The Third Circle

by Amanda Quick

  Thaddeus spun the appointment book around with a quick twist of his wrist. Together he and Leona looked down at the page that covered the week. There were three appointments for ladies but only two for men, Morton’s and one other.

  Thaddeus pinned Goodhew with a cold-eyed look. “Are these the only two men you have referred to Mrs. Ravenglass in the past week?”

  “Yes, yes, just the two,” Goodhew muttered.

  Thaddeus pointed toward the square marked WEDNESDAY. “When did Smith make his appointment?”

  “The day before yesterday.”

  “Morning or afternoon?” Thaddeus asked.

  Goodhew hesitated. “Midmorning, I believe. See here, what does it signify?”

  Thaddeus ignored the question. “Describe the client.” Goodhew raised both of his thin shoulders in an elaborate shrug. “Late twenties. Light-colored hair. Very elegant. The sort of gentleman women would find quite handsome, I believe.” He glowered at Leona. “There was nothing objectionable about him, I assure you.”

  “Tell me about his clothing,” Thaddeus said.

  “Expensive,” Goodhew snapped.

  “Was his coat light or dark?”

  “I don’t recall.”

  “Was he wearing any jewelry? Rings? A stickpin?”

  Goodhew assumed a mulish expression. “See here, you can’t expect me to remember so many details about a client who was only in this office for a few minutes.”

  “Yes, Goodhew,” Thaddeus said, each word he uttered now riding a current of mesmerizing power. “You will remember every detail about the client who called himself Mr. Smith.”

  Leona shivered as if she had brushed up against a ghost. Thaddeus was not aiming his talents at her, but she nevertheless sensed the energy swirling in the atmosphere. So did Fog. He whined softly and never took his eyes off Goodhew.

  Behind his desk, Goodhew turned into a human statue. He stared into the middle distance. All traces of emotion vanished from his expression.

  “I remember,” he said tonelessly.

  Relentless, Thaddeus took him through a detailed description of Mr. Smith. By the time he finished, Leona knew there could no longer be any doubt. From the pale blond hair to the walking stick, he matched the description of the man Mrs. Cleeves had glimpsed briefly in Vine Street. Goodhew, having viewed Smith from a closer vantage point, was able to offer more details.

  “. . . a large onyx ring set in silver on his right hand,” he droned.

  “. . . walking stick has a silver handle carved in the shape of a hawk’s head . . .”

  “. . . very pale gray-blue eyes . . .”

  When the interrogation was finished Thaddeus looked at Leona. His own eyes still burned hot and fathomless. Leona got the feeling that if she looked too long into the fire she would not be able to resist walking into the flames.

  “He went to your consulting rooms in Marigold Lane and kept watch until you left the premises,” Thaddeus said. “Then he followed you home and waited for an opportunity to search the house.”

  She shuddered. “The man enjoys killing. Fog was no doubt the only thing that stopped him from coming in while Mrs. Cleeves and I were inside. If it had not been for him—”

  She broke off, unwilling to finish the sentence.

  They both looked at Fog who regarded them, in turn, with an expression of polite inquiry.

  Leona ruffled his fur and then turned back to Thaddeus. “Do you think Mr. Smith really is the Midnight Monster?”

  “There is no doubt in my mind.” Thaddeus turned toward the door. “Come. We must be off to our next appointment. It is critical that we learn the name of the dead woman we found in Delbridge’s museum.”

  Leona glanced at the motionless man behind the desk. “What about Dr. Goodhew?”

  “What of him?” Thaddeus opened the front door of the shop. “He can stand there until hell freezes over as far as I’m concerned.”

  “You can’t leave him like that, Thaddeus. How long will the spell last?”

  The heat in his eyes, which had begun to cool, blazed hot once again.

  “It’s not a spell, damn it,” he said.

  The harsh response caught her off guard.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, hurrying toward the door with Fog. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  He looked at her as if he could see straight through the heavy netting of her veil.

  “I’m not a sorcerer,” Thaddeus said evenly.

  “Of course not,” she agreed. “There is no such thing as sorcery. I used the term spell in a metaphoric sense.”

  “I would prefer that you not use it in any sense,” he ground out. “Not in reference to me. I’m a hypnotist, a very powerful hypnotist to be sure, but my talents are psychical in nature, not supernatural.”

  “Yes, I know, but—”

  He angled his chin at the frozen man. “There is nothing magical about hypnosis. I used my talents to temporarily neutralize his senses. A number of practitioners can do it to varying degrees. While in that state the subject is susceptible to suggestion, but there is no sorcery involved. It is purely a matter of manipulating certain currents.”

  She suddenly understood.

  “Rest assured that you are not the only one who has suffered from accusations of dabbling in the occult,” she said quietly. “When I was in business in Little Tickton I was lectured more than once by a member of the clergy on the evils of my ways and strongly advised to give up my profession. In previous generations, the women in my family were often forced to practice their skills in secret or risk being arrested and burned at the stake. More than one had to flee for her life from some overzealous fanatic who thought he had been appointed by God to rid the world of witches and sorceresses. Even today, even within the Society, there are those who consider crystal workers little better than carnival entertainers.”

  He stood there, tense and still for another few seconds, and then the tension seemed to ebb from him. His eyes cooled.

  “Yes,” he said. “You understand. You have always understood, right from the beginning. Come, let us be on our way.”

  She cleared her throat. “You really must not leave Dr. Goodhew in that condition, Thaddeus. What if he doesn’t return to his senses? What if someone walks in and believes him to be the victim of a stroke or a paralytic fit?” A horrifying thought struck her. “Good heavens, what if people think he’s dead. Except that he’s still alive? There are tales about that sort of thing, ghastly stories about people being accidentally buried alive because everyone thought they were dead.”

  He startled her again with his quick, wolfish grin. “Has anyone ever told you that you have an excellent imagination?”

  She winced. “The result of channeling other people’s dreams for so long, I suppose. Thaddeus, I have no great fondness for Dr. Goodhew, but I really do not think we should leave him in a trance. He is helpless.”

  “Calm yourself, madam. If I do not give specific instructions regarding the termination of the trance, the mesmeric effects fade away within a matter of hours. The thing about hypnosis, even psychically enhanced hypnosis, is that eventually the compulsion always wears off. It can be quite annoying in cases like this.”

  “Release him,” she ordered, losing patience. “He is too vulnerable in that state. What if a thief came into his shop?”

  Thaddeus’s mouth twitched. “Very well. I can’t imagine that there are a great many thieves running around London who are in need of a year’s supply of Goodhew’s Vital Elixir for Men. Nevertheless, if it will put your mind at ease, I will release him.”

  “Thank you.”

  Thaddeus’s voice rolled softly through the room, filling it with the endless power of a great sea. “Goodhew, you will awaken when the clock strikes a quarter past the hour. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” Goodhew said.

  Thaddeus took Leona’s arm and escorted her out onto the front steps.

  She glanced back over her shoulder. “Will he rememb
er what he told us while in the trance?”

  “No, not unless I return and instruct him to remember.” Thaddeus smiled again, this time with amused satisfaction. “But rest assured he will most certainly recall that you were very annoyed about the type of clients he had begun to refer to you. And I do not think he will forget Fog anytime soon.”

  She sighed. “It appears that, what with one thing and another, I shall be requiring a new referral agent when this affair is concluded. I am going to be very short of clients for a while.”

  31

  AT THREE O’CLOCK that afternoon they arrived for their appointment in Bluegate Square. Fog no longer accompanied them, having been left to his own devices in the Ware gardens.

  They were ushered into a large library decorated in the latest fashion. Dark red velvet drapes were tied back from tall windows with gold cords. The floor was covered in a red, blue and gold carpet decorated with an elaborate floral design. The wallpaper was a finely striped design picked out in the same colors.

  Adam Harrow lounged with languid elegance on the corner of a vast, highly polished desk.

  Mr. Pierce sat behind the desk. He was not tall, but there was a square, solid look about him that would not have seemed out of place on the docks. His black hair was shot with the first hints of silver. He regarded Leona and Thaddeus with brilliant blue eyes.

  Sprawled on the carpet in front of the fire was a massive hound. Leona had explained to Thaddeus that the beast was the primary reason why Fog could not accompany them. Caesar did not tolerate the presence of other dogs on his territory.

  He got to his feet with an air of aging royalty and walked stiffly forward to greet the newcomers.

  “Hello, Caesar.” Leona rubbed his ears respectfully with one gloved hand.

  Caesar turned to Thaddeus, who repeated the greeting. Satisfied, the big dog returned to his place in front of the fire and settled back down.

  Mr. Pierce was on his feet behind the desk.

  “Miss Hewitt,” he said in his brandy-and-cigar voice. “A pleasure as always.”

  Leona smiled warmly. “Thank you so much for seeing us today, Mr. Pierce.”

  “Of course. Please sit down.” He inclined his head toward Thaddeus. “Ware.”

  “Pierce.” Thaddeus returned the brusque, masculine nod and then did the same with Adam Harrow. “Mr. Harrow.”

  Adam’s mouth curved in a bored, humorless smile. “Why is it that every time I turn around lately, I find you underfoot, Ware?”

  “Coincidence is an odd force,” Thaddeus said.

  Adam looked pained. “I do not believe in coincidence any more than do the members of your Arcane Society.”

  Thaddeus smiled slightly. “In that case, I can only hope that you will not feel it necessary to take more drastic steps to get rid of me.”

  Pierce’s brows rose in amusement. “I have a hunch that making you disappear would require considerable effort, sir.”

  But probably not an entirely unfamiliar sort of effort, Thaddeus thought. “I will do my best to avoid putting you to the trouble,” he said.

  Pierce chuckled. “I think we understand each other very well, indeed, sir. Please take a seat.”

  The door of the library opened soundlessly. A young footman appeared with a tea tray. He set it down on a low table and looked at Pierce.

  “Thank you, Robert,” Pierce said. “That will be all.”

  Thaddeus studied the delicate line of Robert’s jaw and the curve of his calf outlined by the snug-fitting livery. The footman was another female in men’s clothing, like the butler who had escorted them into the library. Pierce’s entire household appeared to be composed of women living as men.

  Pierce looked at Leona. “Will you do the honors?”

  “Of course.” Leona leaned forward and picked up the teapot.

  Adam slipped off the corner of the desk and began to hand around the teacups as Leona filled them. When she gave a cup to Pierce, Thaddeus noticed the subtle air of intimacy that imbued the small, prosaic gesture. When he had seen the pair together for the first time he had been almost sure that they were lovers. Today he was certain of his conclusion.

  “Now, then,” Pierce said, “I have the guest list for Delbridge’s party, as you requested. Forgive my curiosity, but before I give the names to you I must ask why you require them.”

  Leona set down the teapot. “We are hoping that the name of the woman whose body we found that night will be on that list.”

  “Yes, Adam told me about her.” Pierce frowned. “If you do not even know her name, why are you pursuing an inquiry into her death?”

  Thaddeus settled back into his chair. “I have reason to believe that whoever killed her is the same person who recently murdered at least two prostitutes.”

  Adam stared at him, astonished. “Do you refer to that fiend the press is calling the Midnight Monster?”

  “Yes,” Thaddeus said. “I have been engaged by the Arcane Society to find the murderer.”

  Pierce looked intrigued. “And why does the Society care about these murders?”

  “We have reason to believe that the killer possesses certain dangerous abilities that will make it difficult for the police to catch him.”

  “I see.” Pierce was not particularly impressed. “And the Society feels an obligation to hunt down this killer, is that it? How very noble.”

  “It is not an entirely altruistic endeavor,” Thaddeus said dryly. “The Society is concerned, of course, that his talents may allow the killer to operate unhindered by the authorities indefinitely. But it also fears that, if and when the police do apprehend him, the paranormal aspects of his nature may be revealed to the press. The newspapers and penny dreadfuls would create a great sensation, one that could have lasting effects on public opinion.”

  “Ah, yes, I understand now.” Pierce nodded once, satisfied. “You fear the results of such a revelation.”

  “By and large, the public views the whole business of the paranormal with either skepticism or deep curiosity,” Thaddeus said. “At worst, it considers those who claim to possess strong talents as frauds. At best, they are seen as providers of controversial medical cures or merely as entertainers.”

  Adam settled one hip on the corner of the desk again. “But if it got out that the Midnight Monster possessed some very dangerous paranormal talents, the public’s attitude could become extremely hostile. People might well turn on all those who claim to possess psychical abilities, including those who happen to be endowed with genuine powers.”

  “The Arcane Society would naturally prefer that did not happen,” Thaddeus said mildly.

  Pierce and Adam exchanged looks of intimate understanding.

  “It is quite true that the public can make life very difficult for those who do not conform to what is considered to be the respectable norm,” Pierce said quietly.

  “Will you help us?” Leona asked.

  “I will give you the list.” Pierce opened a drawer in the desk and withdrew a sheet of paper.

  Thaddeus rose from his chair and picked up the paper. He glanced at the names. “I will not ask how you came by this list.”

  Pierce shrugged. “I don’t mind telling you. There was no great trick to it. On the occasions when Delbridge entertains, he employs a secretary who happens to be a friend of my own secretary.”

  Leona smiled. “It is a small world.”

  Adam grinned. “It certainly is when one is dealing with the world of private secretaries employed by the elite. Their circles are even smaller and tighter than those of their employers.”

  Thaddeus studied the list. “The majority of these names are those of Delbridge’s male guests. The Midnight Monster may well be among them. But at the moment, I wish to concentrate on the women. I see that there are a dozen of them.”

  “All expensive ladies of the night,” Pierce said.

  “One of them will no longer be among the living,” Thaddeus observed. “Although the murder has not been report
ed, I would expect that some of the other women on this list might have noticed her absence. The world of exclusive courtesans is also quite small.”

  Pierce leaned back in his chair. “I do not know whether it is of any importance, but there is one woman who may well have been there that night who is not on that list.”

  Thaddeus looked up at that. “Who?”

  “Delbridge’s mistress. I have seen the two of them together at the theater. We have not been introduced, but she is extraordinarily beautiful. No one knows much about her. There are rumors, however.”

  “What sort of rumors?” Leona asked.

  “It is said that she was once an actress. In addition, I have heard gossip that she is not particularly faithful to Delbridge.”

  Leona glanced at Thaddeus. “The dead woman in the gallery apparently had an assignation planned that night.”

  “I have heard that Delbridge’s mistress has engaged in a number of brief affairs while she has been under his protection. All were with gentlemen who collected antiquities.”

  Thaddeus looked at him. “And Delbridge has a penchant for stealing those relics that he cannot acquire by other means. I wonder if he was in the habit of using his mistress to gain access to the collections of some of his rivals.”

  “It would not be the first time a man has used a beautiful woman to achieve his objectives,” Pierce said.

  “Delbridge might not have bothered to send a formal invitation to his mistress because he planned to escort her, himself,” Leona offered.

  “Or perhaps her name was left off the invitation list because Delbridge knew in advance that she would not survive the night,” Thaddeus said quietly. “In case of an investigation he did not want any formal record of her presence in the mansion that evening.”

  THEY LEFT THE house a short time later. A hired carriage waited for them in the street. Thaddeus handed Leona up into the cab. The skirts of her deep violet gown whispered past his arm. He caught a tantalizing glimpse of one delicately curved, stocking-clad leg. It vanished quickly beneath a flurry of petticoat ruffles. Memories of the interlude in the conservatory seared his senses. Everything inside him clenched tight.