With This Ring

by Amanda Quick

  Beatrice took another sip of lemonade. “When it comes to fashion, there really is nothing to compare with a French accent, is there?”

  “Quite right.” Helen gave Winifred a smile that dripped with condescension. “Perhaps I will introduce your charming Arabella to her.”

  “No need.” Winifred kept her attention on the dance floor, where Leo and Arabella were going into another turn. “She is quite familiar with the shop. Indeed, we purchased all of her gowns from Madame D’Arbois this Season.”

  Helen bridled. “I see.” Her eyes narrowed as she followed Winifred’s gaze. “I had not realized until this week that your family was acquainted with the Mad Monk.”

  “Did I neglect to mention the connection?” Winifred arched one brow in feigned surprise. “Dear me. It must have slipped my mind.”

  “His lordship, the Earl of Monkcrest,” Beatrice said very deliberately, “is an old friend of the family. He has been kind enough to call upon us while he is in Town.”

  “It is said that Monkcrest is shopping the marriage mart for a new bride.” Winifred added in a confiding tone.

  Helen’s mouth compressed to an even tighter line. “He was married and widowed years ago. Everyone knows that the Monkcrest men love only once in a lifetime.”

  “What on earth does love have to do with marriage?” Winifred asked.

  Helen snapped her fan open. “He’s got his heir and a spare. There is no necessity for him to wed again.”

  “There are other reasons why a man might choose to marry a second time.” Winifred said.

  Helen fixed Winifred with a cold eye. “Why would Monkcrest seek a new wife after all these years of being content with his widowhood?”

  Winifred bestowed a woman-of-the-world smile on her. “Come now, Helen. We are both old enough to comprehend that gentlemen have certain physical needs.”

  “Bah. A man takes a mistress to satisfy those sorts of needs.”

  “Perhaps a gentleman who makes his home in a remote place such as Devon would find it more convenient to have a wife than a mistress.”

  Outgunned, Helen switched tactics. “Monkcrest is rather old for your Arabella, is he not?”

  “He appears to me to be in his prime.” Winifred assured her airily. “And quite fit.”

  Beatrice stifled a groan. It was fortunate that Leo was out on the dance floor. He would not have been pleased to know that he was the subject of this particular conversation.

  “Nevertheless.” Helen battled on gamely, “an older man would likely overwhelm a young, innocent girl such as Arabella.”

  “Personally.” Winifred retorted, “I have always thought that there is much to be said for an alliance between a young lady and a gentleman of more mature years. Older men tend to be more patient with certain intimate matters.”

  “Only because it takes them longer to work up the vigor required to pursue such matters,” Helen retorted.

  Beatrice choked on her lemonade.

  Winifred frowned in concern. “Are you all right, my dear?”

  “Yes, yes, thank you.” Sputtering wildly, Beatrice yanked open her beaded reticule to search for a hankie.

  “Are you certain you are not ill?” Winifred demanded.

  “I am quite all right, thank you, Aunt.” Beatrice regained control of herself. She dabbed her watering eyes and then dropped the hankie back into the reticule on top of the pistol. “The lemonade went down the wrong way.”

  “I am relieved to hear that.” Winifred turned back to the dance floor. “Ah, here they come now. They really do make a charming couple, don’t you think, Helen?”

  “Humph.” Helen glowered at Leo and Arabella as they made their way through the crowd. “I still say he’s much too old for her.”

  “But at least our sweet Arabella would have the great satisfaction of knowing that he was not marrying her for her money,” Winifred said thoughtfully. “Everyone knows the Monkcrest fortune is magnificent.”

  A dark rush of angry red color leaped into Helen’s face. “Just what are you implying, Winifred?”

  “Why, nothing, my dear Helen. Nothing at all.”

  “I should hope not.”

  “And there is the title, of course,” Winifred continued. “One really cannot ignore that aspect of the situation, can one? Just think. Our Arabella, a countess.”

  Helen turned livid. No one needed to point out that when he came into his own title, Pearson would be a mere baron.

  “The Monkcrest title comes at a price.” Helen snapped her fan open and shut with violent little motions. “Everyone knows there is a vein of extreme eccentricity in the line. Some say it goes well beyond eccentricity.” She paused for emphasis. “That sort of thing is in the blood, you know. They do not call them the Mad Monks for nothing.”

  Beatrice was suddenly no longer amused. “Myths, lies, and wild rumors, Lady Hazelthorpe. Monkcrest is, I grant you, more intelligent than most gentlemen of the ton, but that does not make him mad or even eccentric.”

  “Where there is smoke, there is usually fire,” Helen informed her. “And there has been a great deal of smoke around the Monkcrest title for several generations.” She turned on her lilac-shod heel and marched off into the crowd.

  Beatrice met Winifred’s sparkling eyes. “I understand what you are doing, Aunt, but I do not think it wise to press too far. Monkcrest has been extraordinarily patient with your schemes. He has even gone so far as to give you some support by dancing with Arabella. But I suspect he has his limits. He did not come to Town to make himself a subject of gossip.”

  A mildly abashed expression crossed Winifred’s face. “You are right, of course. In the future I shall try to refrain from using him to taunt Helen. The difficulty is that it is so very tempting to do so.”

  Leo brought Arabella to a halt in front of Winifred. He glanced at Beatrice and raised his brows in silent question. She pretended not to notice.

  “You looked lovely out on the floor, Arabella,” she said warmly. “That gown is perfect on you.”

  “Thank you.” Arabella turned eagerly to Winifred. “Did I just see you talking to Lady Hazelthorpe?”

  Winifred grimaced. “Yes, you did.”

  “Is Pearson here with her?”

  “She did not say.” Winifred gave her a bright smile. “Did you enjoy your dance with his lordship?”

  “It was very pleasant,” Arabella said politely. “Thank you, my lord.”

  Leo’s eyes glinted with rueful amusement. “My pleasure.”

  Arabella turned immediately back to Winifred. “Are you certain that Lady Hazelthorpe did not mention whether or not Pearson would be here this evening?”

  “I’m sure he will turn up sooner or later in your vicinity,” Beatrice said soothingly. “He always does.”

  Arabella bit her lip and cast an accusing glance at Leo. “I do hope that Pearson and his mother realize that you are only a friend of the family, my lord. I would not want them to get the wrong idea.”

  “Perhaps I should clarify the point.” Leo took Beatrice’s arm without bothering to ask permission. “Come, Mrs. Poole. Let us show everyone that I am well acquainted with the entire family.”

  Beatrice hesitated. “I should warn you, my lord, I have never danced the waltz in public. I shall no doubt prove quite awkward on the floor.”

  “Your clumsiness will make an excellent match for my sad lack of youthful agility.”

  He pulled her into his arms just as the musicians struck the first chords. Beatrice looked into his eyes and saw the laughter there.

  “Feeling your age, my lord?” she asked as he swung her into a swirling turn.

  “There is nothing so humbling as dancing with a young lady who is madly searching the crowd in hopes of spotting another, younger man.”

  “I can imagine.” She smiled. “Poor Arabella is having a difficult time concealing her affection for Mr. Burnby. Young ladies do not always understand the strategy of the marriage process.”

  �
�Neither do young men,” Leo said dryly. “It is just as well that Burnby is not here tonight. I do not relish the prospect of being called out.”

  Beatrice stopped smiling. “Good heavens, sir, I am certain Mr. Burnby would not do anything so idiotic.”

  “So one would hope. Unfortunately, young men tend to be somewhat volatile by nature.”

  “Do you speak from personal experience, sir?”

  “I speak as a father who has raised two sons,” Leo muttered.

  “I see. I appreciate your concerns. Nevertheless, it was very kind of you to dance with Arabella. You have added immeasurably to her consequence in Lady Hazelthorpe’s eyes.”

  Leo chuckled. “I do not have the impression that Arabella is particularly grateful.”

  “Aunt Winifred certainly is.” Beatrice glanced around the crowded floor to make certain that no one was within earshot. “It is after midnight. When do we leave?”

  His amusement evaporated in an instant. “Beatrice, I do not like this.”

  “You have made yourself very clear on that point, sir. But my threat stands. If you do not take me with you tonight when you search Dr. Cox’s Apothecary, I shall go there on my own.”

  “You are a very clever female, Beatrice, but you are also the most bloody-minded woman I have ever met.”

  She gave him her most brilliant smile. “It seems we are well matched, then. When it comes to bloody-mindedness, no one can top you, my lord.”

  THE ALLEYWAY BEHIND Dr. Cox’s Apothecary smelled of urine and rotted garbage. Beatrice, garbed in the trousers and shirt that Lucy had altered for her that afternoon, picked her way along the greasy stones with care. A thin beam of icy moonlight illuminated her path.

  Leo, two paces ahead, wore a coachman’s voluminous, many-caped coat and a hat pulled down low over his eyes. He had a lantern in one hand, but he had not set it alight.

  “Why didn’t you bring your hound?” Beatrice whispered.

  “Elf is useful, but he does not go unnoticed. Therefore, I employ him sparingly.”

  “I see.”

  “I brought him to this neighborhood when I confronted Ginwilly Jack. If he were spotted here a second time, he would draw the kind of attention that we do not need tonight.”

  “Yes, of course.” But it would have been rather comforting to have Elf along, Beatrice reflected.

  The notion of searching Dr. Cox’s shop, an idea that had seemed eminently reasonable, even exciting, in the light of day, had taken on a far more ominous aura tonight. After the argument and threats she had used to force Leo to bring her with him, however, she did not feel that she was in a good position to voice her second thoughts.

  Leo came to a halt in front of a narrow door. “This is it. Remember, if I give you a direct order, you are to obey it without question. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, yes, quite clear.” Beatrice rubbed her arms impatiently. After much intense negotiation in the hackney, she had agreed that if Leo restricted his orders to those that involved serious matters of personal safety, she would comply. “I gave you my word. Now then, let us get on with it.”

  Leo tried the doorknob. “Locked.”

  “Only to be expected.” Beatrice looked up at the unlit windows of the floor above the apothecary. “You are certain that Dr. Cox is not asleep in his lodgings up there?”

  “I made inquiries.” Leo chose a thin metal rod from an assortment he had brought with him. “No one seems to know exactly where Dr. Cox is at the moment. But I am assured that he has not been seen in the neighborhood all day.”

  “Do you think he might have left Town?”

  “It’s possible.”

  Beatrice watched with interest as Leo maneuvered the picklock. “Where did you learn to do that?”

  “My grandfather claimed that I inherited a small measure of my father’s aptitude for things mechanical.” He paused. “Ah. There we are.”

  He pocketed the picklock, hoisted the unlit lantern, and cautiously pushed open the door.

  The sense of wrongness that assailed Beatrice was nearly as strong as the unpleasant odor that made her wrinkle her nose. “What on earth is that smell?”

  “Stay here.”

  Leo stepped quickly through the doorway. He set the lantern on a nearby bench and lit it.

  Glaring yellow light illuminated the interior of the apothecary. The dusty glass jars on the shelves gleamed dully. Beatrice frowned at what appeared to be a bundle of rags lying in the middle of the floor.

  And then she saw the dried blood. It formed a dark, terrible pool on the old carpet. The body lay facedown, but there was no mistaking the large, floppy cap and bushy whiskers. One arm lay outstretched. The other was pinned beneath the body.

  “Dear God. Is he … is he—”

  “Yes. There is no need to come any closer.” Carrying the lantern, Leo walked over to the body. He prodded one limp, gloved hand with the toe of his boot. “I would hazard a guess that Dr. Cox was killed several hours ago. It is difficult to be certain.”

  Beatrice was suddenly aware of a queasy sensation in the pit of her stomach. “But who would have done such a thing?”

  “An excellent question.” Leo raised the lantern and turned slowly to study the room. “Nothing has been disturbed. There is no sign of a struggle or search. Whoever did this came here with only one intent.”

  “To murder Dr. Cox.”

  “So it would seem.” Leo walked around the body and crossed to a large, battered desk that occupied one wall. He set the lantern on a shelf and began to open and close drawers.

  Beatrice started to take a deep breath in order to calm herself. She promptly choked on the odor of decaying blood.

  “Are you going to be ill?” Leo asked without looking up from his task.

  “No.” She closed her eyes. “I have seen death before.”

  “Yes, but I doubt if you have seen murder.” He riffled quickly through an untidy sheaf of papers. “It is not the same.”

  She was grateful for his brusque understanding. It steadied her. “You are right.”

  When she thought she had herself in hand, she walked across the shop to join Leo.

  “What are you looking for?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.” He flipped through a journal of apothecary accounts. “Something that will point toward the killer.”

  “Only this afternoon I had begun to suspect that Dr. Cox was behind this entire affair.”

  “We do not know that he was not involved.” Leo frowned over an entry in the journal. “Interesting.”

  Beatrice stood on tiptoe to look over his shoulder. “What is it?”

  “A record of some payments from your uncle.” Leo closed the journal. “There may be other interesting entries. I shall take it with us to study later.”

  He turned away and prowled methodically through the room, pausing now and then to take a jar off a shelf or glance into a covered container.

  Beatrice’s gaze fell on an array of small glass flasks that sat in a nearby cabinet. She recalled how Madame Virtue had told her that Uncle Reggie had drunk from a flask shortly before he died.

  “Dr. Cox must have had a hand in Uncle Reggie’s death,” she said. “It is the only thing that makes sense. And he must have been the one who supplied the sleeping potion that Mr. Saltmarsh took in his tea.”

  “I agree. It is unlikely that there are two people running around in this affair who are expert with dangerous herbs.”

  “But who murdered Dr. Cox? And why?”

  Leo crouched behind the counter and studied the items that had been stored on the shelves there. “Perhaps the doctor had outlived his usefulness.”

  “Or demanded more money for his poisons?”

  “Who knows? Whatever he did, he obviously went too far. Someone decided that he was expendable.”

  Beatrice shivered. “Leo, too many people are dying in this affair. I am worried about Clarinda.”

  “She should be quite safe. No one knows about her connec
tion to us.”

  “I do not think we can assume that any longer.” Beatrice huddled into her coat. “You say you have already warned Mr. Sibson and Madame Virtue. We must warn Clarinda also. We are very near her lodgings, are we not?”

  “Two streets away.”

  “We must stop and tell her that she may be in danger. Perhaps we should give her enough money to take her out of Town for a while.”

  Leo stood up slowly. “You may be right. This business grows more twisted with every step. I do not want Clarinda’s blood on my hands.”

  THE SHORT WALK to the street where Clarinda lived passed without incident. Occasionally Beatrice heard echoes of drunken laughter in the night. Once, when Leo hurried her past the entrance of a dark alley, she caught the sound of men’s voices raised in a violent quarrel. But no one accosted them.

  They passed unnoticed into Cunning Lane.

  Leo slowed their pace. “At this hour Clarinda will no doubt be in her doorway, waiting for a few stragglers from the Drunken Cat.”

  Beatrice pulled her coat more closely about her. “I do hope that when this affair is over she will take you up on your offer to purchase the tavern.”

  “You cannot save someone who does not want to be saved, Beatrice.”

  “You sound like Lucy,” she muttered.

  “What the devil do you mean by that?”

  “Never mind. Leo, we owe Clarinda a great deal. There is no telling what might have happened to us the other night if Ginwilly Jack and his friends had discovered us.”

  “There is no need to remind me.” Leo paused in front of a familiar, darkened entrance. “This is her customary place of business.”

  Beatrice stepped forward to peer into the shadows. “Clarinda? It’s Beatrice Poole.”

  There was no response. A frisson of horror raced along Beatrice’s spine. “Clarinda?”

  “She’s not here.” Leo stepped back to look up at Clarinda’s window. “There is no light in her room.”

  “Oh my God. Something is wrong, Leo, I am certain of it.”