly serious view of the situation that now exists. I tried to discuss the matter with her this very afternoon before we went into Pitney’s house, and she would have none of it.”
“If your intentions are honorable, it is your duty to take the lead.”
“My intentions?” Exasperated, he glared at her. “She is the one who claims nothing has changed because of what occurred between us. She took great pains to point that out.”
“Rubbish, everything has changed. The two of you are involved in an affair.”
“She maintains that
doesn’t alter the case. She feels that she is still the Wicked Widow in the eyes of the world today, just as she was yesterday.”
“Yes, yes, she fed me that nonsense, too, but it is ridiculous. In my family we do not concern ourselves with the world’s opinion. We pay attention to the facts.” Bernice gave him a grim look. “And the plain fact here, sir, is that yesterday my niece was an innocent young woman. Today she is not so innocent and that is your fault entirely.”
“I suggest you tell her that, Miss Reed. She certainly will not listen to me on the subject.” He narrowed his eyes. “In fact, it is beginning to appear to me that she is using me for her own ends.”
Bernice’s eyes widened. “Using you?”
“Precisely. To find that damned ghost who is plaguing her. She treats me like an employee, not a lover.”
“Oh, I see what you mean.” Bernice pursed her lips. “Yes, there is the matter of Renwick’s ghost, isn’t there?”
He waited for a moment but Bernice did not attempt to disabuse him of his conclusion. He got to his feet and stalked to the window. “I do not think she will acknowledge any warm feelings for me.”
“Have you made inquiries in that direction?”
“There was no need to ask a direct question,” he said quietly. “Your niece has made it plain that she is deeply wary of any gentleman connected to Vanza. There is no getting around the fact that I am Vanza.”
There was a short, taut silence. After a moment he turned and looked at Bernice. He was surprised to see that she was studying him with a meditative air. She started to tap one finger on the arm of the chair.
He silently ground his teeth.
“I believe you do not entirely comprehend the situation, sir,” Bernice said eventually.
“Indeed? And just what the bloody hell do I fail to comprehend, madam? “
“It is not the gentlemen of Vanza who worry Madeline.”
“On the contrary, she takes every opportunity to point out the shortcomings of those who are connected with the philosophy. As far as she is concerned, men of the Vanzagarian Society are, at best, eccentric crackpots such as Linslade and Pitney, and at worst, dangerous villains.”
