He had chosen this one for her sheer vulgarity. The pretty ones, he’d learnt, thought they could afford to be choosy, decline an offer or curl a lip in disgust at his demands. The ugly ones were more than desperate to keep gin running down their throats in order to fill the vacant spaces in their minds.
He pressed his fingers harder into the girl’s buttocks and heard her stifle a yelp. He smiled and thrust deeper still. She deserved this. A filthy harlot with a filthy habit who was beneath his notice under ordinary circumstances. He stared at the white skin of her buttocks over which pink sores were spattered. Elanor’s face, her unblemished skin, rose before him. He jolted with the memory, and his desire slackened. Elanor possessed something that pulled at his insides. She was the opposite of the slut in front of him now; the opposite of even his favourite at the Strand. Elanor was what he’d wanted at the very beginning. Before it had all become … like this.
He closed his eyes tightly and conjured up Elanor’s face clearly in his mind and as his desire rose again he gave a weak push and released. For a moment all was well as his nails cut further into the woman’s flesh and held her fixed in position. He felt her relax and sensed her impatience to be gone. He opened his eyes.
In repulsion he turned away as she went through her primitive ablutions. The alley in which they stood was dark, long and choked by refuse, with a few deep doorways along its walls. Surely more than one pair of eyes was watching them; nowhere was private in this city, and part of the thrill was hunting for his next conquest, then feeling desire rise as he was led down a dingy stairwell or cobbled alley. But now that he’d seen Elanor and been touched by her purity, the seduction of the chase seemed suddenly shameful.
The trollop rearranged her skirts and walked away without even a goodbye, limping slightly. He smiled at her discomfort – she would not forget him even though the gin would be down her throat in less than five minutes.
He stood in the middle of the alleyway and lit a cigar, content to let the unseen eyes watch him further, his exposed back like a challenge. But he knew the wretches who haunted these spots were not pickpockets or murderers: they were living skeletons who crawled into the gloom of doorways and corners to curl up and waste away in soft grey clouds of rags and sighs. Surely the Collector could not trace him here amongst such misery.
Philidor blew the smoke out slowly. A shiny black carriage rumbled past the mouth of the alley; a mongrel sniffed at manure; a group of young swells, dressed impeccably, sauntered across the street, passing around a bottle while they sang.
Money. He sucked deeply on his cigar and blew out smoke in a rush as he recollected his visit to the bank that afternoon; the tight face of the manager, the way he clasped his hands in front of him on the desk, looking at him, Philidor, the great magician, as if he were no more important than a street sweeper.
‘Upon further reading and assessment of the terms of your loan, Mr Philidor, we have invited you here to discuss some particulars that need further … clarification,’ the manager had said, through lips so pale they blended into the rest of his face. The man’s whiskers were impeccable, and his skin was translucent from a life spent safely within the stone walls and columns of the bank. He had clearly never known hunger, pain, misfortune, struggle or suffering – and now he was dangling all of these before Philidor as if his hands pulled the strings in a puppet show.
‘Yes?’ said Philidor, his voice low and relaxed. The manager had no idea of the strategist he was facing.
‘This gem, this ring that you have supplied as collateral for the loan – where did you say you purchased it?’
A trap. How amusing.
‘I did not say I purchased it, sir. It’s a family heirloom, passed down from my great-grandmother, to Mother, to me. I am an only child, sadly, with no use for a trinket when I could use the money to further my business.’
‘I see. And this business is a performance, so I understand.’
‘Of sorts – exclusive entertainment, shall we say.’ Philidor decided it was time to close the meeting. ‘I have provided the certificates of authentication, while you have had the diamond independently verified by your own jeweller. Is there something else you need, sir? I find myself pressed for time.’
The manager continued to hold Philidor’s gaze. His thumbs betrayed his cognition by pressing down in turns on each other’s nails, then rotating. Press. Circle. Press. Circle. ‘Yes, this is more of a … formality. I wanted to meet you myself. It is important to the bank that we know our customers well, you understand – for future business.’
‘I understand perfectly.’ Philidor stood up. ‘Good afternoon, sir, and thank you again. If you have any further queries, please do advise me.’
The manager rose and extended his hand to shake Philidor’s. ‘Just one more thing. By chance, one of our employees – our jeweller, in fact – has set out today for France and Hegau, to conduct some business with colleagues there.’ The manager held Philidor’s hand fast, fingertips pressing into the veins along the back. ‘All this travel costs us, regrettably, but it’s important we communicate with our friends on the continent.’
Philidor released himself from the handshake.
‘I even believe,’ the manager continued, ‘our fellow will visit the area in which your jeweller works – the one who valued the ring.’
‘How excellent – a lovely place,’ said Philidor smoothly, and donned his hat. ‘I hope he enjoys himself immensely.’
‘As do we.’ The pale lips stretched into a smile. ‘Have a good afternoon, sir.’
‘I intend on doing just that,’ said Philidor, as the manager shut the door behind him.
Walking down the steps to the street, he ran his finger over his nose and readjusted his hat. Pinetti would not win. The manager would not win. The Collector would not win. Marie would not win. For he, Philidor, was a magician. And the one act of which he was certain was his ability to disappear and reinvent himself if needed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Marie
‘YOU KNOW YOU’RE in trouble now, Madame Tussaud,’ said the valet, leaning back in her chair and kicking his foot up slightly as he crossed his legs. ‘You have just broken one of the rules of the household, which, as you are aware, signals the execution of the contract and your immediate removal from the premises.’
Marie stood with her back against the door. What had he seen? She swallowed and wished that Regington was here to thrash this impertinent boy. How dare he scold her like she was a little girl.
‘So you are a spy as well?’ she asked, keeping her voice measured. He was sitting in her chair by her dressing table, which forced her to sit upon the edge of her bed. She ran her palm over the soft folded blanket, remembering the man who had just left. “You have certainly taken some time to make your move.’
‘Time well spent watching, waiting, listening. Reading, even.’
‘I hope all your efforts have been rewarded.’
‘Indeed they have, for tonight I saw you lead a gentleman to your boudoir. But you weren’t in here long, not long enough to —’
She rose, feigning indignation.
‘Now, now,’ he soothed. ‘No French hysterics needed here, madame, they won’t get you very far. I can see your dignity has been offended, but I had no intention of doing so. It was just an observation, not a judgement. Where and with whom we each pleasure ourselves is a person’s own business.’
‘Quite.’
‘And then after this room, you looked at Philidor’s. Now why is that, I wonder?’
‘Why to which part of your … observations, as you may call them?’ she said archly, sitting back on the bed.
‘Well, I can understand wanting to smuggle a lover into your bedchamber, however briefly, as the isolation here can be terribly trying, but then to show him your business partner’s … What interest has he in that?’
‘What interests me interests him,’ she said matter-of-factly.
‘You are interested in Philidor
,’ observed the valet. ‘And so the intrigue begins. You desire both gentlemen then. How very … French.’
‘No intrigue in the manner you imply, monsieur. Just as you say, observations. I have sleep to attend to, and it is late. So I bid you goodnight.’
‘Oh, you didn’t think it would be as easy as that, did you?’ he said. ‘Goodness, no. You see now I have something of yours. A secret. And it will cost for me to keep it for you, if you get my meaning.’
‘And what benefit is it to you?’
‘I want to see my master happy, and you have made him happy with your commission. He needs you for some time still to make sure the thing works and does what he wants it to do, and you and your business partner need him for this show you are putting on. It would be most inconvenient if you had to cancel again. Money gone, reputation in tatters, and what of your boys? You won’t be able to pay the fees, and your husband may insist they become … grocers!’ He laughed.
Marie stifled the rage that wanted to push itself out of her throat and fly at this conniving scoundrel. How dare he.
She didn’t acknowledge the slight but asked, ‘And what do you want then, for this secret of mine to be kept in your traitorous breast?’
‘Money. The duke pays fair enough, but I have high ambitions. I want to leave this place eventually, set myself up in London, join a gentlemen’s club.’
‘Pah,’ she spat. ‘None will accept you. They will see you for the imposter you are.’ But secretly she thought how well he would play the part.
He smiled. ‘Perhaps. Or perhaps not. Money has a way of hiding things so that the eye does not see what is before it.’
She fiddled with a loose thread on the bed curtain. So this was his game. ‘I also have a secret,’ she said, now turning to watch his face carefully.
‘Most intriguing. Especially if it concerns me.’
‘You have been forcing yourself upon Harriet every night, by the courtyard well. You have even promised to marry her when you have enough money, yes?’
His face remained impassive, until he rubbed a speck of dust from the toe of his polished black boot. ‘Foolish girl. I’ve tired of her since she’s been occupied in her room with your sewing in the evenings anyway. It was the only way she’d let me —’
‘That’s not what she said, and it is only fitting that she seeks my counsel. She tells me many things, and so I wonder – much like you do, monsieur – what this secret is worth. I may feel inclined to write of it to His Grace, tell him of his trusted valet’s disreputable behaviour, his attempts at raping the maid and the way he has lied to satisfy his lust. Your duke may have no more need for such a valet,’ she said, returning to the loose thread and snapping it off.
He nodded. ‘An impasse. I see. Well done, madame. The duke would believe your account over mine, given that you are of a higher class and I am only a servant. Then again, you are just a woman. Still, I cannot afford to lose my position, any more than you can afford to lose yours. Shall we be the keepers of each other’s secrets, then?’
She stood. ‘We understand each other, monsieur, and that is enough. I trust that you will keep your observations to yourself, as will I. Should circumstances change, I will inform you. And now, I think, it is goodnight.’ She opened the door and he left, still looking as pleased as he had at first. What else was he planning? She sat on the chair, warm from his presence, and rubbed her temples before turning to the looking glass.
The flush remained from her encounter with Regington and the exertion needed to control her emotions, and now this valet and his attempt at blackmail. It was an intriguing game she was in, with more than one surprise player. She had something on all of them now. But after this encounter with the valet and her earlier loss of temper with Philidor, was it possible he, or they, had something to use against her in return?
CHAPTER THIRTY
Philidor
AFTER HIS BUSINESS with the trollop and the printer was concluded, he returned to the club. He settled down in the small drawing room, amidst oak panelling and worn oriental rugs. He was reading the paper and enjoying a whisky when he looked up to find Dr Gribble had taken the seat opposite him. ‘I hear you’ve acquired a substantial debt with the Collector,’ he said, in his quiet tones. He crossed his thin legs and studied the open fire.
Philidor licked his lips. ‘They told you?’
‘I visited earlier this evening. The madam is not pleased.
Neither is he.’
‘They shouldn’t be discussing my personal business with you.’
‘Nothing is personal in so far as this particular business is concerned,’ said Gribble. ‘And because I recommended you to the establishment, well, your conduct reflects on me.’
The man’s tone was still neutral; he didn’t appear angry or offended. He was an enigma. And those round spectacles with thick glass made it difficult for Philidor to see where he was looking.
‘Oh, my good man, I would never intend such a thing, but you know my situation. The show did not go as intended, and it won’t be until after our next show in six nights time that I will be possessed of more money. Is he … I mean, does he know where I am?’
‘The Collector is impatient,’ said Gribble, and turned his eyes upon Philidor. For the first time, he wondered exactly what Gribble was capable of. ‘He has ways of acquiring information.’
Philidor moistened his dry lips with his tongue.
‘I am also given to understand you have been gambling here quite heavily at whist.’
Philidor sipped his drink. The liquid, which a moment ago had soothed his throat, now felt as if it was choking him with ash. ‘Why are you smiling?’ he asked, as he put his glass down.
‘Because I have some news for you.’
Philidor went very cold and still. ‘What?’ Had he been betrayed?
‘I have paid your debts.’
‘You’ve what?’
‘I’ve paid your accounts with the club and the Collector.’
‘Why?’ spluttered Philidor.
‘Aside from my natural generosity, you mean?’ said Gribble, with another little smile as he pushed his spectacles back up his nose.
‘Aside from that.’ Philidor’s heart was thumping again as normal.
What good fortune!
‘I wondered if you may be able to help me in return,’ said Gribble.
‘Anything! And I thank you, sir, for your generosity. It is a relief to know I won’t be hunted by that man. And I do apologise, I really do, for your involvement in the first instance. I hadn’t considered what it would mean to your reputation.’
‘No, you did not. But I am a generous man, and I believe you are too. You possess something I need.’
‘And that is?’
‘Marie Tussaud. She would make for a most interesting study to add to my collection. Such a mind. So many horrors endured. It is a rare thing indeed to find a woman of her … shall we say, character, who is available for analysis.’
‘My apologies if I have misunderstood you, Gribble, but I want to be perfectly clear. You would like me to introduce you to Marie in order for you to form a romantic acquaintance with her?’
‘No, I have a professional interest in acquiring her for the asylum.’
‘Oh, I see! Yes, I quite understand now. Well, as it happens, this suits me perfectly because although she is highly skilled, I have been given cause to wonder at times if she may very well be …’ He left the word unsaid.
‘You have?’
‘I’m only an amateur, of course, nothing like you, but indications of hysteria have suggested to me, on more than one occasion, that her mind may be unstable.’
‘She has children, does she not?’
‘Yes.’
‘That alone predisposes her towards the condition. Yes, this news intrigues me greatly. As you know, I am guided only by my desire to help such women.’
‘Nothing could be easier.’ Philidor dropped his voice. ‘To be transparent with you, I have harb
oured some concerns that if she is left without assistance, she may be a liability for me. And I cannot have that, you see, not when I have so many obligations.’
‘I quite understand. Which is why the arrangement may suit us both.’
‘Let us stay in correspondence. Together, perhaps, we may find a way for Marie to give both of us what we desire.’
Gribble returned to studying the fire. ‘I look forward to it immensely.’
The dawn coach ride from London to Welbeck certainly woke him up. He had left early in order to show Marie the new playbills over breakfast, although he had already requested that a hundred be printed and displayed around the city that day. Their first performance would be in five nights, which gave them ample time to rehearse and ensure that the ballroom’s final touches were ready.
He went directly to wash in his bedchamber. The quietness of the building after the London noise was oppressive. No wonder men went mad left alone in these large houses; one could almost think sounds into being out of sheer isolation. He placed his bag on the bed, pleased to see everything was in order. When he went to ring the bell for hot water, he paused.
His desk. There was nothing on it. His gold tobacco box that held the ring was not on it.
He pulled out the chair in case the maid had moved his box onto the seat while she dusted. No. Underneath? He crouched down to peer into the shadows. No, and impossible it should fall of its own volition anyway. He pulled aside the heavy curtains to let in more light; there was nothing on the floor. He surveyed the room. Bedside table? No. A rummage through the wardrobe. Why would it be there anyway? He never moved it from the desk where he could lie in bed and stare at it. The golden box was the first thing he saw upon opening his bed curtains each morning, and the last thing he saw before closing them each night.
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