Stages of Desire

by Julia Tagan

  The man shook his head. “Very unfortunate. A terrible, terrible thing. The surgeon is upstairs with her now. We have to be careful, you understand. The hotel’s reputation is at stake.”

  “I appreciate the need for discretion.”

  “Of course, my lord. And I assure you, the staff has it well in hand.”

  “She was a friend. I must see her.”

  The manager’s eyes widened, and then he nodded his head. William knew exactly what he was thinking, that he’d had some kind of dalliance with Mrs. Ivey, and he didn’t bother to correct him. If that’s what worked, so be it.

  The manager lowered his voice. “We called for the surgeon when she first fell ill. He did everything he could to save her, but the illness was too far gone. The news is going to spread quickly and we must do everything we can to protect the good name and reputation of the hotel. You must understand, we are not at fault.”

  The manager was protesting far too much.

  William wondered what he was trying to cover up. “I’m not trying to place any kind of blame. You see, the owner of the hotel is a good friend, and I know Sir Rodney would prefer I be involved.” He pulled out his trump card. “He’ll be quite perturbed to discover my offer of help was turned away.”

  The manager looked as if he’d eaten something sour. “Sir Rodney, I see. Thank you, my lord, for the clarification.” He gave a nod to the concierge. “Very well, see him to Mrs. Ivey’s room.”

  Upstairs, the concierge knocked lightly on a door at the end of the hallway. A young girl with swollen eyes and a runny nose gulped back a sob as she let them inside. As William stepped over the threshold, a terrible stench swirled into his nostrils and he fought the urge to gag.

  “This is Mrs. Ivey’s lady’s maid,” said the concierge.

  “Thank you. That will be all.”

  Not surprisingly, the man was eager to leave.

  Several vases of red roses adorned the small sitting area, but they did little to offset the foul odor. The room looked as though Mrs. Ivey had sauntered through moments earlier. A light-blue cape was tossed onto a chair next to a matching bonnet. On a low table in front of a sofa, a china teapot and a pair of cups and saucers were laid out. One of the cups was drained, the other full of milky tea.

  The girl pointed to the door to the bedchamber. “Mrs. Ivey’s in there with the surgeon.”

  As if on cue, a man in a black frock coat exited the bedchamber, stopping short when he noticed William. “May I help you?”

  William introduced himself as a physician and friend of the deceased, and the surgeon responded warmly.

  “Please, do come in my lord, it looks like acute food poisoning to me.”

  “I knew the oysters were bad, I knew it,” cried the lady’s maid before bursting into tears once again.

  The bedroom was dark, with all but one of the curtains drawn closed. A single shaft of bright sunlight lit the face of the woman on the bed, her body from the neck down covered by a silk sheet.

  It was as if Mrs. Ivey had aged decades since William had last seen her at the theater, when she’d been the epitome of good health. Her pale blue eyes stared out at him blankly and her lips were parted in a grimace, as if she’d been in terrible pain up to her final moments. The skin on her face hung slack.

  The smell was wretched. William had read about the horrors of food poisoning in his studies, but he’d never been exposed to the actual, distasteful elements. He tried not to let the other man know it affected him. It occurred to William he’d seen more, medically speaking, these past two days than he’d observed his entire three years at Oxford.

  “The lady’s maid said she had eaten oysters?” he asked.

  “She did. When I got here she was quite ill. I’ve told the kitchen to toss the entire batch, to be safe.”

  “A few hours ago she was perfectly fine. How could a bad oyster have dispatched her with such speed?”

  The surgeon hesitated before replying, and William didn’t blame him. Not only was William a member of the peerage, but as a physician, he also outranked him.

  “There is no need to worry about protocol. I require candor at this moment. You may speak honestly, please.”

  “Thank you, my lord.” He looked down at the still figure. “I’ve seen this happen sometimes. Particularly with those who are predisposed to weakness. The elderly, the very young.”

  “She fit into neither category.”

  He cocked his thumb toward the sitting room then put a finger across his lips. “These theater types,” he murmured. “They have a weakened constitution from the late nights and other ill effects of the life. Drinking, carousing, you know.”

  “Mrs. Ivey was a respected London actress.” William couldn’t believe he was defending the woman. It was as if Harriet’s voice had come through him unbidden.

  “Maybe so. But you rarely hear those two words in the same sentence.”

  “What two words?”

  “Respected and actress.” He chuckled at his own joke. “You say you were close?”

  William didn’t need to add to the rumor mill, considering he’d stirred it enough already.

  He thanked the surgeon, who nodded and took his leave. Other than the fact that Mrs. Ivey had fallen ill and died so suddenly, the man was right, nothing was out of the ordinary.

  When he re-entered the sitting room the maid leapt up. “Sir, I’ve been with her for seven years, I’ve never seen her so sick, do you think I’ll catch it?”

  “I doubt it, but do be careful and keep a lookout for symptoms like stomach pains or headaches.”

  She looked like she was about to begin howling, so William offered her his handkerchief. “I know it’s been a shock. Did you see her when she returned from the theater?”

  “Yes.” She blew her nose. “A couple of hours ago she said she felt funny. She wanted to lie down for a moment before the performance tonight, which was strange because she never sleeps during the day. Never.”

  “She took a rest?”

  “Yes. I was doing some mending when I heard her moan so I went in. She was awful sick, her color was terrible, and I called for the surgeon right away.”

  “Tell me, is there anything else that occurred this afternoon besides her dining on oysters for lunch?”

  The girl scrunched up her face. “Nothing I can think of. She had her lunch. An elderly aunt of hers came to visit, she does so every time Mrs. Ivey plays Birmingham, and also a gentleman called, but neither stayed long.”

  “Did you know the gentleman?”

  “No, I’d never seen him before. But they spoke of the people they knew in common, so I assumed they were acquainted.”

  The hair on the back of William’s neck stood on end. “Did you catch his name?”

  She stared at him blankly. “No, I don’t remember.”

  “What did the man look like?”

  “Good looking, obviously an actor.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Oh yes, he had excellent manners.”

  “I mean physically, anything to distinguish him physically.”

  “Oh yes. He’d hurt his arm. Wore a bandage.”

  Freddie.

  William’s head spun as he tried to take in her words. Freddie had been here. Mrs. Ivey had fallen sick and died, even though she’d been the picture of health hours before.

  He searched for answers, a pattern.

  Freddie had miraculously shown up at Adam’s barn the evening it burned down. On the other hand, Freddie had been injured while saving several men, himself included, from the fire.

  They’d been attacked in the forest. But Freddie had seemed truly terrified. Then again, he was a professional actor.

  He seesawed back and forth. Three calamities. One death.

  But how?

  If the culprit wasn’
t oysters, and he was fairly certain it wasn’t, what else could have caused Mrs. Ivey’s death?

  The tea.

  William walked over to the cups. He sniffed one, then the other. Nothing. He instructed the maid to stay put and returned to the darkened bedchamber. After first bracing himself, he leaned over Mrs. Ivey’s twisted mouth, sniffed, and detected the foul odor of garlic.

  He advanced into the sitting room and pointed at the table. “Toss out this tea and clean the cups and pot well,” he ordered. “Do you understand?”

  She nodded.

  Back in the lobby, William asked for his room key at the reception desk.

  “Has anyone else requested my key today?”

  “Not that I know of, my lord.”

  “Has anyone else worked the front desk today?”

  “One moment.” He spoke briefly with a young man manning the other end of the desk. “My colleague says your brother came by to retrieve your key earlier this afternoon.”

  “My brother?”

  “Yes. He pointed out you were paying for his room, and mentioned something about having left his walking stick in your suite. We checked the accounts and confirmed you were footing his bill.”

  “Thank you.”

  His rooms showed no obvious signs of intrusion. William headed to the bedchamber and opened the doors to the armoire. He took out his medicine bag and carefully laid the contents out on the small escritoire. The tools and other equipment were there, as were the bandages and salves he carried with him. The bottles of medicine and herbs were all accounted for, except for one. The one he’d known would be missing the moment he sniffed Mrs. Ivey’s breath.

  The consequences were enormous. William’s reputation, and that of his family, had once again been compromised. He’d trusted a horde of actors and now a woman was dead due to his naiveté. He might as well have killed her himself.

  Freddie was dangerous and a murderer.

  William had let down his guard once, and it couldn’t happen again. Ever.

  No one was to be trusted.

  * * * *

  Harriet opened the door to her room for William seconds after he’d knocked, as if she’d been waiting at the threshold the entire time. He avoided her questioning look and charged inside.

  He’d been so gullible. To think, the notion of marrying Harriet had crossed his mind in the dressing room, when she’d given her body up to him.

  He’d imagined her living with him at his estate, having tea together in his cottage laboratory and laughing about the latest letter from Miss Entwhistle. She’d mesmerized him. Her eagerness had pleased him to no end. And now the most sensual experience of his life had turned sordid and ugly.

  “What’s going on? What did you learn?” Harriet sat in a straight-backed chair and didn’t take her eyes off him as he paced back and forth.

  He didn’t answer her question. “When did you last see Freddie?”

  She thought for a moment. “The same as you, backstage before the show.”

  “And you haven’t heard from him or seen him since?”

  “No.”

  “Harriet, you need to be honest with me. Did your brother tell you anything about what he was going to do?”

  Her hands tightened in her lap. Was it because he was being so harsh with her, or did she have something to hide?

  “What did Freddie do?” Her face was pale.

  William poured himself a drink from a decanter on a side table. The liquid burned his throat and the sensation momentarily calmed him. “You don’t know?”

  “For goodness sake, you’re speaking in circles. What’s happened? You went up to see Mrs. Ivey and now you’re asking questions about Freddie. I’m confused.”

  “He killed her.”

  She gasped. “That’s ridiculous. Freddie wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

  He studied her face closely as he spoke. “I’m certain your brother killed Mrs. Ivey. I have no doubt.”

  “No, you must be mistaken. How did she die?”

  “You don’t know?”

  She erupted with outrage. “Why would I know? Stop this at once, William. Tell me everything.”

  “She was poisoned.”

  Her body wavered back and forth, as if a strong wind had swept into the room. “What? How?”

  “The hotel’s surgeon believes Mrs. Ivey was killed by a bad oyster.”

  She breathed out a sigh of relief. “An oyster. Now I’m truly baffled. Do you think Freddie fed it to her?”

  “It wasn’t an oyster. She was fine at the theater. A few hours later, she was dead. Food poisoning doesn’t work that quickly.”

  “Then what type of poison?”

  “A vial of arsenic is missing from my bag. I believe Freddie put it into her tea.”

  Harriet’s mouth dropped open. Now he had her full attention. “Arsenic? Freddie?”

  “When we were attacked in the forest and that oaf was going through my medicine bag, the vial dropped out. Freddie must have noticed it.”

  “And you believe he stole it from you and gave some to Mrs. Ivey?”

  “Here are the facts. The arsenic is missing from my bag. The maid saw Mrs. Ivey having tea with a man with a bandaged arm. Mrs. Ivey died suddenly, violently.” He paused. “Did Freddie know Mrs. Ivey prior to today?”

  “No, not that I know of. But they were both in the theater, there’s no reason why they shouldn’t have met before.” Her voice was uncertain. “Why would he do such a horrible thing?”

  Her shock seemed to register as deeply as William’s own. He sat opposite her. “This run of bad luck, I don’t think it was the curse.”

  “You mean the fire? The men in the forest?”

  He nodded.

  “No. You’re wrong. Remember, Freddie was the one who warned us about the fire, and he was injured trying to help.”

  William had already replayed the evening several times in his mind: Freddie screaming for help, his frightened voice as he roused them. “My guess is he set the fire not knowing there were men sleeping in the barn. Maybe he only meant to burn the sets, wagon, and costumes. When he realized he had put lives at risk, the lives of men he knew, he had second thoughts.”

  “You think he was trying to destroy the theater company?”

  “That’s one possibility.”

  “In that case, I would suspect one of Bibby’s men.”

  “Or Freddie is working for Bibby.”

  “Why would he do that? He wouldn’t.”

  “You barely know your brother anymore. And I don’t know the answer to that question. I only know the facts before me.”

  She shook her head. “So he saved lives at Adam’s, but here in Birmingham he goes out of his way to murder an innocent woman? I can’t imagine Freddie doing such a thing. I refuse to believe it.”

  “He didn’t want the show to go on. He had to stop it.”

  “Why? Why would he want to see his own father go to prison?”

  “You’ve seen for yourself your father and brother aren’t particularly close.”

  She was quiet for a moment. “You think Freddie turned against us all.” A statement, not a question.

  He nodded.

  And now it was her turn to attack him. “I can tell you right now you’re wrong about everything. Your arsenic bottle was most likely lost in the scuffle and is lying back in the forest somewhere. Mrs. Ivey ate an oyster and became ill. Freddie’s off doing whatever it is Freddie does these days. There’s no real proof.”

  Why would she so angrily defend a brother she barely knew, if she wasn’t already a part of the conspiracy? Like her brother, she’d been trained in deception since birth. In pretending.

  His eyes must have given away his suspicions, because she stiffened. “Do you think I’m a part of this?”

  He didn�
��t respond. He couldn’t. An hour ago, he’d been close to telling her he loved her. His stupidity astounded him. Even if deep in his heart he knew she couldn’t have been involved, he’d placed himself in a terribly precarious position.

  Lies and secrets continued to haunt him. On the terrible night of Oliver’s death, when he’d chided his brother for even considering the idea of marrying an actress, the woman, in a fit of anger, had blurted out a terrible secret. He’d told Oliver and the girl in no uncertain terms to go to hell and hours later, they were dead.

  Now a famous actress had been killed using his poison. William caused death and destruction wherever he went. The irony he was a physician, a profession devoted to healing, was not lost on him.

  Harriet stood. “Obviously, you do suspect me. I had nothing to do with Mrs. Ivey’s death, nor any of the other calamities we’ve faced. And I’m not sure you’re thinking straight. You still have no proof.”

  “Freddie requested the key to my room from the concierge earlier today, while you and I were together. Apparently, he pretended to be my brother. Is that proof enough?”

  She recoiled in shock. From the ashen look on her face, it was indeed. “He wouldn’t. He couldn’t have.”

  “Yet it appears he did. If Freddie is caught, he could easily point fingers at me, saying I supplied the poison. And he’d be right, I did.”

  “Not willingly. He stole it from you.”

  “Do you think the newspapers care about subtleties? My name, and my family’s name, will be ruined.”

  “We have to find Freddie, talk to him. I’m certain we can sort this out.” The earlier ferocity in her voice was gone, replaced by panic.

  “I doubt Freddie is anywhere near Birmingham.”

  Harriet’s breaths came faster and faster, her lip trembled. He knew every intimate curve of her body, every dip and rise. The knowledge pained him.

  No other woman had this effect on him, and he vowed no one else ever would. Her very presence rattled him. He’d promised the duchess he’d keep her ward out of trouble. Instead, he’d made love to her, been seduced by her charms. The gay theatricality of the past few days had made him forget that real life was rife with complications. He’d not only failed the duchess and Marianne, he’d exposed his family to more ridicule.