by Amanda Quick
He followed Leona into the cab, closed the door and sat down across from her. He watched her adjust the elaborate folds and flounces of her skirts.
“I can understand why a lady might find it comfortable and convenient at times to wear men’s clothes,” he said. “But speaking from a man’s point of view, I must tell you that there is a great deal to be said for the sight of a woman in a gown.”
Leona smiled coolly. “Speaking from a woman’s point of view, I can assure you that there is a great deal to be said for having the choice.”
The carriage rumbled forward. Thaddeus looked back at Pierce’s handsome townhouse. “I have the impression that the women in Pierce’s life have all chosen to give up the option of wearing gowns and petticoats in favor of living their lives in men’s clothes.”
“You noticed that the servants were all female?” Leona asked, startled.
“Yes.”
“How could you tell?”
He shrugged. “Once you start to question the obvious, you begin to look beneath the surface.”
Leona followed his gaze to the front door of the townhouse. “The fascinating thing is that very few people do look beneath the surface. Mr. Pierce and Adam and their close associates at the Janus Club go about as men on a regular basis, and no one ever seems to notice.”
“It is not the fact that they are all women disguised as men that intrigues me,” Thaddeus said.
“What does intrigue you?”
He smiled and stretched out one leg, letting it brush against her violet skirts as though by accident.
“It is the thought of the reaction of all the gentlemen presently nursing their brandies and cigars in their St. James Street clubs if they were to learn that one of the wealthiest, most mysterious criminal lords in London is a female.”
32
A FEVERISH THRILL of excitement swept through Delbridge when he walked into the hushed chamber. He had waited for this moment for months.
The ancient stone room was windowless. Power as heavy and as ominous as the fog outside pooled within the four walls.
The aura of menacing energy was not a product of his imagination. His own senses were wide open, registering the strong paranormal currents that swirled in the chamber. They emanated from the five men seated at the large, horseshoe-shaped table. Each possessed a high degree of talent.
He did not yet know the identities of any of the men. The five members of the Third Circle of the shadowy conspiracy known to him only as the Order of the Emerald Tablet wore cowled robes embroidered with cryptic alchemical designs. The hoods of the robes were pulled up so that each man’s face was cast in deep shadow. Beneath the hoods, each man wore a half mask. Four of the masks were silver. The fifth, that of the leader, was gold.
“Good afternoon, Lord Delbridge,” the leader said. His eyes glittered through the openings of the mask. “The members of the Third Circle of the Order of the Emerald Tablet look forward to receiving your offering.”
Delbridge’s blood beat heavily in his veins. They both knew that the crystal wasn’t an offering; it was his initiation fee. He had accomplished the task these men had set him. He had proven his worthiness to sit among them.
“I have brought the aurora stone to you, as you asked,” Delbridge said.
He sensed the sudden greed and—there was no other word for it—lust that flared in the chamber. He had known from the start of this affair that the five wanted the crystal very badly. With luck he would finally discover just why the stone was so important to them.
“You may present your gift to the Third Circle,” the leader intoned.
With a small flourish, Delbridge removed the velvet pouch from his coat pocket. There was an audible murmur of excitement from the members.
Savoring the moment, he walked into the curve of the table and set the pouch in front of the leader.
“With my compliments,” he said.
The gold mask glinted again when the leader picked up the pouch. Delbridge and the others watched him untie the cord and withdraw the stone. He placed the crystal on the table. It sat there, dull and unprepossessing in the dim light.
There was a short, uncertain silence.
“Doesn’t look like much,” one of the men commented.
A little jolt of anxiety touched Delbridge’s nerves. It was the right crystal. It had to be. He had risked everything, most importantly his position in Society, to obtain it for them. If it ever got out that he had joined forces with a mad scientist and a cold-blooded killer in order to gain entrance to a secret club he would be ruined. Given his wealth and his connections he might avoid prison, but the scandal would haunt him to the end of his days.
The leader picked up the stone and held it in the palm of his hand. Beneath the edge of his mask, his thin lips curved with satisfaction. “I can feel its power.”
“Many crystals have power,” grumbled one of the Order members. “How do we know it’s the stone we require?”
The leader rose. “By putting it to the test, of course.”
When he crossed the stone floor, steel clanked lightly on steel, as though he wore old-fashioned armor beneath the thick robes. A shiver ruffled the hair on the nape of Delbridge’s neck. He wondered if the leader carried a sword. That possibility made him swallow hard. Intuition warned him that this group would not take failure well.
They could not murder him outright if the crystal did not do whatever it was they expected it to do, he assured himself. He was Lord Delbridge. His family connections were impeccable. He moved in some of the best circles of society.
Yes, and he had recently set the Midnight Monster on two other gentlemen who had possessed excellent connections. He had gotten away with murder. Who was to say these men could not perform a similar feat?
Calm yourself. You have given them what they demanded, the real aurora stone. You will soon be one of them.
The leader halted in front of a low, vaulted door in the ancient stone wall, reached inside his long robes and produced a key. That explained the clanking noise, Delbridge thought. The leader wore a steel chatelaine with a number of keys on it beneath his gown, not a sword. That realization came as a distinct relief.
“Yes, the test,” one of the men hissed, jumping to his feet. “If it unlocks the strongbox we will know immediately if Lord Delbridge has brought us the right stone.”
The others followed quickly. For a moment Delbridge thought that he had been forgotten, but the leader turned once more to look at him, pinning him with his cold gaze.
“Come with us, sir. You will witness the results of your efforts together with the rest of us.”
Do not show any fear, Delbridge warned himself.
“As you wish,” he said, managing to maintain what he hoped was a coolly polite air.
They filed through the narrow doorway and into another, smaller chamber. The leader turned up a lamp. Delbridge looked around with a mix of curiosity and dread. This room, too, appeared to date from ancient times. It also lacked windows. Delbridge glanced at the heavy, ironbound door with its massive lock and concluded that the little chamber had probably once functioned as a secure storeroom.
A large steel strongbox sat on a thick carpet in the center of the room. It looked old. Late seventeenth century, Delbridge decided, the era of Sylvester Jones, founder of the Arcane Society. Had the Third Circle managed to obtain an artifact connected to Sylvester? Excitement sparked through him, driving out some of the apprehension. The founder’s secrets were the stuff of myth and legend within the Society.
Lamplight flickered on the gold foil that covered the curved top of the strongbox. Words and symbols were inscribed on the gold. Delbridge recognized some of the symbols as alchemical and some of the words as a mix of Latin and Greek but could not decipher their meanings. A private code, he thought. The old alchemists were notoriously secretive.
There was no lock on the strongbox and no visible line to mark the lid. In the center there was a deep indentation lined with
some dark, glassy substance.
The leader looked at Delbridge. “I can see from the expression on your face that you have some notion of the value of this ancient strongbox.”
“Did it belong to Sylvester Jones?” Delbridge asked, awed in spite of himself. “A while back there were rumors about a burglary at Arcane House.”
“This was not stolen from Arcane House,” the leader said.
Delbridge’s sense of intense anticipation dimmed. “I see.”
The leader gave him a mysterious smile. “It did not belong to the founder,” he said softly. “It was, instead, the property of someone who was privy to his greatest secrets. We believe those secrets are locked inside.”
Delbridge frowned. “One of Sylvester’s rivals?”
“His greatest rival, Sybil the Virgin Sorceress.”
Thunderstruck, Delbridge stared at the strongbox. “I thought Sybil was just another Arcane Society legend. Are you saying that she actually existed?”
“Oh, yes.” The leader indicated the ancient book he held. “She existed. This is one of her notebooks. I searched for it for years before I finally located it in the library of an aging member of the Arcane Society. Upon his death, I was able to acquire it.”
The death of the former owner had probably not been of natural causes, Delbridge thought.
“The entire notebook is written in the Sorceress’s private code, of course,” the leader continued. “I have devoted the past decade of my life to deciphering it. I succeeded, and the contents led me to the location of the strongbox.”
“What is inside?” Delbridge asked, hardly daring to hope. “A copy of the founder’s formula, by any chance?”
“Yes,” one of the other cowled figures said impatiently. “According to the notebook, Sybil did, indeed, steal the formula and conceal it in that strongbox.”
“I don’t understand,” Delbridge said, searching the masked faces around him. “Haven’t you looked?”
“Unfortunately, that has not been possible until now.” The leader’s hand tightened on the journal. “The strongbox is sealed with a most unusual locking device. According to the warning written on the gold foil, any attempt to force the chest open will result in the destruction of the secrets inside.”
Delbridge frowned. “How will you get into it?”
The leader held up the velvet pouch. “Sybil’s warning makes it clear that the aurora stone is the key.”
Another thrill shot through Delbridge. At last he comprehended the enormity of the gift he had provided to the Third Circle. No wonder he had been promised a seat at the table in the other room if he brought them the stone. He had given these men the key to something they valued above all else, something they had not been able to obtain for themselves. He felt his own aura shift and pulse more strongly. Power fed on power.
The leader handed the notebook to one of the other robed figures. Then he held up the aurora stone. For a moment they all stared at the dull, colorless crystal.
With great precision, the leader lowered the stone into the black glass depression set in the top of the strongbox. There was an audible click. It fit perfectly, as if it had been made to sit there.
Delbridge held his breath. He sensed the others, including the leader, doing the same.
Nothing happened.
There was a short, tense silence. Perspiration broke out on Delbridge’s brow.
“It isn’t working,” someone muttered.
Everyone looked at Delbridge. Raw fear briefly paralyzed him. But with an effort of will, he managed to pull himself together.
“This is the stone you demanded,” he said as coolly as possible. “I can feel its power, even if you cannot. It’s not my fault it isn’t opening the strongbox.”
The leader wrapped one hand around the aurora stone. He concentrated intently for a moment. “I think you are correct. I can feel the resonating power of the stone. It is stronger now that it is in contact with the strongbox. But the energy is murky and unfocused. It appears that the last words of Sybil’s warning are true, after all. I had hoped they were intended merely to discourage any attempt to open the box.”
“What does the warning say?” Delbridge demanded.
“ ‘Only she who can command the aurora stone may open this strongbox,’ ” the leader quoted.
“That is the answer, then,” one of the others whispered excitedly. “The energy in the crystal must be properly channeled and directed in order to unlock the strongbox.”
The leader straightened and contemplated Delbridge with a basilisk gaze. “You have brought us the aurora stone, but it is useless to us unless we can find someone with a talent for working the crystal.”
For the first time in several minutes, Delbridge relaxed. He gave the leader a cold smile. “You should have mentioned that earlier when you set me the task of delivering the crystal. I’ll be happy to bring you a woman who can work the aurora stone. Will that satisfy you?”
“Bring us a female who can unlock this strongbox and the sixth seat at the table of the Third Circle is yours,” the leader vowed.
33
HER NAME WAS Molly Stubton,” Thaddeus said. "No one has seen her since the night of Delbridge’s party. I got a description from one of her rivals today. I’m certain she was the dead woman Leona and I found in the gallery.”
It was late in the afternoon. They had gathered once again in the library to share the information they had collected. Thaddeus was impatient for the arrival of night. He had plans for the evening.
“I realize that Miss Stubton did not move in society,” Victoria said. “Nevertheless, I find it astonishing that her murder has gone unnoticed in the press.”
“That is because no body has been found, according to my associate at Scotland Yard,” Thaddeus said. “But among her acquaintances in the world of high-class prostitutes, there are rumors circulating.”
Leona looked at him. “What do her friends and rivals believe happened to her?”
“The current theory is that Delbridge murdered her in a jealous rage and got rid of the body that night.” Thaddeus went to stand at the window. “There is some support for that possibility.”
“What support?” Leona asked.
“It was widely known within her own social circles that Molly Stubton had other lovers. But given the manner of her death and the presence of the rouge pot, I think it more likely that the Midnight Monster killed her.”
Victoria frowned. “I agree. I have met Delbridge on a number of occasions. He strikes me as a rather fastidious man. I cannot imagine him wanting to commit such a gruesome murder. The killer no doubt would have been splashed with the victim’s blood.”
Thaddeus propped himself against the side of his desk and folded his arms. “I agree with you. And, as it happens, there is some other evidence that supports our theory. Although Miss Stubton’s associates all agreed that she took other wealthy lovers, some of them believe that she did so to please Delbridge.”
Leona’s hand stilled on Fog’s head. “Why would a gentleman want his mistress to form a liaison with another man?”
Victoria sniffed disdainfully. “When you have lived as long as I have, Miss Hewitt, you will understand that when it comes to that sort of thing there is no limit to the range of perversions that exists.”
Leona blinked and then turned pink. “Good heavens. You mean Delbridge might have actually enjoyed the notion of his mistress and another man—” She broke off, waving one hand vaguely to finish the sentence.
“That his lordship might have enjoyed watching her in bed with other men?” Victoria concluded coolly. “Yes, that is exactly what I meant.”
Leona swallowed. “How odd.”
“Odd, indeed,” Thaddeus said grimly. “However, in this case I think we can absolve Delbridge of the charge of voyeurism. He is an obsessive collector. The other gentlemen with whom Miss Stubton conducted affairs were also collectors.” He paused for emphasis. “Her last two paramours were Bloomfield and I
vington.”
Leona’s eyes widened with excitement. “The two men who were murdered with the poisonous vapor.”
“Right,” Thaddeus said. “Delbridge used his mistress to gain access to the collections of those two men. It was after Bloomfield’s death that the rumors about the theft of the aurora stone started to circulate. He must have been the last one to possess it before Delbridge stole it. Caleb has done some research. It seems that Bloomfield very likely acquired the stone some eleven years ago.”
Leona went very still. “Then Bloomfield was the one who murdered my mother.”
Thaddeus watched Fog lean more heavily against her. “It appears so,” he said gently.
“After all these years,” she whispered. “I was never able to find her killer. And now he is dead, thanks to another killer.”
To Thaddeus’s astonishment, Victoria leaned closer to Leona and patted her hand.
“Justice, however bizarre, has been done, my dear,” she said quietly.
“Yes,” Leona said. She blinked very rapidly. “Yes, I suppose that is true.”
Thaddeus unfolded his arms, reached into his pocket and took out his handkerchief. Without a word he handed it to her.
“Thank you,” she said. She dabbed at her eyes with the square of pristine linen.
“Bloomfield was every bit as obsessive as Delbridge,” Thaddeus continued. “He was also known for being extremely reclusive and secretive. He kept his possession of the stone a great secret. But I have a hunch that at least one other collector was aware that he had it.”
Victoria frowned. “Do you refer to Ivington?”
“Yes. If you will recall, Ivington was poisoned first. I suspect he was killed after he revealed that Bloomfield was in possession of the stone. Delbridge wanted to cover his tracks.”
Leona crumpled the handkerchief in one hand. “Do you think Molly Stubton was the one who gave both men the poison?”
“No,” Thaddeus said. “In the course of my investigation before I encountered you, I interviewed the servants in both households. They were all quite certain that there was no one else with their employers on the nights of their deaths. Both men were sound asleep, alone in their beds, when they awoke and went mad.”