“Do you know of anyone who might have reason to harm Mr. Martinique?”
“Outside of the work he’s done for the salon, and his sessions with Alexandra, we don’t know anything else about him.”
“Has he ever told you anything personal when you’ve… worked with him? There’s no need to be confidential since he’s gone.”
“Nothing of interest, I assure you.” Alexandra’s clipped reply told me she heard the same slight in his words as I did. Wonderful. Amazing how he could use Delaga House to subvert his marital issues, but cast judgment on the people who provided the service. It made me less sympathetic of Rother’s hold on the man. And these days, my sympathy was limited.
Rother stepped sideways into Worthingfield’s line of sight. “Have you checked with Avaston?”
“What makes you think he’s involved?”
“I told you last night he’s made veiled threats to me, my husband, and Delaga House recently.”
The mere mention of Mr. Avaston sent an icy frisson into my chest. It added to the nauseous unease over hearing about the murder. What was the likelihood he had something to do with Mr. Martinique’s death? He was a well-known customer, and if word got out Delaga House clients were at risk, it could be disastrous.
“That’s being looked into, but Avaston was seen all night at one of his clubs. Proving he was involved won’t be easy.”
Fear loosened my tongue, and I couldn’t continue to stay quiet. “So you expect us to sit back and wait until something truly horrible happens?”
Worthingfield scanned the room for eavesdroppers and lowered his voice. “I’m telling you more than I should already, but we’re working on Avaston. The new magistrate sees him as a first priority in cleaning up the city. There’s a case brewing to pull him down, and it’s big, but it’s too soon.”
“You’re going to arrest him?” Nervous, I began to vibrate, unable to stem my disquiet.
“And dismantle his whole mob. But he knows people, too, so we have to keep it quiet, and we have to do it so he can’t squirm free.”
“It won’t be soon enough for me after—”
Rother clamped a hand on my shoulder, the painful pressure halting my growing rant. “I’m sure the constable is doing everything he can.”
I winced as I pulled myself in. “Y-yes. I’m sure he is.”
My panic made me stupid. Worthingfield might have been an asset to Rother, but he was still a law officer. Given Rother’s method for indenturing him, there was a limit to how far his loyalty could be trusted. No one knew Avaston’s men attacked us in the alley, and it needed to stay that way. Not only to protect Blythe’s past, but not having been forthcoming about the crime could paint an uncooperative picture of Delaga House and subject all of us to further scrutiny. Especially if it was illegal to withhold information in Marisol. Given Rother’s reaction, I had every reason to believe it to be true.
Worthingfield didn’t miss Rother’s interruption, his shrewd focus darting between us. I held my breath as he questioned me with his gaze. Rother would have my hide if I’d created more problems. Putting on my best face, I wiped away my anxious expression and centered on my disdain for the constable. “I’m sure you are. Forgive me if it sounded otherwise.”
The false apology seemed to be enough to shift him off me. “If I learn more, I’ll let you know.”
“See that you do.” Rother dropped his hand. The report of impending charges against Avaston did nothing to raise his spirits. If anything, Rother became more stoic, which always preceded his more unpleasant moments and never boded well.
And Worthingfield knew it, as he bowed in deference. The move was shaky, as if he didn’t know how or had never had to do it properly. “Thank you, Lord Rother. I’m sorry I had to disturb you so early.”
The awkward show of submission stroked Rother’s ego enough that the tension eased.
“Hazards of the profession. Will we be seeing you soon, Constable?”
Worthingfield hedged a bit, reluctant to answer. “The new Chief Magistrate sees it as a conflict of interest. Until this is sorted, no one from our department can do business with anyone connected with the investigation, including Delaga House. It could be seen as bias within the court once charges are rendered.”
Rother’s tone flattened. “I see.”
“I’ll do my best to keep you informed. That’s why I came myself instead of letting some green rookie do the job and disrupt the whole house for no reason.”
“I appreciate that. Let me know if anything of interest comes up. I’ll be sure the details of your business with us stay silent.”
“Thank you, Lord Rother. I think I’ve heard enough. If I have any other questions, I’ll drop by another day, but I don’t expect it. I’m sorry to disturb you all.”
Rother sounded polite, but the tiny, stiff movements in his neck and head told a different story. “You’re just doing your job. Think nothing of it.”
Worthingfield nodded and waved without meeting anyone’s eyes, and showed himself back out onto the street.
As the door closed, a new worry gripped me. Rother had lost yet another of his most influential allies. Or servants, depending on your point of view. The death of Chief Magistrate Saux was a blow, but he still had Worthingfield in a position to protect him. Under this new situation, his help would be less useful. It weakened Rother. The loss dismantled his power base, and he knew it.
I thought for a moment about how this new circumstance affected me. The announcement might have loosened Rother’s absolute hold on me with his key players out of commission, but I couldn’t guarantee he didn’t have others staged, waiting to take their place. Rother was too dangerous a man to discount.
This development did not set me free. And it didn’t free Blythe. I would need to continue as planned.
Jaw taut and fists at his side, Rother stood fixated on the front door, as if willing Worthingfield to recant his superior’s orders and show allegiance to Rother and Rother alone. The visible muscles across his chest and down his legs were tightening. Anger rolled off his skin, in danger of becoming a visible force.
Ephemeral clothing drifting around her, Alexandra sidled next to me. With an arm around my waist, she swept me deeper into the house and away from my powder-keg husband. The press of her body through the flimsy robe failed to raise any objections or embarrassment from me.
“It’s time for a spot of tea, isn’t it, Nathan?”
I couldn’t agree with her more and let her usher me along.
Chapter 25
ROTHER REFUSED to let the murder of Alvus Martinique affect his business and opened up as expected, two evenings later.
For the first time, I wished I hadn’t dragged my feet on repairing the music box. The tinny melody would have been a godsend to end the eerie quiet.
There weren’t half as many customers in the house as there should have been. It didn’t take much effort to see who was missing. Few to no important or wealthy men graced our establishment. The sparse crowd was composed of random men of minimal social status, no matter what their bankrolls might suggest. Gone were the dignitaries who discussed business amongst their peers while waiting their turn for the fantasy of their choice.
And if I could see this trend, so could Rother. Or at least he should.
When I first met Rother, he exuded confidence and a shrewd intelligence. The man believed he could do no wrong. Since Mr. Avaston’s actions had grown more aggressive, Rother’s demeanor grew less polished. All the time spent forecasting his next move in the game wore on him. More than once I found him in his office, tearing through his ledgers and notebooks, looking for elusive answers, plotting as if nothing else mattered.
I could understand Rother’s obsession to build wards against Mr. Avaston. The man was deplorable. Once he had wanted Delaga House as a venue for his schemes, but now he appeared content to be trouble. How much waited to be seen.
For all of Rother’s bravado, it looked like he’d discove
red an adversary he wasn’t equipped to deal with.
Rother became more and more unsound the longer this went on. How ironic. What I’d set in motion behind the scenes centered me and gave me a clear view of my future while Rother’s grasp deteriorated the harder he tried. An unexpected role reversal. Patience fled his sphere of influence and left him frazzled. Delaga House was everything to him, his life’s work. To lose it would be the end of days. The idea was unthinkable. It almost clouded my worst memories and brought about my sympathies.
Almost.
Keeping Mr. Avaston at bay would’ve been a noble gesture if I didn’t know Rother only served his own self-interests. The same way he did as we toured the room surveying the clients.
“It’s awfully thin this evening.” Walking somewhere along the boundaries between agitation and boredom, Rother took a healthy swig of his drink, almost emptying it. “Even more than the other night.”
Without the benefit of interruptions by customers vying for Rother’s good graces, I was forced to communicate with him all evening. “Do you have any idea why? Mr. Martinique wasn’t the most popular guest. Do you think word of his death had this great an impact on business?”
Rother regarded the skimpy crowd, stroking his glass with an absentminded thumb. “There must be more to it.” One more swallow found the bottom of the tumbler.
Even though I phrased it as a question, it didn’t surprise me that Rother dismissed my theory connecting the poor traffic to Mr. Martinique’s demise, since it wasn’t his own idea. I doubted the answer was so simple, but debating the details with him would be tedious. If he couldn’t accept my input, no matter how useful, I wouldn’t be offering much more from now on.
Vapid debutante wished for, vapid debutante granted.
Rother scowled into his glass when he went to take another drink and found it empty. It wasn’t like him to be so intent on his beverages during business. The reduced attendance bothered him more than his casual air might suggest.
I made a point not to look as he thumped the glass on his thigh as if it might conjure a fresh whiskey to ease his nerves. “This could be a rather uneventful night.”
Some time passed without Rother saying a word. I wasn’t sure if I preferred silence or his arrogant lectures. The extreme opposite of his usual behavior didn’t make the night any smoother. We wandered through the meager flock, offering a nod or smile, but not much else. The tedium clawed at me.
When I thought I might not survive another minute, a gentle throat-clearing broke our attention. An eager young man in a well-fitting conservative suit with too many layers and coppery hair slicked tight to his skull had sought us out. His awkward gait, however, screamed of someone who spent little time in such attire.
“May I help you, young man?” Being forced to acknowledge him brought out a pang of audible disappointment in Rother. He wanted more important fish in the sea of Marisol. If he’d had any other options, I believed he might have dismissed the boy outright.
“Yes, sir, Lord Rother, sir. I’m Ben Tillus, Mr. Archer’s assistant.” He barely stifled the quiver in his voice.
“Silas Archer’s assistant? Really? You don’t seem like the type to be working in a banker’s office.” The doubt in Rother’s voice was in full force, and I had to agree. Ben’s chest and shoulders were too broad and his stance too sturdy, eyes too wide and hopeful. Soft work would be wasted on the budding stallion.
The suppressed quiver became a stammer. “I… I do lots for Mr. Archer, sir.”
“I’m sure you do. And where is Silas this evening? Running late as usual?”
“Mr. Archer asked me to tell you he’s sorry he had to decline your offer to visit Delaga House this evening.” Holding his spine so straight I feared he had some ailment, Ben recited his awkward speech. The formulaic cadence must have been rehearsed at least a dozen times.
Rother was not impressed by his efforts. “My bank’s president is too good to accept my invitation?”
“It’s all the whispers, sir. First, the murder of that customer of yours, the decorator. Then there’s been talk going around of your husband getting mugged. What if it’s not the last? A lot of stuff’s happening to folks connected to this place. Mr. Archer’s scared. No one wants to be the next victim.”
“Yes. I suppose I can understand that.”
Rother was as taken aback as I. The story of my mugging was not common knowledge. All of us involved had sworn ourselves to secrecy, and it wasn’t like Harston to whisper it about. The surprise took the starch out of Rother, and he regarded Ben with more politeness than made me comfortable. The hard-earned place he held in the social strata was Rother’s pride.
Ben couldn’t have been more out of his element. Over and over, he shot furtive glances at the provocative staff on display, only to reel them in, the shame written across his fair skin in a growing flush. I remembered what that was like.
It didn’t take long for Rother’s more devious impulses to rise. “Perhaps you would care to sample our wares, young Ben? A nice, sturdy gentleman to break you in since you came all this way?”
Rother and I both spotted the same thing Ben sought out, and the accurate suggestion turned the flush into a deep scarlet. “I… I can’t, thank you. Mr. Archer wants me to come straight home—I mean… go straight home tonight.”
I tried not to cringe. A gloss of perspiration formed along Ben’s temples as he realized he’d slipped and given Rother something he could use in his dealings with Silas Archer.
A knowing smirk shaped Rother’s lips. “I see. Well, run along. Silas will need his… assistant.”
“If it’s all right with you, Rother, I’ll walk our guest to see he makes it out safely.” I smiled back to my husband, playing the part of willing accomplice to his schemes. It would make things easier.
Rother chuffed in amusement. “Feel free.”
I took Ben by the arm and turned him back from whence he came. “I’ll be back shortly.”
Without being in too much of a hurry, I led us between customers and staff. While his body language shouted his desire to flee, his curiosity couldn’t keep his eyes from wandering.
I leaned in close to be sure nothing would reach anyone else’s ears. “Don’t be embarrassed. This is a place of secrets. No one will speak a word.”
“Is Lord Rother mad at me? I didn’t mean to say anything wrong.”
“You didn’t. Lord Rother is concerned over the safety of his guests, that’s all. Your disclosure about Mr. Archer surprised him.” Entertained might have been a more precise word, but Ben didn’t need to hear that.
“I didn’t say anything—”
“Delaga House has a way of bringing things forward. You said just enough.”
Ben blanched. “It slipped out. I wasn’t ready to tell anyone.” The tattoo of his pulse beat hard into my palm through the fabric of his jacket. If I didn’t calm him down, he could have a seizure that would open him up to a whole new world of humiliation.
“Why not? I was born in Deilia, where relations between men are frowned upon, to say the least, but here they’re not. I don’t understand.”
“He’s so much older. And sophisticated. I don’t want to feel stupid. I don’t want to be laughed at.”
“If you don’t mind me asking… do you love him?”
Ben ducked his head, unwilling to face anyone. “I… I think so.”
“Does he feel the same?”
A bright smile lit up his face and washed out some of the fear. “That’s what he tells me.”
Envy struck me deep, strangling with its insidious tendrils. I wanted to say Ben was so, so young, but on closer inspection, he was more my age than I wanted to believe. I wondered if I’d been so naïve and filled with promise when I first walked through those doors. He’d found the connection I’d longed for, and his inexperience held him back out of worry over inconsequential things. The least I could do was give him some honest advice.
“Do something for me, Ben. Sta
y away from this place and convince your Silas to do the same. There’s nothing for either one of you at Delaga House. Go home to him, Ben. Stop thinking so much and enjoy what you have. Not everyone is so fortunate. Go. Be happy.”
Ben’s face lost its anxious pallor, and his glossy eyes looked on me with a touch of… awe? What a ludicrous idea. My short time at Delaga House had jaded me too far to be admired. He grasped my hand and shook it like an excited stable boy.
“Thank you. I will.”
And with a newfound smile teeming with optimism, Ben was gone.
It took me a few minutes to settle myself. Ben was going home to a man who shared his feelings, and I needed to return to Rother. The world wasn’t fair to everyone.
I made my way back to my husband, who had managed to refresh his drink, which already sat half empty in his clutch. The harsh scent of liquor assaulted me from his exhale, making me question how diluted his drinks were this evening.
We returned to our usual tour of the house while Rother grew surlier, giving condescending stares to what few customers we had. A faint haze of alcohol colored his dark eyes.
“If Vivian were still here, I could have her convince half these rubes to debase themselves in ways that would earn a small fortune. She was gifted.” How wonderful. In her absence, Vivian had been deified into a gifted whore. “But no. Now she’s gone and I have you to thank for it.”
I turned to stand directly in front of Rother, keeping my volume low. “You’re blaming me? You said you were going to let her go regardless.”
“Haven’t you figured it out yet? Avaston is the one who’s telling people about the mugging. He’s trying to run business away. Making people think it’s too dangerous to come to Delaga House.” He spun a glare around the room. “The only people willing to come are the ones with nothing to lose. That’s why he doesn’t want to peddle his garbage here anymore. He wants to ruin me. If Vivian were here, I could still be using her to fleece intelligence from Avaston.”
Innocence and Carnality Page 33