by Lisa Boero
“Undoubtedly. What pleasures can compare to fields and streams?”
“I’m sure I can think of a few.”
Althea gave him a wry look. “Likely not fit for a lady’s ear.”
“You are unlike any lady of my acquaintance.”
“But even I may blush to hear what young men do when they go upon the town. Not that I have any illusions on the score, mind you.”
“I’m glad we at least agree on my youth.” He studied her face, and Althea felt an unwanted blush steal up her cheeks.
“What holds you back, then?” he said.
“From what?” she replied.
“Forming an alliance.”
Althea sighed. Of course Norwich just meant to be difficult. She gave him her most disdainful look. “Is that what they are calling it in London? To be perfectly frank, I believe you are the only gentleman to have the effrontery to mention such an arrangement.”
“I won’t be the last.”
It was just like him to needle her. She replied calmly, “I’m sure, and if it were up to me alone, I suppose I might consider some discreet arrangement, but I have the credibility of my son’s name to consider. One cannot be an embarrassment to one’s offspring. At least, not very often.”
“Many widows, and married women in general, I dare say, would not agree with you.”
Althea hoped to give him back his share. “They may do as they please. But don’t tell me that you have made a study of such females. I had rather thought from general accounts that actresses were your fancy. I think that is wise. Entangling oneself with other men’s wives leads to complications. And widows can be so depressing. Besides, your family does not crave scandal, I understand.”
Instead of reacting angrily, he smiled. “Does nothing disturb you? I begin to wonder if there is any topic of conversation that can put you to the blush.”
“I have yet to find one, but please continue to try. It keeps our conversation from going stale. And the general consensus is correct, is it not?”
“Why does it matter to you?”
“Merely to an illustration of your character,” she said.
“The rumors have been greatly exaggerated.”
“They usually are. But you should do what you can to fan the flames. It softens the general impression and makes you seem more mortal.”
“I hardly think anyone perceives me a god, Althea.”
“No, more like the devil,” she replied archly.
At that, a milkmaid with a cockeyed wig and a cloven-hoofed satyr tumbled into the room, too drunk and too absorbed in a passionate embrace to notice that the room was already occupied. Norwich grabbed Althea’s hand and pulled her up. “Come, fair beetle, we should be about our business.”
They returned to the ballroom just in time to see the Queen of Sheba ascend the stairs. “Look sharp,” Norwich said, and then they parted, not to meet again for the rest of the evening. Instead, Althea quietly monitored the queen’s crown and did so more particularly when Lord George chanced to approach. All in all it was dispiriting work, and several minutes before the unmasking, Althea slipped away from the ballroom and the intense heat that a room full of costumed dancers produced.
She mopped her brow with a slightly soggy handkerchief pulled from the chemise beneath her low-cut bodice. Then she noticed a movement down the hall. She could have sworn it was Cousin John in all of his lupine glory. She followed him silently, curious as to what could take him to this part of the house. He ducked furtively into a room and then closed the door behind him.
Althea heard voices behind the door and bent down to peer through the keyhole. There were several men, unmasked, seated around a table like the kind used for cards. John took his mask off and sat down in the chair farthest from the door. He laughed at something one of the men said to him and replied, “But Verlyn has found me a capital pair, I assure you! The finest steppers you ever did see.”
The man passed John a strange wrought cup saying, “Would that I had your resources, Bingham.” John took a long drink and set the cup back on the table.
Only it wasn’t a cup, Althea now perceived. It was a skull.
Chapter Fifteen
Althea stared at the men, trying to identify them, but it was hopeless. She had never paid enough attention to Lord John’s intimates to know all of their names. She heard a rustle of silk and footsteps behind her. Someone was coming down the hall. Althea ducked into the opposite room and hid on the other side of the door. This room was dark and refreshingly cool. She sighed with relief.
The footsteps stopped, and before Althea could take another breath, a figure moved into the room, shutting the door behind him. In the light of the hall, Althea could only make out his size and the fact that he was clad in a dark domino, but once he was in the room, the darkness enveloped him. Althea stayed silent, waiting for something to happen.
He spoke in that same whisper as before, “Why so shy?”
Althea inhaled quickly, catching a whiff of that familiar cologne.
“Ah, I have frightened you. But surely you knew I would come again?”
Althea managed a faint, “No.”
He moved toward the sound of her voice. “Who could stay away from such a charming insect?”
She remained silent.
“Speak to me again so that I may find you.”
“That would not be wise,” she replied, moving quietly away from the sound of his footsteps.
“No, but folly often brings delight, and I find that I cannot resist you after all.” He moved in her direction.
“Who are you?”
“You cannot expect me to own my identity so easily.”
“I know who you are.”
“Although I do not doubt your intellect, I would hazard a guess that you do not.”
“But why must you steal? Your position gives you money enough.”
“For what do any of us live our lives?” he whispered.
“That is not an answer.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.” Then all of a sudden, he was beside her, a strong hand gripping her elbow. “You cannot know how the thought of you has haunted me.” The hand released her and slid slowly up her arm, and Althea felt a strange paralysis come over her. His other hand found her shoulder, and he brought her to him, clasping her tight. He leaned his head down and found her mouth. Kissing her softly at first, reverently, and then, when she found herself responding, with an ardor that made her very veins catch fire.
She caught her breath and pulled away enough to say, “No, this cannot be.”
His lips found her throat. “I know,” he murmured into her hair. “I know, but yet—”
“No yet,” Althea pulled away again, this time escaping out of his reach on her light cat feet. “This was never my intention.”
“Nor mine, but I too am an insect—a moth to flame.”
“Look, sir, although you may hide your identity, the greatest minds of the country are following your every move.”
“Yours included?”
Althea hesitated, but decided that truth was best. “Yes. You must know that you cannot continue on forever. Eventually you will be caught, and the punishment shall be severe.”
“Are you frightened for me, my little insect?”
“No more frightened than you should be for yourself.”
“But I am not frightened.”
“Then you are a fool.”
“I doubt you’ll see me hang anytime soon.”
Althea was about to reply when there were voices in the hall, male voices, raised in laughter. She felt a hand grasp her elbow.
The whisper dropped lower. “Quiet now. Do not pull away.”
“You must let me go. I must return to the ballroom.”
“And you shall, I promise. No, do not be afraid. I will endeavor to refrain from coming to you again unless I can do so as an honest man.”
“I do not know how that may be,” she said.
“I trust in your forgiveness.”
> Althea shook her head, thinking about what sort of honest proposal a lord and thief could possibly have for her. Despite what she had said to Norwich, she did not relish the thought of a liaison, however discreet the gentleman might be. “You’ll need more than my forgiveness.”
“Most likely. But come, the hall sounds deserted once more. You must leave first, and then I shall see to my escape.”
When Althea returned to the ballroom, it was just past midnight. She slowly unhooked the mask from her headdress, aware of the curious stares from the people around her. How hypocritical was this London society where one could carry on barely disguised affaires with all manner of people and yet a simple dress branded one a hussy? She stiffened her spine and moved through the crowd, searching for the Queen of Sheba.
Instead she found the unmasked Queen of Hearts. “You are radiant, my dear,” the plump lady said. “I can see why the men are all head over heels in love. Don’t let the biddies intimidate you. It’s all jealousy in the end.”
“Oh my.” Althea’s heart sank. “Lady Pickney.”
She executed a short curtsey and, perceiving Althea’s discomfort, smiled. “I promise I shall not eat you.”
“No, of course not,” Althea said with a relieved smile and a curtsey of her own.
Lady Pickney took Althea’s arm and wrapped it confidently around her own. “Come, dear Lady Trent, let us take a stroll around the room and show these rattles a thing or two.”
The next afternoon, Althea found herself in the blue salon sipping tea with Lady Levanwood while that lady tried valiantly to resist a honey cake. Althea had worked furiously to complete her beetle manuscript and upon submission to Lord Aldridge the week prior, felt a sense of relief tempered with anxiety that Aldridge would find the manuscript wanting. The wait was excruciating, but it was better to focus on her manuscript than her hopeless entanglement with the thief. She shifted in her chair, struggling to pay attention to Lady Levanwood when her mind was in the halls of the Royal Society and fitfully in a darkened room, trapped in the arms of a masked man.
Lady Levanwood eyed a honey cake hungrily as she said to Althea, “To be sure, dear Althea, I would not have expected you to be quite so daring, for I did hear a bit of talk, you must know. And I would have warned you if I had really looked at that dress, but when one gets into conversation—well, never mind that. However, I suppose all’s well that ends well. I don’t know how you managed to get that Pickney woman round your finger, but since you did, I don’t think I’ll hear half as much chatter as I would have otherwise. She can say the foulest things with that toothy smile of hers. It puts me all out of patience. Then again, the Pickneys are such an old distinguished family and so rich that the Lord knows but they could own half of England if they wanted to. Although she’s actually a Medway, but that’s an old family, too.”
Althea merely smiled. “I found her to be quite delightful.”
“Yes I’m sure. All the men were mad for her when she came out, for she was such a delicate little thing. Pretty as a china doll. Of course, that hasn’t been true for years. In fact, every year she seems to get larger and larger.”
She was cut off by the sound of the door opening. Charles walked into the room with a determined step, but upon catching sight of Althea, he stopped. “Oh, cousin, I did not think to find you here.”
“No, I’m afraid I turned down Sir Neville’s kind invitation to take a ride in his new chaise and four. But do not let me interfere. It seems clear that you have some business to discuss with your dear mother.” She rose quickly and crossed the room. “I think I will write some letters.” She closed the door behind her, but instead of walking to the library, she crouched down, her eye through the keyhole.
“Mother, one would think that you would have more sense than to just sit here eating cakes.”
“Really Charles, what else would you have me do?”
“But you must reason with him. He can’t continue with the bank. We have lost too much and don’t have time to put it to rights. Surely he would listen to you.”
“Since when has he ever listened to me?” she said bitterly. “I have never been anything to him, as you are well aware. Besides, why should I worry? I’m sure it will all come out right.” She took a bite of cake. “It always does.”
Charles growled in frustration. “Because of me! I am the one who always puts things to rights! You and John just continue as if you haven’t a care in the world.”
“Hush. The whole house will hear you.”
Althea heard footsteps behind her and hastily stood. She could feel the eyes of someone upon her back. She turned slowly.
Chapter Sixteen
“Cousin Althea, just the person I wished to find.” A smile slid across John’s face.
“Yes?” Althea replied, determined to brazen it out.
“It’s about those drawings you did for me. I have need of more.”
“Indeed?”
“Yes. You see, some fellows and I have got a little game going—well a challenge, more like. Of poetry. Beauty out of horror, you see.”
“I don’t know that I do.”
“We each write a poem about some ghastly thing, but in the most beautiful language. Come to the library, and I will show you how far I’ve got.”
Althea followed cautiously. John shut the door behind them with a click. The sound sent shivers up her spine. She told herself that she was just being silly.
John motioned her over to the large desk stationed in the corner opposite Lady Levanwood’s writing desk. He picked up a sheet of closely written lines and handed it to her. The piece began:
The bright-winged creature lighted on the majestic purple of her skin, mottled like water drops in a placid pool.
Althea looked up at John with raised eyebrows. “What is this?”
“Do you like it? You gave me the idea with all our talk of beetles and decay.” He gestured excitedly at the paper. “Don’t you see? It is a beetle feeding on a corpse, the corpse of a beautiful maiden. And here,” he pointed farther down, “is the best part.”
And like the suckling of a babe at its mother’s breast, the beetle took of her essence a sweet ambrosia.
John grinned at her.
Althea handed the paper back to John. “Quite lovely. What sort of drawings did you have in mind?”
“The corpse, of course, with the beetle just lighting on her cheek.”
“In pen only, or do you desire watercolor as well?”
“Color I think, don’t you?”
“If you want the full effect, then I suppose it must be color.”
“Too bad there are no corpses to hand to use as a model.”
Althea looked at him sharply, but he was busy examining a section of his coat sleeve through his quizzing glass. “There seems to be a spot upon my coat.” He held his arm out. “Do you not perceive it?”
Althea shook her head. She was about to ask him more about the drawings, but the idea seemed to have completely left his brain.
“Really, I think I must change. Damned nuisance. Valet should have noticed this before he handed me into it. But there is no hope for it.” With that he took himself out of the room.
With everyone else otherwise occupied, Althea decided to put her free time to good use by going back through Read’s notes on the Richmond Thief. Despite the presence of the thief, the Queen of Sheba had survived the masquerade ball intact. This merely confirmed Althea’s suspicion that Verlyn would not stoop or did not dare to pickpocket the sapphire crown.
She walked quietly to her room and spread the bundle of notes from Mr. Read out on the tall high bed. Within an hour, she had the papers organized in stacks by crime. Eleven in all. Each crime had its own particular details, but what details did they all share? She got down off the bed and went over to the armoire. She always worked better with a visual representation of a problem, so she pulled out some writing paper and a drawing charcoal, as that is what she had to hand.
She caref
ully listed the details of each crime and ordered the crimes chronologically, assigning each a number based on that order. Then she studied the list. There had to be some pattern. Some detail about the crimes that would induce the moneyed and titled Verlyn to commit robbery. But the more she studied her list, the more her head hurt. Then she had an idea. Perhaps it was the differences between the crimes that would provide the clue. She examined her list again, looking for a detail that was particular to only a few of the crimes, or maybe one.
There were two robberies where silver had been taken as well as jewelry. In the first, it had been a silver-backed hand mirror, and in the second, a candlestick. She took another piece of paper and wrote “property other than jewelry” and then noted numbers three and seven. She studied her list once more. What else about the items stolen was different? Then she had a sudden memory of her first meeting with Mr. Read. They had talked of jewelry cases as well as jewels. She examined her list again.
It was odd. Some of the crimes seemed to follow the initial theft of the Richmond earrings. They included the theft of jewels and jewel cases. In several others, including the Levanwood diamond theft, the jewels were removed and the cases left open. Perhaps the difference lay in the question of opportunity. If Verlyn found the cases locked, he took them, but if he found them open, he took only the jewels.
However, the locks on the Levanwood case had been forced, so why had Verlyn not just taken the case? And how had he gained access to the house? The easiest thing would have been to attend the party as a guest, but he hadn’t let society know that he was in town. But again, why would the son of a duke have a need to steal the jewels of others? The Norwich family was known to be rich. Unless they hid their debts like the Levanwoods did?
And what about Cousin John? His behavior had become increasingly troublesome. Was he connected with the missing valet and the maid Mary? And how to explain his renewed ability to acquire yet another pair of expensive horses? Could he be tied somehow to the theft of the Levanwood diamonds? John knew Verlyn and had expressed disdain of his mother’s jewelry. Perhaps there was some point of connection between them. The horses could be a payment for John’s collusion in Verlyn’s criminal operation.