by Amanda Quick
“You’re right,” he said, narrowing his eyes a little. “I do not want a repeat performance of what happened tonight.”
Her brows scrunched together in warning. “Thaddeus . . .”
“I don’t think my heart could sustain the shock,” he concluded dryly.
She looked as if she was about to argue further but instead wrinkled her nose. “Mine, either.”
He smiled at her. She smiled back.
Quarrel or no quarrel, he thought, the gossamer strands of their invisible bonds linked them. There is no escape for either of us. But he did not speak the words aloud. It was too soon, the moment too fragile.
She finished dressing and then stood there, looking at him, somber and concerned. Now what? he wondered.
“That beast, Lancing,” she said. “Did he really jump to his death tonight?”
So that was it. She was unnerved by the possibility that he had killed a man. He should have expected that reaction. He exhaled slowly, reliving the confrontation on the rooftop.
“Yes,” he said. What the hell, it was the truth, as far as it went.
Relief lightened her expression. “I see.”
He rose and went to the table where he had left the half-finished brandy. He took a swallow, waited until the heat hit him and then lowered the glass.
“But I deliberately drove him to it,” he said.
“I don’t understand.”
“I could not hold him in a trance for more than a few seconds at a time.” He met her eyes across the room. “He was . . . unhinged. Much of his energy was chaotic. He kept slipping in and out of my control. But he comprehended what was happening, and it threw him into a panic. He ran up the stairs to the roof.”
“And you went after him?”
“Yes.” He did not take his eyes off her. “I think he meant to jump to a neighboring roof, but in his confusion and fear he chose the wrong side of the building. His leap took him out over the street.”
“I see.”
“I’m the one who put him into that state of extreme disorientation. I killed him, Leona, as surely as if I had pushed him over the edge. When I followed him up the stairs, I meant to destroy him because I was certain that he could not be safely confined in prison. He was deranged, but his talents were very powerful. Very dangerous. I intended to shoot him, but—”
She nodded once in that same solemn manner and walked to where he stood. He realized he was holding his breath.
She stopped in front of him and touched the side of his face. “He was a rabid dog. You did what had to be done.”
“But now you look at me with different eyes because I plotted a man’s death.”
She shook her head slowly, her fingertips gentle on his cheek. “Not different eyes, worried eyes.”
That caught him by surprise. “What are you worried about?”
“Unlike Lancing, you are a civilized man with a sense of decency and a conscience. Civilized men do not kill with impunity, no matter how righteous the cause. The act always exacts a toll. If it did not, you would be no better than an animal, yourself. There will be dreams, Thaddeus. Perhaps not tonight. Perhaps not tomorrow night. But sooner or later, there will be dreams.”
He did not stir, afraid that she would lower her hand if he moved.
“Yes,” he said. “I expect there will be dreams.”
“Promise me that you will come to me when they strike. I cannot prevent them entirely, but I can keep them from becoming . . . overpowering.”
She was not repelled by what he had done. She was offering to help him deal with the inevitable results of his actions. He exhaled slowly, aware of an enormous sense of relief.
He caught her fingers in one hand, brought them to his mouth, and kissed them. “I will come to you if I need your assistance with the dreams.”
She nodded, satisfied, and stepped back. “At least we now have some answers and the Midnight Monster is dead.”
“Which reminds me.” He turned away, picked up the coat he had tossed over the sofa, and removed the sheet of paper from a pocket. “I found this letter under Molly Stubton’s mattress. She never finished it. For some reason she felt it necessary to conceal it.”
He read it aloud.
“My Dear J.
“I have thrilling news. My plans are unfolding, just as I had hoped. Last night I informed D. that I expected to be paid a great deal more than he is presently giving me for the risks I am taking. He argued at first—called me vile names and pointed out that if it had not been for him I would not be mingling with my ‘betters’ in the social world. It was all very tiresome. But when I reminded him that if not for me, he would never have discovered the name of the collector who possessed that chunk of rock he coveted so highly, he finally saw the light of sweet reason.
“I asked him why the crystal was so important. I thought it might be useful to know. But all he would tell me is that it is the entry fee required to join a very exclusive club.
“Although I expect to do well with the income from D., I know better than most that I cannot trust him. Therefore, I have decided to find another paramour. A woman alone in the world cannot afford to be without the protection of a wealthy gentleman. I have my eye on a certain Mr. S., a man of great wealth and very little intelligence. A nice combination.”
The letter ended abruptly. When he looked up Leona was watching him with an intent expression.
“It would appear that your friend Caleb Jones was right to suspect a larger scheme,” she said thoughtfully. “Delbridge did not steal my crystal merely to add it to his own collection. He wanted it because it was the price required to join a secret club of some sort.”
Thaddeus slowly refolded the letter. “A club in which he deemed membership so important, he was willing to commit murder.”
“She mentions that she is looking for a new paramour. It must have been the gentleman who came into the gallery to meet her that night.”
“Perhaps,” Thaddeus said. “One thing is certain, I need to get back inside Delbridge’s mansion as soon as possible.”
Eagerness lit her eyes. “Do you think we will find the crystal there again?”
“I doubt it. If, by some chance, Delbridge is still in possession of the crystal, he will have taken care to hide it in a less obvious place this time.”
“Then why go back to the mansion?”
“Because I want to look for something that may prove even more important than the damn crystal.”
She appeared startled at the notion that there might be anything more important than the aurora stone.
“What?” she asked, frowning a little.
“Information on the secret club he seeks to join. Perhaps, if I am fortunate I’ll discover the names of some of the other members.”
“Oh, I see. Well, I suppose that would be useful information for you and Caleb Jones.”
He walked to the desk, opened a drawer and took out the schedule of Delbridge’s customary activities that he and Caleb had prepared at the start of the affair.
“If Delbridge follows his usual routine, he will be at his club tomorrow night until quite late. Only two servants live in the house with him: his housekeeper and her husband, the butler. The others come in on a daily basis but they are never there at night.”
“How odd. Most servants live in their employer’s household.”
“Delbridge has secrets to protect, a lot of them,” he reminded her. “And servants talk, just like everyone else. In any event, tomorrow night is the regular evening off for the pair that reside in the mansion. They always go to their daughter’s house on those evenings. They’ll spend the night there.”
“What if Delbridge changes his customary habits when he learns that his pet Monster is dead?”
“I don’t think that is likely. If anything, the news of Lancing’s death will go far to ensure that he sticks to his regular schedule. He will be extremely nervous lest anyone connect him with Lancing’s crimes.”
“I tak
e your point,” Leona said. “By now a number of Delbridge’s associates must be aware that he was acquainted with Lancing and even invited him into his home.”
“Delbridge will feel compelled to disassociate himself from the Monster and to assure people that he is just as shocked as the rest of Society to learn that Lancing is connected to a series of awful crimes. The best way to do that is by not doing anything out of the ordinary. And if he is worried about the long arm of the law, there is an additional benefit to be gained by going to his club.”
“What is that?”
“Few places on earth are as far beyond the reach of a police detective as the inside of a gentlemen’s club.”
Leona squared her shoulders. Her face was set in an all-too-familiar expression of determination. His gut tightened. He knew what was coming.
“I’ll go with you tomorrow night,” she said.
“No.”
“You’ll need me.”
“No.”
“Yes, you will, and for the same reasons you needed me last time. Please be reasonable, Thaddeus. There is a slim chance that the crystal is somewhere inside that mansion. If that is so, I am the only one who can detect it. And if you accidentally trigger another one of those hideous poison traps, what will you do without me? Whether you like it or not, we are partners in this affair. It has been that way from the beginning. We need each other.”
She was right, he thought. He certainly needed her—in ways he had never dreamed that he would ever need a woman.
“I will think about it,” he allowed quietly.
She smiled, not in victory, he realized, but rather in relief. She really had been terrified for his safety tonight.
“Good night, Thaddeus,” she said softly. “And thank you for being reasonable.”
Reason had little to do with this, he thought. When it came to this woman, he was in the grip of a compulsion as binding as an hypnotic trance.
He crossed the room to open the door for her.
“One thing before you go,” he said when she made to move past him. “How did you know that I was in danger tonight?”
She hesitated, looking first startled and then mildly troubled. Finally she shook her head. “I have no idea. I just suddenly knew it.”
“That is because the bonds that connect us are growing stronger,” he said quietly.
Anxiety shadowed her eyes. Before she could argue with him, he kissed her lightly on the mouth.
“Good night, Leona.”
39
THE FOLLOWING MORNING Detective Spellar arrived just as Leona, Thaddeus and Victoria were sitting down to breakfast. He was shown immediately into the room.
He greeted Victoria with a respectful but familiar air.
“Lady Milden,” he said.
She gave him a regal nod. “Good morning, Detective. You’re here early today.”
Leona blinked at the calm, polite reception. It was more than a little extraordinary for a household such as this one to entertain a police detective at breakfast.
Thaddeus introduced Spellar to Leona.
She smiled. “Detective.”
Spellar inclined his head politely. “A pleasure, Miss Hewitt.”
“Help yourself,” Thaddeus said. He waved a hand at the heavily laden sideboard. “And tell us your news.”
“Thank you, sir, don’t mind if I do.” Spellar regarded the array of silver serving dishes with enthusiasm. “Been up most of the night, and I don’t mind admitting I’m half-starved.”
Leona studied him with deep curiosity. She had never met a detective before. Uncle Edward had not been keen on associating with policemen.
Last night she’d had only a shadowy glimpse of Spellar when he’d answered the door and spoken with Thaddeus. This morning she saw that he was of medium height, with a sturdy, rounded figure that suggested he enjoyed his food on a grand scale. His thinning hair was going gray. A full mustache dominated broad, cheerful features and served to distract the viewer from the razor-sharp intelligence that gleamed in his blue-green eyes. His coat and trousers were immaculately tailored to flatter his portly frame.
Thaddeus noticed her scrutiny. He looked amused. “I believe I may have mentioned that Detective Spellar is a member of the Arcane Society. He possesses a talent that is especially useful in his profession. He can read a crime scene as though it were a book.”
“Mind you,” Spellar said from the sideboard, “some books are harder to read than others.”
“Were Lancing’s lodgings difficult to interpret?” Thaddeus asked.
“No.” Spellar heaped eggs and sausages onto a plate in an efficient manner. “Rest assured, the man who jumped to his death off that rooftop last night was the Midnight Monster.”
“What did you find?” Leona asked.
“Souvenirs of his kills, if you can believe it. And a written record, as well.” Spellar sat down and picked up a fork. “The son of a bitch—” He broke off, reddening furiously. “My apologies, ladies.”
Victoria waved an impatient hand. “Never mind, Detective. Please continue. We are all very anxious to hear the outcome of your investigation.”
Spellar cleared his throat. “As I was saying, the Monster kept tokens of each of his kills and a detailed account of how he stalked each victim.” His mouth twisted in disgust. “There was a button from one of the women’s dresses. A scarf from another poor girl, a ribbon from the third and a locket from the fourth. All neatly displayed in a little chest next to their names.”
Leona put down her fork, unable to finish her eggs. “You said there were four victims in all, Detective?”
"Sara Jane Hansen, Margaret O’Reilly, Bella Newport and Molly Stubton.”
“What of the three who disappeared?” Leona asked urgently.
“We still haven’t found any bodies,” Spellar said. “All I can tell you at this point is that there were no souvenirs or accounts for those three. It’s quite possible those disappearances were unrelated to this case. They don’t fit the Monster’s pattern.”
Thaddeus contemplated that for a moment and then shook his head. “The tavern owner said that the third woman, Annie Spence, described the man who was stalking her as elegantly dressed with pale blond hair.”
“Sounds like Lancing,” Spellar agreed. “Perhaps he disposed of her body and those of the other two in a different manner.”
“As he did with Molly Stubton’s body,” Leona said.
Thaddeus’s eyes tightened a little at the corners. “Lancing made it clear to me that killing Molly Stubton was a task assigned to him by his employer. He enjoyed the business and tried to make her fit into his pattern. But because he was following Delbridge’s orders, he could not follow his usual routine. He buried her in the woods because he was ordered to do so.”
Victoria frowned. “Perhaps Delbridge also ordered him to get rid of the three girls who vanished in a similar manner.”
“Why would he do that?” Leona asked. “It is clear that Molly Stubton had become a problem for Delbridge. He wanted her out of the way. But why would he concern himself with a poor prostitute like Annie Spence? She was the sort of woman the Monster stalked and killed for his own pleasure.”
Spellar’s broad shoulders rose and fell. “As I said, the three disappearances may not be related to this case. We may never know what happened to Annie and the other two. They would certainly not be the first poor girls to vanish without a trace from the streets of London. But at least we have gotten rid of the Monster. Over the course of my career I have learned to celebrate what small victories come my way.”
“What of Lord Delbridge?” Victoria asked. “Did you find any proof that connects the Monster to him?”
Spellar heaved a heavy sigh. “Not yet. They were acquainted, obviously. But Delbridge managed to keep Lancing at arm’s length socially. As far as I have been able to determine, the party the other night was the first time Lancing was ever invited to the mansion.”
“He was brought in to get
rid of Molly Stubton,” Thaddeus said. “Lancing probably demanded an invitation to the party as his fee for the murder. He envied Delbridge’s place in Society. Felt he had every right to a similar position.”
“Speaking of Lord Delbridge,” Spellar said, patting his mouth with his napkin. “I went past the mansion before coming here. I knew his lordship would never agree to an interview with me, but I thought it wouldn’t hurt to watch the place for a time, just to see if there was any interesting activity. I was curious to see what he would do when he learned that the Monster was dead.”
Leona glanced at Thaddeus. His expression remained impassive, but she got the message. He did not want her to so much as even hint at their plans to search the Delbridge mansion. She understood. Detective Spellar was the person who had quietly asked the Arcane Society to investigate the Midnight Monster, but he could not afford to be seen condoning an illegal search of a gentleman’s home. Such an action would have been professional suicide. Better for all concerned if he remained blissfully uninformed.
“Did you note anything of interest at Delbridge’s address?” Thaddeus asked as though only mildly curious.
“Wasn’t anything to note.” Spellar’s mustache twitched. He reached for a slice of toast. “Place was empty and locked up tight. No servants about. No sign of Delbridge.”
Thaddeus stilled. “Delbridge has left London?”
Leona straightened abruptly. The villain had decamped with her crystal. She might never find it now.
Evidently sensing her outrage and alarm, Thaddeus sent her a subtle, silencing look. Resentfully, she bit back the questions she wanted to aim like arrows at Detective Spellar and tried to appear only politely interested.
“Delbridge must have got wind that his hired killer had plunged to his death in what would have struck him as very suspicious circumstances,” Spellar said, buttering his toast. “The Monster, a suicide in the street in front of the house previously occupied by Delbridge’s own mysteriously vanished mistress. Quite alarming.”
Victoria frowned. “But how did he learn of Lancing’s death so soon after the event?”
“Can’t say.” Spellar bit into his toast. “Perhaps he and Lancing had an appointment and Lancing failed to show. Or perhaps he heard the rumors of the death at his club, rushed home, packed and fled.”