by Amanda Quick
A feverish elation flashed through him, as hot and cleansing as an alchemist’s fire. His whole being thrilled to the prospect of success.
He glanced at his watch. It was nearly dawn. He walked through the laboratory, turning down the lamps. Then he picked up the lantern and entered the crypt.
He had learned that there were two secret entrances to the laboratory. The iron cage that descended from the ancient abbey overhead was useful, but he did not like to employ it frequently because he was concerned, as his predecessor had been, that oft-repeated use would invite the curiosity of those who lived nearby.
True, most people in the vicinity feared the abbey, believing it to be haunted. But some bold person might be tempted to overcome his dread if he happened to notice a fashionably dressed gentleman coming and going from the chapel every night. Therefore the killer reserved the iron cage for those occasions when he was in a hurry.
The lost river was the safer if more tedious route for his regular nightly trips to the laboratory.
At the rear of the crypt, water lapped at the secret underground dock. He got into one of the small, shallow-bottomed boats he kept there. Balancing carefully, he set the lantern on the bow and picked up the pole.
A firm shove sent the little boat into the current of the long-lost river. The vessel floated gently in the dark, foul-smelling water. The killer was obliged to crouch now and again to avoid the ancient stone footbridges that arched overhead.
It was an eerie, unsettling journey. Although he had made the trip many times now, he did not think that he would ever become accustomed to the oppressive darkness and the foul odor. But he took a thrilling comfort in the knowledge that his predecessor had come and gone to the secret laboratory countless times along this strange route. It was all a part of his great destiny, he thought.
One of the ancient relics that littered the riverbanks came into view. The lantern light danced across a marble relief partially submerged in the mud. It depicted the scene of a strange god wearing an odd cap. The figure was shown in the act of slaying a great bull. Mithras, according to the remarks in his predecessor’s journal, the mysterious lord of a Roman cult that had once flourished in these parts.
The killer averted his gaze the way he had learned to do whenever he came upon one of the old statues. The accusing stares in those sightless eyes always made him uneasy. It was as if the old gods could see that place inside him where the strange energy that fueled his genius seethed and simmered; as if they understood that it was not entirely under his control.
11
The following day, shortly after ten o’clock in the evening, Elenora stood with Margaret and Bennett Fleming in the shelter of a cluster of potted palms.
“The first dance is critical,” Bennett explained, assessing the crowd with the wise air. “We must make sure that it is with the right gentleman.”
Elenora peered through the palm fronds. The chamber was ablaze with lights from the pendulous chandeliers. Mirrors lined one entire wall, reflecting the glow of the dazzling scene.
Brilliantly gowned ladies and gentlemen dressed in the height of fashion laughed and gossiped. Elegant couples floated across the dance floor. Music poured down from the balcony where the musicians were ensconced. A small army of servants in blue livery made their way through the throng carrying trays of champagne and lemonade.
“I do not see why I cannot dance with you first,” Elenora said to Bennett.
She had decided immediately upon meeting Bennett Fleming that she liked him very much. One look at his sturdy frame and earnest eyes and she had understood why Arthur trusted him. Bennett Fleming gave the impression of being one of those rare, good-hearted, steadfast people that one knew one could rely upon in a crisis.
“No, no, no, that will never do,” Bennett assured her. “Whoever goes first will set a certain standard, you see. Whoever he is, he has the power to make you instantly fashionable.”
Margaret regarded him with open admiration. “How do you know such things, sir?”
Bennett turned a dull red. “My late wife was a lady who enjoyed the pleasures of the Polite World. One learns things when one is married to an expert.”
“Yes, of course,” Margaret murmured. She reached into her reticule and took out a small pad of paper and a tiny pencil.
Bennett frowned. “What are you doing?”
“Making notes,” Margaret said airily.
“Whatever for?”
“My journal.”
Elenora swallowed a laugh. She wondered what Bennett would say if he knew that Margaret was doing research for her new novel.
“I see.” Bennett’s brows came together in a narrow-eyed expression. He took a swallow of champagne and assumed the air of a man preparing to go into battle. “As I was saying, the question of which gentleman should be allowed the privilege of being the first is extremely important.”
“Hmm,” Elenora mumured. “The process of selection sounds very similar to that of choosing one’s first lover.”
Bennett coughed on his champagne.
“Like the process of choosing a lover,” Margaret repeated to herself, scribbling furiously on her notepad. “Yes, I like that turn of phrase. Makes it all sound quite intriguing, does it not?”
Bennett stared at her. “I cannot believe you wrote that down for your journal.”
“It will make for interesting reading later, don’t you think?” Margaret gave him a bright smile and dropped the notepad into her reticule.
Bennett evidently decided not to respond to that question. Instead he turned his attention back to the dance floor. Quite suddenly he brightened with obvious relief.
“There he is,” he announced in low tones.
“Who?” Elenora asked.
“The man who will be the first to lead you out onto the floor.” Bennett angled his chin.
Elenora followed his gaze and saw a tall, distinguished-looking gentleman in a blue coat standing near the French doors that opened onto the gardens. He appeared to be in his late fifties. He was engaged in conversation with another man. Something about his stance and expression made it clear that he was unutterably bored by the colorful scene going on around him.
“Who is he?” Margaret asked. “And why do you say that he is the right choice for Elenora’s first dance partner?”
“That is Lord Hathersage,” Bennett explained. “He is a wealthy man with tentacles throughout Society. His wife died two years ago without giving him an heir, and it is understood that he is in the market for a new bride.”
“In that case, why would he want to dance with me?” Elenora asked curiously. “I’m supposed to be engaged.”
“Hathersage is known to be extremely particular when it comes to the ladies,” Bennet said patiently. “Indeed, he considers himself a connoisseur. A turn on the dance floor with him will draw a good deal of attention. Every other man in the room will be eager to discover what he sees in you. In short, Hathersage can bring you into fashion.”
“What if it transpires that he does not want to dance with me?”
For the first time Bennett’s friendly eyes lit with secret amusement. “I do not foresee any problem in that direction.”
Margaret gave him a quick, searching glance. “Why do you think he will be happy to dance with Elenora? Even from this distance, I can see that he is likely one of those gentlemen who suffer from a surfeit of ennui.”
“Hathersage and Arthur have done business together often over the years,” Bennett said. “In addition, Hathersage owes Arthur a great favor.”
Curious, Elenora slowly unfurled her fan. “I hesitate to ask, but I cannot resist. What sort of favor?”
“Arthur is a genius when it comes to investments. Six months ago there was a flurry of interest in a mining venture in Yorkshire. Arthur knew the project was likely a swindle that would end in disaster. He heard that Hathersage was about to purchase a share in the project and sent him a note warning him that it was probably not a sound invest
ment. The entire scheme fell apart a short time later, and everyone involved lost their money. But because of Arthur’s advice, Hathersage avoided the disaster.”
No doubt the mining venture of which Bennett spoke was the same one that had destroyed her stepfather and stolen her inheritance, Elenora thought. What a great pity that Samuel Jones had not been a friend of Arthur’s. Then again, Jones had never been one to listen to good advice.
Bennett looked at her. “I can arrange this first dance, but what happens after that will be entirely up to you. Once you are out on the floor with Hathersage, you must try to come up with something witty in the way of conversation. If you can amuse him, even for a moment or two, he will be pleased.”
Elenora wrinkled her nose. “You make me feel like a paid courtesan instead of a paid companion, Mr. Fleming.”
Bennett winced. “My apologies.”
“Paid courtesan instead of a paid companion,” Margaret repeated softly. “Excellent.” She opened her notebook.
“Never mind.” Elenora chuckled. “I will do my best to think of something entertaining to say to Lord Hathersage.”
Bennett summoned a footman and sent him to Hathersage with a short message.
Five minutes later, Elenora found herself on the dance floor. She smiled up at her tall, gray-haired companion. Hathersage was all that was polite, but it was clear that as far as he was concerned he was merely repaying a favor. This close, the ennui in his expression was unmistakable. She wondered that he had not expired long ago of his severe case of boredom.
“It is very kind of you to allow Mr. Fleming to press you into service in this manner, sir,” she said.
“Nonsense. I am delighted to be of assistance,” Hathersage said, giving no indication that he meant the words. “It is certainly no great hardship to dance with an attractive woman.”
“Thank you,” she replied. How on earth was she supposed to carry on a conversation with a man who obviously wished to be somewhere else?
“I must tell you, I envy St. Merryn,” Hathersage continued dryly. “He has managed to find himself a fiancée without having to subject himself to the rigors of the Season. I, on the other hand, am in the position of having to endure an endless string of silly young misses fresh out of the schoolroom.”
His attitude started to irritate her. “I suspect that the process of making a good match is just as arduous for the young ladies as it is for gentlemen such as yourself, sir.”
“Impossible.” He looked deeply pained. “You cannot imagine how difficult it is for a man of my years and experience of the world to make conversation with a young chit of seventeen. All the little creatures want to talk about is Byron’s latest nonsense or the newest fashions from Paris.”
“You must look at the situation from the young ladies’ perspective, sir. I assure you, it can be mind-numbingly difficult to make conversation with a man who is old enough to be your father when you would much rather dance with a handsome young poet.”
Hathersage looked briefly disconcerted. Then he frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
“A man, furthermore, who is only interested in your looks, your reputation and your inheritance.” She made a tut-tutting sound. “When that exceedingly dull gentleman displays no knowledge whatsoever of the subjects that are of interest to a young lady, it is a wonder she is able to make any sort of conversation at all, is it not? One certainly cannot imagine her rushing home to write any romantic reminiscences in her journal about such a dance partner, can one?”
There was a startled pause while Hathersage digested that observation.
A reluctant spark of genuine interest gleamed in his eyes. “Where the devil did St. Merryn find you, Miss Lodge?”
She flashed him her most polished smile. “As you are acquainted with my fiancé, you are no doubt aware that he possesses an extremely logical mind. He naturally applied his talents for analysis and sound reasoning to the task of finding a suitable bride.”
“Logic and reason, eh?” Hathersage was fascinated now. “And where did those skills direct him to go in search of such a paragon?”
“Why, to an agency that specializes in supplying paid companions to the most exclusive sort, of course.”
Hathersage chuckled, evidently having decided to go along with the jest. “Ah, yes, he did indeed vow to do just that.”
“It is a sensible approach. When one comes right down to the nub of the matter, husbands and wives are, in essence, companions, are they not?”
“Hadn’t considered the institution of marriage in that light before this moment, but I will concede that you have a point.”
“Only consider the brilliance of St. Merryn’s tactics, sir. At the agency he was provided with an extensive selection of well-educated ladies who all possessed the most excellent references and reputations above reproach. Rather than being obliged to dance with all of them and endure a series of potentially dull conversations, he was, instead, able to conduct detailed interviews.”
“Interviews.” Hathersage grinned. “How very clever.”
“The beauty of the process is that it works both ways. The candidates for the position he offered were, in turn, able to question him as well. They were thus saved the necessity of having to amuse and entertain any number of elderly gentlemen who know nothing of Byron’s latest works and who are only looking for an attractive heiress who will provide them with an heir.”
Hathersage brought her to a halt in the middle of the dance floor. For a terrible moment Elenora thought she had miscalculated badly and had initiated a complete disaster.
Then Hathersage threw back his head and laughed uproariously.
Every head in the room turned. Every eye was riveted.
By the time Hathersage returned Elenora to Bennett and Margaret, the line of gentlemen waiting to request a dance extended from the potted palms all the way to the entrance to the card room.
“Consider the favor repaid in full,” Bennett told Hathersage.
“On the contrary,” Hathersage said, still chuckling. “This has been the most entertaining evening I have had in a long time.”
12
Arthur braced both hands on the balcony railing and searched the crowded ballroom for Elenora. It was after midnight, and he was not in a good mood. He had just concluded another night of inquiries that had yielded few results. Granted, he had discovered more information concerning one of the mysterious snuffboxes that he sought, but so many other questions remained unanswered. He had the inexplicable sensation that time was running out quickly.
It took him a few minutes to spot Elenora. When he did catch a glimpse of her gleaming dark hair on the far side of the ballroom, he finally realized why it had been so difficult to find her: She was surrounded by a sea of males, all of whom appeared to be vying eagerly for her attention.
She was chatting in an extremely familiar manner with a circle of gentlemen she could not possibly have met before tonight. Not only that but her high-waisted, emerald-colored gown was cut far too low, revealing too much of her soft bosom and gently molded shoulders. She glowed like some exotic jewel, one he was certain that every man in the vicinity coveted.
Where were Bennett and Margaret? he wondered. They were supposed to be keeping an eye on the situation.
As he watched, one of the gentlemen near Elenora bowed over her gloved fingers and escorted her out onto the dance floor. Whatever she was saying to her companion must have been vastly amusing, Arthur decided grimly. The man was grinning like a fool.
His evening had been deteriorating for the past few hours, he thought. The sight of his phony fiancée enjoying herself on the dance floor with a complete stranger was the last straw. Matters were clearly out of control down there in the ballroom.
He shoved himself away from the railing and started toward the stairs.
“Allow me to congratulate you on your charming fiancée, St. Merryn,” a familiar voice drawled behind him.
He paused and looked back at the tall man c
oming toward him along the balcony. “Hathersage.”
“I had the great pleasure of dancing with Miss Lodge earlier this evening. A most unusual lady.” Hathersage stopped and glanced down at the dancers. He chuckled. “Indeed, I am giving serious consideration to employing your strategy in my own search for a wife.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why, I am referring to your brilliant notion of interviewing candidates for the position at an agency that specializes in supplying paid companions, of course.”
Arthur’s blood ran cold. Had Elenora told Hathersage the whole truth about the deception? Surely not.
“She mentioned the agency?” he asked warily.
“I vow it was the most amusing tale I have heard in weeks.” Hathersage replied. “It will be on everyone’s lips tomorrow. Such lively wit is a valuable asset in a wife, just as it is in any other type of companion.”
Elenora had given Hathersage the truth, but because it was so outrageous, he had not believed it, Arthur realized, relaxing somewhat.
The rest of the Polite World would follow Hathersage’s lead, he thought. All was well.
“She is quite unique,” Arthur said.
“Indeed.” Hathersage’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You will want to keep an eye on her, St. Merryn. I wouldn’t be surprised to discover that some of those men hanging around her down there right now are already plotting to lure her away from you.”
Damnation. Was it possible that Hathersage himself might be contemplating such a move? He was said to be in the market for a new wife, and he was certainly wealthy enough to be able to look past a lady’s finances.
Anger splashed through Arthur. He fought it with the force of his will and a dose of logic. Hathersage was merely amusing himself.
“If you will excuse me, I believe I will take your advice and go downstairs to see about protecting my interests,” he said calmly.
