by Amanda Quick
“Tell me, sir,” Artemas said quite casually, “do you hold conversations with Lorring, too, these days?”
“Lorring has not seen fit to call upon me since his death a few months ago. Not surprising, really.” Linslade sniffed. “The man always was extremely arrogant and opinionated. Very high in the instep, you know. Considered himself the final authority on every aspect of Vanza. I doubt that he has changed much in that respect since his death.”
“He was the explorer and scholar who discovered the Isle of Vanzagara,” Artemas reminded him. “It was Lorring who made the art and philosophy known to us. He was the founder and the first Grand Master of the Vanzagarian Society. One could say that he had some right to his high opinion of himself.”
“Yes, yes, I know.” Linslade fluttered one hand in a delicate, dismissive gesture. “No one disputes his position as the discoverer of Vanzagara. To be honest, I had rather hoped that he would call upon me after his death. He was very ill toward the end of his life, you know. He did not see many visitors. I never got the opportunity to ask him about a certain rumor I heard shortly before he died.”
“What rumor was that?” Artemas asked.
“Surely you heard it, too, sir?” Linslade looked at him. “Several months back, the membership of the Vanzagarian Society was all abuzz with tales of the theft of a certain very old book.”
“The Book of Secrets,” Artemas said. “Yes, I heard the gossip. I did not put any stock in it, however.”
“No, of course not,” Linslade said quickly. “Utter rubbish. But quite curious, don’t you think? It would have been interesting to obtain Lorring’s views on the matter.”
“According to what little I heard,” Artemas said deliberately, “the Book of Secrets, if indeed it existed, was destroyed in a fire that consumed Farrell Blue’s villa in Italy.”
“Yes, yes, I know.” Linslade sighed. “Unfortunately, Blue has not called upon me since his death, either, so I have been unable to question him about the matter.”
This was going nowhere, Madeline thought. It was time to take charge of the conversation. “My lord, you mentioned in your note that you had seen my late husband recently.”
“Right here in my library.” Linslade’s cheerful expression dissolved into a troubled frown. “Something of a surprise, you know. We had met on one or two occasions during the time he was a student of your father’s, but we were not what you would call close friends.”
Artemas stretched out his legs and studied the toes of his gleaming boots. “Would you consider him a colleague?”
“We certainly shared similar scholarly interests, but Deveridge had no use for my theories and opinions. In fact, he made it quite clear that he considered me a doddering old fool. He struck me as rather rude.” Linslade paused abruptly and gave Madeline an apologetic look. “Forgive me, my dear, I did not mean to criticize your late husband.”
She managed a cool little smile. “I’m sure you’re well aware that my marriage was not a happy union, sir.”
“I confess I had heard rumors to that effect.” Sympathy warmed Linslade’s bright eyes. “How very tragic. I am so sorry you did not know the degree of bliss, both physical and metaphysical, that Lady Linslade and I were fortunate enough to experience.”
“I understand that sort of happiness in marriage is uncommon, sir,” Madeline said crisply. “Now then, about the conversation you had with my late husband. Could you relate it to us?”
“Certainly.” Linslade pursed his lips. “It did not last long In fact, we very nearly did not meet at all. Merest chance, as it were.”
Artemas looked up from his boots. “What do you mean?”
“It was quite late when Deveridge appeared here in the library. The household had been abed for hours. If I had not had some trouble sleeping that night and decided to come down here to fetch a book, I would have missed him altogether.”
Madeline leaned forward slightly. “What, precisely, did he say to you, sir?”
“Let me think.” Linslade’s brows bunched together in a meditative frown. “I believe I spoke first. The customary civilities were exchanged. I told him I was surprised to see him. Mentioned that I’d heard about his death in a house fire a year ago.”
“What did he say to that?” Artemas asked with what sounded like genuine curiosity.
“I believe he remarked that it had been most inconvenient.”
“Inconvenient?” Madeline felt trickles of icy perspiration beneath her gown. “That was the word he used?”
“Yes, I’m quite sure it was.” Linslade wriggled uncomfortably and gave her an apologetic look. “As I said, we chatted. Naturally, I did not go into detail concerning the gossip I’d heard about the exact manner of his, er, demise, my dear.”
“Naturally.” Madeline coughed slightly to clear her throat. “Very kind of you not to discuss the unfortunate rumors that have been circulating.”
“I am always very polite with the dead,” Linslade assured her. “They seem to appreciate it. Always felt that what went on between a man and his wife was entirely their affair, in any event.”
Artemas looked at Linslade. “How did Deveridge respond when you addressed him? “
“Seemed a bit startled when I first spoke to him.”
Linslade’s brows rose. “It was as if he hadn’t been expecting to see me. Can’t imagine why. He was the one who had called upon me, and he was in my library, after all.”
“Indeed. What else did you talk about?”
“I asked him if he was still pursuing his studies of the old tongue. He said he was.” Linslade jiggled his brows. “Mentioned the gossip about the Book of Secrets, as a matter of fact. Asked me if I’d heard the latest rumor on the subject.”
“What was that?” Artemas asked without any inflection.
“Something about the Book of Secrets having survived the fire in Italy, after all. Said he’d heard that the recipes in it had not only been written in the old tongue, but had been set down in a sort of code. Very complicated stuff, even for a great authority on the language. Seemed to feel that some means of explaining or deciphering it would be required in order to translate the thing.”
Madeline tightened one gloved hand. “Did you comment on that? “
Linslade snorted delicately. “Told him that any talk of the Book of Secrets must be considered as naught but idle gossip.”
“Did he say anything else?” Madeline heard the tremor in her own voice and clamped her teeth together.
“Nothing of significance. We chatted for a few moments longer and then he left.” Artemas looked at Madeline. “He asked me to mention him to you, my dear. Said something about not wanting you to forget him. That’s why I sent you a note about our meeting.”
Madeline stopped breathing for a few seconds. She could not move so much as a finger. She was aware that Artemas was watching her with an enigmatic, sidelong look, but she could not turn her head to meet his eyes.
She stared at Linslade. The man conversed regularly with ghosts. He was not entirely sane. But he did not appear to be utterly mad, either. How much of what he said was truth and how much was fancy? How did one sort out the two?
She glanced at the portrait of Lady Linslade in her twelve-year-old gown. A thought struck her.
“My lord,” she said carefully, “I’m curious about one point. When you encounter your lady wife’s ghost, how is she dressed? “
“Dressed? Why, in a rather fine gown, of course.” Linslade smiled benignly. “Lady Linslade always had excellent taste.”
Madeline caught Artemas’s eye. He must have realized her intent, because he inclined his head ever so slightly in approval.
“Does Lady Linslade continue to keep up with the latest styles? “ Madeline held her breath.
Linslade looked surprised and then vaguely regretful. “I’m afraid not. She always appears in that lovely gown she wore for her portrait. She was rather fond of the Greek and Etruscan style, you know.”
“I see.” Madeline breath
ed cautiously. “And my father? When you saw his ghost, how was he garbed?”
Linslade beamed. “Exactly as he was the last time I called upon him. He wears that dark blue coat he always wore to the meetings of the Society and a rather unfortunate yellow waistcoat. You recall it, I’m sure.”
“Yes.” She swallowed. “I recall his yellow waistcoat. What about my husband? Do you remember what his ghost wore when he came to see you the other evening? “
“As a matter of fact, I do. I recall thinking that he presented a very stylish appearance. He wore a dark coat cut away in the latest fashion and his cravat was tied in the Serenade. That particular knot is all the crack at the moment, you know.”
“I see,” Madeline whispered.
“Oh, and there was one other thing. He carried a walking stick. It had a fine gold handle carved in the shape of a falcon’s head. Very handsome.”
The hair on the nape of Madeline’s neck stirred.
———
Ten minutes later Artemas handed her up into the carriage, got in behind her, and closed the door. He did not like the strain he saw in her eyes. She was composed but much too pale.
“Are you all right?” he asked as the vehicle rumbled forward.
“Yes, of course.” She laced her fingers together deliberately. “Artemas, it sounds very much as if Linslade encountered a genuine intruder in his library the other night, not a ghost.”
“An intruder who looked enough like your dead husband to make Linslade think it was Renwick Deveridge’s ghost.” He settled back into the seat. “Interesting. By the way, I must tell you, Madeline, that was an extremely clever line of inquiry you pursued there at the end. Should have thought of asking about the attire the various ghosts favored myself.”
She looked surprised by the compliment. “Thank you, sir.”
He shrugged. “It would seem that, as a rule, the ghosts who call upon Linslade choose to appear in the clothes they were accustomed to wear when they were alive. But Renwick’s shade was dressed in the current fashion, not last year’s styles.”
“Linslade is quite eccentric,” Madeline reminded him uneasily.
“I will not quarrel with you on that point. It’s possible that we’re placing too much emphasis on his responses to our questions. The man is obviously given to wild fancies. Perhaps he conjured up current attire for Deveridge’s ghost because his disordered brain could not recall what your husband had worn the last time they had met.”
She contemplated that for a few seconds. “I see what you mean. I’m sure that his lordship is too much the gentleman to imagine a nude ghost.”
“A nude ghost. What an interesting notion.”
She gave him a quelling glance. “I cannot believe that we are sitting here discussing the fashion tastes of specters. Anyone who overheard us would no doubt conclude that we had both escaped from a madhouse.”
“Yes.”
“Artemas, I must tell you something.”
“What is that?”
“Lord Linslade mentioned that the ghost carried a ... a walking stick.”
“What of it? Walking sticks are very much in fashion at the moment. I do not carry one myself, but that is because I find them to be a damned nuisance.”
She looked out at the street. “The thing about the stick Linslade described is that it sounded quite unique.”
“Ah yes. The gold handle carved in the shape of the head of a bird of prey. What of it? “
She exhaled slowly. “It not only sounded unique, it sounded horribly familiar. Renwick always carried a walking stick that fit Linslade’s description exactly.”
A stillness welled up inside him. “Are you quite certain of that?”
“Yes.” An expression that was disturbingly close to panic flared in her eyes. She got control of herself immediately. “Yes, I am quite certain of it. He once told me that it had been a gift from his father.”
Artemas studied her for a long time.
“I think it would be best if you and your aunt moved into my house until this thing is ended,” he said eventually.
She stared at him. “Move into your house? But that is ridiculous. Why on earth should we do such a thing? “
“Because I am convinced that your very large coachman and those little bells on your shutters will prove useless against Renwick Deveridge’s ghost.”
“But, Artemas ...”
He held her eyes. “You have dragged me into this affair, madam. So be it. We have a bargain. I will find your phantom for you. But you, in turn, must agree to follow my instructions regarding your safety.”
She gave him a suspicious look. “Your orders, you mean.”
“You may apply whatever term pleases you. But in affairs such as this, there cannot be two in command. You will put everyone in your household at risk if you challenge me at every turn.”
“I am not challenging you, sir. I am questioning the wisdom of your suggestion.”
“Oddly enough,” he said, “I interpret that as a challenge.”
She stirred restlessly. “You are somewhat sensitive on the subject of your authority, are you not, sir? “
“I am extremely sensitive on that particular subject. So sensitive, in fact, that I rarely allow anyone to question it.”
She glared at him. “You cannot expect me to turn all of the decisions over to you.”
“May I remind you again that you are the one who sought me out, madam? You offered a bargain and I accepted. We made a pact.”
She hesitated and then apparently decided to try another tack. “Sir, you must not lose sight of your other goal.”
For an unpleasant moment he thought again that she had somehow learned of his plans to avenge Catherine. “My other goal? “
“You know very well that you are in the market for a well-connected wife.” She gave him a cross look. “You have made it plain that you are concerned that if it were to get out that you are in trade, you would not be able to form the sort of marital alliance you desire to contract.”
“What of it?”
“I must tell you that it is not just your being in trade that might put some people off,” she said darkly. “Many families in the best circles might well take exception to the notion of your entertaining the Wicked Widow as a houseguest.”
“I hadn’t considered that possibility.” He cocked a brow. “Do you really believe that some of the high sticklers might actually object to my choice of guests? “
“Yes, I do.”
“How very narrow-minded of them.”
“The thing is,” she said earnestly, “it would not reflect at all well on your sensibilities. You must see that. I can assure you that the sort of ladies who might be on your list of potential wives would not care to learn that you have had me under your roof for an extended stay.”
“Madeline, when was the last time you slept through the night? “
Her eyes widened, but once again she collected herself with remarkable speed. “How did you guess? “
“I spoke with the man I posted on the street outside your house last night. He said that the light remained on in your window until dawn. I suspect that is a frequent occurrence.”
She turned her head to stare out at the sunlit street. “For some reason, I have assumed that if he came back, it would be at night. He was a creature of the darkness, you see.”
‘ Deveridge? “
“Yes. He looked like an angel but he was, in truth, a demon. It seems to me that whoever or whatever has returned to avenge him will also prefer the night.”
Artemas leaned forward and gently caged her hands within his. He waited until she met his eyes.
“Your reasoning is sound,” he said. “Those who favor the occult gibberish that belongs to the dark strain of Vanza have a taste for the melodramatic. They are known to favor the night for their activities. But I fear you cannot depend upon a practitioner of the dark arts always working in darkness. The very fact that you are more likely to expect him at night
might lead him to choose to act in daylight.”
“It is all so bloody complicated,” she whispered with anguished vehemence. “I wish my father had never gotten involved with Vanza. I wish I had never heard of the philosophy or met anyone who studied it.”
“Madeline—”
She clenched her hands into small fists between his palms. “I vow, when this is over, I will never again have anything to do with anything or anyone connected to that horrid philosophy.”
A cold sensation gripped his insides. “You have made your sentiments toward Vanza clear. What you choose to do when this affair is ended is your own concern. But in the meantime, you have employed me for my expertise. I expect you to listen to reason. If you will not think of your own safety, you must consider your aunt. Do you wish to put her at risk? “
She studied his face for a long time. His logic was inescapable and he could see that she understood that. Vanza logic. He knew her answer before she did.
“No, of course not,” she said quietly. “You are quite right. I must consider Aunt Bernice’s safety. I shall make the arrangements immediately. We can move into your home this very day.”
“A wise decision, madam.”
She gave him a disgruntled glare. “I was not aware that I made the decision, sir. I believe you are the one who made it.”
“Mmm.”
“Perhaps,” she said thoughtfully, “if we are very careful, very discreet, and quite lucky, no one in your social circles will notice that you have houseguests. Or if they do notice, they will not recognize me.”
“Mmm.”
He decided not to mention the thousand-pound bet in all the club books.
Chapter Nine
Shortly after two in the morning, Artemas put down his cards and looked at his opponent. “I believe you owe me five hundred pounds, Flood.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll get your damned money by the end of the month, Hunt.” Corwin Flood scrawled his name on his voucher and tossed it onto the table.
Artemas raised one brow as he picked up the slip of paper. “You’ll pay your debts at the end of the month? Can I take that to mean that you are under the hatches at the moment, Flood? “