by Jenna Brandt
“I should go check on Isadora,” Josephine mumbled, before slipping out without waiting to hear what Duncan had to say in return.
She made her way through the theater, reaching the hall that led to the privy. Before she entered though, she noticed Isadora standing at the end of the hall. Her friend had her back towards Josephine, and as she approached, she noticed Isadora was talking to a man she’d never seen before.
He was handsome, with dark brown hair, matching eyes, and a tall, thick frame. Though he was dressed in an impeccable suit, something about the way he carried himself made Josephine certain he didn’t belong. He wasn’t nobility or she would have known who he was, and she doubted he was even part of the merchant class. Why was he talking to Isadora? Was he a secret lover of hers? Josephine doubted her friend would deign to have a dalliance with someone of the lower class, let alone talk to them. What was going on?
Before she could approach and ask of their connection, the man looked up and locked eyes with her. There was something intriguing about them, almost mesmerizing, but a quick flash of danger from the pools of coffee made a shiver crawl up her spine.
The stranger raised his hand to signal the end to their conversation, then spun around and disappeared around a corner quicker than Josephine had time to process.
Isadora turned around to find her there. “What are you doing out here?”
“I came to check on you,” Josephine explained, conveniently leaving out the fact that she’d also followed after her to escape Duncan’s unwanted attention.
“I didn’t need you to do that,” Isadora snapped. “I told you I wanted to be alone.”
“From what I just interrupted, it’s clear you weren’t alone for long. Who was that man? Did you plan to meet him here?”
Isadora shook her head. “He’s just an editor from the London Tribune. He wanted to write an article about the charity work the women’s auxiliary is doing for the schools. Since I’m the president, he approached me and asked for an interview. I told him another time would be better.”
Something didn’t sit right with Josephine. The man didn’t look like any scholarly editor she’d ever seen, but she supposed she wasn’t an expert on the matter.
“The third act is about to start. Are you ready to head back to our box?”
“I never made it to the privy. I’ll be along shortly,” Isadora explained. “Why don’t you go ahead so you don’t miss anything. I’m sure Rachel will be antsy to have you back under her watchful eye.”
Josephine didn’t agree with Isadora’s claim. Rachel was far more preoccupied picking out baby names for her future litter of children than she was about playing chaperone. It didn’t matter, Josephine wasn’t the type to get caught up in a scandal; she was as prudent as they came.
She arrived just as the lights dimmed and the music started to play. Taking her seat next to her sister, she didn’t have to worry about Duncan. He wasn’t present. He must have taken off to lick his wounds from Isadora’s rejection, and her own sudden departure. He never did take well to not getting his way.
The action escalated quickly in the final portion of the production, keeping Josephine on the edge of her seat as she watched the final pieces of the plot unfold. There was only one song left before the finale, and she was excited to see the final showdown between the hero and villain.
Just as the final song was about to start, a blood-curdling scream filled the theater. From across the room, she saw a figure fall from one of the balconies. Was that part of the show? Had they changed it to make it more dramatic? Was it a stunt of some sort?
Josephine swiveled her opera glasses to look at the commotion. She heard her sister tell her to look away, but it was too late. She recognized the dress. Isadora was the figure who had fallen.
Her mouth went dry as she clutched her opera glasses in her hands, scanning for any signs of life, but though she wasn’t close enough to see the rise or fall of her chest, she could tell from the odd angle of her body, her best friend was already gone.
Nausea took hold of Josephine. She jumped from her seat, hoping to make it to the privy before her dinner surfaced, but it was a bad impulse. The room started to spin, and before she knew what was happening, she was falling backwards as blackness was enveloping her.
Three
The news of Lady Isadora’s death reached Charles later that evening when one of his informants told him about the tragic event at the theater.
“The investigators aren’t giving out details, but I listened in on a couple of them talking. They think someone is responsible for her death. They don’t think it was an accident.”
Lady Isadora—known to Charles as LI—was dead. She had been scared when he talked to her earlier that night, worried she had made a mistake in helping him.
When Charles told LI her father was one of the men that the blackmailer was threatening to expose, she had asked what she could do to help. She hated the fact her father had a gambling problem that resulted in heavy debt; however, the family had managed to keep it quiet until the blackmailer threatened to expose the embarrassing information to the world. With her connections to the men being blackmailed, and most likely the blackmailer himself, Charles figured she could help him determine who was behind it. She had agreed to spy for Charles in order to keep the blackmailer from releasing the truth about her father.
“I’m frightened, Mr. Gilbert, that the blackmailer suspects I’m working for you.”
“Why do you assume that?”
“It’s not an assumption,” she said, pushing a piece of paper into his hands. “I found this under the edge of my horse’s saddle at the park earlier today.”
Charles read the contents:
I know what you’re doing.
Continue and you’ll regret it.
“Perhaps this has nothing to do with our investigation. Isn’t it possible that someone you know, perhaps a rival for one of your suitors, placed this there to scare you?”
She pressed her lips together, squeezing her hands in front of her. “I suppose that’s possible, but my instincts tell me it was from the blackmailer. Mr. Gilbert, I think I need to give you this before it’s too late.”
She handed him a second piece of paper. He read this one as well.
Lord Richard Charles Crawley IV, Duke of Witherton
Mr. Martin Bennett, Shipping Tycoon
Lord John Selborne, Earl of Davenport
“Who are these men?”
“They’re the three men I’ve narrowed the blackmailer down to. From the conversations I’ve had with them, or heard them in while at social events, I believe one of them is the culprit. I’m still working on figuring out which one for certain.”
“Why are you giving them to me now when you don’t have a final name for me?”
“I want you to have the names in case something happens to me. I don’t want all of this to be for nothing,” she said with a shiver.
“Come now, Lady Isadora, I think you’re overreacting. Blackmailers don’t resort to violence. Their crime is a cowardly one, hidden in secrecy. They make threats, but the most they ever do is release the information. You have nothing to worry about. The blackmailer won’t hurt you.”
“For my family, that would be as good as murdering us if he told the newspapers about my father’s gambling and massive debts. It would ruin us. I’d never find a suitable match, and we would lose everything.”
“I’ll find a way to stop the blackmailer, Lady Isadora, I promise you that. If you have been found out though, perhaps it’s time you stop working for me. I can find someone else to investigate these men.”
Lady Isadora shook her head. “No one has the connections I do. My position in high society, due to being a part of the royal family, allows me access to all the best parties and social events. You need me to continue this.”
She hadn’t had the opportunity to search their homes yet to confirm which one of the men it was, and now she would never get the chance. Why hadn�
�t he stayed to talk to her longer? Why hadn’t he remained at the theater and kept an eye on her? She had been scared—enough to ask him to meet with her in a public place where anyone could have stumbled upon them talking. If he had taken her concerns more seriously, she would be alive right now.
Charles pushed the guilt down and focused on the job he had to do. He needed to find out who the blackmailer was to stop him before anyone else got hurt. The problem was, he didn’t have the right social connections as a newspaper editor to access these men’s homes. Even if he asked for an interview, they were the types that would agree to meet him at his office, rather than let him invade their personal space. Charles needed someone who socialized in the same circles as LI. Immediately, the pretty face of the woman from earlier in the night came to mind. It had surprised him when the brunette beauty had stopped behind LI and watched them. The woman was smart enough to realize their conversation was worth her attention. Her focus on them had been enough to cause Charles to quickly excuse himself and leave. He hadn’t wanted anyone to see him with LI. He wondered who she was, and how he could arrange a meeting. He supposed his next task was to track down the mysterious noblewoman from the theater to ask her to spy for him.
Four
The horror of the previous night kept replaying in Josephine’s head. One moment, she was laughing and having an entertaining evening at the opera, and the next, Isadora was dead. Murdered—from the rumors circulating about what happened. Why on earth would anyone want to hurt Isadora? She was the life of the party. Everyone loved her. She could be a little much at times with her flamboyant personality, but it wasn’t enough to get her killed.
“Do you need anything else, my lady?”
With a shake of her head, Josephine dismissed the personal maid, who took the tray of uneaten breakfast with her, leaving the mid-day meal in its place. She had no plans of touching it either. The very thought of eating made her nauseous. How could she eat at a time like this? Her best friend was dead, murdered by some monster who thought they had the right to take her life. It didn’t seem real. She kept thinking that it had to be a nightmare, but the barrage of sad looks from the servants that continued to come in and out of her bed chambers made it clear it was reality. Isadora was gone, and there was no waking up from that truth.
She knew that the very best detectives would be assigned to investigate her murder—after all, Isadora was a member of the royal family—still, Josephine wanted to help in any way she could. Since she was one of the last people with Isadora, she was certain they would be contacting her to ask her about the events of the night. She wanted to be ready. She went over every part of the night in her head, hoping to remember anything she could tell the detectives that would give a clue as to what happened to her friend.
The night was routine with nothing of note. Isadora socialized, Josephine watched. Isadora flirted, Josephine watched. Isadora fought with Duncan, Josephine watched. Isadora talked with a stranger, and Josephine watched. Who was the stranger that Isadora had been talking to right before she was killed? It was the only part of the night that stuck out as unusual. He’d seemed out of place, like he didn’t belong there, and Isadora’s reason for the conversation never made sense to Josephine. Perhaps, he could shed some light on what happened to her friend last night.
Where could she find the stranger? Hadn’t Isadora mentioned something about him being an editor for a paper? Which one was it? Josephine racked her brain, trying to come up with which newspaper. The London Tribune. That was it.
Isadora hadn’t mentioned the name of the editor, but Josephine would recognize him in an instant once she saw him. Deciding she needed to ask him about his conversation in person, she rang for her servants and explained she would be going out. She ignored the surprised looks on their faces as she let them dress her in one of her green gowns. One of the maids placed her black locks into a French twist while the other gave a quick application of powder to mask the fact she had been crying all night. She grabbed her purse and headed out of the house, determined to figure out what happened to her friend.
A half hour later, she arrived at the newspaper office. There was a blonde woman sitting at a desk when she entered. The other woman glanced up and looked surprised to see her. Josephine assumed it wasn’t often that a noblewoman entered the premises.
“I’m here to see the editor of the paper,” Josephine declared as she stopped in front of the desk.
“May I ask for your name?”
“Lady Josephine Bradley, daughter of the Duke of Rothenbury,” she said, knowing the title would immediately grant her an audience. Even though she was merely the second daughter, and her older brother would inherit the keys to the kingdom, her father’s title still opened many doors for her. She hardly liked to depend on it, but since this was to find out what happened to Isadora, she would use whatever she could to find out the truth.
“Just give me a moment, my lady,” the woman said, standing up and heading through a door behind her. A few moments later, she returned. “Mr. Gilbert will see you now.”
"Thank you,” Josephine said, as she made her way through the door, entering the small office that had a single desk, two chairs, a wooden filing cabinet against a wall, and a secondary desk that had articles laid out across it. It wasn’t an office designed to impress like her father’s, but one built for function—a working man’s place of business.
A look of surprised recognition crossed the man’s face, but he quickly masked it when she locked eyes with him.
“What can I do for you, Lady Josephine?”
“I’m here to ask after your dealings with my friend, Lady Isadora Saxe-Saalfield.”
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” he rebuffed. “I don’t have regular dealings with nobility, let alone with noble women.”
“That might be the case, but I think Isadora was the exception. Don’t try to deny it; I saw the two of you talking together at the theater last night.”
“Oh that, I heard she was going to be at the opera last night and thought I would try to get her to agree to an interview regarding her charity work with the women’s auxiliary for the schools.”
“Interesting—that’s exactly what Isadora said, almost word for word. One might think it was even rehearsed.”
Mr. Gilbert leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”
“I think the two of you were discussing something other than charity work, something that got my friend killed. At least, that’s what I’m going to tell the detectives when they question me about my time with Isadora at the theater. If you won’t tell me the truth, maybe they can get it out of you.”
The man looked irritated. “We don’t need to involve the authorities.”
“Don’t we?” she questioned. “You obviously know more than you’re admitting, and my friend is dead. If you won’t tell me why, then I will bring someone here that will make you.”
A look of what almost looked like admiration filled his eyes as he stood up from his seat and came around to where she was standing. “You’re pretty smart, aren’t you, Lady Josephine? Brave, too, from the way you marched in here and accused me of being involved in Lady Isadora’s death.”
“I suppose I am on both accounts,” Josephine admitted. “When I need to be. Not many men appreciate a smart woman, so my mother constantly tells me to hide the fact.”
“That’s a shame. I think it’s a fine attribute for any woman,” Mr. Gilbert praised, moving closer to her.
She shrank back, not wanting him to get too close without knowing his connection to Isadora’s death. “Whatever you’re trying to do, if you’re trying to disarm me with your flattery, it won’t work. I’m not leaving here until you tell me what you were really doing with Isadora.”
“Fine, take a seat,” he said, gesturing to the seat in front of his desk. He took his original spot back behind it. “I was planning on arranging a meeting for us anyway. Thi
s works out better.”
“What do you want with me?” Josephine asked defensively.
“I want you to take up where your friend left off. Isadora was working for me.”
Josephine snorted. “I doubt that. Isadora doesn’t—didn’t—work. She considered attending balls and dinner parties work enough.”
“It wasn’t a traditional type of work.”
What was he getting at? Was he trying to imply that Isadora was having an affair with him? He was handsome enough with his dark features and strong build, but Isadora would consider him socially inferior. There was no way Isadora would have an affair with a man from the working class.
“Mr. Gilbert, I don’t like you lying about my friend. She wouldn’t be with someone like you. To talk about her that way without her being able to defend herself—I can’t believe—”
“No, it wasn’t anything like that,” the man said, shaking his head. “She was helping me look into something.”
“Like a reporter?” she asked with even further disbelief.
“No, that wasn’t it, either. I’m going to be honest with you, Lady Josephine, but you need to understand what I’m about to tell you cannot go beyond this room. It’s vital that it remain a secret for the sake of the Crown.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m not an editor, well, I’m not just an editor. That’s the job I have to cover up my real job. I’m a spy for the British government.”
This time, Josephine couldn’t help herself. A laugh escaped as she shook her head. “You really had me duped, Mr. Gilbert. I almost thought you were going to tell me the truth there for a moment.” She stood up from her seat and started to head towards the door. “Enjoy talking with the detectives that will be by shortly. Good luck explaining to them that you’re a spy.”