“As it is, I imagine the earl will have a few things to say in his son’s defense,” Milo said.
“Perhaps,” Inspector Jones replied. “Or perhaps the earl already knows what his son is capable of.”
“Their confession should certainly help,” Milo said. “Though, when Amory told me her idea, I wasn’t sure you’d go along with it. I didn’t take you for much of a theatre aficionado.”
“We all have our little secrets, Mr. Ames,” Inspector Jones said. And with that he gave a little bow and exited stage left.
“Shall we go, darling?” Milo asked.
“Yes. Please,” I said. I couldn’t wait to be out of the theatre. There was something so very surreal about standing on this stage having witnessed what we just had.
We made our way out of the theatre and I took a relieved breath of the fresh morning air. The sunshine felt good on my face after the artificial glow of the stage lights.
“I hope this sets your mind at ease, darling,” Milo said.
“At ease?” I asked incredulously. “Hardly.”
“About marriage, I mean.”
I turned to look at him. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“You’ve been fretting about marriage as an institution, worrying that if a couple like Gerard and Georgina Holloway couldn’t make a marriage work, what hope had the rest of us mere mortals?”
He was right, of course. I had always thought their marriage the highest standard. What a horrible disillusionment this had been.
“Their love always seemed so perfect,” I said.
“I daresay no marriage is built on perfect love,” Milo replied. “But an imperfect love with the perfect person is the sort of thing that makes life worthwhile.”
I looked up at him. “Yes,” I said softly. “I think you’re right.”
He leaned to brush a kiss across my lips, and then his arm slipped around me as we walked toward our car.
29
I MET BALTHAZAR LEBEAU the next day for tea. It had been, he said, the only payment he asked in exchange for delivering the performance of his career. Inspector Jones had not allowed him to stay for the denouement, and so he was very anxious for the details.
As I sat at the table waiting for him, I marveled at how everything had turned out. It was all so horrible that I sometimes found myself wondering if it was real. The newspapers had been full of the story, and, of course, Milo and I had featured prominently, word of our involvement having somehow made its way to the press.
My mother had telephoned to inform me that, though she approved of none of it, she was glad the Holloways had been apprehended. Her final words had given me hope that she might reconcile herself to my “vulgar hobbies,” as she had once called them. “I know we have likely not seen the last of this, and I am becoming resigned to it. But do be careful. And if you find yourself stuck again, dear, remember that mothers are good for advice.”
My attention was called back to the present as Balthazar Lebeau made his appearance. He stopped in the doorway of the tearoom, his broad shoulders filling up most of the frame. I had the impression that he was a man who always liked to make an entrance wherever he went. Indeed, I noticed that there were several admiring glances in his direction, and the ladies at more than one table leaned to whisper to one another about the actor’s arrival.
I thought he looked a bit younger today, somehow, a bit more carefree.
He caught sight of me at my table and made his way to me, bowing over my hand as I extended it to him. “You’re looking lovely this afternoon, Mrs. Ames. Of course, you always look lovely.”
“Thank you.”
“I am delighted to have the opportunity to see more of you,” he said, settling into the seat across from me. “I am not much of a tea drinker, mind you. I prefer my libations a bit stronger. But for the pleasure of your company, I shall drink the juice from as many leaves as you see fit to command me.”
I laughed. “I shall not command you to drink anything,” I said. “But I hear the cakes here are rather excellent.”
“Then cake it shall be.”
“I just wanted to thank you for taking part in our little performance yesterday,” I said, serving him a slice of Madeira cake. “If you had not been willing to act the part, I don’t think they would have felt the need to confess.”
“It was my pleasure.”
I related to him the details of what occurred when he left, and he shook his head. “I have always disliked Holloway. It is gratifying to see that my feelings were justified.”
There were a great many people I had not particularly cared for that I would not care to learn were murderers, but I would not argue the point.
“Of course, the most important thing is justice for my poor niece.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss, Mr. Lebeau.”
“I cared a great deal for my sister,” he said, allowing his real feelings to show on his face for just a moment. “When I found Flora and Freddy, it was as though I had been given a chance to make things right. Flora was a headstrong girl, wanted nothing to do with me or my help at first, but I admired her for it. The Lebeaus have always been headstrong. Headstrong and talented.”
“She was a wonderful actress,” I said. “She would have done your family proud.”
He nodded. “I only wish we might have set things right before she died.”
“Freddy Bell told me that she had recently told him that family is the most important thing. Perhaps she was coming around.”
“I hope so.” He paused, seeming to remember something. “That night during the performance, there was a moment where Durant attempts to embrace her and she pushes away. But Flora didn’t do it the way we had rehearsed. Instead of shoving me back, she held on to me for just a moment. Perhaps it was her way of saying that she did not resent me as much as she once did.”
That must have been the moment Mr. Holloway had argued with her about, the part of the scene that she had done differently from how she had at the rehearsals. Had that impulsive deviation from the script been Flora’s way of breaking through the barrier that existed between herself and her uncle? I liked to think so. Flora Bell had been strong-willed, but I believed that eventually she would have accepted Balthazar Lebeau as a member of her family and perhaps even a theatrical mentor. It was tragic they would never have the chance to really get to know each other, but that did not mean all was lost.
“There’s still a chance for you to do right by your sister, you know,” I said. “Freddy Bell needs someone to look after him.”
Mr. Lebeau smiled. “Yes, that same thought occurred to me. I always meant to reveal myself to him when the time was right.”
“The time may be right now,” I suggested. “He’s grieving and in need of guidance.”
“I have never been what one might call a role model, Mrs. Ames. But I intend to set the young man to rights if at all possible. He won’t go by the wayside.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” I said, immeasurably relieved that Freddy Bell would no longer be alone in the world.
Mr. Lebeau lifted his cup of tea. “To Flora.”
“To Flora,” I said.
He took a sip. “Do you know, this is not half bad.”
I laughed.
“I’m glad you asked me to tea.” His eyes met mine and he reached out on the table to clasp my hand, dismissing the sentimental feelings of a moment ago. “Just the two of us.”
“I’m afraid I forgot to mention that there will be one more person joining us,” I said, gently pulling my hand from his grasp.
An expression of resignation crossed his features. “Your husband?”
I suppressed a laugh. “No, a lady. One you know.”
I did not think it was my imagination that a sudden wariness crossed his features.
“And what lady might that be?”
I nodded in the direction of the doorway. “See for yourself.”
He turned as Yvonne Roland entered the room, respl
endent in a gown of crimson velvet with flowing sleeves and a train. She caught sight of us, and I couldn’t help but feel the scene I was about to witness would be greater than anything I would see on the stage.
Balthazar Lebeau rose from his seat as she swept toward him, the long train of her gown flowing behind her.
“Balty,” she said, moving, her jewel-bedecked hands outstretched.
I was watching his face carefully, wondering what his reaction would be to seeing her after all this time. To my relief, he appeared delighted.
“Yvonne,” he said, moving forward to clutch her hands in his. He leaned forward, brushing kisses across both of her cheeks. “My darling, you haven’t aged a day.”
She gave a delighted laugh, still clutching his hands. “What a rogue you are, Balty. I have certainly aged a good deal since we’ve seen each other last.”
“To me, you will always be as fresh and lovely as a rose.”
“What a wretched man you are, going all these years without so much as a word. You know perfectly well I should have liked to be your friend, if nothing else.”
The corner of his mouth tipped up. “I have always hoped to catch you between husbands, but you don’t give a man much time to act.”
She laughed. “Naughty man. You must tell me what you have been doing all these years. I’m sure I shall be scandalized.”
He pulled out a chair for her, and she sat.
I realized that perhaps I should not linger, as this was a private exchange, but I found it difficult to pull myself away. I had to admit, they made a handsome pair. Mrs. Roland, despite her ostentatious—and occasionally garish—ensembles, was a rather pretty woman. Somehow her colorful flashiness was balanced by Mr. Lebeau’s rugged dark good looks. Against all odds, it almost seemed as though their mutual flamboyance cancelled each other’s out.
The romantic in me felt as though it would be lovely if their love could be rekindled. If not, at least they could enjoy the memories of old times.
From the way they were talking, it seemed they would not need my help in carrying on a conversation.
“Well, if you will excuse me, I have another appointment,” I said.
Balthazar Lebeau took my hand. “Thank you for this lovely surprise, Mrs. Ames. I shall consider myself in your debt.”
“Yes, Amory dear. It was ever so kind of you to arrange it,” Mrs. Roland said. Her color was high, and she looked younger than I had ever seen her look. “You’ll come to tea at my home again soon, I hope.”
“I should like that very much, Mrs. Roland.” I suspected that this time the gossip she would have to share would be her own.
They turned back to each other then, and I slipped quietly away.
Milo was waiting for me outside.
“Well?” he asked.
“They barely noticed I left,” I said with a laugh.
“I can’t imagine the sort of conversation those two might have,” Milo said, opening the car door for me. I got in, and Milo went around to the other side.
“There’s something special about Mr. Lebeau,” I said thoughtfully as he slid in beside me and Markham pulled away from the curb. “I do hope his career makes a resurgence. I think he has a lot more to offer.”
“Amory, I believe you’re half in love with that man,” Milo said.
I looked up, flushing. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Then why are you blushing?”
“I’m not.”
“You most certainly are. I may as well tell you now, darling, that I don’t intend to lose you to an old roué like Balthazar Lebeau.”
“Well, after all, half the women in London have been in love with him at one time or another,” I teased.
“What qualities, might I ask, does he have that I haven’t?”
I considered. “You both have dark good looks and very blue eyes. You both know the right things to say at the right time. You both know just the right way to hold a woman in your arms…”
“I see I shall have to keep you away from him in the future. Or perhaps the more dramatic solution would be best. We’ll go about things the way Armand and Durant might have: pistols at dawn.”
“Nonsense,” I said, recovering my equilibrium. “You’d never get up so early in the morning.”
“To fight for you, I would,” he replied.
I looked up at him, touched by the sentiment despite the fact that he was jesting.
“Pistols won’t be necessary,” I said with a smile. “I haven’t time for Mr. Lebeau. I already have my hands quite full managing you.”
“I don’t deserve you, darling.”
“No,” I agreed. “You don’t.”
He laughed. “Well, what now? Shall we go out this evening?”
Something in his tone gave me pause. “What do you have in mind?” I asked warily.
Mischief glinted in his eyes, confirming my suspicions. “I’ve heard there’s an excellent new mystery play premiering tonight.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
MERE WORDS SEEM inadequate to express my sincere appreciation to everyone who played a part in this book’s creation. Many thanks to my wonderful editor, Catherine Richards, whose insight, skill, and keen eye for detail helped shape this story into a better version of itself; to Nettie Finn and all the great people at Minotaur for their efforts on my behalf; to my agent, Ann Collette, who is always available to answer questions or just to have a friendly chat; and, as always, to my family and friends for their continued support, feedback, and words of encouragement.
ALSO BY ASHLEY WEAVER
Murder at the Brightwell
Death Wears a Mask
A Most Novel Revenge
Intrigue in Capri (ebook short)
The Essence of Malice
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ASHLEY WEAVER is the technical services coordinator at the Allen Parish Libraries in Oberlin, Louisiana. Weaver has worked in libraries since she was fourteen; she was a page and then a clerk before obtaining her MLIS from Louisiana State University. The Amory Ames series includes Murder at the Brightwell, which was shortlisted for the Edgar Awards, as well Death Wears a Mask, A Most Novel Revenge, and The Essence of Malice. You can sign up for email updates here.
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Acknowledgments
Also by Ashley Weaver
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
AN ACT OF VILLAINY. Copyright © 2018 by Ashley Weaver. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.minotaurbooks.com
Cov
er design by David Baldeosingh Rotstein
Cover illustration by John Mattos
The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:
Names: Weaver, Ashley, author.
Title: An act of villainy / Ashley Weaver.
Description: First edition. | New York: Minotaur Books, 2018. | Series: An Amory Ames mystery
Identifiers: LCCN 2018012187 | ISBN 9781250159755 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781250159762 (ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: Women private investigators—England—London—Fiction. | Murder—Investigation—Fiction. | GSAFD: Mystery fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3623.E3828 A63 2018 | DDC 813/.6—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018012187
eISBN 9781250159762
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First Edition: September 2018
An Act of Villainy Page 29
