Uncertain how much to tell Pippa, Livy looked to Charlie for help.
“I want to hear the truth from you, Livy. Not Lady Fayne.” Pippa glowered at Charlie, who remained composed, her hands folded in the lap of her dove-grey dress. “If I had known that she was involving the three of you girls in this mess, I would never have accepted her offer of assistance.”
“It is not Charlie’s fault,” Livy protested. “We wanted to help.”
“It was our choice,” Fiona agreed.
“And we still want to help, if you’ll let us,” Glory chimed in.
“You are girls,” Pippa burst out. “What can you possibly do?”
“Anything they want to.” Charlie’s manner was confident. “I have been training the Angels for weeks, and I have never seen anyone—male or female—learn the skills of investigation so quickly.”
Pippa frowned. “What skills?”
“We know how to observe subjects and glean information discreetly,” Livy said.
“We are also versed in physical combat, weaponry, and disguises,” Fi added.
Pippa’s forehead creased. “And your parents approve of this?”
“They might.” Livy cleared her throat. “If they knew about it.”
“That is precisely my point,” Pippa argued. “Lady Fayne has no right to involve you in danger and deception—”
“I wanted to do this.” Livy willed her friend to understand. “Sometimes one must go against the wishes of others to pursue one’s true purpose and desires.”
Pippa’s lashes trembled.
Realizing that she might have inadvertently poured salt on her friend’s wounds, Livy took Pippa’s hands and said contritely, “If you let us help, we will do our best to find out what happened to your husband.”
Looking torn, Pippa said, “Then you do think that it wasn’t an accident?”
Livy nodded.
Pippa released a shuddering breath. “Tell me everything.”
Livy gave a summary of the facts, including the conversation she’d overheard at the Black Lion and Longmere’s appearance at Cremorne Gardens. While Livy had been detained by Ben that night, Glory and Fiona had tried to track Longmere, but he had seemed to sense that he was being followed, giving them the slip. Livy also shared that Longmere and his cronies had likely been involved in a deadly drug ring headed by a mysterious Chinese partner, and Longmere had wanted out of the enterprise.
Pippa sat with her gaze trained on her lap, where her fingers twisted a lace-edged handkerchief. Livy feared that she’d been too candid, given Pippa’s delicate state of mind. Then Pippa raised her eyes, and the blue orbs were as hard as ice.
“How do you intend to find my husband’s killer?” she demanded.
Livy gave the floor to Charlie, who replied in business-like tones.
“There are several paths we could take,” Charlie said. “First, with your permission, I would like to search Longmere’s personal effects for possible clues.”
Pippa gave a tight-lipped nod.
“Next, we will determine our strategy with regard to Edgecombe, Stamford, Thorne, and Bollinger. I would wager that at least one of them knows something about the earl’s death. Indeed, the killer could be amongst them. However, I do not believe they will be truthful under interrogation.”
“We could continue spying on them. Who knows, they may even lead us to this supposed Chinese partner.” Glory wrinkled her nose. “The business smells like the Billingsgate Fish Market, if you ask me.”
Pippa bit her lip. “That sounds dangerous. If something happened to you girls—”
“We can take care of ourselves,” Fi reassured her. “Come watch us train, and you’ll see.”
“Other than Edgecombe and his group,” Charlie said, “did your husband have any other people in his life, family or friends, who he might have confided in?”
“He had me.” Pippa’s poise cracked. “If only I had insisted that he tell me what was going on. If only I hadn’t been afraid of being a nuisance—”
“You cannot blame yourself,” Charlie said firmly. “It was Longmere’s decision and his alone to participate in this scheme and to keep secrets from you, his wife. The only thing that is within your power now is to see that his murderer is brought to justice.”
Pippa nodded, taking a composing breath. “He was painting a lot…near the end. He’d recently been selected to exhibit at the Royal Academy, and he spent hours in his studio perfecting his entry. You could talk to the housekeeper, Mrs. Ingerson; the day you found Longmere was her day off. I am sure Mrs. Ingerson could provide you with a list of visitors to the studio. Longmere also used a number of models in his work. His favorite was Alicia Hoskins, a lovely woman.”
Pippa was interrupted by the butler, who announced the arrival of the Duke of Hadleigh. As the butler went to fetch Ben, Livy turned anxiously to her friend. “You will remember not to say anything about the Society of Angels to Hadleigh?”
“Yes.” Pippa frowned. “What is going on between you and him? You never said why the two of you were together when you found Longmere.”
“It’s, um, a long story,” Livy said. “I’ll explain later, but I appreciate your discretion.”
“As I appreciate yours.” Pippa addressed them as a group. “Whatever you discover about Longmere, I must ask that you do your best to keep it confidential. I do not wish to give the ton—or my parents—any more reasons to dishonor his memory.”
Ben had not been looking forward to visiting the Countess of Longmere. Not because he found her as anything but amiable, but because of the news he had to deliver. Examining her husband’s body, Chen had found specks of blood in the eyes, purple splotches on the face and neck, and foaming in the airways, all of which pointed to asphyxiation, rather than a laudanum overdose, as the cause of death. The laudanum pooled at the back of Longmere’s throat suggested that it had been poured in after he’d died.
Ben hadn’t known how Lady Longmere would react to such grotesque news, but she appeared calm. Livy was of obvious comfort to her friend, holding the lady’s hand. Ben was grateful that Livy had already delivered the unpleasant news of Longmere’s involvement in the drug business. Having discovered no clues in Longmere’s studio, Ben now had to delicately ask for the widow’s permission to search her dead husband’s study.
“Why don’t you rest, Pippa? I’ll show His Grace the way,” Livy offered.
Thus, he found himself with Livy in Longmere’s study. Lady Fayne had left a while earlier due to a megrim, taking the other Willflowers with her, and he had promised to take Livy home. Even though their purpose was grim, he relished having time alone with her.
His little queen looked regal and diminutive in her little coronet, with looped side braids brushing her cheeks. She appraised the cluttered study with a keen gaze. The walls were covered in oil paintings, the furnishings showing signs of wear. Longmere’s desk sat in a corner; it was heaped with papers, charcoals, and assorted painting implements.
“Shall we split up the task?” Livy asked.
He debated keeping her out of the endeavor. With her loyal nature, however, Livy would want to help her friend…and she was not one to sit idly by. He supposed that no harm could come of her looking through the study with him.
“I’ll take the desk,” he said. “Why don’t you look through the rest of the room?”
She beamed at him as if he’d given her the moon and stars, and they went to work. The companionable silence tucked around them like a cozy, familiar blanket. It had always been this way with her: their togetherness had no need for words. They were in separate parts of the room, yet her presence lightened the burden of his task. As he sorted through the mess of the desk, he looked up now and again, his mouth twitching at the sight of his pretty miss, searching the room as methodically as a burglar.
He found nothing of interest until he opened the bottom drawer. He pulled out stacks of bills, many of the amounts large, all of them marked unpaid. Longmere’s
financial situation was no secret: he came from a distinguished line of impoverished aristocrats. Many said that the earl had married for money, yet it seemed—at least on the part of Lady Longmere—that the marriage had been a love match.
Finishing up with the desk, Ben went to Livy, who was standing in front of a wall, staring up at a row of paintings.
“Did you find anything?” she asked.
“Evidence of Longmere’s debt,” he replied. “What about you?”
“Nothing yet.” Pursing her lips, she pointed at the paintings. “Do you notice anything odd?”
He regarded the three works. Framed in gilt, each one depicted a fruit bowl from various angles. “They appear unexceptional,” he said truthfully.
“The one at the end is jutting out a bit, isn’t it?”
Looking closer, he was amazed at her eye for detail. “You’re right.”
He reached up and grabbed hold of the heavy frame. Surprised when it didn’t budge, he examined the painting closer. It wasn’t just hung on the wall…it was affixed to it. Why? He ran his fingers over the ornate gold border, encountering a switch. He pressed it, and the panel that had been concealed by the painting swung open like a door.
“Zounds,” Livy breathed. “What’s inside?”
He reached in and pulled out the contents: a leather-bound volume.
He flipped through the handwritten pages.
“It’s Longmere’s journal,” Livy said excitedly.
Side by side, they skimmed the passages. The earliest ones detailed Longmere’s despondency over his artistic ambitions. His hopes of becoming financially solvent through his painting had been met with failure after failure. Ben paused at an entry that proved to be a turning point:
Two nights ago, as I stumbled out of a Whitechapel tavern, drunk on despair, a stranger came to me. A Chinese man with a long braid and beard, his face hidden behind a mask. Shrouded in fog and mystical secrets, he wore the robes of his ancient civilization. He offered me salvation…and I took it. The Devil’s Bliss has all the pleasures of the poppy’s tears and none of the pains. It is as if I’ve been looking through a filthy window all this time and never knew it.
Now the panes are clear, and I see the world in a rapturous new light. Last night, I fell into a trance, painting until I must have lost consciousness. When I awoke, I saw before me a canvas at last deserving of my name. My talent and genius are finally revealed…
Memories flooded Ben: he saw himself in the soaring euphoric prose…and was not surprised by what soon followed.
My muse has become my nemesis. Inspiration has become anguish, which can only be held at bay by taking more. Like Midas, I regret my foolish choice. I am held captive, will never be able to free myself from the bargain I made with the Devil.
Longmere’s last entry, written mere days before his demise, turned Ben’s insides to ice.
I have not seen the Devil since that first fateful night. Sometimes I wonder if he is a figment of my darkest imagination: the Chinese warlord, the brilliant alchemist, the spy with eyes and ears everywhere. His minions lure my friends and me in with promises of riches and happiness. The Devil knows everything, sees everything, is everything.
If he knows what I am thinking, then he knows that I suspect the truth: the Devil’s Bliss can bring ecstasy…and it can kill. While this poison is in my blood, I cannot have it upon my conscience as well. I will be a weakling no longer. I must purge myself—and the world—of this toxin. I must stand strong and confront the felonious Master Fong once and for all.
Eyes huge, Livy said, “Do you think Longmere confronted this Master Fong and was killed for his efforts?”
“That is a likely hypothesis,” Ben said grimly. “Which makes it all the more important to find this murderous villain and put a stop to the Devil’s Bliss.”
23
The following evening, the Willflowers attended a soiree hosted by Lady Newberry. Glory’s parents had offered to chaperone Livy, and Charlie had taken them up on the offer. Livy knew her mentor planned to spend the evening making inquiries into the mysterious Master Fong.
Ben was on a similar mission, and Livy wished with all her heart that they could join efforts. When she had brought up the notion, however, Charlie had opposed it.
“Give a man an inch, and he will take over the entire case. The Angels do not require male assistance,” Charlie had said with cool finality. “You are an adult, Livy, and I will not diminish your independence by telling you what to do in your personal affairs. Do not, however, forget the oath you took when you joined.”
Livy’s insides knotted. How could she possibly forget? At times, it seemed all she could think about was the secret she was keeping from Ben.
“Do try to enjoy yourself, Livy.” Cheeks glowing from a recent whirl around the dance floor, Fiona murmured, “There is nothing we can do to help Pippa at the moment, and an evening’s distraction from the dark business might do us all good.”
“The magic show should start soon,” Glory added. “The papers have been raving about the magician’s tricks, especially the one with the interlocking rings.”
The touring Chinese illusionist was all the rage in London. Passing through the drawing room earlier, Livy had seen the stage where he was set to perform, the banner above it reading, “Behold the Secrets of the Orient.” There was nothing like exoticism to draw a crowd.
“If you ask me, our hostess was a bit heavy-handed with the decoration,” Fi said dryly.
The ballroom showcased a mishmash of Orientalism. Strings of paper lanterns rustled over pots of tall, leafy bamboo. A stuffed tiger prowled over a Kashmir carpet, its expression disturbingly hungry. Objets d’art inspired by The Arabian Nights, including Aladdin’s golden lamp, were sprinkled throughout the room. Upon the walls hung tasseled silk scrolls of “calligraphy”; Glory had derisively noted that the Chinese characters weren’t real characters at all but made-up symbols.
The lack of authenticity did not seem to bother the guests, many of whom wore elaborate costumes, embroidered chrysanthemums and cranes in abundance. The scents of sandalwood, jasmine, and amber came from the guests’ perfumes as well as the censers releasing fragrant smoke into the air.
Livy cast a look at Glory’s parents, who were standing a few feet away. Since they appeared engrossed in their conversation, she said in an undertone, “It is not just the case I’m thinking about; it’s Hadleigh.”
“I thought things were progressing well and he was to stop by tonight,” Fi said.
“Yes, but I feel terrible that I haven’t told him about the Angels.”
“We will not betray our Society’s aims,” Glory quoted.
“Even if it weren’t for the oath, I don’t know how to tell Hadleigh that I want to be an investigator. As you know, he is overprotective when it comes to my well-being.” Livy gnawed on her lip. “And he wants an obedient wife.”
Fi snorted. “Then why does he want to marry you?”
“I am not going to look a gift horse in the mouth,” Livy rejoined. “All that matters is that he does, and I am not going to give him reason to change his mind.”
“If you show Hadleigh how competent you are by helping him track down the villain, then perhaps he won’t be as overprotective,” Glory suggested.
Livy brightened. “Good point. He did seem impressed when I found Longmere’s journal.”
“Then keep badgering him to let you help. You didn’t win Most Determined Debutante for nothing,” Fi teased.
A gong interrupted their conversation. Lady Newberry announced that the magic show was about to begin in the drawing room. As they followed Glory’s parents and the wave of guests headed toward the performance, Livy saw a pair lingering behind some potted bamboo at the other end of the ballroom. Her pulse raced when she recognized the pale hair and angelic features of the Honorable Simon Thorne. Thorne was with a voluptuous brunette, whose full red lips and cat-like eyes jolted Livy with an unpleasant memory: it was Cherise Foxton,
the lady who’d consorted with Hadleigh in the stables.
Lady Foxton and Thorne appeared to be deep in conversation. The former was tearful, wiping at her eyes with a handkerchief. Thorne bent toward her, murmuring something in her ear. As Livy watched, Lady Foxton nodded, then discreetly exited through the curtained doors at the back of the ballroom. Casting a look around, Thorne waited a minute then followed.
Livy’s intuition told her something was going on. Tapping on the shoulder of Glory, who was ahead of her, she leaned forward and whispered, “Thorne is here, and I want to see what he is up to. Will you cover for me?”
“Should I come too?” Glory whispered back.
“Just keep your parents occupied. I’ll be back soon.”
Livy subtly maneuvered herself out of the throng and headed in the direction where Lady Foxton and Thorne had gone. Exiting through the curtains, she found herself on a balcony overlooking the garden below. Planting her gloved hands on the balustrade, she scanned the darkness for signs of the pair but saw no one in the hedge-lined rectangle.
Drat. Where did they go?
A tingling sensation hit her nape the instant before a deep voice inquired, “Looking for someone?”
She spun around to see Ben enter the balcony. The light seeping through the curtains limned his long, lean frame. He’d eschewed exotic costuming, opting for timeless black and white. Her heart sighed; he cut such a dashing figure in evening dress.
She hurried over. “You came. I was waiting for you.”
“Were you?” He quirked a brow. “Out here alone and unchaperoned?”
She decided to test the waters by telling him the truth.
Lowering her voice, she said, “I saw Simon Thorne. He was having what appeared to be an intense conversation with, um, Lady Foxton. She was crying, and they left the ballroom. My intuition told me to follow them out here, but I don’t see anyone in the garden.”
She searched Ben’s features to see if the mention of his ex-lover had any impact. His expression was hard, and she saw no signs of interest, thank heavens. Cursing under his breath, he went to the balustrade, surveilling the darkness below. Obviously coming to the same conclusion that she had, he took her hand, pulling her into a secluded corner of the balcony, out of view of the garden. He pressed her against the windows, the curtains inside preventing them from being seen from the ballroom. She shivered as the exposed skin of her back touched the cool glass, but more because of the way he leaned into her, caging her with his delicious strength.
Olivia and the Masked Duke Page 18