by Amanda Quick
“No, but I intend to remedy that state of affairs this very afternoon, if possible.”
“Ah, yes, just as you did with Mrs. Glentworth.”
“Indeed.”
“Your title and wealth certainly have one or two useful advantages.”
“They open doors so that I may ask questions.” He shrugged. “But unfortunately they do not guarantee that I will get honest answers.”
Nor were they enough to win a lady who was determined to go into trade, maintain her independence and live her life on her own terms, he thought.
27
Oh, my, yes, I remember those Wednesday afternoon salons as though I had held the last one only this past week.” A distant, almost melancholic expression veiled Lady Wilmington’s blue eyes. “We were all so young, so very passionate in those days. Science was our new alchemy, and those of us who were engaged in exploring its secrets saw ourselves as the inventors of the modern age.”
Elenora sipped tea from the paper-thin china cup and surreptitiously surveyed the elegant drawing room while she listened to Clare, Lady Wilmington talk about the past. The situation here was quite opposite the one that existed across town in Mrs. Glentworth’s small, poorly furnished parlor, she thought. Lady Wilmington was clearly not suffering from any financial difficulties.
The drawing room was decorated in a version of the Chinoiserie style that had first come into fashion several years earlier. It had been well-maintained in all its original lush, sensual glory. The dark, exotic atmosphere produced by the midnight blue and gold flower-patterned wallpaper, the intricately designed carpet and the ornate, japanned furnishings was brightened here and there by beautifully framed mirrors. It was a room designed to appeal to the senses.
Elenora could well imagine their wealthy hostess holding court in such surroundings. Lady Wilmington had to be fast approaching seventy years of age, but she was expensively dressed in the current mode. Her dark gold, high-waisted gown looked as if it had been designed to be worn in this richly hued room. The fine bones of her face and shoulders testified to the fact that she had once been a great beauty. Her hair was silver now, and some of it was surely false, but it was styled in an extremely elaborate chignon.
In Elenora’s experience, the older a woman got, the more jewelry she tended to wear. Lady Wilmington was no exception to that rule. Pearls dangled from her ears. Her wrists and fingers glittered with an assortment of diamonds, rubies and emeralds.
It was the gold locket around Lady Wilmington’s throat that caught Elenora’s eye, however. Unlike the rings it was surprisingly plain in style. It appeared to be a very personal keepsake. Perhaps it held a miniature of one of her children or her deceased husband.
Arthur wandered over to the nearest window and looked out into the perfectly manicured gardens as though whatever he saw out there fascinated him.
“Then you remember my great-uncle, Glentworth and Treyford?” he said.
“Very well, indeed.” Lady Wilmington raised the fingers of one hand to the gold locket at her throat. “They were all dedicated to science. They lived for their experiments the way painters and sculptors live for their art.” She lowered her hand, smiling sadly. “But they are all gone now. The last one to pass on was Glentworth. I understand your great-uncle was killed by a house burglar a few weeks ago, sir. My condolences.”
“I do not believe that he was murdered by an ordinary thief he chanced to encounter in the course of a burglary,” Arthur said evenly. “I am certain that he was killed by someone connected to the old days when the gentlemen of the Society of the Stones frequented your Wednesday salons.”
He still appeared to be fixed on some sight outside in the gardens, but Elenora was watching their hostess closely. She noticed the tiny tremor that went through Lady Wilmington’s shoulders as Arthur delivered his flat conclusion. Once again her fingers brushed against the locket.
“Impossible,” Lady Wilmington said. “How can that be?”
“I do not have the answer to that question yet, but I intend to find it.” Arthur turned slowly to face her. “My great-uncle is not the only victim of this villain. I believe that Glentworth’s death was no accident, either. I am convinced that the same man killed both of them, and my former butler as well.”
“Good heavens, sir.” Lady Wilmington’s voice quivered. Her teacup rattled when she put it down on the saucer. “I don’t know what to say. That is . . . that is unbelievable. Your butler, too, you say? But why would anyone kill him?”
“To silence him after gaining information from him.”
Lady Wilmington shook her head once as though to clear it. “About what, pray tell?”
“My inquiries into George Lancaster’s murder, of course. The killer is aware now that I am hunting him. He wished to discover what I had learned thus far.” Arthur’s jaw tightened. “Which is not much. Certainly not worth a man’s death.”
“Indeed not.” Lady Wilmington shuddered.
“But this villain is not thinking in a wholly rational manner,” Arthur told her. “I believe he killed my great-uncle and Glentworth to obtain the red stones set into their snuffboxes.”
Lady Wilmington frowned. “I recall those extraordinary gems very well. Quite fascinating. Treyford felt that they were unusually dark rubies, but Glentworth and Lancaster believed that they had been crafted in ancient times from some sort of unique glass.”
“Did you ever see my great-uncle’s lapidary?” Arthur asked. “The one he brought back from Italy along with the stones?”
“Yes, indeed.” She sighed wistfully. “What of it?”
“I believe the villain we are hunting is sufficiently mad as to believe that he can build the infernal device described in the Book of Stones,” Arthur said.
Lady Wilmington stared at him, momentarily openmouthed with astonishment.
“Surely not,” she finally said with great conviction. “That is absolute nonsense. I cannot believe that even a madman would take the instructions in that old book seriously.”
Arthur looked back at her over his shoulder. “Did the three men ever discuss the machine?”
“Yes, of course.” Lady Wilmington collected herself. Her voice steadied. “The lapidary named it Jove’s Thunderbolt. We discussed the device on several occasions. Treyford and the others actually tried to construct it. But in the end, they all concluded that it could never be made to function.”
“What caused them to be so certain of that?” Elenora asked.
Lady Wilmington massaged her temples with the fingers of one hand. “I do not recall all of the details. Something to do with the difficulty of applying the energy of an intense fire into the heart of the stones in order to excite the latent energy of the gems. They all agreed in the end that there was no way to accomplish that task.”
“I am aware that my great-uncle came to that conclusion,” Arthur said. “But are you sure that Glentworth and Treyford did also?”
“Yes.” A faraway expression flickered in Lady Wilmington’s eyes. Once again she touched her locket in a fleeting gesture as though seeking comfort while she looked into the past. “Mind you, it was fashionable in those days for some who were consumed by the study of science and mathematics to flirt with the occult. In some circles the dark arts continue to fascinate even the most well-educated minds today. No doubt that will prove to be true in the future as well.”
Elenora watched her closely. “It is said that the great Newton himself was fascinated with the occult and devoted many years to the serious study of alchemy.”
“Indeed,” Lady Wilmington stated firmly. “And if a mind that brilliant can be seduced by the dark arts, who can blame a lesser mortal for falling prey to such intriguing mysteries?”
“Do you think that Glentworth or Treyford might have continued to secretly pursue such researches after they had all agreed to abandon alchemy?” Arthur asked.
Lady Wilmington blinked and straightened her shoulders. When she turned to Arthur she was clearly
back in the present.
“I cannot imagine that for a moment, sir. They were, after all, highly intelligent, educated men of the modern age. They were not real alchemists, for heaven’s sake.”
“I have one more question, if you will be kind enough to indulge me,” Arthur said.
“What is it?”
“Are you certain that Lord Treyford died in that explosion in his laboratory all those years ago?”
Lady Wilmington closed her eyes. Her fingers went to the locket. “Yes,” she whispered. “Treyford is most certainly dead. I saw the body myself. So did your great-uncle, for that matter. Surely you do not believe the killer you seek is an old man?”
“Not at all,” Elenora said. “We are well aware that we are searching for a young man in his prime.”
“Why do you say that?” Lady Wilmington asked.
“Because the villain had the nerve to dance with me after he murdered Ibbitts,” Elenora said.
Lady Wilmington looked stunned. “You danced with the killer? How do you know it was him? Can you describe him?”
“No, unfortunately,” Elenora admitted. “The occasion was a masked ball. I never saw his face. But there was a tear in his domino which we believe may have been created during a struggle with the butler.”
“I see.” Lady Wilmington’s expression was troubled. “I must say, this is all quite odd.”
“Yes,” Arthur said, “it is.” He glanced at the clock. “We must be off. Thank you for seeing us, madam.”
“Certainly.” She inclined her head in a regal nod. “You must keep me informed of your progress in this matter.”
“Yes.” Arthur took a card from his pocket and set it on a table. “If you think of anything that might assist me in this investigation, I would very much appreciate it if you would send word immediately, no matter what the time, day or night, madam.”
Lady Wilmington picked up the card. “Of course.”
Arthur said nothing to Elenora until they were both inside the carriage. He settled into the seat, resting one arm on the back of the cushions.
“Well?” he said. “What do you make of Lady Wilmington?”
She thought about the manner in which the woman had touched her gold locket time and again throughout the conversation.
“I think that she was very much in love with one of the members of Society of the Stones,” she said.
Arthur’s face tightened with surprise. “That is not quite what I had expected to hear, but it is certainly interesting. Which of the three, do you think, caught her fancy?”
“Lord Treyford. The one who died in the prime of life. The one she and the others considered the most brilliant of the three. I suspect it is his picture that she carries inside that gold locket.”
Arthur rubbed his chin. “I had not noticed the locket, but I was certainly aware of the fact that her ladyship was concealing some information. I have done business with enough cunning people to know when someone is lying to me.”
Elenora hesitated. “If she did lie to us, I suspect it was because she was convinced that it was necessary.”
“Perhaps she is trying to protect someone,” Arthur said. “Whatever the case, I am convinced now that we must learn more about Treyford.”
The killer had dared to dance with Miss Lodge. He must have been mad to have taken such a daring liberty.
Mad.
Lady Wilmington shivered at the thought. She sat alone for a long time, staring at the earl’s card and fingering the locket. Old memories rushed in upon her, clouding her vision. Dear heaven, this was so much worse than she had allowed herself to believe.
After an eternity, she straightened her shoulders and dried her eyes. Her heart was breaking but she no longer had any choice. Deep down inside she had known that eventually this time would come and that she would have to do what must be done.
Reluctantly she opened a drawer in the writing desk and took out a sheet of foolscap. She would send the message immediately. If she planned well, everything would soon be under control.
By the time she finished the brief note, some of the words had been smudged by her tears.
28
St. Merryn had visited Lady Wilmington.
The killer could scarcely believe what he had seen. Shaken, he stood in the shadows of the doorway halfway down the street and watched the gleaming carriage disappear around the corner.
Impossible. How had the bastard made the connection? And so quickly?
He had not been surprised when the street urchin who was his paid spy had reported that St. Merryn and Miss Lodge had gone to Mrs. Glentworth’s address. It was inevitable that sooner or later the earl would speak with Saturn’s widow. But what had that silly old woman told him that had sent him straight to the Wilmington townhouse?
Frantically, the killer went back over his plans, trying to determine if he had made a mistake. But he could not find any errors in his elaborate scheme.
He could feel himself starting to perspire. The sight of the St. Merryn carriage parked in the street outside Lady Wilmington’s front door was the first indication that this amusing game of wits that he had begun playing with his opponent had taken a nasty, unplanned turn.
Enough. He did not want to risk any more surprises. He had everything he required now to complete the device. The time had come to end the affair.
He moved out of the doorway and set off down the tree-lined street, his clever mind already at work on his new strategy.
29
Jeremy Clyde slouched out of the front door of the brothel. He ignored the handful of carriages and hacks waiting in the street hoping for fares. He needed some fresh air. His head was buzzing from the copious quantities of wine he had consumed.
He tried to think of where to go next. His club? One of the hells? The only other option was to go home to the shrew he had so foolishly wed. That was the very last thing he wished to do. She would be waiting for him with a long list of questions and demands.
He had thought that marrying a wealthy woman would solve all of his troubles. Instead it had increased his misery a thousand fold. Nothing had gone right since Elenora had lost her lands and her inheritance. If only her stepfather had not been so damnably stupid.
If only. It seemed to Jeremy that he repeated that phrase a hundred times each day.
It was not fair. Here he was, trapped in a dreadful marriage, hostage to the whims of his wife’s stingy parent, while Elenora had landed on her feet like the cat she was. She was going to marry one of the wealthiest and most powerful men in town. How could that be? It simply was not fair.
A man came toward him out of the darkness. Jeremy hesitated uncertainly. He relaxed when the light of the gas lamps revealed the fine, elegant coat and the gleaming boots that the stranger wore. Whoever he was, he was most certainly a gentleman, not a footpad.
“Good evening, Clyde,” the man said with an easy air.
“Beg your pardon,” Jeremy muttered. “Have we met?”
“Not yet.” The stranger swept him a mocking bow. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Stone.”
There was only one explanation for Stone’s air of amused familiarity, Jeremy thought grimly. “I suppose you’re going to tell me that the reason you know my name is because you witnessed my fall in the park the other afternoon or else heard the gossip concerning it. Save your breath.”
Stone chuckled. He draped his arm around Jeremy’s shoulder in a companionable way. “I admit that I was present on that unfortunate occasion, but I was not amused by your predicament. Indeed, I felt naught but a great sympathy. I also know that, had I been in your shoes, I would be eager for a bit of revenge against the gentleman who had caused me such humiliation.”
“Bah. There’s little chance of that.”
“Do not be so certain, sir. I may be able to assist you. You see, I have made a study of St. Merryn. I have set street boys to watch him from time to time, and I have interviewed his recently deceased butler who was, I assure you,
a veritable fount of information. I know many things about the earl and his very unusual fiancée, things that I think you will find extremely interesting.”
30
Two days later, late in the evening, Elenora stood with Margaret at the back of yet another crammed, overheated ballroom. It was nearly midnight and she had dutifully endured several endless dances. Her feet ached, and she was restless and anxious.
None of those things would have mattered a jot, of course, if the dances had been with Arthur, but that was not the case. He had been gone all evening, just as he had been the night before, pursuing his inquiries. She wished she had been able to talk him into taking her with him, but, as he had explained, he could not smuggle her into the various gentlemen’s clubs where he went to interview the old men.
Her thoughts kept returning to the conversation with Lady Wilmington. It had occurred to her this afternoon that there was one very important question that she and Arthur had neglected to ask.
A pretty young woman, polite smile frozen in place, glided past in the arms of a middle-aged gentleman who could not seem to keep his attention away from the lady’s fair bosom.
“I must say, the longer I play my part in this affair,” Elenora murmured to Margaret, “the more my respect grows for the stamina and endurance of the young ladies who are being dangled on the marriage mart. I do not know how they manage.”
“They have been in training for years,” Margaret said dryly. “The stakes of this game are very high, after all. They are all well aware that their futures and in many cases the futures of their families are riding on the outcome of this one short Season.”
Elenora felt a rush of sudden understanding and sympathy. “That was how it was for you, was it not?”
“My family was in desperate straits the year I turned eighteen. I had three sisters and two brothers as well as my mother and grandmother to consider. My father had died, leaving very little. Contracting a successful marriage was our only hope. My grandmother scraped together the money required to give me a single Season. I met Harold Lancaster at my very first ball. His offer was accepted immediately, of course.”
