Murder at the Opera

by D. M. Quincy

  Now Atlas forced himself to approach the marquess’s table. “Vessey.”

  The older man looked up, his face blank. “Yes?”

  Atlas’s ears pounded. For two decades he’d imagined the moment he’d confront the man who’d killed his sister. “You do not recognize me.”

  Vessey blinked. “Should I?”

  Atlas’s hands tightened on the back of Nicholas’s empty chair. “Atlas Catesby at your service.”

  The marquess’s rheumy gaze considered him now with only slightly more interest. “Ah, come to take your revenge? I had heard that you are asking questions about Mrs. Pike’s death.” His voice thinned at the mention of his late mistress’s name.

  “Is that a confession?” Atlas kept his voice cool while he resisted the urge to tear the man’s head off. “We both know I would have good reason to seek revenge.”

  “You want to avenge your sister’s death.” Vessey regarded Atlas with open contempt. “Due to some outlandish boyish fantasy that you have harbored all of these years that I purposely did away with my own wife.”

  “It is no fantasy.” Atlas resisted the urge to wipe his dampened palms on his trousers. “You can lie to the world, but you and I? We both know what you did.”

  “Filthy lies.” Vessey’s hands curled into fists on the table. “I suppose you now intend to convince society that I have done away with another woman who shared my life.”

  “Have you?”

  “No.” Vessey’s face momentarily crumpled before he took hold of himself, but red-rimmed eyes and a gaunt face betrayed his apparent inner turmoil. “Unlike with your sister, who was a bit of a nuisance, I cared a great deal for Mrs. Pike.”

  “You had an interesting way of demonstrating your affection.”

  “What the devil is that supposed to mean?

  “Did you care for Mrs. Pike so deeply that you preferred to see her dead rather than with another man?”

  “There was no other man.” The statement was definitive, spoken without an inkling of doubt, in the same manner one would declare that the sky is blue. “Mrs. Pike was completely and utterly devoted to me.”

  “I have recently become acquainted with a clergyman who claims Mrs. Pike had every intention of leaving you and wedding him.”

  Vessey guffawed. “Are you speaking of Samuel Brown? The man is touched in the head. He was obsessed with Mrs. Pike and would not leave her alone.”

  “Are you certain she wanted to be left alone?”

  “Absolutely. Mrs. Pike even suggested that Brown become a clergyman. He used to be a soldier. She hoped his ardor might cool once he moved closer to God and found a calling in the church.” Vessey paused to indulge in a leisurely draught of his wine. “It was a source of great amusement between us. Mrs. Pike anticipated that Brown would be given a living somewhere far away so that she could be free of the nuisance he presented.”

  “Brown believes you killed Mrs. Pike because she intended to leave you.”

  “I have heard that you are a man with keen insight. This absurd line of questioning suggests that those reports have been greatly exaggerated.” He peered at Atlas with actual interest for the first time since the start of their conversation. “Did you truly recently solve the murder of someone connected to the Duke of Somerville’s household?”

  Atlas remained silent. He had no desire to converse with Vessey about anything unrelated to Mrs. Pike.

  Vessey continued. “I do hope your misplaced desire to avenge your sister’s death shall not blind you to the truth in this case. There is no one on earth who is more desperate to know why Mrs. Pike was murdered. That woman was at the center of my life for twenty-five years.”

  Twenty-five years. Yet Phoebe had been dead for twenty-two. Vessey had taken up with Mrs. Pike well before his marriage to Phoebe.

  Atlas could not resist asking. “Why did you bother to wed my sister? It was obvious from the start that you never cared for her.”

  “Your father was a favorite of King George; he’d just been styled a baron. It was a worthy alliance. You understand this was well before the king became a bedlamite.” His mouth curled. “However, as my marchioness, Phoebe was far too quiet, always away in some corner with her sketchpad.”

  “Was my sister aware of your arrangement with Mrs. Pike?”

  Vessey shrugged. “I could not say. Your sister was quite sheltered and far too naïve for her own good.”

  “Unlike Mrs. Pike I suppose.”

  “Mrs. Pike was engaging and most agreeable. Inquire of anyone who was acquainted with her. No one, man or woman, failed to be charmed by her. She was beloved by all she met.”

  “As was Phoebe, except by you, her wedded husband, the man who should have looked after her.”

  “Instead of shoving her down the stairs?” Vessey asked derisively. “That is what you believe, is it not? You might have grown up, but you are still nothing but a boy.”

  Atlas imagined the immense satisfaction he’d feel snapping the man’s neck in half. “I am putting you on notice.”

  “Is that so?” Vessey did not appear to be the least bit concerned. “Dare I ask what sort of notice?”

  “I am no longer that frightened child who stood by while you got away with murder.” Atlas leaned in, hands palm down on the table. “If you killed Mrs. Pike, I shall make it my life’s mission to prove it. And nothing and no one will stop me from seeing that you hang for the crime.”

  * * *

  Atlas tried to ignore the banging at his front door.

  Unfortunately, his unwelcome visitor’s determination to disturb him appeared greater than Atlas’s current inclination to shut out everything and everyone beyond the walls to his apartments.

  “Atlas!” The heavy door did little to muffle Thea’s demanding voice. “I know you are in there and I am not leaving until you let me in.”

  With an exasperated sigh, Atlas set down the hookah hose and rose from his sitting room chair. He hadn’t seen anyone in two days. Following his encounter with Vessey, he’d sent Jamie away and secluded himself in his rooms.

  He opened the old door to find not only Thea but also his brother Hermes, standing on the landing at the top of the stairs.

  “See there?” Hermes gestured toward Atlas. “I told you he is perfectly fine. There was no need for you to drag me over here.”

  Thea sailed past Atlas, with Hermes trailing. “You look like the devil,” she said to Atlas.

  “I was not expecting uninvited visitors.” He followed his siblings into the sitting room.

  “Your hair is a mess.” Thea coughed and waved the smoke away. “It looks as if you have not taken a comb to it in days.”

  He hadn’t. Not that it was any of his overbearing older sister’s affair. “Have you looked at Herm’s hair of late?”

  “I beg your pardon!” Hermes made the pretense of acting affronted. He patted his wildly unruly hair with a gingerly hand so as not to disturb the fashionable coiffure currently favored by London’s dandies.

  “For some reason, which completely escapes me, Herm purposefully makes a squirrel’s nest of his hair,” Thea pointed out. “You, however, do not.”

  “May I ask to what I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit?”

  Thea frowned at the shuttered windows. “Why is it so dark in here?”

  “Because I prefer it that way at the moment.”

  “This chamber needs some air.” She marched over to the window by the game table, threw the heavy velvet curtains open, then bent to battle with the window sash until it opened. Her gaze dropped to the puzzle pieces scattered across the game table. “You have not worked on your puzzle.”

  Atlas dropped into his stuffed chair with a yawn. “You say that as if it is a cause for alarm.”

  “You’ve been shut up in here alone for two days, and you have not touched your puzzle? Putting these infernal things together is what settles your mind.”

  Atlas reached for the nargileh. “Why do you assume that my mind ne
eds settling?” He drew on the water pipe. A fruity tobacco taste filled his mouth as the sound of percolating bubbles filled the momentary silence.

  “I spoke with Charlton,” she said meaningfully.

  “And?” Atlas knew he was behaving in the manner of a recalcitrant schoolboy, but Thea had the power to provoke the worst in him.

  “He says you encountered Vessey just before you went into self-imposed exile.”

  Resting his head back against his chair, Atlas exhaled long and slow, watching the silvery streaks until they dissipated in a smoky miasma. “I fail to see how that distasteful exchange is related to your barging into my home.”

  “You neglected to come to the door when Charlton called yesterday, and he informs me that your valet is in his household until you summon the boy back, which means you have been quite solitary these past two days.” Thea ticked her verbal list off on her fingers. “And according to Lilliana, a note she sent around yesterday morning went unanswered.”

  “I have not had a chance to look at it as of yet.” At some point, he had noticed that a note had been slipped under his front door, but he hadn’t bothered to read it. “Is a man not entitled to some peace of mind when he needs it?”

  “You saw Vessey?” Hermes slipped into the chair opposite Atlas, the seat Charlton favored when he visited, and stretched his long legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles. Hermes was tall like Atlas, but far more slender, and they shared the same deep gray eyes. However, the similarities between the brothers ended there. A Bond Street lounger if there ever was one, Hermes’s greatest desire in life was to parade about town modeling the latest fashions. “What did the bastard say?” Hermes asked.

  “Nothing worth repeating.”

  Thea moved to the next window. “And yet the encounter resulted in you shutting yourself up in your apartments for two days.” She threw open the curtains. The sun streamed in, its rays cutting across the old parquet floors.

  “I prefer to be alone from time to time.” Atlas squinted against his first glimpse of daylight in two days. He realized it had stopped raining. “My travels usually allow for that. Unfortunately, it has been almost a year since my last voyage.”

  “You have been present a great deal more of late,” Hermes acknowledged. He reached for the burr puzzle on the marble table between them. “I suppose that’s because Apollo’s accident kept you from journeying to India.”

  Being in the presence of his brother and sister made him think of the sibling who would never join them again. An image of Phoebe sketching by the lake came to him. Even then, before Vessey, she’d seemed far too gentle for this world. She had never been any match for the heartless bastard. “If I had made him pay for killing Phoebe, then perhaps Mrs. Pike would still be alive.”

  “Made who pay? Vessey?” Hermes looked up from the burr puzzle. “That is rather ridiculous. You were barely out of apron strings when Phoebe died. What do you think you could have done? Thrown a tantrum? Or called Vessey out on a field of honor with your pretend pistol?”

  Thea turned from the window, a dark silhouette outlined by the glare of the sun behind her. “Surely, you cannot blame yourself for Phoebe’s death.”

  He drew on the hookah. “Our parents did.”

  She crossed over to stand behind Hermes’s chair. “Did they tell you that?”

  “What was there to discuss?” Sorrow crept in uninvited, burrowing deep into his bones. “Phoebe was dead. They knew it was my fault. Their silence spoke volumes.”

  “I have always thought they blamed themselves.” Hermes pulled the burr puzzle apart, and the notched wood pieces came loose, scattering onto the faded carpet. “I heard them talking shortly after the funeral about how they should never have allowed Phoebe to wed Vessey.”

  “Precisely,” Thea agreed, “but Papa had just been ennobled, and they felt they had no choice in the matter because His Majesty favored the match.”

  Atlas had never known that his parents blamed themselves for his sister’s death nor that royal pressure had influenced their decision to allow the union with Vessey. But it was of no account. Atlas was the sole family member who’d been there when Phoebe died. He alone had been in a position to save his sister. But he hadn’t even tried. Instead, when Vessey and Phoebe had begun to argue, he’d locked himself away in a guest bedchamber.

  “This explains a great deal,” Thea remarked.

  “It does?” Hermes scooted forward in his chair and bent to retrieve the puzzle pieces. “How so?”

  “This sense of guilt is why Atlas has never settled down. Why he is always dashing off to parts unknown. And it is why he has locked himself away here now.”

  Atlas groaned. “Not this rubbish again.” His sister had spewed this sort of nonsense on previous occasions, and he had no patience for it. “If I promise to make myself presentable and go out this afternoon, will you go away posthaste and leave me in peace?”

  “Excellent.” Hermes practically leapt to his feet. “Do let us depart, Thea.” He threw the pieces of the burr puzzle onto the table. “Leave the man in peace.”

  Thea reluctantly allowed Hermes to shepherd her out. “And respond to Lilliana’s note,” she instructed Atlas as she moved into the front hall.

  He raised a hand in surrender. “I shall do so.” Anything to get her to leave.

  He waited to hear the door close behind them. Then he set down the nargileh hose and reached over to gather the puzzle pieces. As he absently put the pieces together to form the three-dimensional cross, Atlas wondered how his siblings were able to continue on with their lives when Phoebe had not lived to see her twenty-second year. She’d been robbed of raising her own child and would never know that, despite his father, her son had grown into a worthy young man, one who was, by all accounts, kind and generous.

  Setting the completed burr puzzle down, he heaved himself out of his chair. He might not be able to find justice for Phoebe, but it wasn’t too late for Mrs. Pike.

  If Atlas could prove that Vessey had killed his mistress, then perhaps justice for Mrs. Pike would also mean justice at last for his sister.

  CHAPTER 7

  Jamie returned by the time Atlas emerged from his confining hip bath an hour later.

  “What are you doing here?” Atlas asked, pulling on his dressing gown.

  “Mrs. Palmer called at the Earl of Charlton’s and directed me to return to my post at once.”

  Atlas resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Leave it to Thea to send Jamie home to ensure that Atlas kept his word about going out.

  Jamie’s gaze went to the wood and porcelain tub. “You just bathed?”

  “Indeed.” Atlas rubbed his damp hair with a linen towel, feeling clean and refreshed, the lemon and bergamot scent of his shaving soap filling his nostrils. “I was in need of a bath.”

  “And you prepared the water?”

  “Obviously. The hip bath did not fill itself.” The small tub barely accommodated Atlas’s brawny frame, but it was quicker and easier to fill than a full bath. Besides, now that Atlas had decided to resume his investigation, he was impatient to get on with it.

  “It is my place to prepare your bath.” Jamie’s face reddened. “A gentleman should not prepare his own bath. That is for his valet to do.”

  “It is your place to do what I ask of you.” Atlas threw the towel onto the bed and reached for his comb. Jamie had always been overly eager to please, but he was even more tiresome now that he’d received valeting instructions from Charlton’s man. “And I am perfectly capable of preparing my own bath.”

  “It is as if you do not even care to engage a valet.” Jamie’s voice was an octave higher than usual, and for a moment Atlas feared the boy might burst into tears.

  “Nonsense.” He set his comb down and turned to face Jamie. “Anyone can prepare a bath, but I have tasks far more important for you to attend to. Ones that require a resourceful young man with a quick mind.”

  “Oh.” Jamie brightened. “What do you nee
d me to do?”

  “Are you up to a bit of sleuthing?”

  “Absolutely, sir.” The boy straightened to his full height, which was considerable. In the past year, Jamie had grown even taller than Atlas. But his height seemed incongruous with his coltish form, wide eyes, and full cheeks; he was like a boy on stilts who hadn’t quite mastered how to walk in them. “What is it that you require of me?”

  “Firstly, I would like for you to locate Mrs. Pike’s sister. I do not know her name. However, either she or her husband is a hatmaker in Southwark.”

  “Very good, sir. Shall I go to Southwark as soon as you are properly dressed?”

  “Certainly.” He didn’t have the heart to send Jamie away before giving him the satisfaction of putting his valeting lessons to good use. “Also, after that, please look into Vessey’s private life.”

  Jamie blinked. “His private life, sir?”

  “Yes, I want to know about the women in his life.”

  “But I thought Mrs. Pike was his … companion.”

  “Some men have more than one companion, and Mr. Brown, the clergyman who claims he was betrothed to Mrs. Pike, says Vessey had a number of them.”

  “Oh. I see.” Jamie’s ears flushed a bright red. “Very good, sir.”

  Atlas felt a tinge of regret for his role in denting the country lamb’s innocence, but Jamie had proven to be an intrepid investigator thus far. His boyish earnestness tended to win people over, prompting them to lower their guard and speak more freely. Besides, Jamie could move among the servant class in a way that Atlas could not. And servants were an excellent source of information.

  “And finally, Jamie.”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Vessey has two young daughters with Mrs. Pike. I should like to confirm their ages as well as where they go to school.”

  Jamie’s chest puffed out. “You can depend upon me, sir.”

  “I would not have asked if I had any doubt about that.” Atlas finished dressing and had just gotten into his Hessian boots with Jamie’s help when a knock sounded at his front door.

  “Another visitor?” Atlas murmured while Jamie went to see who it was. Looking into the mirror, he straightened his cravat. “I can only hope Thea has not returned to harangue me.”