The Paid Companion

by Amanda Quick

I still say we should have given this matter more close thought before coming here tonight,” Elenora declared.

  She sat tensely in a dainty chair in the elegant little study. The candle that the maid had lit for them sat on the beautifully inlaid writing desk near the window.

  “The reference to a second Newton cannot have been a coincidence. You know that as well as I do.” Arthur prowled the small room, his hands clasped behind his back. “Lady Wilmington is the key to this puzzle. I can feel it in my bones.”

  She was in perfect agreement with his conclusions; it was the way he intended to confront Lady Wilmington that worried her. This was a delicate matter. It should have been approached more subtly.

  “Earlier this evening I could not help but recall our visit with her,” she said. “I kept thinking about the way she touched her locket whenever she spoke of Treyford. It occurred to me that, if they were lovers, perhaps there had been a child—”

  “Not a son.” Arthur shook his head. “I investigated that possibility tonight. Lady Wilmington’s only male heir is a staid, extremely stout, respectable gentleman who, by all accounts, takes after her husband in his looks and also in his intellectual interests. He is devoted to his estates and never cared for matters of science.”

  “St. Merryn.” Lady Wilmington spoke from the doorway, her voice flat with resignation. “Miss Lodge. So you somehow discovered the truth. I feared that you would.”

  Arthur stopped his pacing and looked toward the doorway. “Good evening, madam. I can see that you know why we are here at this late hour.”

  “Yes.” Lady Wilmington walked slowly into the study.

  She looked much older tonight, Elenora thought, aware of a stark pity for the once beautiful and still proud woman. Lady Wilmington’s gray hair was not in a fashionable chignon tonight. Instead, it was tucked up under a white cap. She had the haggard look of someone who has not slept well in recent days. Her hands were bare of rings, and no pearls gleamed at her ears.

  But Elenora noticed that she wore the gold locket around her throat.

  Lady Wilmington sat down in the chair that Arthur held for her. “You have come here to ask about my grandson, haven’t you?”

  Arthur was riveted. “Yes, of course,” he said very softly.

  “He is Treyford’s grandson, isn’t he?” Elenora asked gently.

  “Yes.” Lady Wilmington focused her attention on the flaring candle. “Treyford and I were passionately in love. But I was married with two children by my husband. There was nothing to be done when I discovered that I was to bear my lover’s babe. I pretended that Wilmington was the father and, of course, under the law there was no question but that he was my daughter’s sire. No one suspected the truth.”

  “Did Treyford know that you had borne his child?” Arthur asked.

  “Yes. He was quite pleased. He talked at length of how he would supervise her education in the manner of a concerned friend of the family. He promised to draw up elaborate plans to see that she was instructed in natural philosophy and mathematics from the cradle.”

  “But then Treyford was killed in that explosion in his laboratory,” Arthur said.

  “I thought my heart would break that day when the news reached me that he was dead.” Lady Wilmington touched her locket with her fingertips. “I consoled myself with the knowledge that I had his child. I vowed to educate Helen as Treyford had intended. But although she was extremely intelligent, she showed no interest in science or mathematics. The only subject that drew her was music. She played and composed brilliantly, but I knew that Treyford would have been so disappointed.”

  “However, when she married, your daughter bore a son who did possess both Treyford’s great mind and his passion for science.” Arthur gripped the back of a chair, watching Lady Wilmington very closely. “Is that correct, madam?”

  Lady Wilmington toyed with the locket. “Parker is the very image of Treyford at that age. The likeness is astonishing. When my daughter and her husband were taken off by a fever, I vowed to raise my grandson as Treyford would have wished.”

  “You told him the truth about his grandfather’s identity, didn’t you?” Elenora said quietly.

  “Yes. When he was old enough to understand, I told him about Treyford. He deserved to know that the blood of true genius ran in his veins.”

  “You told him that he was the direct descendant of the man who could have been England’s second Newton,” Arthur said. “And Parker set out to fulfill his grandfather’s legacy.”

  “He studied all of the subjects that had so fascinated Treyford,” she whispered.

  Elenora looked at her. “Including alchemy?”

  “Yes.” Lady Wilmington shuddered. “You must believe me when I tell you that I tried to steer Parker away from that dark path. But as he grew older, he showed signs of taking after Treyford in ways other than his intellectual interests.”

  “What do you mean?” Arthur asked.

  “Parker’s temperament became increasingly unpredictable as the years passed. He would be joyous and cheerful for no obvious reason. And then, without warning, his spirits would sink to a level that made me fear that he might take his own life. Only his alchemical studies seemed to have the power to distract him when he was in such a mood. Two years ago he went to Italy to continue his investigations.”

  “When did he return?” Arthur asked.

  “A few months ago.” Lady Wilmington sighed in pain. “I was so happy to have him back, but I soon realized that whatever he had learned in Italy had only deepened his commitment to alchemy. He demanded to see Treyford’s journals and papers. I had stored them in a trunk.”

  “You gave them to him?” Elenora asked.

  “I hoped that would satisfy him. But I fear that I only made things worse. I knew he had embarked upon some secret project, but I did not know what it was that he hoped to create.”

  “What did you assume that he was trying to do?” Arthur asked coldly, “discover the Philosopher’s Stone? Transmute lead into gold?”

  “You mock me, sir, but I tell you in all truth, Parker is sunk so deep into his occult researches that he believes such things are possible.”

  “When did you first realize that he was determined to construct the device described in the Book of Stones?” Arthur asked.

  Lady Wilmington looked at him with sad resignation. “Not until you came to see me the other day and told me that both Glentworth and your great-uncle had been murdered and that their snuffboxes had been stolen. I knew then what Parker intended.”

  “And you also knew that he had gone beyond being an eccentric genius,” Arthur said. “You realized that he had become a murderer.”

  Lady Wilmington bowed her head and clasped the locket very tightly in her fingers. She did not speak.

  “Where is Parker?” Arthur asked.

  Lady Wilmington raised her head. A quiet resolve seemed to have settled upon her. “There is no longer any need for you to concern yourself with my grandson, sir. I have taken care of the situation.”

  Arthur’s jaw tightened. “Surely you understand that he must be stopped, madam.”

  “Yes. And I have done just that.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “There will be no more murders.” Lady Wilmington’s hand dropped away from the locket. “You have my word. Parker is in a place where he can do no one, including himself, any more harm.”

  Elenora searched her face. “What have you done, madam?”

  “My grandson is insane.” Tears glittered in Lady Wilmington’s eyes. “I can no longer pretend otherwise. But please understand that I could not bear the thought of him being chained in Bedlam.”

  Elenora shuddered. “No one would wish such a fate on a beloved relative. But—”

  “After you left me the other day, I summoned my personal doctor. I have known him for years, and I trust him completely. He made arrangements for Parker to be taken to a private asylum in the country.”

  “You have had h
im committed to an asylum?” Arthur repeated sharply.

  “Yes. Dr. Mitchell and two attendants went to Parker’s lodgings this afternoon. They surprised him as he was dressing to go out to his club, and they subdued him.”

  Arthur frowned. “Are you certain of that?”

  “I went with them and watched those men overcome Parker and strap him into that dreadful strait-waistcoat. My grandson pleaded with me as they forced him into a barred wagon. And then they silenced him with a strip of cloth across his mouth. I could not stop crying for hours.”

  “Dear God,” Elenora whispered.

  Lady Wilmington stared dully at the candle. “I assure you, tonight has been the most terrible night of my entire life. It was even worse than the day I learned that Treyford had been lost to me forever.”

  Elenora felt tears swim in her own eyes. She rose quickly and went to Lady Wilmington’s chair. Sinking to her knees, she covered the woman’s hands with her own.

  “I am so sorry that you were forced to endure such a great tragedy,” she told her.

  Lady Wilmington did not seem to hear her. She continued to gaze at the candle.

  “There is something I would like clarified, if you don’t mind, Lady Wilmington,” Arthur said quietly. “If Parker was taken away to a private asylum earlier today, who arranged for Roland Burnley to receive a note telling him to go to an address near the Green Lyon tonight? And who made certain that I would follow him and discover the snuffboxes?”

  Lady Wilmington heaved a sigh. “Parker is extremely exacting when it comes to making plans. It is yet another trait that he inherited from Treyford. His scheme involving you and young Mr. Burnley this evening must have been in place before the attendants took him away this afternoon. I’m sorry, I knew nothing about it. If I had realized what was afoot, I would have sent a warning to you, sir. At least no one else has died since you came to me with your tale.”

  “True.” Arthur flexed one hand into a fist and then released it. “Although the situation was somewhat uncertain there for a while tonight when I found Burnley with those damned snuffboxes.”

  Lady Wilmington used a handkerchief to wipe her tears. “I am so very sorry, sir. I do not know what else to say.”

  “Speaking of the snuffboxes,” Arthur continued, “I wonder why Parker arranged for me to discover them? You say he was obsessed with constructing Jove’s Thunderbolt. If that was true, he needed the red stones. Why let two of them fall into my hands?”

  Elenora got to her feet. “Perhaps we had better take a closer look at those snuffboxes. I can think of only one reason why Parker would let you find them.”

  Arthur caught her meaning at once. He opened the velvet sack and removed one of the snuffboxes. Then he lit the lamp on the small writing desk.

  Elenora watched as he held the lid of the box in the light of the lamp and studied it closely.

  “Yes, of course,” he said, slowly lowering the snuffbox.

  “What is it?” Lady Wilmington asked.

  “I will take the boxes to a jeweler in the morning to make absolutely certain,” Arthur said. “But I think it is safe to say that this stone is merely colored glass that has been cut to resemble the original gem.”

  “Now it all makes sense,” Elenora said. “Parker removed all three of the red stones and had them replaced with glass replicas. I wonder where he hid the real gems?”

  Lady Wilmington shook her head, perplexed. “I suppose it’s possible he had them on his person when they took him away this afternoon. But perhaps they are hidden somewhere in his lodgings.”

  “If you will give me the address, I will search his rooms tomorrow morning,” Arthur said.

  Lady Wilmington looked at him with a despair that caught at Elenora’s heart.

  “I will give you the key to Parker’s rooms,” Lady Wilmington declared. “I can only pray that you will forgive me for not being more forthright with you from the start of this affair.”

  “We comprehend your feelings in this matter.” Elenora soothed the woman’s trembling hands. “He is your grandson, and he is all that you have left of your lost love.”

  A few minutes later Arthur got into the carriage after Elenora. Instead of sitting across from her as was his usual practice, he lowered himself down beside her. With a deeply felt sigh he stretched out his legs. His thigh brushed against hers.

  His close physical proximity was somehow comforting rather than stimulating tonight, she noticed. It was a good feeling, and she knew that it was yet another aspect of their association that she would miss in the years ahead.

  “It makes sense that he would have arranged his plans yesterday or even the day before,” Arthur said after a while. “He used Jeremy Clyde, who unknowingly played his part and dropped the lure that took me to the Green Lyon this evening. In addition, Parker no doubt set some street boys to watch for me to arrive. One of them must have noticed me inside this hired carriage and delivered the message to Burnley.”

  “All in the hopes of distracting you by making you think that you had found your killer.”

  “Yes.”

  “He assumed that you would be all too eager to believe that Burnley was the villain. After all, Roland had run off with your fiancée.” She smiled wryly. “How could the killer have possibly known that you bore no ill will toward Roland and had, in fact, orchestrated the elopement?”

  “It was his only miscalculation.”

  “Yes. And speaking of mistakes, obviously it was, indeed, my overheated imagination that made me think that footman who touched me in the ballroom this evening was the murderer.” She shivered. “I must admit I’m very glad I was wrong about his identity.”

  “So am I. The notion that he might have touched you again—”

  “For what it is worth sir, I believe that Lady Wilmington took the right course of action,” she said quickly, hoping to distract his thoughts. “Parker is mad. There were only two options, an asylum or the gallows.”

  “I agree.”

  “It is over,” she said gently. “The affair is concluded. You have fulfilled your responsibility. Let your mind be at ease.”

  He did not speak. But after a while he reached out, clasped her hand and closed his fingers very tightly around hers.

  They sat without speaking, holding hands, until the carriage arrived at the front door of the big house in Rain Street.

  34

  The clock on the table beside the bed read three-fifteen. Arthur looked at it from his post near the window. He had undressed but he had not yet bothered to climb beneath the quilts. There was no point. It was not sleep he needed.

  He needed Elenora.

  The house seemed to slumber around him. The servants had long since gone to bed. If past behavior was a reliable guide, Bennett would not bring Margaret home until dawn.

  He wondered if Elenora was finding sleep as elusive as he was finding it.

  He looked out the window into the night-drenched garden and thought about how Elenora would look curled up in bed. Then he reminded himself yet again that a gentleman must not knock on a lady’s bedchamber door unless he had been invited to do so.

  Elenora had not issued any invitations when he had said good night to her a short time ago. In point of fact, she had instructed him quite succinctly to get some sleep.

  He was not in a mood to follow those orders.

  He contemplated the darkness for a while longer. It would be irresponsible to go to Elenora’s room. True, they had got away with that episode in the library, but he had no right to put her into such a potentially embarrassing situation again.

  The risks were many and varied. Margaret and Bennett could easily come home early, and Margaret might discover that he was in the wrong bedchamber. Or one of the servants might hear the creak of the floorboards and, fearing burglars, come upstairs to investigate.

  But he knew, deep down, it was not the risk of discovery that was holding him back. It was the possibility that all Elenora wanted or needed from him
was a short-lived passion.

  He thought about her dreams of financial and personal independence. For a brief, heady moment he pictured what it would be like to cast off the shackles of his responsibilities to the Lancaster family and run away with Elenora.

  The fantasy of living a gloriously free life with her in some far-off clime, well beyond the reach of his relatives and the demands of those who depended upon him, shimmered in front of his eyes, an effervescent reflection on the window pane.

  The image quickly vanished. He had commitments. He would keep them.

  But tonight Elenora was only just down the hall.

  He tightened the sash of his black silk dressing gown and turned away from the window. Picking up the candle, he crossed the room, opened the door and let himself out into the corridor.

  He stood listening for a few seconds. There was no sound of a carriage out in the street, no noise from downstairs.

  He went along the hall and stopped in front of Elenora’s bedchamber. No light shone beneath the door. He told himself he should take that as a sign that, unlike him, she had been able to go to sleep.

  But what if she was lying there in the darkness, wide awake? It would not hurt to tap lightly on the door. If she was sound asleep, she would not notice the small noise.

  He rapped, not quite as softly as he had intended. But, then, what would have been the point of a soundless little tap?

  For a moment he heard nothing. Then he caught the unmistakable squeak of the bed frame followed by muffled footsteps.

  The door opened. Elenora looked out at him with eyes that appeared fathomless in the glow of the candle. Her dark hair was pinned up under a lacy little cap. She wore a plain dressing gown patterned with small flowers.

  “Is something wrong?” she whispered.

  “Invite me inside.”

  Her brows knit together. “Why?”

  “Because, as a gentleman, I cannot enter your bedchamber without an invitation.”

  “Oh.”

  He held his breath, wondering what she would do.

  Her mouth curved in a slow, sensual smile. She stood back and held the door wide. “Please, come in.”