Jo concentrated so acutely on her painting out of fear of reprisal that she nearly didn’t notice when Miss Dobson walked on, declaring, “Lady Eliza, that is the worst excuse for a rose I’ve seen all day.”
With Eliza and Felicity the new object of Miss Dobson’s irritation, Jo and Caro were able to breathe easier.
“Nipple clamps,” Caro whispered at last.
“What?” Jo answered too loudly, jerking straight so fast that she smeared paint across her saucer.
She was forced to reach for a cloth to rub it away before the paint dried as Miss Dobson snapped back to face her. Blessedly, Felicity chose precisely that moment to knock her glass of brush-cleaning water over, thus drawing Miss Dobson’s attention. Jo reminded herself to find a way to thank Felicity and Eliza.
“What?” she whispered to Caro, though her shock was no less acute.
“The necklace you thought you found,” Caro murmured. “The attachments are intended to be firmly fastened around one’s nipples. Tightly fastened.”
Jo gaped at her. “Wouldn’t that hurt?” she asked, absently rubbing the front of her uniform.
“That’s precisely the point,” Caro whispered in return. “It’s a form of sexual play that has become very popular since the publication of works by the Marquis de Sade.”
“But….” Jo scrambled for words and shook her head. “Isn’t that precisely the opposite point of—” she glanced over her shoulder to be sure Miss Dobson was nowhere near, “—those activities?”
Caro shrugged. “Some people believe that you first must experience pain before you can arrive at pleasure.”
Jo blinked. “Do you believe that?”
“Heavens no,” Caro laughed.
“Ladies,” Miss Dobson shouted from the other end of the room. “Must I remind you that this is a time for silent work and contemplation?”
“Yes, Miss Dobson,” the two long tables of pupils intoned in unison.
Jo glanced around, realizing that she and Caro hadn’t been the only ones whispering and giggling. Miss Dobson looked excessively put out about the whole thing. Instead of making another round through the tables, she sank into a chair near the window at the front of the room and stared out with wistful eyes.
Jo attempted to concentrate on her painting, but her mind had chosen to run riot, replaying the scene from Lord Lichfield’s bedroom the day before. It had hurt to be spanked like a child—her bottom and her pride. And yet, the pain had given way to pleasure. Pleasure of an intensity that she had never known. If she was honest, it had been a pleasure of a different sort to unman Lord Lichfield as payment for his mischievousness. Perhaps there was some merit to the idea of beginning with discomfort to reach ecstasy.
“I will tell you one thing,” she resumed speaking her thoughts aloud as she and Caro pretended to focus on their work.
Caro raised an eyebrow and peeked sideways at her in question.
“I am more certain than ever that Lord Lichfield is the diamond thief,” Jo finished.
Caro turned fully toward her. “Last night you were certain he couldn’t be.”
Jo nibbled on her lip, feeling sheepish for having changed her mind. “If he enjoys inflicting pain on women, it stands to reason that he is a blackguard. Therefore, would it not follow that he stole the diamond?”
Caro chuckled gently, shaking her head. “If your Lord Lichfield is what I think he is, the women upon whom he inflicts pain invite and enjoy the process.”
“But again,” Jo said, “why would any woman—”
Her question was cut short as Miss Dobson leapt up from her chair with a gasp. She continued to look out the window. In fact, she threw open the glass, sending a burst of chilled air into the room, and leaned out. She waved silently at someone, hissing as if attempting to snag their attention. Apparently, her efforts failed. She jerked back into the room, slammed the window shut, then turned and rushed for the door.
“Continue with your painting, ladies. Miss Cade, you are in charge,” she called out before vanishing around the corner into the hall.
Miss Cade had all of five seconds before her smug grin fell into a look of dread. No sooner had Miss Dobson left the room than Felicity and Eliza rose from their seats.
“Well, well, Miss Cade,” Felicity said. “Are you in charge?” She drew a length of cord from the pocket concealed in her skirt.
“No,” Miss Cade gasped. “You wouldn’t.”
But Felicity and Eliza would. Miss Cade tried to run, but she had no allies. Within a minute, Felicity and Eliza had captured her, bound her hands behind her, tied a gag around her mouth, and began painting flowers and woodland creatures on her face. The workroom descended into complete disorder as the pent-up pupils released energy that had been stifled for too long. It was utter, delightful madness.
“Hurry,” Caro said, rising from her seat and stepping over the bench. “She obviously snuck out to speak with someone. If we catch her saying something untoward, we will have fuel to bring her before a magistrate for abuse.”
“You’re right.”
Jo jumped up from her seat as well. As their fellow inmates expended their energy throwing paint around and breaking teacups and saucers, Jo and Caro rushed to the window. They were just in time to see Miss Dobson disappear into the house owned by the East India Company.
“This is too brilliant,” Caro said with a laugh. “We can catch her in the midst of a scandalous assignation.”
“Or worse,” Jo said, giggling with glee.
The two of them hurried from the workroom and tore up the stairs to their bedroom. It was harder to push the wardrobe out of the way without Rebecca’s help, but they managed it. Then, each carrying a candle, they slipped into the secret passageway between the school and the East India Company house.
“Where do you think she’s gone?” Jo asked as they started along the passageway to the set of impossibly narrow stairs that led one floor down. In the weeks since Rebecca’s departure and subsequent marriage, Jo and Caro had explored the passages fully and were now well-versed in every room and hallway they could observe through peepholes.
“She hasn’t had time to sequester herself and whoever she rushed to meet in any of the upper rooms,” Caro said.
“Then we continue to head down,” Jo whispered.
Even in the middle of the afternoon, the East India Company’s house was active. It wasn’t simply a location for scandalous revels, after all. Jo had listened in on quite a few meetings of investors and potential governors on their way to and from the subcontinent. In her eavesdropping, she had learned that a man could become ridiculously wealthy through bribes and underhanded dealings in the subcontinent. She’d learned that the East India Company was actively engaged in pitting rajas of the various regions against each other and against the Mughal emperor for their own gain. And she’d discovered that even though the British businessmen and hired officers didn’t think highly of the native Indians, those Indians were intelligent, determined, and filled with pride in their homeland. In Jo’s opinion, if the East India Company didn’t adjust many of its practices, it would encounter trouble in the future.
Those thoughts were sharp in her mind as she turned a corner and heard the unmistakable sound of a man and a woman enjoying each other. What snagged her attention was that the man spoke in one of the many Indian languages she’d heard spoken in the house, but the woman responded in English.
“Good heavens,” she gasped, stopping beside the room where the activity was taking place.
“What is it?” Caro hissed.
Jo touched a finger to her lips and gestured for Caro to come take her candle. They’d learned that there was far less likelihood of the peepholes that peered into the rooms being discovered if no light escaped through.
Once Caro had her candle, Jo silently slipped the peephole’s covering open. As expected, the first thing Jo spotted was the man and woman entwined in passion on a round bed. There was nothing particularly exceptional about t
heir coupling other than the fact that the Indian man was young and handsome, and in all of the spying she had done in the past few weeks, Jo had never seen him before. The woman was one of the English prostitutes who had discovered there was a great deal of money to be made at the house.
What caught Jo’s eye were the clothes draped over a chair immediately next to where the peephole was located. The Indian man’s clothes were of western design, and quite expensive by the looks of them. His Hessian boots were of the finest quality and stood upright beside the chair. But along with the fine clothing, a variety of coins, ticket stubs, and bits of paper were scattered across the seat of the chair as though they’d fallen out of a pocket. Jo was just close enough to read the scraps of paper.
Her eyes popped wide, and she stifled a gasp. One of the scraps bore an address in Fitzrovia along with a scribbled note that read, “Lichfield’s den of love.”
Jo slid the peephole closed as fast as she could with her blood suddenly pumping furiously through her. She repeated the Fitzrovia address several times, quickly, committing it to memory. Lichfield’s den of love. Lord Lichfield must have owned a separate property in London. And it stood to reason that if he had a massive, precious diamond to hide, he would hide it at an address far from where he lived, an address few people knew he had.
“What is it?” Caro whispered when Jo scurried over to her and took her candle.
“Lichfield’s den of love,” Jo whispered in return.
In the candlelight, Caro’s brow shot up. “Lichfield? In there? Speaking Hindi?”
“No, no.” Jo shook her head. “I don’t know who that was. He appears to be handsome, though.”
“Oh?” Caro glanced back over Jo’s shoulder as though tempted to go see for herself.
Jo pushed her on, silently reminding her of why they were there. “The important thing is that Lord Lichfield has a second address. A second address where he could be concealing the diamond.”
“If he is, indeed, the thief,” Caro added.
“I’m as sure now as I ever was,” Jo said. Although, admittedly, that wasn’t as certain as she needed to be. But with the information she’d just discovered, she now had a way to investigate further.
Caro answered with an uncertain look, but before they could discuss the matter further, the unmistakable sound of Miss Dobson’s voice drifted through the wall on the other side of the passageway. Caro and Jo both made signs for the other to be silent before they inched closer to the wall.
“I tell you, I have a buyer for you,” Miss Dobson said.
“Madam, keep your voice down,” a man’s voice said. It sounded vaguely familiar to Jo.
“But you said time is of the essence.” Miss Dobson’s voice grew closer to the wall. “I have a buyer who is interested in the diamond, but the sale must take place immediately.”
Jo searched frantically for a peephole she could slide open, but there were none on that side of the wall. The room where Miss Dobson and the man spoke must have been one of the larger, public rooms or a hallway and not a room designed for a rendezvous.
“What buyer?” the man asked, clearly only a few inches away from where Jo and Caro leaned in, on the other side of the wall.
“A contact of my father’s.” Miss Dobson lowered her voice to a whisper, but she was still clearly audible to Jo and Caro. “He’s as rich as Croesus and as unscrupulous as Herod. He wants the diamond for his private collection.” She paused. “You would be surprised at what he holds in that collection.”
“No doubt,” the man muttered. “But would he be able to pay what I’m asking?”
“Able?” Miss Dobson scoffed. “He could buy the Palace of Versailles if he chose to.”
The man made an appreciative, avaricious sound. “Tell him I’ll speak to him,” he said.
“When? Where?” Miss Dobson asked.
“Here,” the man said. “Khan’s prodigal son has returned, and the whelp will be hosting a particularly large, wicked bacchanal here on Friday.”
“Are you certain it’s safe here?” Miss Dobson asked. “What if someone sees the diamond?”
The man chuckled. “My dear girl, I would never show the diamond here. No, no, it is safe where it is, in the hands of a friend.”
Jo pressed her free hand to her chest. Lord Lichfield. It had to be. Perhaps he did not steal the diamond himself, but he could be an accomplice. After all, not five minutes before, she had discovered he owned property no one knew about. Everything seemed to fit together perfectly to paint a dastardly picture.
“My father’s contact will want to see the diamond,” Miss Dobson went on. “He will want proof that you can deliver what you say you can.”
“Tell him not to worry,” the man said. “Tell him that I will bring what he requires to the revels on Friday night.”
“I will,” Miss Dobson said, then added, “My sweet.”
A disgusting, squelchy noise followed, along with a gasp and moan from Miss Dobson. Jo reeled back from the wall, a look of revulsion on her face. Caro wore a matching look. They’d heard everything they needed to hear, and the time seemed ideal to beat a hasty retreat. Miss Dobson would be returning to the school in a matter of minutes, in all likelihood, which meant that Felicity and Eliza would need a good and proper warning that their reign of terror needed to end post haste.
But once they returned to their room and were sliding the wardrobe back into place, Jo said, “I’m going in search of the diamond.”
“You are?” Caro blinked at her, seemingly impressed. “But where? How?”
“It’s at Lord Lichfield’s secret address, obviously,” Jo said.
The wardrobe thumped back into place and Caro straightened, planting her hands on her waist. “Are you certain you do not wish to investigate Lord Lichfield’s secret address for the purpose of repeating your activities of yesterday?”
Jo’s face heated. “And if I did, what would you have to say about it?”
Caro broke into a grin. “I’d say that you must enjoy yourself thoroughly and report back to me in detail everything that transpires.”
“You wouldn’t think I am a scandalous hussy for anticipating my wedding vows?”
“Heavens, no,” Caro laughed. “I would do the same, if given half a chance.”
Jo laughed along with her, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that Caro might land herself in quite a bit of trouble someday, likely someday soon.
Chapter 6
It was as Jo was zipping across Oxford Street and up a quiet street in Fitzrovia the next day, the maid Flora accompanying her as chaperone, that Jo decided Felicity Murdoch and Lady Eliza Towers were geniuses. Not only had they managed to avoid blame for the chaos that Miss Dobson returned to after her illicit meeting at the house owned by the East India Company—although all of the young ladies of the school had been punished by being sent to bed without supper—as soon as Jo explained her need to escape from the school for a day, they went right to work without asking questions.
They managed to lace Miss Dobson’s morning coffee with a tincture of opium. The result was that Miss Dobson excused herself at the end of breakfast so that she could lie down. The moment she was sound asleep, Felicity and Eliza had locked Miss Cade, Miss Conyer, and Miss Warren in the attic, and the pupils had blissfully declared a holiday, fleeing the school in every direction.
Jo had expected Caro to come with her, but Caro had declared she had a different sort of errand to run, which left Jo in the unsatisfactory company of Flora.
“This is a bad idea, miss,” Flora said in foreboding tones as the hired hack rocked to a stop in front of the address Jo remembered as Lord Lichfield’s secret residence. “What if no one is home?”
“I’m counting on that,” Jo said as they alighted from the carriage. She paid the driver, then crept up to one of the front windows as Flora watched the hack depart with a nervous expression.
“How are we going to get home, miss?” Flora asked.
“If we
have to, we’ll walk down to Oxford Street. I’m certain we can hire a hack there,” Jo answered, barely paying attention to the maid.
She cupped her hands to the sides of her eyes and peered into the house. There was nothing unusual about it, except, perhaps, that the curtains were parted enough for her to see inside. All she spied was a plain, rather small parlor with middle-class decorations. When she skipped around to the window on the other side of the front door, all she saw was an uninteresting dining room. If she hadn’t known better, she would have assumed the house belonged to a clerk’s family. But as long as she studied the house’s interior, she saw no one moving about—not a housewife nor a maid nor anyone who might live there.
“This is certainly the house,” she said, mostly to herself, stepping back to study the building. “Now, how do we get in?”
“I’m not going in there, miss,” Flora said, shaking her head adamantly. “I’m no housebreaker.”
“We aren’t stealing anything,” Jo told her. They were there to recover something that had been stolen, but she hadn’t told Flora any of that. “Perhaps we would do best to enter through the downstairs,” she said, heading for the alley between Lord Lichfield’s house and the next.
Jo counted herself lucky that the path leading to the kitchen door was clear and open. A maid was busy scrubbing pots in the garden in back of the neighboring house, but a brick wall served to conceal Jo’s activity as she tested the kitchen door and then the windows.
At last, she found a window that wasn’t latched and that swung open when she pushed on it. “This is our way in,” she whispered to Flora, dragging a crate that had been left in the garden over to the window. “I’ll slip in and unlock the door and you can—”
“No, miss,” Flora said, shaking her head and backing up. “I won’t do it. I’m not a bad girl, like the lot of you. I won’t do it.” Her words dissolved into a veil of tears, and as she finished, she turned and fled.
Jo let out an irritated breath. She should have tried harder to convince Caro to come with her. Still, it wasn’t a huge misfortune that she would have to go on alone. She could be quicker and quieter on her own.
The Cheeky Minx Page 5