by Amanda Quick
“What outcome do you anticipate, Mr. Jones?”
“I am hoping that I will be able to convince Venetia to make our marriage real.”
Surprise lit her expression. She searched his face. “Are you sincere, sir?”
“Yes.” He smiled slightly. “Do you wish me luck, madam?”
She contemplated him for a long moment.
“I believe I do,” she said eventually. “You will need it. Venetia is not inclined to place a great deal of trust in men. Her father’s doing, I’m sorry to say. She loved him dearly and he loved her. Indeed, he loved all of his children. But there is no getting around the fact that when all was said and done, H. H. Milton lived a double life. This family has paid dearly for his bigamous actions and his lies.”
“I understand.”
E DWARD MOVED CLOSER to the dressing table to watch Gabriel knot the bow tie. “Venetia told us that we must not tell you what she will be wearing tonight because it is to be a surprise. But she did not say that you could not try to guess.”
“Let’s see.” Gabriel slipped a black and gold cuff link through the opening of one cuff. “She has decided to wear some color other than black?”
That seemed to confuse Edward. Then his face cleared. “There will be some black in her attire.”
“But not all black?”
Edward shook his head, looking sly. “There will be another color, as well.”
“Green?”
“No.”
“Blue?”
Edward giggled. “No.”
“Red?”
Edward collapsed on the bed, laughing. “You will never guess, sir.”
“Then I may as well give it up and prepare to be amazed.” Gabriel turned away from the mirror and collected his evening coat and hat. “Ready?”
“Yes, sir.”
Edward flew to the door, yanked it open and pelted down the stairs. Gabriel followed at a more sedate pace, savoring the prospect of the evening that lay ahead. True, he and Venetia were going out together for the sole purpose of discussing Rosalind Fleming with Harrow’s unknown acquaintance. And there was no getting around the fact that they still confronted a great deal of mystery and danger. Nevertheless, he was going to be alone in a carriage with Venetia for an extended period of time tonight and she had purchased a new gown for the occasion. The knowledge made the blood beat more heavily in his veins.
When he reached the bottom of the staircase he found Edward and Amelia in the front hall. Expectation hummed in the air. The pair darted sly glances in his direction. This family was expert at keeping secrets, he thought, amused. But evidently the mystery of Venetia’s new gown was almost too much for Edward and Amelia.
“I heard the carriage at the front door,” Beatrice called from the landing. “Venetia, dear, it is time to leave.”
“I’m ready, Aunt Beatrice,” Venetia announced from the vicinity of her bedroom.
Gabriel heard her on the stairs before he caught sight of her. He barely had time to register the fact that there was something decidedly unusual about the sound of her footsteps when she came into view.
“Good evening, Mr. Jones.” She gave him an approving, head-to-toe examination. “I must say, you make your tailor proud.”
He was acutely aware that Edward and Amelia were both holding their breath, waiting for his shocked reaction to the sight of Venetia.
He gave her the same deliberate examination that she had given him, taking in the excellently cut black trousers, white linen shirt, bow tie and black evening coat.
“You must give me the name of your tailor, Mrs. Jones,” he said. “I do believe he may be even more skilled than my own.”
Venetia laughed. “Let us be off, sir. The night is young.”
She clapped her tall hat on top of her short, dark-haired wig, twirled a carved walking stick in a rakish manner and descended the remaining stairs.
Mrs. Trench appeared from the direction of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. She shook her head when she saw Venetia.
“Not again,” she said, sounding resigned. “I thought that now that there was a man in the house we would be done with this sort of foolishness.”
Edward sprang to open the front door. Venetia went outside and down the steps to the waiting carriage.
Gabriel started through the doorway after her.
“Were you amazed, sir?” Edward demanded eagerly.
“One of the things that I most admire about your sister is that she never ceases to surprise me,” Gabriel said.
The door closed behind him. Edward and Amelia’s muffled laughter pursued him all the way down the steps.
27
CONGRATULATIONS, MR.J ONES,” Venetia said. “You dealt with the shock very well. I suspect Edward and Amelia are quite disappointed by your failure to faint dead away at the sight of a lady in gentleman’s attire.”
Gabriel lounged into the corner of the cushions and looked at Venetia. She was seated across from him. The carriage lamps were turned down low, cloaking them both in shadow.
“The disguise is very good,” he allowed. “You even managed to alter your walk somewhat. Your hair is well concealed beneath that wig. But you cannot camouflage your scent. I would recognize you anywhere, anytime, on the darkest night.”
“But I used a cologne that is blended especially for gentlemen.”
He smiled. “It is not your cologne that is locked in my memory. It is the essence of you, and that essence is very, very female.”
She frowned. “I am quite certain that no one realized that I was a woman when I wore these clothes on previous occasions.”
“How often do you go out dressed as a man?”
“I have only done so twice,” she confessed. “The clothes belong to Harrow. He had them altered to fit me. He also purchased the wig and had it styled to suit me.”
“The masculine attire is very interesting on you but may I ask why you felt it necessary to dress as a gentleman this evening?”
“We are going to meet Harrow and his friend at their club. I would not be admitted if I arrived at the door garbed as a lady. You know how it is with gentlemen’s clubs.”
He would not have described his reaction as shocked, he decided, but he was certainly surprised by that bit of information. “You have been to this gentlemen’s club before?”
“On one other occasion,” she said blithely. “The second time I wore these clothes, Harrow and I attended the theater together and afterward enjoyed a late dinner at a restaurant.” She smiled. “The establishment was one where no respectable lady would have allowed herself to be seen. It was a very educational experience, I assure you.”
“You do this for a lark?”
“I find it to be an intriguing adventure,” she said. “Have you any notion of how astonishingly different the world appears when you walk through it as a man?”
“I had not given the subject much thought.”
“A woman is so much freer when she goes about as a gentleman. It is not just the clothes, although you may believe me when I tell you that trousers and a coat are far less cumbersome and restrictive than even the lightest of summer walking dresses. Why, I could run quite easily in these garments if it proved necessary. Have you ever tried to run in a long gown?”
“Can’t say that I have had the experience.”
“Trust me, it is extremely difficult. The skirts and petticoats are so heavy. They tend to become tangled around one’s ankles. And you cannot imagine how even the smallest of bustles affects one’s balance when one is in full flight.”
“When did you find it necessary to run in a gown?”
Her teeth flashed in a knowing smile. “About three months ago, as I recall.”
He winced. “Of course. When I escorted you out of Arcane House via the concealed tunnel. Forgive me. I never considered how difficult running must have been for you that night. All I cared about was that you managed to keep up with me. You did that rather well.”
“I will allow that you had other things on your mind at the time.”
“Yes.” He regarded her outrageous attire again, seeing it with new eyes. “You do realize that you are courting scandal and disaster. What if your secret were to be discovered by some of the club members tonight?”
She gave him a mysterious smile. “My secrets are safe at the Janus Club.”
S OME TIME LATER the carriage halted in the drive of a handsome mansion. Light glowed warmly in the windows. Extensive gardens afforded privacy on all sides.
A liveried footman came down the marble steps to open the carriage door.
Gabriel looked at Venetia. “This is the Janus Club?”
“Yes.” She collected her hat and walking stick. “You had better let me descend first so that you do not forget and try to assist me.”
“So many little things to remember.”
“Just follow my lead,” she said.
He smiled to himself. In spite of the seriousness of their purpose here tonight, it was obvious that Venetia was enjoying herself. He had not seen her in this bright, sparkling mood since their time together at Arcane House. The clothes and the adventure had transformed her, at least for tonight.
The footman opened the door but he did not lower the steps.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” he said. “May I assist you?”
“We have an appointment with Mr. Harrow,” Venetia announced in low, throaty tones. “The name is Jones.”
“Yes, sir, Mr.Jones.” The footman held the door wide open. “Mr. Harrow told me to expect you and your companion.”
Venetia jumped lightly down to the ground. She was right, Gabriel thought, following suit; she certainly did move more easily in a pair of trousers.
In point of fact, he thought, watching her go up the marble steps ahead of him, she looked quite charming in men’s clothes. He wondered if she realized how well the closely cut evening jacket defined her narrow waist and accented the shape of her hips. In some odd manner the masculine garb only served to emphasize her femininity, at least in his eyes.
At the top of the steps another footman opened a large, dark green door, admitting them into a hallway lit by a massive chandelier.
Low-voiced conversation sounded from the room on the left. Gabriel looked through the doorway and saw a portion of an elegantly appointed library. Gentlemen dressed in evening clothes lounged in the gaslit room, glasses of brandy and port in hand.
“Mr. Harrow is waiting for you and your friend upstairs, Mr. Jones,” the footman said to Venetia. “This way, please.”
He ushered them toward a waterfall of a staircase.
Gabriel went up the steps side by side with Venetia. When they reached the landing he caught the distinct trace of cigarette smoke.
“The smoking room is just down that hall,” Venetia explained. “Across the way is the card room.”
“This was once a private residence,” he observed, looking around.
“Yes. I believe that the owner leases the premises to the management of the Janus Club.”
The footman led them down a long hall and stopped in front of a closed door at the far end. He knocked twice.
Gabriel automatically registered the spacing between the two knocks. A subtle but distinct code, he thought.
“Enter,” a low voice called from inside.
The footman opened the door. Gabriel saw a man standing in front of the fire, his back turned toward the door. Harrow was propped on the edge of a large desk, one leg hooked carelessly over the corner. Like everyone else in the establishment, both gentlemen wore black-and-white evening attire.
“Mr. Jones and his companion,” the footman said.
“Thank you, Albert.” Harrow smiled at Venetia and Gabriel. “Come in, gentlemen. Allow me to introduce you to Mr. Pierce.”
Pierce turned around to face them. He was short, square and solid-looking with black hair that was laced with a judicious amount of silver. Startlingly vivid, dark blue eyes surveyed Gabriel in an assessing manner.
“Mr. Jones,” Pierce said in a voice that suggested a daily diet of brandy and cigars. He gave Venetia an amused look. “And Mr. Jones.”
Gabriel inclined his head. “Pierce.”
Venetia nodded once. “Thank you for seeing us, Mr. Pierce.”
“Please be seated,” Pierce said. He motioned toward a pair of chairs and then sat down himself.
Venetia sank down onto one of the velvet-upholstered chairs. Gabriel noticed that she unconsciously sat forward in a very upright manner, as though she wore a bustle that prevented her from leaning back in a more comfortable fashion. Some habits were hard to break, he reflected.
Instead of taking the chair that had been offered he went to stand in front of the fire, one arm stretched out along the carved marble mantel. It went against something deep in his nature to sit when he was among people he did not know well. One could move much more quickly if it proved necessary when one was already on one’s feet.
Venetia looked at Pierce. “Mr. Harrow has told you why we wish to speak with you, sir?”
Pierce propped his elbows on the arm of his chair and put his fingertips together. “You wish to know something about Rosalind Fleming.”
“Yes,” Venetia said. “She seems to have conceived a great dislike of me for no apparent reason. I am curious to know why.”
Harrow straightened from the corner of the desk and crossed to the brandy decanter. “In particular, Mr. Pierce, they would like to know if there is anything about Rosalind Fleming that might lead a prudent person to believe she could prove to be dangerous.”
“I am almost certain that the answer to that question is yes,” Pierce said.
Gabriel felt his psychical senses stir. He looked at Venetia. Tension radiated from her.
“I must tell you that I cannot offer you any evidence to support my suspicion,” Pierce continued. He tapped his broad fingers together twice. A grim smile edged his mouth. “I will also admit that I would very much like to acquire some evidence that would support my conclusions.”
The fire crackled in the short silence that followed that announcement.
Harrow handed the brandies around without comment. Gabriel accepted his and looked at Pierce.
“We need a little more information, Pierce,” he said.
“I understand.” Pierce looked at Gabriel over his steepled fingertips. “I will tell you what I know. When I first became aware of Rosalind Fleming she had not yet become Ackland’s mistress. She was using another name and she was making her living by promoting herself as a practitioner of psychical powers.”
Startled, Venetia paused in the act of taking a sip from her glass. “She was a medium?”
“She offered a variety of services,” Pierce said, “including séances and demonstrations of automatic writing. However, her specialty was in the private consulting line. For a fee she promised advice and guidance based on information she claimed she acquired from the Other Side.”
“What name did she use in that career?” Venetia asked.
“Charlotte Bliss,” Pierce said.
Gabriel studied him. “How did you come to learn so much about her?”
“A very close, personal friend of mine heard about her amazing psychical powers.” Pierce gazed solemnly into the fire. “My friend did not believe in such claims but he thought it would be quite entertaining to attend one of Charlotte Bliss’s demonstrations. My friend came away greatly impressed by the woman’s abilities and immediately scheduled a series of private consultations.”
“What did your friend consult her about?” Venetia asked.
“I’m afraid that is a private matter.” Pierce picked up his brandy.
Pierce was one of those who held secrets close and tight, Gabriel thought. Anything related to him or his associates would likely constitute a private matter. The very fact that he was willing to speak to strangers tonight was a grim indication of just how intense his feelings were on the subject of Charlotte Bliss.
“Let me hazard a guess here,” Gabriel said. “Mrs. Bliss charged your friend a hefty fee and then fed him a lot of nonsense.”
Pierce looked at him. Gabriel was interested to see the cold anger that blazed in the intense blue eyes. In that moment he knew that Pierce would have had no compunction whatsoever about killing the woman who now called herself Rosalind Fleming.
“My friend was satisfied with the advice he received,” Pierce said in an extraordinarily even tone that only served to intensify the impact of his icy gaze. “He made an investment based upon that advice.”
“What happened?” Venetia asked.
“One month later he received the first blackmail note.”
Gabriel saw the glass in Venetia’s hand tremble. Harrow also noticed. He deftly plucked it from her fingers and set it on the table beside her chair. She did not appear to be aware of the small action. Her full attention was directed at Pierce.
“You believe that Mrs. Bliss was the one who sent the extortion note to your friend?” she asked.
“She was the only suspect as far as I was concerned. But I admit that I could not understand how she had come into possession of the damaging information. You see, the blackmailer alluded to certain facts about my friend that only two other people in the world could have known, and one of them was dead.”
“Who was the one who was still alive?” Gabriel asked.
Pierce drank more brandy and set the glass aside. “Me.”
Gabriel contemplated that for a moment. “I assume that you were not the extortionist.”
Pierce’s jaw hardened. “No. I am very fond of my friend. I would do nothing to harm him.”
And everything to protect him, Gabriel thought.
“What made you so sure that Mrs. Bliss was the guilty party?” Venetia asked.
Pierce tapped his fingertips again. “The timing.”
“That’s all?”
Pierce shrugged. “It was all I had to go on. That and my…intuition.”
An intuition honed by some experience in dangerous affairs, Gabriel thought.
“What did your friend do after he received the extortion note?” Venetia asked.