Affair

by Amanda Quick

  Juliana gripped the lapels of her wrapper. She stared into the flames. “Malcolm hated his voice. He said it was an outrage that he had been stricken in that manner.”

  Baxter watched Juliana for a moment. “I spoke with my brother today. He confirmed that the so-called magician who amuses the members of The Green Table club possesses a voice that is unusually harsh.”

  Charlotte looked at him. “According to the person I interviewed this morning, so did the man who killed Drusilla Heskett. And the man in the black domino who spoke to me last night at the masquerade ball also had a strange, rough voice.”

  “Bloody hell,” Baxter muttered. “Why did you not tell me all this?”

  “There has been no opportunity.”

  “It must be Malcolm,” Juliana whispered. “He established The Green Table club and lured young men of important families into it. It was all part of his plan.”

  “What is this grand scheme?” Baxter asked. “Is he out to destroy the gentlemen of the club?”

  “Destroy them?” Juliana appeared genuinely startled. “Of course not. Why on earth would he do such a thing?”

  Light glinted on the lenses of Baxter’s spectacles. “Some people will go to great lengths to gain revenge. If this magician harbors some grudge against the young men he enticed into the club, he might have thought to arrange their deaths through the use of mesmerism. This morning I witnessed how such a murder could take place.”

  “You are correct on one count,” Juliana admitted. “Malcolm has no love for high-ranking gentlemen of the ton. He scorns the lot. But I do not believe he intended to kill any of them. If I had thought that murder was his goal, I would never have agreed to help him.”

  “What, precisely, is his goal?” Charlotte asked gently.

  “He seeks wealth and power. He claims that by rights he should have possessed both at birth. The fact that he was denied his heritage is a source of great anguish and rage to him.” Juliana hesitated. “Because of my own circumstances, I understood the depth of his feelings on the subject.”

  “Yes, of course.” Baxter’s hand clamped around the mantelpiece. “It all becomes clear now. He thought to control the new generation of young, powerful lords through the use of mesmerism and the drugging incense.”

  Juliana nodded and dabbed at her eyes with the edge of her wrapper. “He has studied Dr. Mesmer’s work and that of many others who have experimented with animal magnetism. He has perfected the techniques of inducing a trance. He uses the incense to facilitate the operation.”

  Charlotte’s palms were suddenly damp. “Baxter, what happened at dawn this morning was indeed a test, was it not?”

  “Yes, the ultimate test of the magician’s control over his subjects.” Baxter removed his eyeglasses and shook out his handkerchief. “No wonder Hamilton and the others could not locate him when they sought to make him break the trance. He had no intention of calling off his experiment before he got the results.”

  Charlotte was awed by the implications. “If he proved that he could use his techniques to send a young man to his death, he would know that he had achieved the degree of power he sought.”

  “I do not know what you witnessed this morning,” Juliana said with an air of desperation. “But I am certain that Malcolm does not intend to murder all the young bloods of the ton.”

  “I believe you.” Baxter methodically polished his eyeglasses. “This morning’s work was simply an experiment, as I said. I suspect that his ultimate goal is to control the gentlemen of The Green Table after they come into their titles and estates. He was obviously willing to sacrifice one of his subjects in order to prove that he had accomplished his objectives.”

  “Just think of what he might be able to do if he could put a number of wealthy, powerful gentlemen into such strong trances,” Charlotte said. “He could use his skills to make them do anything he wished. He could control their investments, their political opinions, their very lives.”

  “Indeed.” Baxter slipped his spectacles back into place. The gold flames in his eyes flared. “And in so doing, his own power would be almost unlimited.”

  Juliana’s mouth trembled. “Malcolm was born a bastard. He could not abide the whims of a cruel fate that had left a man of his intellect and strength of will forever barred from his fortune and society’s most powerful inner circles.”

  “So he sought to shape his own destiny,” Charlotte said slowly.

  Baxter frowned. “What is this about destiny?”

  “On the night of the masquerade ball Malcolm Janner asked me if I believed in destiny.” In spite of the fire, Charlotte found the parlor cold. “I recall his words quite clearly because someone else once said something very similar to me.”

  Juliana dried her eyes. “Malcolm often spoke of destiny. He felt he had a great one, you see. That was one of the things he wished to have verified whenever I read the cards. I was always careful to make certain that he got the fortune he wanted. I feared the effect on his spirits if the cards predicted an ill outcome.”

  “Bloody hell.” Baxter’s voice was so soft that Charlotte barely heard him. “It’s not possible. The man is dead.”

  “Who is dead?” Charlotte asked quickly.

  Baxter closed one hand into a fist on top of the cold marble mantel. “I will explain later.”

  Charlotte hesitated, wanting to pursue the matter. But she could tell from the shuttered look in Baxter’s eyes that he did not intend to say anything more in front of Juliana.

  “When I entered the parlor today,” Charlotte said to Juliana, “I noticed that one of the cards lying faceup on the floor was an image of death.”

  Juliana shook her head. “I gave him the same reading that I always do. I made certain that all the signs indicated a positive outcome for his plans. He seemed very satisfied.”

  Charlotte summoned up the scene in her mind. “Perhaps when he picked you up to carry you to the sofa the hem of your robes brushed against that particular card and knocked it to the carpet.”

  “I suppose so,” Juliana said listlessly.

  “Odd that the card fell faceup and that it was the one card in the deck that the magician would not have wished to see,” Charlotte said very quietly.

  Baxter pinned Juliana with his intent gaze. “Where does this man who calls himself Malcolm Janner reside?”

  Juliana flushed. “I know you will not credit this, but the truth is, I do not have his direction. He said it was best that way. He claimed he wished to protect me in the event that his plans failed. All I can tell you is that he spent a great deal of time at The Green Table. I believe he kept a sort of office there.”

  Charlotte glanced at Baxter. “We did not investigate the top floor of the establishment.”

  “I doubt that he lives there,” Baxter said. “Too obvious. But he would require access to the upper floor in order to stage his magical act. Perhaps it would be worthwhile to have another look around the premises.”

  “Excellent notion,” Charlotte said.

  Baxter glanced at her. The full force of his implacable will gleamed in his eyes. “This time, I shall go alone.”

  “But I can be of assistance.”

  “Don’t even consider the notion.”

  Charlotte raised her brows at his coldly decisive tone. “We shall discuss the matter later, sir.”

  “No,” he said in the very even, very neutral voice that he used whenever he was at his most inflexible. “We will not.”

  Charlotte abandoned the argument for the moment. She had a more pressing concern. “We must make arrangements to protect Miss Post. If Malcolm Janner discovers that she is not dead, he may well make another attempt on her life.”

  Baxter’s mouth curved slightly in a humorless smile. “Then we shall make certain that he is convinced that she is no longer among the living.”

  “How will you manage that?” Juliana asked.

  “We shall do what everyone in Town does when it is deemed necessary to make an import
ant announcement to Society,” Baxter said. “We shall send a notice to the newspapers.”

  Seventeen

  Two hours later, Baxter prowled restlessly around Charlotte’s parlor. A damp-eyed Juliana Post had been safely packed off for the north in a hired carriage from Severedges Stables. Notice of “a fatal occurrence due to a small house fire” had been sent to the newspapers. With luck it would appear in the morning. Plans for an investigation of the third story of The Green Table were simmering in the back of his mind.

  He was making progress on the list of tasks he had assigned himself, but he took little satisfaction from the orderly progression of events. He was in control of the situation, yet he could not escape the sense of a gathering darkness that had nothing to do with the fall of night.

  Morgan Judd was alive. It was impossible, but the facts could no longer be denied. The one thing that did not fit was the description of his voice.

  “Thank you for all that you did for Miss Post.” Seated in a corner of the yellow sofa, Charlotte watched as he paced past on his way to the opposite end of the room. “You were most kind, Baxter.”

  “You were the one who went to warn her and thereby saved her life.” Baxter paused in front of the window and clasped his hands behind his back. “Considering her record in this affair, it would be interesting to know just why you feel so protective of her.”

  “I suppose it’s because she and I have so much in common,” Charlotte said quietly.

  “What in God’s name can you possibly have in common with that woman?”

  “I would have thought it obvious. We are both descended from families whose fortunes had, to put it delicately, declined. We had both been left to deal with callous, dishonorable men who had control over our lives and our incomes. We both found a way to create careers for ourselves that enabled us to escape the usual fates of women in our situations.”

  Baxter threw her an enigmatic glance. “Your careers also allowed you to avoid the risks of marriage, did they not?”

  “Indeed. Although poor Juliana managed to get involved with a man who appears to be more deadly than the average husband. Which only goes to prove that an affair can be just as dangerous as a marriage, I suppose.”

  Baxter adjusted his spectacles. “I hardly think Miss Post’s case is typical.”

  “Perhaps not.” Charlotte grew thoughtful. “Nevertheless, I wonder if it would be worth my while to offer my services to ladies who are contemplating a romantic liaison as well as to those who are considering marriage.”

  She’s serious, Baxter thought. He suddenly became aware of the fact that his jaw was locked in place. He swallowed to release some of the tension. “I doubt that there would be much call for that sort of thing.”

  “You may be correct. It is passion that usually governs one’s decision to become involved in an affair, and when one is consumed by such a strong emotion, one is not terribly interested in facts.”

  “Indeed.”

  “And everyone knows that passion is a fleeting, shortlived sensation. When it has run its course, one can simply end the affair. Not at all like marriage, which requires more discretion and sound logic because one is, after all, stuck with one’s husband for life.”

  Stuck. He sighed inwardly. “Indeed.”

  “Yes, I do believe you have the right of it, Baxter. There would likely be few clients who would employ me to investigate a potential lover.”

  “You appear to have sufficient demand for your services as it is.”

  “Yes, well, enough of business. I saw the look on your face when Miss Post spoke of Malcolm Janner. You know him, do you not? Who is he, Baxter? And how on earth did you make his acquaintance?”

  He forced himself back to the matter at hand. “If my suspicions are correct, his real name is Morgan Judd.”

  “Judd?”

  “I am sorry to say it, but we were friends at Oxford.”

  “Friends?” Her voice sharpened in disbelief. “Did you share the same bond with this Morgan Judd that you did with Anthony Tiles?”

  “Yes. Morgan was also a bastard. He was the offspring of the heir to an earldom and the daughter of country gentry. His mother died in childbirth. His father ignored his existence but his mother’s family saw to it that he was educated as a gentleman. I do not think that Morgan ever forgave either of his parents.”

  “He blamed them for depriving him of his proper station in life?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was it only the bond of your mutual lack of legitimacy that connected you to Morgan Judd?”

  “At first, yes.” Baxter watched a carriage pass in the street. “But Morgan and I shared something else as well. Something that was even more binding. An interest in chemistry.”

  “I believe I begin to understand.”

  “At Oxford, they called us the Two Alchemists. We spent every waking moment in the study of chemistry. We set up a laboratory in our lodgings and used our clothing allowances to purchase glassware and equipment. When the others met to drink coffee and read poetry in the evenings, Morgan and I conducted experiments. We lived and breathed science.”

  “What happened?” Charlotte asked.

  “We drifted apart after Oxford. We corresponded for a time. Exchanged news of the results of our chemical work. But after a while we simply lost contact. Morgan lived in London for a while but we rarely encountered each other.”

  “There is more to that part of the story than you have told me,” Charlotte said gently.

  “You are perceptive. The truth is that, in addition to chemistry, Morgan had … other interests, which I did not share. Those interests became increasingly important to him after Oxford. He grew obsessive where they were concerned.”

  “What sort of interests?”

  “He was drawn to the worst hells and the most unpleasant brothels. As time went on, his tastes in such things grew more jaded and debauched. There was something in him that fed on the darker side of life.”

  “No wonder your friendship failed.”

  “He also became keenly interested in the metaphysical and the occult sciences. At first those subjects were a game to him. He toyed with them in the manner of the Romantic poets. But by the time he left Oxford, it was all much more than an amusing diversion. He had begun to talk of fulfilling his true destiny.”

  “Destiny.” Charlotte repeated the word in a soft, troubled voice. “I vow, the word haunts me.”

  Baxter turned slowly around to face her. “I saw him briefly on the street once several years ago. He told me that I was a fool because I had not used my knowledge of chemistry to forge a grand destiny for myself.”

  “You said that you thought he was dead. What happened to him?”

  “Do you recall my small adventure on behalf of the Crown?”

  “Baxter, are you telling me that was connected to Morgan Judd?”

  “Yes. He was working for Napoleon. Creating lethal chemical vapors intended to be used against our people. I used our past friendship to convince him that I wished to work with him. I told him that I had changed my mind about forging a great destiny.”

  “I see.”

  “I betrayed him,” Baxter said. “I told him that I wanted to share the wealth and power that Napoleon had promised. But once I had verified what he was about, I destroyed his laboratory and notes. There was a terrible explosion. I barely escaped with my life.”

  “The acid,” she whispered.

  “He threw it at me in the course of the struggle.”

  “Dear heaven. He could have blinded you.”

  “Yes, well, I was trying to ruin him at the time.”

  “He deserved it.” Charlotte paused. “You believed him dead in the explosion?”

  “I was certain of it. A body was found two days later. Burned beyond recognition. But Morgan’s rings were on the fingers of the corpse. There was no reason not to think that it was Judd who had perished.”

  “It is very strange.” Charlotte’s voice was so low that i
t was barely audible. “But I am almost convinced that I once encountered Morgan Judd myself.”

  He turned to look at her. “The monster in the hall outside Ariel’s door?”

  “Yes.” She shuddered and hugged herself very tightly as though she had suddenly become very chilled. “That night he asked me if I believed in destiny. The man in the black domino who gave me the rose asked the same question.”

  “Bloody hell.”

  “But the speech of the two men was so vastly different.” Charlotte searched his face. “The monster I met five years ago had a voice that could have lured one down into hell.”

  “That is the thing that makes no sense.” Baxter took off his eyeglasses and plucked the handkerchief from his pocket. “Morgan Judd’s voice was a well-tuned instrument. There is no other way to describe it. When he read poetry aloud, his listeners were enthralled. When he spoke, heads turned to listen. He could have given Kean competition on the stage had he chosen to tread the boards.”

  “But the magician’s voice is just the opposite. It makes me think of shattered glass.” Charlotte frowned. “Although it is strangely fascinating in a bizarre fashion.”

  “If I am right and we are dealing with Morgan Judd, then there are two possible explanations for the change in his voice.”

  “What are they?”

  “The first is that he is deliberately manipulating it so that he won’t be recognized.”

  Charlotte shook her head. “I don’t think that is the case. You would have to hear him to understand. His is a voice that has been damaged.”

  “Then we must consider the second possibility.”

  “What is that?”

  “I did not escape that explosion and fire unscathed.” Baxter finished polishing his eyeglasses. “I was marked for life. Perhaps Morgan was also.”

  “I don’t understand. Miss Post said nothing about scars or injuries when she described him to us. She said that he was as handsome as Lucifer himself. Except for his voice.”