by Amanda Quick
A lady’s maid, indeed. Life had certainly changed in the past few days, Emma thought. She felt as if she were in the middle of a fairy tale. She eyed the heaps of boxes that were being carried into her bed chamber. She would not get any rest here. Bess would want to examine and exclaim over each new pair of gloves and every cap and petticoat.
A brisk walk would be more refreshing than a cup of tea, she decided. The need to get away from the ceaseless demands of her new post for a while was almost overpowering. And she did have a private matter to pursue, one she had put off for the past two days since the return to London because of her commitments to Edison.
“Very well, Bess.” Emma got to her feet and went to the wardrobe to take out the pelisse she had hung there a few minutes earlier. “If Lady Mayfield inquires about me, please tell her that I am taking a walk in the park.”
“Will you be wanting one of the footmen to go with you, ma’am?”
“No, I think I can manage to walk across the street without assistance.”
Bess’s round face crinkled with concern. “But do ye think ye should be walking out alone, ma’am?”
Emma raised her brows as she refastened the pelisse. “Why ever not, for heaven’s sake? I have taken many walks in the park.”
Bess flushed a dull red and looked extremely uncomfortable. “Aye, but that was before ye was engaged to Mr. Stokes.”
Emma stared at her. “Good heavens, Bess. Are you worried about my reputation?”
Bess looked at her toes. “Well, it’s just that engaged ladies are supposed to be discreet like.”
“Bear in mind that until quite recently I was Lady Mayfield’s paid companion, Bess. I assure you, I am nothing if not discreet.”
Bess flinched at the sharp tone. Annoyed with herself for having snapped at the girl, Emma sighed, grabbed her reticule, and walked swiftly out the door.
It took her much longer than she had expected to find the address. Eventually, however, Emma came to a halt in front of a small, gloomy little house in Twigg Lane. She opened her reticule, took out the letter addressed to Miss Judith Hope, and verified the address. Number eleven. This was the place.
She went up the steps and knocked. While she waited for a response, she glanced at the little watch pinned to the bodice of her gown. She could not stay long here in Twigg Lane. Edison would be annoyed if she was not ready promptly at five for the drive in the park. Employers expected punctuality from their employees.
There was a long pause before she heard footsteps in the hall. A
moment later the door opened. A sour looking housekeeper regarded her with grim disapproval.
“Please inform Miss Judith Hope that Miss Emma Greyson is calling with a message from a friend.”
Dark suspicion scrunched up the housekeeper’s stolid features.
“What friend would that be?”
“Miss Sally Kent.”
“Never heard of her.”
The housekeeper started to close the door. Emma stepped nimbly across the threshold and put out a hand to prevent the door from being slammed in her face. She glanced quickly into the dingy hall and saw a flight of narrow stairs.
“You will inform Miss Hope that she has a visitor,” Emma said crisply.
“Now, see here—”
A woman’s voice, flat and dreary in tone, came from halfway up the stairs. “Is something wrong, Mrs. Bowie?”
Mrs. Bowie glowered at Emma. “I’m just seeing this here lady on her way. She has come to the wrong address.”
“I have come to call upon Miss Judith Hope, and I will not leave until I have seen her,” Emma said loudly.
“You wish to see me?” The woman hovering in the shadows of the staircase sounded bewildered.
“If you are Miss Hope, the answer is yes. My name is Emma Greyson. I have a message from Sally Kent.”
“Dear God. A message from Sally? But ... but that’s impossible.”
“If you will see me for a few minutes, Miss Hope, I shall explain everything.”
Judith hesitated. “Show her in, Mrs. Bowie.”
“You know very well that the mistress don’t want any visitors,” Mrs. Bowie growled.
“Miss Greyson is here to see me, not Mrs. Morton.” Judith’s tone of voice abruptly grew more firm and determined. “Show her in at once.”
Mrs. Bowie continued to look mutinous. Emma gave her a cold smile and shoved hard against the door. Mrs. Bowie reluctantly stepped back. Emma moved quickly into the dark hall and turned to look at Judith Hope. She concluded instantly that the woman had been sadly misnamed. Hope was a word that had probably disappeared long ago from her vocabulary.
Judith was very likely in her late twenties, but the grimly resigned lines were already deeply etched in what had no doubt once been an attractive face. She was dressed in a dull brown gown. Her hair was scraped back beneath a plain cap. Only the angle of her chin hinted at a deep core of pride and a grim determination.
She crossed the tiny hall with a rigid spine. “Please come into the parlor, Miss Greyson.”
Emma followed her into a heavily draped room and took a seat on the threadbare sofa. There was no fire on the hearth. Judith did not pull the curtains or light a candle. She simply sat down stiffly, folded her hands in her lap, and stared at Emma with an unreadable expression.
“Forgive me for calling on you without an invitation, Miss Hope.”
For the first time a tiny hint of emotion flickered in Judith’s eyes. “I assure you, I have no objection, Miss Greyson. You are the first visitor I have had since I accepted my current post six months ago. My employer does not encourage social calls. Nor do we go out.”
Emma glanced at the ceiling, silently indicating the rooms above, where she presumed the mysterious Mrs. Morton resided.
“Will your employer object to me being here?”
“Probably. She objects to everything else, from the taste of the soup to the books I read to her.” Judith’s hands tightened together. “But I am prepared to risk her wrath if you have news of Sally.”
“I am not certain how to begin. The truth is, I do not know anything about Sally. I have never met her.”
“I see.” Judith looked down at her folded hands. “I am not surprised. I have known for several months that she is likely dead.”
“Dead?” Emma stared at her. “How can you be certain of that?”
Judith looked toward the draped window. “Sally and I were friends. We were ... quite close. I think I would know if she was still alive.”
“What makes you believe that she is dead?”
“I have not heard from her,” Judith said with stark simplicity. “She would have contacted me by now if she were still on this earth.”
“I see.”
“As I said, we were very fond of each other. Neither of us has any family, you see. We had planned to save whatever we could and eventually rent a small cottage in the country. But now that will never happen.”
Judith’s quiet, stoic despair nearly broke Emma’s heart. “I am so very sorry.”
Judith turned back to her. “You said you had a message from her?”
“Please let me explain. I was employed until quite recently as a companion. A few days ago I accompanied my employer to a house party at Ware Castle.”
Judith’s face tightened. “That is where Sally went to work as Lady Ware’s paid companion.”
“I know. As it happens, I was given the bed chamber that once belonged to her.” Emma reached into her reticule and removed Sally’s letter. “I found this behind a scrap of embroidery. It is addressed to you.”
“Dear heaven.” Judith took the letter very gingerly and opened it as though half afraid of the contents. She read the note quickly and then looked up. Tears glistened in her eyes. “Forgive me. But now I know for certain that she is dead. He murdered her.”
Emma went cold. “What are you saying? Do you mean to imply that Basil Ware murdered Sally?”
“That is precisely what
I mean.” Judith’s hand clenched tightly around the letter. “And he will never be brought to justice because of his wealth and position.”
“But why would he do such a thing?”
“Because she had become inconvenient, of course. Sally was very beautiful, you see. She was certain that she could handle Ware. I warned her but she would not listen to me. I think she must have allowed him to seduce her. She had a scheme, which she would not confide to me.”
“What sort of scheme do you think it was?”
“I believe that she lied to him, told him that she was pregnant. She probably had some notion of promising to go away if he would give her some money.”
“I see.”
Judith looked down at the letter. “I warned her not to take such terrible risks. But she was determined to rescue both of us from our dreary careers. Obviously Ware became infuriated by her demands and killed her.”
Emma sighed. Judith’s logic was extremely weak. Rakes of the ton had no need to resort to murder to get rid of inconvenient lovers. They simply ignored them. It was clear that Judith was so distraught with grief that she felt the need to blame Sally’s seducer for her death.
“Even if Sally was involved in a liaison with Mr. Ware,” Emma said gently, “he had no reason to kill her, Miss Hope. We both know how these things work. All he had to do was dismiss her from her post when he grew weary of her. Which, from all accounts, is precisely what happened.”
“If he threw her out of the castle, where is she?” Judith demanded fiercely. “Why did she fail to post this letter?”
Emma hesitated. “I do not know the answers to all of your questions, but I can tell you that the letter is not all she left behind.”
“What do you mean?”
Emma glanced toward the parlor door to make certain that it was closed. Then she quickly lifted the skirts of her new muslin walking dress. She reached into one of the pockets she wore and withdrew the tightly folded banknotes and the handkerchief. She handed them to Judith.
“I don’t understand.” Judith gazed, slack-jawed, at the notes. Then she lifted her uncomprehending eyes to Emma. “How did you—?”
“Hush.” Emma looked meaningfully at the door. On the chance that the housekeeper might have her ear to the panel, she leaned closer to Judith and lowered her voice. “I would say nothing about this if I were you.”
“But this is ... this is a fortune,” Judith whispered.
“I found the banknotes and the little handkerchief with the letter. It is obvious Sally meant for you to have the money. Ware must have given it to her, so it was hers to pass along to you.”
“But—”
Emma plucked the handkerchief from Judith’s hand and unfolded it to reveal an unusual bloom done in crimson and purple threads.
“Lovely work. I do not recognize the species, however. I wonder if it was something she saw in Lady Ware’s conservatory.”
Judith stared numbly at the flower. “Sally embroidered an entire garden of handkerchiefs for me. She knew how much I loved unusual blooms. She always said that one day we would have a real garden with real flowers.”
“I see.” Emma got to her feet. She raised her voice to a normal conversational level. “If you will excuse me, I must be on my way, Miss Hope. I am supposed to drive out in the park with my, er, fiancé, this afternoon at five o’clock.”
Judith rose slowly. “Yes, of course.” She swallowed. “Miss Greyson, I do not know how to thank you.”
“No thanks are necessary.” Emma lowered her voice again. “I only wish your friend Sally were here so that the two of you could look for that little cottage together.”
“So do I.” Judith closed her eyes briefly. “My wonderful, reckless Sally. If only she had listened to me.”
“I suppose you very wisely advised her not to fall in love with Mr. Ware.” Emma sighed. “It is always a mistake to become romantically involved with one’s employer.”
“Fall in love with him?” Judith’s gaze widened. “Whatever happened at Ware Castle, I can assure you, Sally never loved Basil Ware.”
“How can you know that?”
Judith hesitated. “Without putting too fine a point on it, Miss Greyson, I can tell you that Sally was not fond of men. It is inconceivable that she would have enjoyed an affair with Ware.”
“I see.”
“If she allowed him to seduce her, it was because she hoped to acquire some money from him when the liaison ended. She always said we had to do something to change our fates.”
“Sally has seen to it that you have enough money to change your fate, Miss Hope. What will you do now?”
Judith glanced up at the ceiling. Then she smiled for the first time. It was a very small, very grim sort of smile, but it was genuine. “Why, I believe I shall hand in my notice.”
Emma grinned. “Something tells me that is exactly what Sally would have wanted you to do.”
“You have made great progress, Edison.” Ignatius Lorring handed Edison a glass of brandy and then lowered his birdlike frame into the other wingback chair. “I had every expectation that you would, of course. There was never another student like you. When I think of how high you could have risen within the great Circle of Vanza—”
“We both know that the way of Vanza would not have suited me forever,” Edison said.
The room was uncomfortably warm. There was a roaring blaze on the hearth although the day was sunny and mild. Edison said nothing about the heat. Ignatius wore a woolen scarf around his throat as though he was sitting in the middle of a snowstorm rather than in his library. There was a small blue vial on the table beside him. Edison knew that it contained an opium concoction. Laudanum, perhaps.
Edison glanced around the familiar room. His transition from wild, reckless youth to self-controlled man had begun here. It was in this mirrored chamber with its walls of books that he had first met Ignatius. Edison had been eighteen and desperate for a post, any sort of post. He had read Ignatius Lorring’s papers on Vanzagara and was aware that the intrepid scholar was planning another voyage to that mysterious island. Edison had approached Ignatius with a proposition. If Lorring would take him along on his voyage as his man-of-affairs, he would work for half the usual wages. Ignatius had immediately hired him. The pair had sailed for Vanzagara and nothing had ever been the same again.
“How are you feeling, my friend?” Edison asked gently.
“I have my good days and my bad ones, This morning I felt well enough to take a walk. But now I am extremely weary.”
“I do not intend to stay long. I have an appointment to drive with my fiancée in the park this afternoon at five.”
“Ah, yes. The fiancée.” Ignatius’s silvery brows bounced up and down. A gleam of interest sparked in his pale eyes. “Lady Ames wants her, and you have control over her. Brilliant, Edison. Quite brilliant. She is a glittering lure with which to hold Lady Ames’s attention while you pursue your inquiries.”
Edison turned the glass in his hand and studied the golden hue of the brandy. “I do not think of Miss Greyson as bait.”
“Nonsense. That is precisely what she is.” Ignatius eyed him sharply. “Tell me, did she actually shoot Crane?”
“She denies it.”
“Well, she would, of course, would she not?”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not. Miss Greyson is somewhat unpredictable.”
“I see.”
“I will say this much,” Edison continued softly. “If Miss Greyson did not shoot Crane, some interesting questions arise.”
Ignatius was silent for a long time. “Yes. I see what you mean.”
Edison contemplated the infinity of mirrors that surrounded the fireplace. “Before we make any further moves, I think it would be extremely interesting to find out how Miranda came to be in possession of the deciphered recipe.”
“Indeed.” Ignatius looked thoughtful. “I do not see how a woman could even know about it, let alone get her hands on it. There are no females involved in
Vanza.”
Edison thought about the wild shot someone had taken in the woods outside Ware Castle. “Tell me, Ignatius, do you believe it’s possible that there are others on the trail of the Book of Secrets.”
“I have not heard any rumors to that effect, but it is not inconceivable.” Ignatius’s thin hands curled very tightly around the arms of his chair. “Why do you ask?”
“I’m not certain yet. But there are a great many unexplained elements in this affair. Some of them would make sense if we knew that there was someone else searching for the book.”
“Bloody hell.” Ignatius’s face was drawn so tightly that his features had a skeletal appearance. “If there is someone else looking for it, he might well conclude that you are in his way. Do have a care, will you? I should hate to lose the most promising student that I ever had, even if he did eventually go outside the Circle.”
“Of course.” Edison put down his glass. “After all, now that I am about to become a married man, I must consider my future.”
“What the devil do you mean Miss Greyson is not home?” Edison scowled at Lady Mayfield’s housekeeper. “She bloody well knew that we had an appointment to ride in the park today.”
Mrs. Wilton wiped her hands on her crisp white apron. “I’m sorry, sir, but she went out for a walk some time ago and has not yet returned.”
“Where did she go?”
“I couldn’t say, sir.”
Letty appeared on the stairs. “It’s you, is it, Stokes? Thought I heard your voice. Looking for Emma, are you?”
“Yes.” He glanced at her. “What’s this about her going for a walk?”
“Quite right. Her maid tells me she went into the park across the street.”
“I just drove through the park. I did not see Emma.”
Letty lifted one shoulder in a small shrug. “Perhaps she went a bit farther.”
An uneasy feeling trickled through Edison. “You said her maid told you she’d gone for a walk. Do you mean to say that the girl did not accompany Emma?”
“Apparently Emma wanted to be by herself for a while.” Letty came down the stairs. “I believe she is feeling quite overwhelmed by all the excitement. She is not accustomed to it, you know.”