Sexual Hunger

by Melissa MacNeal

  “Oh, for Chrissakes, Jude, you might as well read the damn column to me! This is no time to be teasing your poor, grieving mother.”

  Maria didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. These were the first lifelike words Dora had uttered, yet once she began to pick apart Miss Crimson’s column, the fur would fly.

  Flashing her a subdued grin, Jude folded his Inquirer so he could hold it closer to his face in the dim light. “‘Well, Dear Readers, at the Galsworthy ball it was truly the best of times and the worst of times,’” he began in a spirited voice. “‘Lord and Lady Darington received word from his lordship’s American shipping partners that their beloved son, Jason, has been plundering the family’s own ships while posing as a pirate from days of old. The news sent Lord Darington into a fit of—’”

  “I swear to God I’ll rip that woman’s head off when I find out who the hell she is!” Dora sat forward, sweeping the veil back from her face to glower at them. Because she wore no kohl or rouge, she looked ten years older than she had at the party. “No sense of decency or civility in our time of trial! Kicking poor Phillip when he was down!”

  “Like you tried to, Mumsy?” Jemma breathed. “I’ve never been so humiliated in my life as when you started wailing that he had a death grip on your—”

  “Enough of your insolence, missy! Go to your room.”

  More relieved than upset, the impertinent blonde strode past them with Willie cradled at her shoulder.

  Again Jude ventured a grin, but Maria knew better than to respond. Dora seemed to be emerging from her shock so it was no time to flirt with him. At least he’d broken the icy silence. “Perhaps now’s not the time,” she began hesitantly, “but if we were to go in search of Jason—bring him home to familiar surroundings—perhaps he’d regain himself—”

  “What an absurd idea! How could we capture him if the authorities cannot?”

  Maria shrugged, restraining her excitement. She had to propose this idea very carefully, or it would appear she suggested it only for her own needy reasons. Visions of that hoop earring and Johnny Conn’s devilish mustache goaded her on. “But if Jason were here—restored to his right mind—he could silence Miss Crimson! As the new Lord Darington, he would not tolerate the way his family name and reputation—”

  “Begging your pardon for the intrusion, Lady Darington, but you have a caller.” Thomas the butler peered into the dim parlor to be sure he was addressing the correct female.

  Dora waved him away. “I’ve told you I do not wish to be disturbed until several days after his lordship’s service tomorrow—”

  “Yes, milady. And when I mentioned that, the gentleman asked that I give you this.”

  Was that a grin flickering at the manservant’s lips? He and Lord Darington were cut from the same bolt of stiff, starchy cloth, so it was difficult to tell if the old fellow had any sense of humor. Yet when Dora’s eyebrows flew up and a little cry escaped her, Thomas stifled a fit of rude laughter.

  “Arthur Thomas! How dare you insult me with such a—”

  The butler cleared his throat loudly. “Yes, milady. He said you’d say that.”

  Lady Darington’s expression changed like a kaleidoscope as Jude watched his mother’s reactions over the top of his newspaper. When Dora noticed their attention, she slipped the card into her skirt pocket. Then she smoothed the black lace veil into place again, tilting her small hat at a slightly jauntier angle. “You may admit him, then—but only because Maria and my son are present to maintain proper decorum.”

  “Yes, milady. I shall tell him.”

  When the butler stepped from the room, Dora’s neck arched. Even through the veil, her eyes burned more brightly. “Not one word from either of you!” she warned. “You have no defense for your own questionable behavior, and therefore no cross to crucify me upon—unless you plan to hang on either side of me. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Perfectly, Mother,” Jude murmured—but then he stiffened.

  Yosef Polinsky stood in the doorway. He entered the dark parlor and then paused to let his eyes adjust. With his hands clasped before him and his hair smoothed back from his face, he looked the perfect gentleman. And indeed, as she considered it, Maria wondered why Lady Darington felt so…compromised by the medium’s condolence call. In the coming weeks she could expect several of her friends to stop by Wildwood—

  And isn’t it INTERESTING that Polinsky is the first?

  Jude folded his paper with crisp precision, announcing his irritation with each noisy crackle of the pages. “Mr. Polinsky. What brings you here, sir? Can you not see that my mother—”

  “Please accept my sincerest sympathies at the passing of your father, Jude. It must have come as quite a shock to see him enjoying himself one moment, and then lying, expired, on the ballroom floor the next.” The medium stepped forward with his hand extended, which demanded that Jude stand to accept his condolences.

  “Thank you,” he muttered.

  “And do I understand correctly that his passing resulted from news about your brother—and your fiancé, Miss Palladino?” Again this guest spoke with utmost concern as he approached Maria, bowing before her.

  She offered her hand and he took it. His eyes were riveted on hers in the dimness, with the intensity her brother employed to plumb the depths of a client’s heart and soul. Because she was observing him, embraced by the warmth of his hands and eyes that sparkled even in the shadows, Maria returned his direct gaze with one of her own. She’d done this to Rubio since they’d been children.

  “Yes, Mr. Polinsky, it was with mixed emotions we learned of Jason’s escapades,” she replied. “His father, Lord Darington, was understandably flummoxed when his American partners admitted they’d lost some ships to the pirate Johnny Conn, whom Jason pretends to be. But then, you no doubt got your information from Miss Crimson’s column.”

  Polinsky dropped his gaze first, perhaps sensing she was toying with him. “I remain amazed—somewhat appalled—that a society columnist relays more vital information about the case than we’ve received from Scotland Yard. How frustrating that must be for all of you.”

  Maria held her expression steady as he released her hand. Was he telling her he knew of her secret life as Miss Crimson?

  “Oh, pish! As though we take stock in that woman’s gossip and lies!” Dora perched on the edge of her chair, watching the medium work the room and tempering her remarks as though Polinsky was saving the best for last; making her wait while he gave lip service to the minor players, whom he would dismiss when he focused on her.

  But she had settled herself, much like a cat preening when sunlight beams through a window: Dora held her shoulders back, displaying her breasts despite the harsh black dress that buttoned primly at her neck. And when Yosef turned in her direction, her body seemed to lighten: the heaviness of her presence disappeared, now that she had a different audience. Maria found this fascinating even though Jude remained standing, to witness every exchange and nuance between the medium and his mother.

  “I could not help but overhear, as I awaited permission to express my sorrow, the suggestion that someone should…pursue your son, to bring him home.” Polinsky took Dora’s hands and lightly rubbed her knuckles with his thumbs. “I was going to suggest that very idea today, if you were capable of discussing it! My spirit guides tell me that while Jason is unaware of the ironic twist of his fate—which has led him to plundering Darington ships—his childlike soul is enjoying the adventure so much he might never come to his senses. Why should he, if he continues to elude the port authorities? On the other hand—”

  Polinsky’s dramatic intake of breath…his drawn-out pause that begged to be filled with his answers, had all three of them leaning forward to follow his every suggestion.

  “Yes, Mr. Polinsky?” Dora whispered. “Be very careful what you say to me. The foundation of my life has been knocked away, and—like a house left teetering on a chasm after an earthquake—I might drop into the valley of the shadow at any
moment. You must assure me, Yosef, that you’ll never lead me astray for your own nefarious purposes.”

  The medium straightened slightly. “The fact that you use the word ‘nefarious’ in the same sentence with my name distresses me, Pandora. Why do you doubt my intentions? My integrity?”

  His wounded tone made Maria bite back laughter. Lady Darington could play the wilting widow to perfection, but she was in no mood to be duped by a sweet-talker. Would Polinsky play along with her?

  “I have heard more than once this past week, Yosef, that your former…hostesses are missing some jewelry. These women aren’t flighty or losing their minds, either.”

  Jude’s expression was priceless as he watched his mother back the magician into a conversational corner. Maria, too, wondered how the illustrious charmer would talk his way out of this one.

  Yet Polinsky gently placed Dora’s hands back on her lap. “Just as you become outraged when you read what Miss Crimson writes about your family,” he said in a guarded voice, “I must deal with women—or clients, who are mostly women—who become distraught when they believe others attain ‘inner circle’ status before they do. Or perhaps they believe they’ll lose that status. And indeed, this concept of an inner circle is based on hearsay and faulty logic.”

  Polinsky turned slightly, to include Maria and Jude in this conversation. “Much as I hate to say it about the dear ladies I’ve met here, I suspect envy, that green-eyed monster, is at the root of these disappointing stories. If I stooped to stealing jewelry, Pandora, how would I ever face myself in the mirror?” he queried softly. “And before you reply, ask yourself if you have ever repeated dirty little lies—or even created them—in those moments you felt betrayed or abandoned, or just disappointed in someone you admire. Someone you might possibly…wish for.”

  Dora sniffed indignantly. But there was no doubt she was framing her reply as she turned her head…which presented Polinsky with her haughty profile beneath her veil.

  Maria knew a dodge when she heard one. But like the Artful Dodger in the Dickens story, the medium had twisted Dora’s insinuation into an invisible noose around her own slender neck.

  “You compliment yourself, Mr. Polinsky. Or perhaps you are delusional,” Jude’s mother answered crisply. “I am recently bereaved, a woman who grieves the loss of her husband and possibly her firstborn as well. I do not wish for anyone! I pray for the return of my son, so he might take over his father’s estates and title.”

  Lady Darington stood then, facing the medium. Even though her face remained veiled, her voice brooked no argument. “And why should I settle for envy, when vengeance is so much more effective? It’s time for you to go.”

  Maria’s jaw dropped. Had Dora really dismissed the man with whom she’d so eagerly flirted before? And what on earth did she mean: why should I settle for envy, when vengeance is so much more effective? It sounded like something Miss Crimson might say. She should write it down so she wouldn’t forget it!

  The medium remained silent. He bowed and left the parlor.

  Lady Darington watched after him, silent as well. Then she retrieved his calling card from her skirt pocket, to gaze at it as though no one else were in the room.

  Maria would’ve given her week’s pay from the Inquirer to see Dora’s face without that damn veil! Or to see that calling card. For long, awkward moments she and Jude awaited what his mother might proclaim next.

  Finally, she put the card in her pocket again. “I shall retire to my chambers now, and I refuse to be disturbed until I emerge tomorrow, ready for the funeral proceedings. Good afternoon.”

  “Yes, Mum. Good afternoon,” Jude mumbled.

  “Rest well,” Maria added, not knowing what else to say. In the twinkling of an eye, Dora Darington had changed from a martyred mother to the mistress of her own script again. And while it wasn’t strange that Yosef Polinsky had delivered Dora from her misery, Maria would never have anticipated the medium’s dismissal. “What do you suppose was on that calling card?” she mused aloud. “I’ve never seen a piece of paper bring about such a change in attitude!”

  Jude smiled wryly, not quite meeting her eyes. “They say a picture is worth a thousand words. I suspect Polinsky chooses them well.”

  21

  “Ashes to ashes and dust to dust,” the vicar droned as he gazed into the grave now filled with Lord Darington’s casket. “We commend the spirit of Phillip, Lord Darington, into Thy care, O God…”

  Maria’s weary mind wandered. From beneath her veil she observed those around her: Jude, on her right, looking downcast and very concerned about his possible role as the Darington heir. The crook of his arm tightened around her hand, and she squeezed back.

  On her left, Dora stood with stoic dispassion, a rose between her gloved fingers. She was a column of uninterrupted black, from her smart new hat with its longer veil to the tips of her stylish new pumps: the widow now in the public eye among the many friends who’d gathered at the cemetery.

  Jemma stood to her mother’s left, mewling miserably. She’d been forced to leave her ferret at home, so her hands flitted from adjusting her veil to smoothing her gown of black bombazine. The dress, cut closer to her hips and legs, made her look dangerously alluring. Maria sensed these funereal details frustrated the youngest Darington, who was unaccustomed to enduring ordeals not of her own creation.

  Father Stoutham cleared his throat pointedly, and Maria refocused on the funeral. Lady Darington stepped forward, dangerously close to the gaping grave, to drop her rose on her husband’s casket. Then she lifted her chin; planted her hands on her daughter’s trembling shoulders to urge her to follow the script. Sniffling loudly, Jemma half-threw her rose rather than look down into the hole that held her father. Jude then stepped forward with Maria, and they, too, paid their final respects. Thank God it was all going according to plan….

  Yet when she saw how Rubio scanned the crowd, scowling, Maria sensed something would soon change that. The vicar pronounced his benediction. The somber crowd parted for the family’s return to the carriage behind the hearse, a magnificent black vehicle drawn by plumed ebony horses. Maria nodded at the murmured condolences as they walked the path between the tombstones, spotting Lord and Lady Galsworthy, Lord Fenwick, Lady MacPherson, and Mrs. Grumbaugh among the mourners.

  Dora had announced her need for total privacy—no condolence callers—so as Maria approached the hearse, the rest of this endless day loomed before her. She was itching to write a column—anything to occupy her mind with the living—but proper decorum and respect for Lady Darington demanded that she remain at Wildwood until evening, when Rubio was to escort her back to the town house. The undertaker asked for a word with Dora and Jude, so Maria stepped into the black carriage first.

  From the far end of the seat, Yosef Polinsky put his finger to his lips.

  Maria was too startled to speak. What was this man trying to prove? She knew the answer to that, of course: he was positioning himself to fill the empty spot in Dora Darington’s life. But how flagrantly could he flaunt his desires in a funeral carriage and still be considered a gentleman? Was she condoning whatever trick Polinsky had up his stylish sleeve, if she sat down without questioning his intentions? When Jude saw the magician, he would protest long and loudly.

  But Dora entered the carriage ahead of her son. And at the sight of Yosef, her sigh camouflaged laughter and she promptly sat down beside him. “So!” she cooed. “You have come to beg my forgiveness for your impertinence yesterday?”

  Jude stopped halfway inside the carriage. “What the hell’s going on here? My mother has requested a day of solitude and seclusion—”

  “You may sit beside Maria and keep your mouth shut, Jude.” Dora gestured impatiently for Jemma to step inside. “Obviously, God has brought this man to us, knowing our…deep need for guidance in our time of crisis. And if Mr. Polinsky can summon your father’s spirit, ask him how to bring your brother Jason home, I should think you’d be grateful for his assistance
. Your sister has always wished to attend a séance, so here’s her chance.”

  Maria sat back, stunned. Had this scenario and the séance been secretly arranged beforehand? Or were Dora and Yosef cleverly playing upon each other’s conversational cards now that the medium had showed up unannounced? The more she watched the two of them together, the more she sensed an unseen force was indeed at work—and it had nothing to do with the spiritual realm. It was lust, plain and simple.

  The carriage seat wheezed as Jude landed beside her. His expression remained ominous as he studied the couple across from them. Jemma blinked, looking unsettled yet fascinated.

  The undertaker peered in before closing the door, and then his eyes bugged. “Begging your pardon, Lady Darington, but I heard raised voices and—I understood you were to be driven home—”

  “All is well, Mr. Cromley. You and your driver may proceed with our plan. I shall pay you immediately—and generously—for the way you have so kindly assisted us in our time of bereavement.” Even from behind her dense black veil, there was no mistaking Dora’s intent or her presence of mind.

  The portly man nodded, understanding his role in this little drama. The carriage door closed with a solid whump, and moments later they were rolling down the road toward Wildwood.

  Rolling toward what? The silence had so many different shades of meaning between the five of them, Maria couldn’t guess what might happen next. Revelation? Or the total rearrangement of everything proper and habitual; the things that kept their lives on track, day in and day out?

  “Yes, Pandora, this table shall be perfect. Quite appropriate that Lord Darington, rest his soul, sat in this cozy parlor as he read his newspapers.” Yosef Polinsky gazed around the darkened room, nodding as he spoke. “We shall close the door to prevent intrusion. Once the spirits have replied to our summons, we want no chance of interruption.”