The Mystery Woman

by Amanda Quick

  “I know what you feared,” Beatrice said. “But I do not think you need to worry about that. Mr. Gage required some time to recover from his injuries but, as I told him, he stayed too long in the country. It was past time for him to return to the world.”

  Hannah’s brows rose. “Did you actually tell him that?”

  “Yes, I did. Tonight, as a matter of fact.”

  “How did he take your advice?”

  Beatrice wrinkled her nose. “Like everyone else, he did not seem to appreciate it.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “But I do believe that coming to your aid has accomplished what all the good advice in the world never could. I think you will find that this blackmail affair has given him a new purpose and reinvigorated his spirits.”

  “Something certainly has brought about a change in him recently,” Hannah said. She watched Beatrice with a knowing look. “I noticed the difference in him shortly before we left London. I think you are the tonic he has been needing.”

  Beatrice felt the heat in her cheeks. She cleared her throat and glanced at the clock. “It’s time. I will take the payment to the great hall and return in a few minutes.”

  “Do be careful, dear. I have a most uneasy feeling about this affair.”

  “It will all be over soon,” Beatrice said.

  She decided that she would not tell Hannah that she, too, was experiencing a sense of dread. Hannah was the client. Mrs. Flint and Mrs. Marsh maintained that it was important to keep those who paid the hefty Flint and Marsh fees as calm as possible as they were often the ones who created the most problems in the course of an investigation. Clients were forever being swayed by their emotional connections to the case.

  She picked up the envelope that contained the money and an unlit candle and opened the door. The corridor was empty.

  She raised a hand in a reassuring gesture to Hannah and slipped out into the hall.

  The big house was almost silent now. There were no low voices behind bedroom doors, no muffled footsteps on the servants’ stairs. The secretive comings and goings had ceased until dawn.

  The wall sconces still glowed dimly on the ground floor. When she reached the bottom of the staircase she started toward the passage that led to the great hall. She glanced around but saw no sign of Joshua. She knew that he was somewhere nearby, watching from the shadows.

  The darkness deepened as she went closer to the big doors. She wondered what she would do if they were locked. That would mean that for some reason the blackmailer’s plans had gone awry, she thought. But there was another possibility. If the antiquities chamber was still secured it might indicate that the villain suspected the trap that Joshua had set.

  That thought heightened her alarm and her senses. Her pulse was beating rapidly by the time she reached the massive doors. She glanced down and saw several decades’ worth of seething energy on the floor. Everyone who had entered the room that evening had left a bit of paranormal residue behind, but one set of prints in particular glowed with the heat of a man who was in a state of nervous excitement. The only thing she could be certain of was that she did not recognize the hot tracks.

  She took a breath and wrapped one hand around a big brass handle. Cautiously she tried the door.

  Nothing happened. Something had gone wrong. No wonder her nerves were so on edge.

  She tugged harder, putting her full weight into the task. This time the heavy door opened slowly, ponderously, but with surprisingly little noise.

  A heavy darkness freighted with the disturbing energy of the massed artifacts inside the room flowed out of the narrow opening. She should be experiencing a surge of relief, she thought. All signs indicated that Joshua’s plan was going forward. The blackmailer had taken the bait.

  Yet she felt more rattled than ever. Her senses were crackling and sparking like an electricity machine. Her intuition was screaming at her.

  It was the combined effects of the relics, she thought. The currents of power inside the space had been unpleasant earlier in the evening when the chamber had been illuminated. They were much stronger and far more ominous now that the room was steeped in darkness.

  Steeling herself against the energy that whispered and howled silently in the chamber, she slipped across the threshold. The heavy door immediately started to close behind her. Hastily she lit the candle.

  The small flame flared quickly but it did not reach far into the darkness. The artifacts and the gods and goddesses loomed around her, menacing and eerie. The atmosphere was oppressive.

  Until now she had only viewed the relics from the hallway outside. That was as close as she had wanted to get. But now she was standing in the midst of the energy-infused artifacts. The intensity of the dark paranormal currents in the atmosphere was startling. The energy laid down in objects that had come from tombs and temples of any sort was always strong, but tonight the essence of death felt horribly fresh.

  So fresh that she could have sworn she caught the scent of recently spilled blood.

  Blood and smoky incense.

  Impossible.

  She steadied herself and lowered her talent before her feverish imagination started to conjure ghosts and demons.

  The rational side of her nature assured her that there was nothing to fear from the antiquities. It was a very human blackmailer who was the threat tonight. Joshua was quite capable of dealing with him.

  She went forward cautiously, mindful of the myriad pedestals, statues and vases arrayed inside the chamber. It would be all too easy to stumble over one of the smaller relics. An accident of that sort would not be helpful.

  She made her way down an aisle framed by animal-headed gods and goddesses to the stone platform that held the two sarcophagi. The candle flickered on the small quartz box. In the dancing shadows she could make out the image of a cat and a hunting scene. It was oddly touching to know that someone had valued a pet cat so highly.

  The lid of the cat sarcophagus had been partially shoved aside. She started to drop the envelope inside. Her hand stilled in midair. The scent of blood was stronger now. So was the incense.

  She turned away from the cat sarcophagus and raised the candle higher. In the flickering light she saw a massive granite altar. The figures and symbols carved into the stone were not as compelling as those on the sarcophagus. The craftsman who had created the images had not possessed the kind of talent that could be sensed over the centuries. But there were other currents emanating from the stone, layers upon layers of dark, disturbing forces swirled in the atmosphere.

  It was not the ancient energy that sent slivers of horror through her. It was the sight of the waterfall of fresh blood dripping over the edge of the altar that tightened her throat so that she could not breathe.

  She stumbled back a step and raised the candle higher. That was when she saw the motionless form on top of the altar. The man was sprawled on his back, his head turned slightly to the side so that she could not see his face.

  Her first panicky thought was that the dead man was Joshua.

  “No,” she managed.

  She moved closer and forced herself to look at the face of the victim. Death had crafted a rictus mask but a thunderbolt of relief snapped through her when she saw that it was not Joshua who lay stretched out on the altar.

  The shock of the realization left her feeling weak and light-headed. Not Joshua. That was the important thing. The blackmailer, perhaps. It was certainly not beyond the realm of possibility that the extortionist had been murdered by one of his victims.

  Joshua would not be pleased. She knew that he wanted to question the blackmailer.

  One thing was evident. She had to get out of the chamber immediately. She could not afford to be found at the scene of a murder. She was a paid companion. Everyone would assume the worst—that she had murdered a lover or, heaven forbid, conspired with a partner in
crime to steal some of the valuable artifacts. The police would likely leap to the obvious conclusion—that there had been a falling-out among thieves.

  She tried to think but it was not easy. She was shivering violently now and the dazed sensation was growing worse. She could not believe that she was on the verge of fainting. Flint & Marsh agents never fainted.

  But a strange fog was starting to rise around her. Within the depths of the mist she could see the gods and demons stirring.

  “It’s a dream,” she whispered. Desperately she tried to collect her senses. “It’s not real. None of this is real.”

  And then she saw the seething footsteps on the floor near the altar.

  “Did you think you could escape me again, little whore? I never fail.”

  The heavy Russian accent came out of the darkness to her left. She tried to turn toward the sound but another wave of dizziness nearly overwhelmed her. Terrified that she might drop the candle and start a fire, she set the candlestick on the altar with a trembling hand.

  Her senses were flaring but the incense was affecting her other sight, causing her to see things that her mind told her could not exist. The eyes of a falcon-headed statue glittered. A jeweled cobra hissed and swayed. An image of the goddess Nut stretched out vast wings. The gods of the Egyptian underworld—said to have skins of pure gold and hair like lapis lazuli—were coming to life around her.

  The scented smoke was growing heavier. She fumbled with her skirts, trying to find the stocking gun but it was hopeless. She knew that she was losing consciousness.

  The weak candle flared on a figure coming toward her. She recognized the jackal-headed god.

  “Anubis,” she said. “This cannot be happening. I am dreaming.”

  “I never fail.”

  A lantern blazed in the distance. It drew closer rapidly. She heard the thud of a cane on the floor.

  “Joshua,” she breathed. Hope and fear gave her strength. She pulled hard on her talent and raised her voice. “There is a killer in this chamber.”

  “I have a gun,” Joshua said.

  But the Anubis figure was already fleeing toward a wall on the far side of the chamber.

  And then Joshua was upon her. She realized that he had a handkerchief tied like a mask around the lower half of his face. He scooped her up and tossed her over his shoulder.

  “I should have known that things would not go according to plan tonight,” Joshua said. “They never do when you’re involved.”

  She was safe.

  She abandoned the effort to stay awake and gave herself up to the sea of darkness.

  Her last conscious memory was that of the familiar psychical prints she had seen near the altar. Impossible, she thought. She was hallucinating.

  —

  HE GOT HER UPSTAIRS without encountering any of the guests or servants. He could not be certain that no one saw them but he consoled himself with the thought that if that were the case it would be assumed that Hannah’s paid companion had imbibed too much gin.

  Hannah was waiting in the room. She stared at him and his burden, shocked.

  “Dear Lord, is she—?”

  “Unconscious,” he said. “But her pulse and breathing appear to be normal.” He eased Beatrice’s limp form down onto the bed. “I think she was drugged. Do you have some smelling salts?”

  “Yes, of course. Sally always packs some for emergencies. But I have noticed that Beatrice carries her own.” Hannah reached for the vial that dangled from the chatelaine around Beatrice’s waist.

  “Not a good idea,” Joshua said. “Believe me when I tell you that you do not want to use those particular salts. The formula is a very special one concocted by her employers. The stuff is designed to ward off mad dogs and would-be assailants.”

  “I see. How unusual. Josh, what happened tonight?”

  “I’m not sure yet but I intend to find out. I must leave Beatrice to you and Sally for now. It would not be good for me to be seen in this room. In any event, I must deal with the murder.”

  “What murder? What are you talking about?”

  “I suspect that the man who was attempting to blackmail you is the victim. The question is, who killed him?”

  Twenty-Two

  He used the old spiral staircase in the storage room to go back downstairs. When he reached the ground floor he made his way along the long, dark corridor that led to the antiquities chamber. He was aware that he was in a strange state of mind. A volatile storm of emotions seethed inside him. Among those highly charged sensations was a cold fury, a good deal of which was aimed at himself. He had put Beatrice in grave danger tonight.

  Everything had gone wrong. Again. Just as they had a year ago, he thought. At least this time an innocent woman had not died, but it had been a very near thing.

  The massive doors were still closed, just as he had left them a few minutes ago, and still unlocked. Assuming the killer had fled, it was unlikely he would have taken the time to lock the doors on his way out. Still, one never knew. The criminal mind was often predictable but not always.

  He pulled out the handkerchief he had used earlier when he had realized that there were dangerous fumes in the room. He held the large square of linen across his nose and mouth.

  He entered the cavernous space, struck a light and pulled the door closed behind him.

  The scented smoke had largely dissipated but he could still feel some of the disorienting effects. The arm of a nearby statue appeared to move. He ignored the hallucinations and focused on his objective.

  He turned up two of the wall sconces. The glare fell across the body on the altar. An unlit lantern sat near one of the dead man’s hands.

  He moved forward, listening intently for another presence in the room. He was certain that he had the chamber to himself now. The killer was gone.

  The victim was not one of the guests. He was dressed like a high-ranking servant, a valet, perhaps. Joshua doubted that anyone would claim him in the morning.

  It was the sight of the wound that sent a flash of knowing through him. The fraudulent valet had been killed with a single, expert thrust to the heart. It was possible there were two highly skilled assassins involved in the affair, but the probability was very low. In any event, professionals killed in unique ways. No two did it in exactly the same manner. There was little doubt but that the man who had murdered Roland Fleming months ago had killed the valet tonight.

  What in bloody hell is going on? Joshua thought.

  The valet’s pockets produced a train ticket, some money and a watch but little else. The watch was far too expensive for a valet. The inside of the lid was engraved with a set of flowing initials—E.R.B. Joshua doubted that the dead man’s initials, whatever they might be, were the same. The watch had been stolen at some point.

  “You were a petty criminal who turned to blackmail,” Joshua said to the dead man. “How did that come about?”

  He took a step back from the altar. His boot brushed against an object on the floor. He looked down and saw the envelope filled with money that Beatrice had brought with her earlier.

  He picked up the envelope and started a methodical search of the room, gradually expanding the circle around the altar until he found what he was looking for. The killer had not had time to retrieve the remains of the pot of burning incense that he had placed in an alabaster bowl.

  Joshua looked at the device for a long time, constructing a variety of possible explanations and conclusions. But in the end he knew he could not escape the truth.

  The past was not dead, after all. And now, somehow, it was linked to Beatrice.

  Twenty-Three

  The smelling salts exploded through her senses.

  Beatrice came awake in a rush, mildly amazed to discover that she was alive. She opened her eyes and saw Hannah and Sally bending over her.

  “Thank good
ness,” Hannah said. “You had us worried there for a bit. How do you feel?”

  “Like my brain is on fire,” Beatrice said.

  “It’s the salts,” Sally explained with satisfaction. “Nothing like spirits of ammonia to clear the head, I say.”

  “Do you still feel faint, Beatrice?” Hannah asked anxiously.

  Beatrice sat up against the pillows and contemplated the question. She took a cautious breath and was relieved to discover that the painful sensation was fading.

  “No,” she said. “I am definitely not going to faint. I don’t think I would survive another dose of those salts.” She looked around, trying to pull her memories together. “What is going on? Where is Mr. Gage?”

  “He went back downstairs after he brought you up here,” Hannah explained. “Something about a body.”

  “Oh, Lord, yes, the body on the altar,” Beatrice said. She sank back against the pillows. “I’m afraid that there is going to be a great scene. Nothing like a murder to bring a quick end to a country-house party.”

  —

  HALF AN HOUR LATER, Joshua knocked quietly on the door of the bedroom. Hannah let him in and shut the door behind him.

  Joshua looked at Beatrice, who was sitting in a chair.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “I’m fine,” she assured him, “thanks to you and Sally’s smelling salts. What is happening?”

  “Alverstoke has been awakened and informed that there is a body in his antiquities chamber. He is in shock, I believe, but he managed to send for the local authorities. They will arrive at any moment.”

  “I am curious, sir,” she said. “Did you really have a gun with you tonight?”

  “No, I dislike guns. They are noisy and not particularly accurate. Nor are they a good choice of weapon for someone who favors discretion, as I do. There is always a great uproar when a gun is employed. But I will admit that firearms can make for an effective threat. In the darkness the killer could not see if I was armed with one.”