“And yours, madam,” he acknowledged absently. He sat at his desk, withdrew a small key from his waistcoat pocket and unlocked the middle drawer. After rummaging for a moment, he folded a sheet of paper, slipped it into the inside pocket of his jacket, relocked the drawer and returned the key to his pocket.
“Sorry for the interruption,” he said. Halfway to the door, he turned back and smiled again. “Ah! The Wednesday League, is it not?”
“Yes. ’Tis Wednesday,” Annica said.
“Would you care to join us? We’re just beginning our discussion,” Charity offered with an innocent smile.
“I have an appointment or I should be delighted.”
“What a pity,” she giggled. “We so seldom have the benefit of a male viewpoint.”
“Perhaps I could spare a moment,” Tristan allowed. He went back to the carafe on his desk and poured half a glass of claret.
Annica shot Charity an exasperated look before pasting a bland smile on her face.
He took the vacant chair beside her. “Pray, continue.”
“Thank you, Auberville. We were just discussing the Marquise de Sade’s Misfortunes of Virtue, also known as Justine,” she improvised. “What is your opinion of the work?”
The quirk at the corner of Tristan’s mouth and the barest hint of a blink were the only signs that she had surprised him. “Did you know that work is considered pornographic and was banned last year?” he asked evenly. “But what is your opinion, Annica?”
“It is an interesting premise, Auberville, that virtue must be its own reward, since there are no other rewards for it.”
“Do you believe that?”
“We have noted how goodness and right do not always triumph, and how wickedness appears to thrive,” she said evasively.
“Did you find Justine virtuous? I thought her foolish. Trusting where she had no basis for trust and thus participating in her own betrayal. Altogether an incapable woman.”
“Incapable?” The ultimate indictment! “That is an interesting opinion, Auberville. Then you did not find the work particularly enlightening?”
Tristan laughed as he stood. “I shall tell you exactly what I thought tonight, madam. We can discuss it at length, if you wish. But I do not have the time at the moment. I really must go. Ladies.” He bowed to the group again.
As one, they gave him polite smiles and nods. Silence prevailed until the door closed behind him. Then the room exploded.
“’Nica! What were you thinking?”
“Justine? Good heavens!”
“He will forbid you to associate with us,” Charity gasped.
“You asked him to stay, Charity, not I, and I do not think he would dictate my friends.” Indeed, if she read the signs correctly, he actually seemed to be amused. But if he thought she would succumb to his charms tonight, he was mistaken. No. Not until he admitted that he had trapped her.
“Perhaps he is not as stodgy as I thought him,” Charity allowed.
Constance picked up the conversation where they had left off. “I will write a note to Geoffrey requesting a meeting to discuss a matter of importance. I shall ask that he respond by return post, naming a place and a time. Will his return letter give you what you need, Annica?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“While we wait for the results, I think I shall begin inquiries into the connection of our suspects with the Royal Navy. I am certain there must be a clue there, somewhere.”
Annica nodded. Constance would be well served to have a task that would keep her busy until Mr. Morgan could be cleared of suspicion. “Who will tackle Wilkes? I could write a note saying that I want our hostilities to end as long as he keeps his silence regarding his use of Sarah.”
“After your cut, that would be foolhardy, and he would recognize it as some sort of trick,” Grace said. “I shall take Wilkes in hand. I will write him telling him I think the cut sublime was cruel and unnecessary.”
“That is a good ploy, Grace. He will be desperate for a kind word from anyone.” Annica took another deep breath. “As for the missing twenty-eight women, there is not much to tell. Mr. Renquist discovered the coincidence while investigating Frederika’s disappearance. We cannot be certain yet if there is a connection, but we suspect there is.”
“We are forgetting something else,” Sarah said.
“Wilkes’s Hellfire Club.” Annica nodded, seeing the fear in Sarah’s soft eyes. Her heart went out to her friend. “Oh, if I could only place the voice I heard! We must find out who was out there.”
My dear Constance,
I will be happy to meet you at any time and place you desire. Our friendship means a great deal to me and, if there is any matter with which I might be able to help, I would be pleased to do so.
I urge you to use care in selecting a meeting place, as I would be grievously unhappy should your reputation suffer harm on my account. If you have no better solution, may I suggest Hyde Park tomorrow afternoon? I will be waiting on the bench nearest the south entrance at four o’clock.
Yrs., G.M.
Annica sighed and folded the letter. The handwriting did not match the threatening note pinned to Mr. Bouldin. She dropped Morgan’s letter in the orange flames of her fireplace and pulled her wrapper a bit closer before reclining on the rose chintz chaise.
She was both relieved and disappointed that Morgan had not written that threat. Relieved because, although she was certain he was up to something, she did not think it was murder. And disappointed because they were no closer to identifying Bouldin’s murderer than they had been weeks ago. Try as she might, she could not shake the certainty that disaster loomed ahead if a solution was not quickly found.
She closed her eyes and pressed her fingertips to her temples, her head throbbing in an unrelenting rhythm. Tomorrow Grace would likely have a reply to her note, and that would mean an end to their newest scheme—for better or worse. If that note did not match the note she’d received, she would have to conclude that there was an unknown person involved. Most likely the unknown voice in the garden.
A soft draft signaled the opening of Tristan’s adjoining door. He had returned from whatever late errand had taken him out. She opened her eyes and turned her head, certain she’d see him standing in his doorway, but he was suddenly next to her, as silent as always.
“I’m a fortunate man to have a wife who waits up for my return. Your presence gives me a reason to come home, Annica.” He sat on the edge of the chaise and dropped a soft kiss on her lips. Cool fingers brushed her forehead. “Not feeling well?”
“Headache,” she answered.
“Again? In another woman I might think that was an excuse,” he said, “but not you, my dear. You would tell me if you simply did not want to accommodate me, would you not?”
“I shall always be as honest with you as you are with me, Tristan. You deserve that much.”
His lips quirked in a sardonic smile. “Thank you, madam. There will be other opportunities. Very soon. In the meanwhile, I have brought some reading material I thought you might find entertaining.”
“Oh?” She sat up and watched him disappear into his own room and then return, carrying several tomes. The amused smile should have warned her.
“I was surprised by your taste in reading material this afternoon, Annica. I had not suspected your interests would be quite so…exotic. If pornography is to your taste, I know several men who have extensive libraries in that genre, and who would be willing to open them to you. If you appreciate gentler, more erotic material, I can make other recommendations. Sappho’s poetry, for instance, or Ovid’s Ars Amatoria. Shakespeare’s Venus and Adonis, or Marlowe’s Hero and Leander.”
Annica swallowed her embarrassment and assumed an air of sophisticated interest. It would never do to have him find out that she had deliberately misdirected him.
He placed the stack of books by her chaise and sat on the edge to take her hand. “I have bought you copies of those I recommend, but, just for the sa
ke of discussion, may I recommend the Kama Sutra by Vatsyayana? I would enjoy exploring that particular work with you privately, and in detail.”
“The Kama Sutra?” she repeated with a frown. “I do not believe I have heard of that.”
“I would be surprised if you had.” He chuckled and an endearing dimple appeared in one cheek. “But I feel certain you will find it fascinating. ’Tis told mostly in pictures.”
Her curiosity got the better of her again. “But prithee, Auberville, you have not answered my question regarding Justine. You said you would give me your opinion tonight.”
“I was barely twenty when I read it. I did not care for any character in the story. Justine, of course, was the most sympathetic, but I even lost patience with her as she made one foolish mistake after another, apparently unable to learn from her experiences,” Tristan said, watching for Annica’s reaction. He ran his hand down her bare arm, leaving goose bumps in its wake.
“Did you not think her mistakes were born of her natural innocence, and that her very virtue kept her naively trusting?” she asked, baiting her trap.
“God forbid any woman should be so ’virtuous’ that she make Justine’s mistakes.” He stood and went to the fireplace, leaning one arm on the mantel and fondling the glass of cognac he’d brought with him. “In my opinion, Justine was a simpleminded woman, lacking the capacity to learn from her errors or make intelligent decisions, and trusting to a fault with no reason. Virtue should not be confused with stupidity. Justine was an incapable woman.”
Annica shivered at his denouncement. There it was again. An incapable woman! The sort that drew his disgust. “Thus deserving of her trials?”
“I did not say that, Annica. No man or woman has the right to victimize or defile another.” He abandoned his glass of cognac and sat beside her again, leaning forward with his forearms resting upon his knees. “I believe The Misfortunes of Virtue was written solely for the purpose of stimulating man’s baser nature, to awaken hidden and forbidden desires and give birth to the commission of criminal acts. In short, I am of the opinion that de Sade’s work is simple pornography, devoid of literary value. And you, madam? What do you believe?”
“The author’s opinion and use of women is offensive. Though I do not hold with censorship, there are certain works that never should have seen print. The Misfortunes of Virtue is one.”
“I am relieved you think so,” he laughed. “In future, you need not use that particular ploy when you wish to be rid of me. I will be happy to leave without shocking your friends.”
Annica bit her lip. “Was I so obvious?”
“To me,” he said, brushing her hair back from her forehead. “There are still many things I do not know about you, things I may never learn, but you are not crude or vulgar. Nor are you helpless or silly, however much you pretend to be.”
She held her breath, wondering what to say. He was inviting an explanation. “I do not know what you mean,” she uttered, sounding even more stupid than she intended.
“Do you not?”
“How can you know what is feigned and what is real, Auberville? Has it occurred to you that your judgment may not always be correct, or that you might have made a bad decision?”
“Many times, my lady, but not about you. Never about you. When you are ready to tell me what is behind your little game, I am ready to listen.”
She gave him a feeble smile. “Perhaps I just want to please you, Tristan.”
“Wear green on occasion, Annica. That would please me.” He kissed her again and went to his door. “Good night, my dear, and sweet dreams.”
Punishing Tristan by withholding her favors was a two-edged sword. Frustration rose in her every time she saw him. It was beginning to appear as if she wanted him more than he wanted her. Or was he spending sleepless nights as well?
She heard a sudden crash from the adjoining room, as if a glass had shattered against a fireplace.
Annica permitted herself a small smile before she sat up and slipped the top book off the stack he had left by her chaise. “Hmm.” She read the title. “The Kama Sutra…”
Chapter Fifteen
The following afternoon Annica watched as Ellen stepped onto the low stool in front of the mirror at Madame Marie’s shop. Ellen blushed and dropped her gaze to the floor, turning on the little stool so the seamstress could mark the hem. She was everything a bride should be—sweet, naive, modest, demure, biddable. Poor Ellen.
“Ah! Perfection, n’est-ce pas?”
Madame Marie clasped her hands to her bosom and sighed. “Dennison ees a lucky man, eh?”
“Have you and Dennison set the date, Ellen?” Charity asked.
“August 11,” she told them in a voice so soft she could barely be heard.
“That is time enough, then.” Annica nodded.
“Time enough for what?” Ellen’s blue eyes widened in surprise that she might have forgotten something.
“To change your mind,” Charity teased.
Annica’s laughter died when Ellen burst into tears, her narrow shoulders shaking. Annica swept her cousin up in a comforting hug when she teetered off the stool.
“Ellen,” she crooned. “Hush, dearling, hush. ’Twill come a’ right.”
“Oh, ‘Nica! I cannot cry off! Papa would never speak to me again, and Mama would fall into a decline. They are counting upon this marriage. The scandal would kill them,” Ellen wept against Annica’s shoulder.
“No, sweet cousin,” she contradicted. “They may be disappointed and angry at first, but they will forgive you. They do not want you to be miserable. After all, ’tis your life. You must not live it in a manner repugnant to you. Stand up to them, Ellen.”
“But they will shout at me and—”
“Refuse to be bullied! Aunt Lucy will sulk and Uncle Thomas will growl, and two months hence they will have forgotten all about it. I doubt Gilbert will even notice, he is so consumed by his own life. Anyway, in the end, you know they will all blame me.”
Ellen gave her a tentative smile. “Yes, but do you not mind that Mama and Papa will blame you?”
“I have always worn blame like a badge of honor.”
Charity laughed and patted Ellen’s shoulder. “You know it is true, Ellen. She takes great pride in it. And, now she is wed to Lord Auberville, your parents cannot even punish her.”
“I ask one favor, Ellen. If you refuse Dennison, warn me ahead so that I may prepare for the inevitable denouncements.”
“‘Nica, how could I ever live this down?”
“Easily, so long as you do not make Dennison look a fool. He does not deserve that for simply finding you wonderful enough to wed. You must put as good a face on it as possible, and not make an enemy of him. After all, I credit my great social success to the fact that I always put a good face on matters, and I never make enemies.”
Ellen and Charity both laughed at Annica’s outrageous explanation. The lighthearted jest was just the right tone to allow Ellen to pull herself together.
“I do not understand,” Madame Marie said. “Weel zere be zee wedding?”
“Perhaps.” Annica helped Ellen back onto the stool. “But it will not be to Dennison. Take your time, Marie. In fact, make a very special tea gown for my cousin first, and bill Auberville.”
Ellen giggled. “Will he not be angry?”
Annica shuddered, remembering the demon-possessed man who had thrown her over his shoulder and carried her up the stairs of the brothel. “I have seen him angry only once, Ellen, and that took considerably more than a gown. I guarantee, I would not provoke him like that again. Nevertheless, I shall speak to him at once to apprise him of your situation and discuss possible solutions. I will not have him called to account for my actions without his prior knowledge.”
“Shoo! Off weeth you.” Madame Marie made a sweeping movement with her arms. “You and Mees Wardlow wait outside, eh? I strip Lady Ellen down for zee measures, and I call you when we are done. Go now! Give us privacy. Shoo!”<
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Annica and Charity exited with a promise to wait in the adjoining fitting room. A clock chimed three times when they closed the door behind them and entered the room nearest the back door. As arranged, Mr. Renquist was waiting for them.
“Afternoon, ladies.” He bowed. “I’m afraid I have nothing new to report. Wilkes is either damned clever or he has friends.”
Charity emitted an unladylike snort. “He is horrid.”
“He is lucky.” Annica dropped her reticule on a chair and shrugged out of her light spencer. “God knows we have not left him with a single friend.”
Mr. Renquist shook his head in dejection. “Be that as it may, ladies, we are in the same situation—what to do next? Do we continue, or move on?”
“We change strategy,” Annica said. “Mr. Renquist, find out what you can about the people around Wilkes. Who are his closest friends? What clubs, organizations and social groups is he associated with? How has he spent the last twenty years? Does he receive letters? From whom? Does he post letters? To whom? Where is his family and what do they think of him? Somewhere, Mr. Renquist, there is a connection to a Hellfire Club. And amongst those people will be the source of the familiar voice in the garden and the man with the scar.”
“There comes a time when one must cut one’s losses and move on,” Renquist said. “One must use sound judgment to determine when one is in over one’s head, if you take my meaning.”
“Thank you for the caution, Mr. Renquist. I will consider it very carefully. Is there anything else?”
“Regarding your friend’s abigail and the other missing women, have you heard of white slavery, Lady Annica?”
“White slavery?” Charity repeated. “What do you mean?”
“The kidnapping of English women to be sold into the harems and brothels of rich Arabs and North Africans,” Renquist sighed. “Longshoremen whisper of women crying and calling at night from ships along the docks. Ships bound for the Mediterranean. I am inclined to believe them. White slavery is profitable.”
Annica leaned forward with earnestness. “Can you bring me names? And the names of the ships?”
A Wild Justice Page 18