by Amanda Quick
“Fantasies and dreams are for those who wish to delude themselves.”
“I disagree, sir.” She looked at him over the top of her fan again, her eyes as bright and intriguing as the shiny beads. “Some fantasies and dreams can come true. But only for those who are willing to pay the price.”
“I think it far more likely that after handing over the required fee, one would find oneself left holding only a handful of sparkling bubbles that would soon burst and disappear.”
Sparkling bubbles that would look very much like the glittering beads on the fan, he thought.
She smiled at him and, with a quick twist of her hand, made the fan dip and swoop. “Perhaps your problem is that you have never had the good fortune to actually encounter a fantasy or a dream. My advice is not to judge the value of the goods until you have had a chance to sample them.”
“As I am not likely to be offered free samples, I doubt I shall have the opportunity to form any judgments concerning the wares.”
“Ah, now, in that you are seriously mistaken.” Celeste laughed again and squeezed his arm lightly, intimately. “I can assure you that there are free samples to be had if one happens to know the right place in which to shop.”
“As I just told you, I am not particularly keen on shopping.”
The fan fluttered in her hand. The tiny lights flashed.
“I can show you where to find some very excellent free samples, Mr. March,” she said softly. “What is more, I can promise you that when you have had a taste of the wares you will be completely satisfied.”
He looked down into her glowing eyes. “Would you mind putting that bloody fan away, Mrs. Hudson? I find it irritating.”
She blinked, clearly startled. The fan stilled abruptly in her hand. The invitation and the promise faded in her eyes.
“Of course, Mr. March.” She snapped the fan closed. “Forgive me, I had no idea that it bothered you.”
“Mrs. Hudson,” Lavinia called loudly from halfway down the block. “This is a surprise. Imagine meeting up with you and Mr. March here in the middle of the street.”
Tobias smiled at the sound of her voice. It was a crisp, bracing tonic, a strong antidote to Celeste’s cloying sweetness.
He watched Lavinia stride purposefully toward them, a small bundle that no doubt contained a newly purchased volume of poetry in one hand, a perky green-and-white parasol in the other. She was dressed in a deep emerald green gown and a striped-green pelisse.
Another one of Madam Francesca’s creations, he thought. The gemlike hues set off Lavinia’s red hair, which was bound up beneath a clever little green hat.
She came to a halt in front of him and gave him a steely smile.
“You’re late,” she announced.
She was not in a good mood, he realized. Beneath the wispy veil of the hat, her eyes glinted in a dangerous fashion.
“My fault, I’m afraid,” Celeste murmured. She did not take her hand away from Tobias’s arm. “We bumped into each other here on the street and fell to chatting. I trust you will forgive me for distracting your Mr. March for a moment or two?”
“In my experience, Mr. March is rarely distracted unless he wishes to be distracted.” Lavinia gave Tobias another icy little smile. “I collect that the subject you were discussing was quite riveting?”
“I believe we were conversing about the pleasures of shopping,” Tobias said. With a small but determined movement of his arm, he succeeded in dislodging Celeste’s dainty little claws.
“Shopping?” Lavinia raised her brows. “Not one of your favorite subjects, as I recall.” She turned back to Celeste. “Speaking of shopping, I saw your fan just as you were folding it, Mrs. Hudson. Most unusual. May I ask where you purchased it? I should like to find a similar one.”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.” Celeste dropped the fan into her reticule. “I made it myself.”
“You don’t say.” Lavinia’s eyes widened admiringly. “I am extremely impressed. Unfortunately, I possess no artistic talents whatsoever.”
“I’m sure you have other talents, Mrs. Lake.”
There was a distinct edge to Celeste’s voice now, Tobias noticed. The rippling-brook effect had vanished entirely.
“I like to think that I do have one or two humble skills,” Lavinia said with patently false modesty. “Take shopping, for instance. I consider that I have a distinct talent for being able to spot cheap, shoddy goods at a glance.”
“Indeed.” Celeste stiffened, but her condescending smile remained firmly fixed. “I, on the other hand, have always had a knack for identifying frauds and charlatans. I suspect such individuals are something of a problem in your new line, are they not?”
“Whatever do you mean?”
Celeste raised one shoulder in a delicate shrug. “Evidently just anyone can set herself up as an investigator and make claims of expertise that cannot possibly be verified.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“How on earth is a potential client to know whether or not he or she is dealing with an individual who is actually qualified to make private inquiries?” Celeste asked innocently.
“If one is wise, one selects an investigator the same way one selects a practitioner of mesmerism,” Lavinia shot back smoothly. “One relies upon references.”
“You can provide references, Mrs. Lake? I am astonished to hear that.”
It was time to intervene, Tobias decided. He did not relish the notion of stepping into the middle of this skirmish, but his duty as Lavinia’s occasional partner was clear. He dared not stand by and watch her get drawn into a loud and embarrassing scene right here in the middle of the street. She would never forgive him for allowing her to humiliate herself in such a public fashion.
“Speaking of business matters, Mrs. Hudson,” he said just as Lavinia opened her mouth to respond to Celeste’s latest goad, “I assume that you and Dr. Hudson have several excellent references from your time in Bath.”
“Yes, of course we do.” Celeste glared at Lavinia. “Howard gave therapeutic treatments to only the most exclusive sort. I made certain of it.”
“I doubt if your clientele was any more exclusive than ours,” Lavinia shot back.
“Indeed?” Celeste gave her a pitying look. “I think it is highly unlikely that you can count such distinguished gentlemen as Lords Gunning and Northampton on your list of clients.”
Lavinia opened her mouth to retaliate. Tobias took her arm in a firm grip and squeezed just hard enough to get her attention. She shot him a disgruntled look, but she closed her mouth.
“Impressive,” he said quickly. “Unfortunately, Mrs. Lake has not yet acquired any titled clients, but perhaps she will be lucky enough to do so one of these days. Meanwhile, you must excuse us. We have an appointment.”
“We do not have an appointment,” Lavinia said.
“Yes, we do,” he said. “You have obviously forgotten it.” He smiled at Celeste. “Good day, madam.”
Celeste switched her attention back to him. The sparkling look returned to her eyes, and her voice became warm and husky once more. “Good day, Mr. March. It was a pleasure meeting up with you. I trust that we shall bump into each other again in the very near future. I would very much like to continue our discussion of how one may obtain free samples of certain very special wares.”
“Indeed,” he said.
He turned, and dragging Lavinia with him, walked swiftly away.
There was a short moment of silence. He could feel Lavinia vibrating with outrage on his arm.
“You do realize,” Lavinia said, “that she was attempting to put you into a trance with that silly fan.”
“It occurred to me, yes. It was an interesting experience. Especially in light of the fact that she made a point of telling us the other day that she had no talent for the art of mesmerism.”
Lavinia sniffed with undisguised disdain. “I doubt if she does have much genuine ability. But she has been working with Howard for a year,
so it is possible that she has picked up a few rudimentary skills.”
“And chose to practice them on me? I wonder why she went to the trouble.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. The answer is perfectly obvious, if you ask me. She intended to seduce you and thought to use her poor mesmeric techniques to accomplish her goal.”
He smiled. “Do you really believe that was her objective?”
“I am quite certain of it. It is clear to me that she finds you fascinating, intriguing, and something of a challenge.”
“I would be flattered were it not for the fact that I have the distinct impression that Celeste places all men into one of two categories. Useful and Not Useful. I have a nasty suspicion that she has decided that I fit into the former.”
Lavinia tilted the parasol to get a better look at him. “You believe that she thinks she can somehow use you?”
“It is a blow to my pride, of course. Nevertheless, I am forced to conclude that it is the most likely explanation for her interest in me.”
“And just how do you imagine that she might use you, sir?”
“Damned if I know,” he admitted.
“Rubbish.” Lavinia’s hand tightened around his arm. “I think she is madly attracted to you and thinks it would be amusing to indulge in an affair.”
He grinned. “As I am not the sort of man who can be put into a trance by just any passing mesmerist, we are unlikely to ever discover the truth of her intentions.”
“I trust not.”
“Are you by any chance jealous, Lavinia?”
“Of her extremely limited mesmeric skills? Certainly not.”
“Not of Celeste’s mesmeric talents.” He lowered his voice. “Of her interest in me.”
She gazed straight ahead. “Is there any reason why I should feel the pangs of jealousy?”
“No.”
She brightened. “Then the subject does not arise.”
“The subject has arisen. You’re avoiding it.”
“Really, Tobias. You are a man of honor. Your word is your bond. Of course I trust you.”
“That is not quite the question I am asking.”
“That nonsense about free samples.” Lavinia gave him a suspicious look. “She was offering herself to you, wasn’t she?”
“You know me, my dear. I have never taken the trouble to master the fine arts of flirtation and innuendo, so I cannot say for certain what she was about with that chatter.”
“Bloody hell.” Lavinia came to a halt and spun around to face him. “That is precisely what she was doing. That hussy as much as offered you a free sample of the extremely cheap goods she is selling. What nerve.”
“You are jealous.” For some reason he felt quite cheerful.
“Let’s just say that I do not trust that woman any farther than I could throw that hackney over there.”
“On that point, we are in complete agreement.” Tobias looked back over his shoulder to where Celeste had been standing a few minutes ago. “The goods may be cheap, but I very much doubt that anything Mrs. Hudson offers—including samples—would prove to be free.”
Seven
THE SIGHT OF THE UNLIT WAREHOUSE LOOMING in the darkness near the river gave her a moment of nervous dread. For the first time in this endeavor she experienced true fear. It started in her palms, an icy, prickling sensation that climbed up her arms and spread through her chest. Suddenly she found it hard to breathe.
What was the matter with her? It was almost finished. She had come too far to lose her courage at this juncture.
She took a deep breath, and the disturbing sensation passed. She was in command of herself once more. Her brilliant future lay before her. All she had to do was complete this night’s work and she would be on her way into the ton’s glittering ballrooms and elegant drawing rooms at last.
Hoisting the lantern, she went to the door of the warehouse and opened it carefully. The rusty hinges groaned in protest.
Inside, she paused again on the threshold and surveyed the cavernous interior of the building. The flaring light from her lantern splashed sharp shadows across a jumble of empty packing crates and shipping casks. For a terrible instant they looked like so many monuments and headstones scattered about in an abandoned graveyard. She shuddered.
It is too late to turn back now. You’ve come too far. All the way from that dreadful little shop. Soon you will move in Society.
A rapid skittering sound emanated from a corner between two large crates. She flinched.
Rats, she thought. Just rats, fleeing from the light.
She heard the bootsteps behind her, and another cold wave of fear flashed through her. It was all right, she assured herself. He had received her message and had come to meet her, just as she had instructed. They would conduct their business and that would be the end of it. When it was over, she would be poised to move into her golden future.
“My dear Celeste,” the killer said in a voice as soft and low as a lover’s. “I have been waiting for you.”
She knew then that something had gone terribly wrong. Another lightning bolt of freezing horror flashed through her. She started to turn, fumbling frantically with the little fan. She opened her mouth to speak so that she could bargain for her life. This was why she had not brought the bracelet with her. Her plan had held an element of risk, so she had left the Blue Medusa in safekeeping as surety for her own life while she negotiated the new price.
But it was too late to bargain. He already had the cravat around her throat, silencing her so that she could not use her skills to save her own life. In those last moments when the red darkness clouded her brain, she knew with horrifying clarity that she had made a fatal mistake. She had known he could be ruthless, understood that he was obsessed. But she had not recognized the madness in him until now.
WHEN IT WAS FINISHED, HE LOOKED DOWN AT the results of his handiwork and was quietly satisfied. The creature would never again play her tricks on him or any other man.
He picked up her reticule, opened it, and poured out the contents. It contained the usual paraphernalia one expected to find. There was a handkerchief and some coins for the hackney she would not be hailing. But what he sought was not inside.
The first stirrings of alarm went through him. He went back to the body and knelt to check the folds and pockets of the cloak.
Not there either.
A feeling uncomfortably akin to panic swept over him. He suppressed it and quickly patted down her clothing.
Still nothing.
He yanked up her skirts to see if she had concealed it between her thighs.
But there was no sign of it.
Desperate now, he rose and hoisted the lantern to check the surrounding floor. Perhaps she had dropped it during her death struggle.
But a few minutes later he was forced to confront the terrible truth. The Blue Medusa was gone. And he had just murdered the only person who could have told him where it was hidden.
Eight
“ARE THERE ANY MORE OF THOSE CURRIED EGGS, Mrs. Chilton?” Tobias turned a page of the morning newspaper he had brought with him. “They are excellent.”
“I’ll bring some out, sir.” Mrs. Chilton chuckled as she backed through the door that led to the kitchen.
“And another currant biscuit would go very nicely with the eggs,” he added. “You do have a way with currants, Mrs. Chilton.”
“I made plenty of extra,” she assured him. “Had a hunch you’d be here this morning.”
The door swung shut behind her.
“Indeed.” Lavinia looked up from her own newspaper and eyed Tobias across the width of the table. “This is the third time in a week that you have appeared at breakfast. You are becoming predictable in your habits, sir. I vow, it has reached the point where we could set our clock by your arrival here in the mornings.”
“I have reached the age at which a man must look after his constitution. They say that regular habits and a properly cooked breakfast are essential to good hea
lth.”
“So you’ve decided to combine both vital principles of health and eat here every morning, is that it?”
“The routine also provides me with a daily walk, another extremely healthful activity.”
“You did not walk here this morning. You arrived in a hackney. I saw you.”
“Watching for me, were you?” He put down the paper, looking pleased. “I used a hack because it rained last night, in case you did not notice. The air is still somewhat damp.”
“Oh, dear.” She bit her lip, concern temporarily swamping her irritable mood. “Is your leg aching badly today?”
“Nothing a good breakfast cannot remedy.” He drank some coffee with the air of a man settling in to savor the first meal of the day with hearty relish. “By the way, did I mention that you look like a sea nymph playing in the waves of a southern sea with the sunlight on your hair this morning?”
She gave him a frosty glare. “It is far too early for such poor humor, sir.”
The breakfast-room door opened again. Mrs. Chilton bustled in with a dish of curried eggs and two currant biscuits. “Here you are, sir. Help yerself.”
“Ah, Mrs. Chilton, your cooking is just what a man needs to fortify himself to face the day.”
The heavy door knocker clanged in the distance.
Lavinia frowned. “Probably one of Emeline’s friends. Mrs. Chilton, please inform whomever it is that she went out walking with Mr. Sinclair.”
“Aye, madam.”
Mrs. Chilton disappeared down the hall. But a moment later when the front door opened, it was not the voice of one of Emeline’s many acquaintances that Lavinia heard. It was Howard Hudson’s low, rich tones that echoed in the corridor.
“Hudson.” Tobias did not look pleased. “What the devil is he doing here at such an uncivil hour?”
“I might remind you, sir, that you chose to visit at a rather early hour yourself.” Lavinia crumpled her napkin and rose quickly. “If you will excuse me, I shall go and see what he wants.”
“I’ll come with you.”