AmandaQuick-Affair.txt

by Affair (lit)

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  Amanda Quick

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  His butler had a pained expression on his pinched face but that was nothing new. Lambert always looked pained. He was sixty-six years

  of age, well past the time when most men in his position retired

  with their pensions.

  The years had taken their toll. He suffered greatly from painful

  joints. His hands were gnarled and swollen and his movements had

  grown noticeably slower in the past year. "I suppose my aunt wants a full report on my new career as a

  man-of-affairs," Baxter said, resigned to the inevitable interview.

  "Lady Trengloss appears to be somewhat agitated, sit." "Show her in here, Lambert." "Aye, sit." Lambert made to remove himself and then paused. "There is something else I should mention, sit. The new house-

  keeper departed an hour ago." ,, Bloody hell." Baxter scowled at a small flaw in a glass flask. "Not another one. That makes three in the past five months." "Aye, sir." "What did this one have to complain of? There have been no

  explosions of any significance in the laboratory in weeks and I have taken care to make certain that noxious odors did not permeate the hall." "Mrs. Hardy apparently concluded that you were attempting to

  poison her, sit "' Lambert said. "Poison her?" Baxter was outraged. "Why in God's name would

  she think that? Bloody damn difficult to keep housekeepers as it is.

  The last thing I would do is poison one."

  Lambert cleared his throat. "Something about the bottles of chemicals that she found in the kitchen last evening, I believe." "Devil take it, I only put them in there because I was preparing

  an experiment that required a very large pneumatic trough. You know I always use the kitchen sink for that purpose." "Apparently the sight of the bottles disturbed her, sit." "Damnation. Well, there is nothing, for it. Take yourself off to

  the agency and find us another housekeeper. God only knows what

  we'll havc to pay this time. Each one seems to be more expensive than the last." "Aye, sir." Lambert shuffled backward a pace and winced. He pressed ii Is. hand to his lower back.

  Baxter frowned. "Rheumatism bad today, I take it?"

  "Aye, sir. "Sorry to hear that. Any luck with those new treatments you're undergoing?"

  I believe I do feel some improvement for a time after each

  session with Dr. Flatt but unfortunately the relief is quite temporary. The doctor assures me that with more treatments, the pains will steadily decrease in severity, however." "Hmm." Baxter did not ask any more questions.

  He had absolutely no faith in Dr. Flatt's treatments, which involved the use of animal magnetism or mesmerism, as it was often called. It was all quackery, so far as scientists such as himself were

  concerned. Distinguished authorities such as Benjamin Franklin from America and the French chemist Antoine Lavoisier had de-

  nounced Mesmer's work several years ago. Their opinions, however, had done nothing to stem the rising tide of practitioners who claimed to achieve amazing results using variations on Dr. Mesmer's methods.

  "Lady Trengloss, sit," Lambert reminded him. "Yes, yes, send her in. I may as well get this over with as quickly as possible." Baxter glanced at the tall clock. "I have an

  appointment with my new employer in an hour." "Employer? ls that what you call her?" Rosalind, Lady Trengloss, swept past Lambert and sailed into Baxter's laboratory. "What an odd description of the creature." "But, unfortunately, an accurate one." Baxter nodded brusquely at his aunt. "Thanks to you, madam, I seem to have secured gainful employment at last, whether I like it or not." "Do not blame me for your scheme." Rosalind removed her black and white silk bonnet and sank into a chair with theatrical

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  grace. Her striking black and silver hair was elegantly styled to

  enhance her noble features. Her dark eyes glittered with determination.

  Baxter eyed her with a combination of gruff affection and acute

  impatience. Rosalind was his late mother's younger sister. He had

  known her all of his life. She was sixty now but she retained the innate sense of elegance and dashing style that had graced both women from the cradle.

  Emma and Rosalind Claremont had taken London by storm in

  their younger days. Both had made brilliant matches. Both had found themselves widowed in their early twenties. Neither had ever

  remarried. They had reveled instead in the enormous power they had wielded as wealthy, beautiful, titled widows. Their status and

  charm had enabled them to survive scandals and gossip that would have ruined other women.

  Baxter smiled grimly as Lambert removed himself soundlessly from the laboratory. "You must admit that I am uniquely qualified to be a man-of-affairs."

  Rosalind tipped her head slightly and considered that. "In an

  odd way, you may be right. You have had a great deal of experience managing finances, have you not?" "Indeed."

  "Tell me what you discovered when you went to see Charlotte

  Arkendale yesterday." "Actually, I learned very little. I am to be told the details of my new position this afternoon. In less than an hour's time, as a matter

  of fact."

  Baxter sat down at the writing table he used to record his notes.

  Something crunched under his thigh. He saw that he had just crumpled a page of observations that he had made on a recent experi-

  ment.

  "Bloody hell." He picked up the foolscap and smoothed it carefully.

  Rosalind glanced dismissively at the mangled notes and then

  -t.-L

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  peered intently at.Baxter. "Do not keep me in suspense. What are your first impressions of Miss Arkendale?"

  -I found her to be Baxter hesitated, searching for the correct word. "Formidable." "Fiendishly clever, would you say?" "Possibly." "A deceiving, coldhearted villainess?"

  Baxter hesitated. "I must point out, madam, that you really do not have any proof of your accusations." "Bali. You will find the evidence we need soon enough." "Do not be too certain of that. I can envision Miss Arkendale in many roles." Including that of a paramour. The images came out of nowhere, searing and intense. His body reacted as though he had been plunged into a recently tumbled bed that smelled of passion and desire. Perhaps it had been a bit too long since his last liaison, he thought glumly. "But it's difficult to see her as a blackmailing murderess. "

  Rosalind glared at him. "Are you entertaining doubts about this project we have embarked upon?" "We? I seem to find myself alone in this endeavor." "Do not mince words with me. You know very well what I mean. "

  "I have told you from the start that I have doubts," Baxter said. "Grave doubts. For starters, you have absolutely no proof that Charlotte Arkendale was blackmailing Drusilla Heskett, let alone that she murdered her." "Drusilla herself confided to me one night after we had gone through a bottle of port, that she had paid Miss Arkendale a cons'derable sum. When I inquired as to why she had done such a thing) she suddenly changed the topic. I did not think much about it until after she was killed. Then I recalled how mysterious she had been about the matter. It is all too much of a coincidence, Baxter.- "Mrs. Heskett was a close friend of yours. Surely she would have told You if she was being blackmailed," Baxter said.

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  "Not necessarily. By its very nature, blackmail must touch on some extremely intimate and personal secret. It must threaten to

  reveal something the victim would not want anyone, perhaps most

  especially her closest friends, to know."

  "If Mrs. Heskett was willing to pay, why would the blackmailer murder her? Rather defeats the purpose, don't you think?" "Who knows how a blackmailer thinks?" Rosalind got to her

  feet with regal grace and started toward the door. "Perhaps Drusilla stopped the payments. I expect y
ou to discover the truth about her

  death, Baxter. I have made it my goal to see that justice is done. Keep me informed." "Hmm." "By the bye." Rosalind paused in the doorway and lowered her voice. "I really do think that you are going to have to pension off poor old Lambert. It takes him forever to answer the door these

  days. I vow, I waited on your front step for nearly ten minutes."

  "I consider his slowness in opening the door to be one of his

  greatest assets. Most people who come to call give up and go away without ever discovering that I am at home. Saves me a great deal of trouble. "

  He waited until Rosalind had left the laboratory. Then he walked slowly to the window and examined the three pots that sat

  on the sill.

  The pots were part of an ongoing experiment in agricultural chemistry. Each contained some sweet pea seeds buried in barren soil that had been laced with his most recent blend of minerals and chemicals.

  So far there was no sign of life.

  9he ticking of the study clock seemed inordinately loud. Charlotte composed herself and gazed across her desk at Baxter with what she hoped was an air of professional competence. She had been dreading this meeting all day.

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  Dreading it and yet anticipating it with an inexplicable sense of

  ,what could only be termed morbid excitement.

  "Before I give you instructions regarding your initial duties, Mr. St. Ives, I shall have to tell you something that I never found it

  necessary to reveal to Mr. Marcle."

  Baxter studied her with an expression of polite inquiry. "Indeed - "

  "I must tell you precisely how I make my living."

  Baxter took off his spectacles and began to polish the lenses with a large white handkerchief. "That would certainly be of some

  interest to your man-of-affairs, Miss Arkendale." "Yes, I suppose so. But it is a little difficult to explain." "I see."

  "Some would say my career borders on the scandalous but I feel

  it is more in the nature of a calling." "Rather like becoming a nun, would you say?" Baxter held his eyeglasses up to the light, apparently checking for smudges. "Yes." Charlotte cheered slightly. "That is an excellent analogy. You see, Mr. St. Ives, I operate a very exclusive service. I cater solely to women who have come into a bit of money. An inheritance, perhaps, or an unusually large pension from a grateful employer." "I see."

  "Respectable ladies of a certain age who find themselves alone in

  the world, possessed of an income and who are considering marriage. "

  Baxter placed his spectacles on his nose with grave precision. His alchemist's eyes gleamed. "And just what sort of services do you provide for these ladies?" "I conduct inquiries for them. Very discreet inquiries." "Inquiries into what?"

  She cleared her throat. "Into the backgrounds of the gentlemen who wish to marry them."

  He gazed at her for a long moment. "Their backgrounds?" "It is my task, sir, indeed, my calling, to assist such ladies in 42 Amanda Quick

  ascertaining that the men who express a desire to marry them are not fortune hunters, opportunists, or rakehells. I help them avoid the perils and pitfalls such women inevitably face."

  An acute silence fell on the study. Baxter stared at her. "Good God," he said eventually. Charlotte bristled. So much for hoping that he would be favorably impressed by her unique career. "I perform a valuable

  service, sit.

  "What on earth are you playing at? Surely you do not imagine yourself to be some sort of female Bow Street Runner." "Not at all. I make the sort of extremely delicate inquiries that no Runner could possibly conduct. And I am proud to say that I have been personally responsible for saving several ladies from forming disastrous connections with men who would have ruined their finances."

  "Bloody hell. I begin to see why you might require the services of a bodyguard, Miss Arkendale. You must have acquired any number of enemies in your time." "Nonsense. I conduct my business affairs with complete confidentiality. My clients are cautioned to discuss my services only with other ladies who might be in need of them." "This is astounding, Miss Arkendale. How the devil do you proceed with your work?" "In addition to dispatching my man-of-affairs to collect certain types of information, I also have the assistance of my sister and my housekeeper. "

  Baxter gazed at her, bemused. "Your housekeeper?" "Mrs. Witty is very helpful when it comes to making inquiries among servants and staff. Such people often know more about their employers than anyone else. It has all worked very well until now. Charlotte got to her feet and went to stand at the window. She contemplated the small garden. "But something dreadful has happened. "

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  "Something that makes you think that you need a bodyguard as

  well as a new man-of-affairs?" Baxter asked bluntly.

  -yes. Until recently, my clients have all been women of a certain station in life. Respectable but not wealthy. Governesses, spinsters, and widows from the gentry. But two months ago, I acquired a new Client, one who moved in Polite Circles. I was extremely excited because it meant that I might be able to extend my business to a wealthier clientele." "Bloody hell," Baxter said very softly.

  She pretended not to have heard him. There was no turning back now. She had already said too much. She must press on and hope for the best. "Her name was Mrs. Drusilla Heskett. I conducted the inquiries she requested and gave her my report. She paid me and I assumed that was the end of the matter. I hoped she would recommend me to some of her friends." "What happened?" "Last week she was found murdered in her own bedchamber. Shot dead by a housebreaker, the authorities said. All of her servants had been dismissed for the evening. I have some cause to believe that the person who killed her was one of the men whom I had investigated on her behalf." "Good God."

  She turned to face him. "I must learn the truth, sit." "Why? What business is it of yours?" "Don't you see? If the man who murdered her was one of those whom I had investigated and perhaps recommended as honest and sincere, then, in a sense, I bear part of the responsibility for her murder. I must determine the truth of the situation."

  Just what is it that makes you think the killer was one of her suitors?" Baxter asked swiftly. "I received a note from Mrs. Heskett on the very day of her death- In it she stated that she had been nearly run down twice in recent days, once on the street and once in a park. In both instances,

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  the vehicle was a black phaeton. She feared that the incidents were

  not mere accidents, but actual attempts on her life."

  "Bloody hell. " "She did not see the driver's face but she came to the logical conclusion that one of her rejected suitors was so enraged by her refusal to wed, he was trying to murder her. The next morning I learned of her death. Hardly a coincidence, Sir. I must discover the truth."

  "And you expect me to assist you in this crazed quest?" "Yes, I most certainly do." She was beginning to grow annoyed. "You agreed to accept the post and I am paying you an excellent salary, Sir. I expect you to fulfill your duties as my man-of-affairs and as a bodyguard. It all seems quite simple and straightforward

  to me.

  "About as simple and straightforward as the phlogiston theory of combustion," Baxter retorted. "I beg your pardon?" "Nothing, Miss Arkendale. I merely made a passing reference to

  that old nonsense the Germans came up with concerning the substance phlogiston. The theory was said to explain the combustion of materials. It relates to chemistry. I doubt that you are familiar

  with it."

  She raised her brows. "On the contrary, Mr. St, Ives, I am well

  aware that a few years ago Lavoisler conducted several exceedingly clever experiments that disproved the old theory of phlogiston."

  It took Baxter a moment to digest that. "You have an interest in

  chemistry, Miss Arkendale?" "No." She made a face. "But I w required to read Mr. Basil

&n
bsp; fre, Valentine's Conversations on Chemistry the schoolroom, just as is

  virtually every other young person in @ngland. Some of the information managed to stick in my brain." "I see." Baxter's gaze was inscrutable. "I take it you found Valentine's book exceedingly dull?"

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  "Chemistry is not a favorite subject of mine." She gave him an

  apologetic smile' "I have other interests."

  "I can well believe that." "Perhaps we should return to the subject of Mrs. Heskett's mur-

  der," Charlotte said grimly. "Indeed. Tell me, Miss Arkendale, just how do you propose to

  go about finding the killer?" "Mrs. Heskett rejected four men during the past month. One, a

  Mr, Charles Dill, died of a heart seizure two weeks ago, so he can be discounted as a suspect. The other three are Lords Lennox,

  Randeleigh, and Esly. I intend to interview all of them. But first we

  must Start with an examination of the scene of the crime."

  Baxter blinked owlishly. "An examination?" "I intend to search Drusilla Heskett's town house for clues."

  "You intend to do what?"

  "Really, Mr. St. Ives, you must try to pay closer attention. You

  cannot expect me to repeat everything, I wish to search the premises of Mrs. Heskett's town house. I have ascertained that the place is

  vacant. You will accompany me and make yourself useful."

  Baxter gazed at her as if she were a creature from some supernatural realm. "Bloody hell."

  17kwe

  She had read Conversations on Chemistry and was familiar with the discredited theory of phlogiston. She could drop Lavoisier's name

  into casual conversation. There were a number of excellent books in her study on a variety of other subjects that she presumably had read as well. What of it? Baxter thought. The evidence of an intel-

  lectual bent did not prove that she was not a blackmailer and a murderess.

  Any number of well-educated upper-class villains could spout scientific facts, he reminded himself. A good education did not

  indicate a pure heart and an honest soul. Morgan Judd, for ex-

  ample, had been one of the most intelligent, well-read men he had

  ever met.

  Baxter surveyed the fog-shrouded street with a sense of foreboding. The neighborhood was quiet and sedate. Eminently respectable. There were no great mansions but the houses obviously belonged to