by Amanda Quick
At this very moment most of the Polite World, seated astride spectacular mounts or driving elegant equipages, were parading along sylvan paths. It was the sort of scene in which Miranda no doubt gloried. That she had chosen to wait in her house all afternoon in hopes that her request for a visit would be heeded said a great deal about her sense of urgency concerning this situation.
No one came to answer the door. Emma flexed her gloved hands to rid herself of the prickling sensation. It did not work. She knocked again and waited, listening for the sound of footsteps in the hall.
A few minutes later she was forced to conclude that no one was going to respond. Perhaps Miranda had gone out after all, she thought.
Still, someone should have answered the door. Although it was entirely possible that the household staff had seized the opportunity to enjoy a bit of leisure time.
The uneasy twinges continued to plague her. She stepped back to survey the windows. The curtains were all drawn tightly closed. She sighed. It was impossible to ignore the whisper of dread. Something was very wrong inside Miranda’s house.
She turned and hurried back to the waiting hackney. It was time to take more forceful action. She hoped Edison would not be difficult.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Edison scowled. “Break into Miranda’s house? Have you gone mad?”
“I think something is wrong.” Emma peered out through the hackney window. The steps in front of the town house were still quiet. No one had come or gone in the few minutes she had been arguing with Edison. “There are not even any servants at home. Miranda has a great number of them, if you will recall. Surely there should be a maid or a footman around.”
“Bloody hell.” Nevertheless, Edison leaned forward to study the scene. “I knew this was a bad notion.”
“Well, sir? Are we going to investigate or not?”
Edison hesitated a moment longer. Then he switched his attention back to her. She saw the grimly intent expression in his eyes and knew that he was as concerned as she.
“We will not do anything,” he said. “You will wait here in the coach. I’ll go around back and see if there is anyone about in the gardens.”
“I will accompany you,” Emma said firmly. “If there is something wrong, it will be better if there are two of us to deal with it.”
“No, Emma.” He made to open the door.
“Wait.” She grabbed his sleeve. “Listen to me. If you go in alone, someone may mistake you for a housebreaker.”
“Which is precisely what I will be if things are as you describe. I don’t want you involved.”
“Nonsense. If we stick together, we can claim that we were invited to pay a social call and became concerned about Miranda’s safety when no one answered the door. Which is only the truth.”
“A bit thin, I think.” Edison opened the door and got out. He turned to look back at her. “You are to stay here, do you understand?”
He slammed the door without pausing for a response and started around the corner. Emma waited until he was out of sight before she followed him. As soon as she turned the corner, she saw at once that she had waited a little too long. Edison was nowhere to be seen. He had already vanished down a shadowy alley that ran between two rows of walled gardens. Leafy vines and an assortment of flowery creepers cascaded down the high stone walls. Tree limbs projected out over the alley on both sides. The late spring foliage was thick and heavy creating a canopy of green overhead.
She hurried into the shaded alley and then paused, trying to orient herself. From this side it was difficult to tell which gate opened onto Miranda’s garden. She tried to recall how many town houses she had passed when she had gone to knock on Miranda’s front door a few minutes earlier. Four? Or was it five? She had not counted.
She stopped in front of the fourth gate and hesitated again. Things could become exceedingly awkward if she accidentally entered the wrong garden, she thought.
“One would think,” Edison said softly from the top of the garden wall, “that I would eventually learn that you do not take orders well.”
She jumped back and looked up quickly. “Edison.”
She searched frantically for him amid the overhanging foliage. It took her a few seconds to spot him. He was almost invisible in the tangle of greenery that flowed out and over the wall. When she finally saw him, she glared. “Do not ever do that again, sir. You gave me a terrible start.”
“Serves you right. Well, as you are here now, you may as well come into the garden. It is obviously wiser to have you close at hand where I can keep an eye on you than it is to leave you to your own devices.”
He disappeared. A moment later the gate opened with a soft squeak. Emma slipped quickly into the garden. Hedges blocked her view of the back of the house.
“Follow me,” Edison said.
He avoided the paths, leading her through a maze of greenery until they emerged near the kitchen door. He surveyed the house for a moment. There was an ominous quality to the silence that emanated from the depths of the town house. She realized that, although she had insisted on coming this far, she did not want to enter the place.
“Stay here,” Edison whispered.
She waited in the shadow of a hedge and watched as he went up the back steps to try the door. It opened easily. Edison glanced back at her. She knew that he was going to proceed inside. She drew a deep, fortifying breath and hurried up the steps to join him.
The foreboding silence outside the house was nothing compared to the gloom-filled interior. There was no one about in the kitchens, but there was a general air of readiness. The workbenches had been freshly scrubbed. Vegetables filled a nearby basket, awaiting preparation for the evening meal. A pile of cleaned and plucked pigeons was heaped in a pan.
“It does not look as if she took a notion to suddenly close up her house and leave town,” Edison observed.
“No.”
Emma trailed after him through the kitchens into the rear hall. She recognized her surroundings instantly. This was where she had stood the night she had followed Swan down the back staircase. She glanced across the way and saw that the library door was closed. Another terrible chill lanced through her. She could not take her eyes off the door.
“Edison, the library.”
He gave her an odd look but did not ask questions. He crossed the hall and opened the door.
Emma caught her breath at the sight of the chaos inside. The library had been turned upside down. But that was not what brought her stomach up into her throat. The essence of death was unmistakable. She reeled back a step. Instinctively she reached into her reticule for a handkerchief to put over her mouth. Breathing shallowly through it, she stared in horror at the figure that lay sprawled on the library carpet.
“Oh my God, Edison. Is it ... ?”
“Yes. It’s Miranda.” Edison walked into the room and came to a halt beside the body. “Shot dead.”
Emma took a reluctant step into the room. She could not look away from the terrible bloody stain that soaked the bodice of Miranda’s afternoon gown.
“How could this happen in her own home?” Emma asked. “Surely the servants would have heard the shot. Where are they, anyway? Why did no one sound the alarm?”
“Perhaps she sent them away before the killer arrived.” Edison moved to a nearby table and studied the objects that lay scattered on the floor beside it. “She appears to have been expecting you, however.”
Emma forced her gaze away from Miranda’s body and focused instead on the items lying on the carpet beside his gleaming Hessians. There was a jar of herbs, a teapot, and a single cup. Next to the tea things was a deck of cards that had fallen and partially fanned out across the rug.
“She obviously planned to give me another one of her tests.” Emma looked at him. “But why would she do that? She was already convinced that I was a suitable candidate for the elixir.”
“Yes, but if she intended to talk you into going into partnership with her, she would have
needed to persuade you that you really could read the cards under the influence of the elixir.”
“I suppose that explains why she sent the servants away for the afternoon,” Emma said slowly. “If she intended to give me a demonstration of the effects of her elixir and talk to me about the details of her scheme, she probably thought it best to be private.”
Edison slowly examined the shambles. The few books Miranda had used to decorate the shelves lay on the floor. Papers littered the carpet. The globe had fallen from its stand. The drawers of the desk stood wide.
“I suppose this could have been the result of a burglary,” he said.
“You do not sound very convinced of that.”
“I’m not.” He went to the desk and glanced into the drawers. “I think, under the circumstances, we must assume that whoever did this was looking for the recipe for the elixir or the Book of Secrets.”
“Do you think he found anything?”
“There’s no way to be certain.” Edison studied the room. “But he may have found something because he obviously decided that he no longer needed Miranda.”
“Dear God, Edison. What should we do now?”
“The answer to that is obvious. We should get out of here. As quickly as possible.” He reached for her wrist.
Alarm shot through her. “Edison?”
“The last thing we need at this point is for you to be connected to a second murder.”
Emma’s stomach lurched violently. “But how could anyone possibly link me to this crime?”
“I do not know and I do not intend to find out.” He hauled her out the door into the hall. “We must get out of here before one of the servants returns.”
“I will not argue with you, sir.”
That makes a pleasant change.”
They retreated from the house along the same path they had used to enter it. Emma did not realize how tense she was until they reached the alley and found that it was still deserted. Then a light-headed sensation swept over her.
“Are you all right?” Edison glanced sharply at her. “You look a little pale.”
“Of course I’m all right. It’s not as though I have not seen murder before. This is my second one in less than a fortnight.” Emma took a breath. “At this rate I shall soon grow quite accustomed to the business.”
“How very fortunate for you, my dear. I, on the other hand, may have to resort to carrying a vinaigrette.” They hurried down the alley and stepped out onto the street. Emma saw the hackney waiting at the corner. The coachman was slumped in his seat, snoring peacefully. The horse dozed, one hoof cocked.
Edison rapped on the side of the coach. “Rouse yourself, coachman. Your customers have returned. We wish to be off immediately.”
The coachman jolted awake. “Aye, sir.” He took up the reins with a long-suffering sigh. Typical of their sort,” he muttered to the horse.
“Always changin’ their bloody minds. First they tell ye to wait until yer finally settled into a nice little nap and then they wake ye and tell ye they’re in a terrible hurry to get somewhere.”
Edison yanked open the coach door and bundled Emma inside. He got in behind her, shut the door, and drew the curtains.
Emma hugged herself. “Who would want to murder Miranda?”
“Personally, I do not doubt that there are any number of people, including a few jealous wives, who would cheerfully have shot her.”
Edison sat back and looked at Emma. “But in this instance, I think we would do well to assume that whoever killed her was involved in this damnable affair of the missing book and the recipe.”
“Yes.” Emma reached up to massage her temples. “But, Edison, you mentioned jealousy as a motive.”
“What of it? I do not think it a likely explanation in this case.”
“You are forgetting that there is someone who did, indeed, have good cause to be jealous of Miranda’s many lovers.”
There was a short, brittle pause.
“Indeed,” Edison said softly. “It might be best if we found Swan before the authorities leap to the same conclusion. I have some questions for him.”
“What makes you think that he will answer them?”
Edison smiled his enigmatic smile. “I will offer him a bargain. In exchange for giving me the information I seek concerning Miranda’s past, I will lend him my assistance in evading the authorities, should they decide to try to arrest him for her murder.”
Emma froze.
Edison watched her. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Damnation, Emma, I am in no mood for games. Tell me what is bothering you about my plan.”
“It is of no great importance, sir. It merely struck me that the bargain you intend to offer Swan strongly resembles the one you made with me.”
He looked both irritated and baffled. “The devil it does.”
She shrugged. “Salvation from the noose in exchange for assistance in your inquiries? It sounds familiar enough to me. But I must warn you, I do not think it will work in Swan’s case.”
Anger crackled briefly in Edison’s gaze. It was gone almost instantly, concealed beneath the layer of icy control that he wielded so effortlessly.
“There is nothing about what I am proposing that is akin to the arrangements you and I have made,” he said evenly. “Leave that aside and tell me what makes you think it won’t work?”
“I believe that he really did love her,” Emma whispered. “He may have killed her. But I do not believe that he will sell you any information about her that will besmirch her memory, not even to evade the hangman’s noose.”
“You sound very certain of that.”
She tightened her hands in her lap. “I am.”
“Your faith in true love is quite touching,” Edison said. “But it has always been my experience that most people are extremely practical about things such as life and death and finances.”
“Mark my words,” Emma said. “You will not be able to bribe Swan. But if he is not the one who killed her, you might be able to secure his assistance by making him a promise.”
“What sort of promise?”
“Give him your oath that you will try to find the person who actually did murder the woman he loved.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
You will not credit it, Emma, but everyone is saying that her exceedingly odd servant, Swan, returned to the house yesterday afternoon and shot Miranda dead,” Letty announced with ghoulish relish.
Emma put aside the stack of daily papers she had been perusing in hopes of discovering news of The Golden Orchid. As usual, there was no report of a late ship returning with a fortune for its investors. She studied Letty, who was glowing with excitement. The news of Miranda’s death had struck the Polite World shortly before breakfast. It was uncanny, Emma reflected, how gossip traveled through the ton.
“Are the authorities certain that it was Swan who killed her?” she asked carefully.
Although she had suggested precisely the same thing to Edison, she was not entirely satisfied with the explanation. In fact, the more she considered the possibility that Swan had murdered Miranda, the less she liked it. It was not that she could not imagine Swan killing Miranda in a fit of rage and jealousy, she thought. Intense passions had been known to provoke dangerous reactions in unstable people. The problem was that such a ready answer did not feel right in this case. It struck her as too simple and a bit too convenient, given the bizarre affair of the Book of Secrets. She suspected that Edison held the same opinion, although he was determined to find Swan and talk to him.
“Indeed. In fact, Calista Durant informed me that Basil Ware was talking about hiring a Bow Street Runner to track down Swan and bring him to justice.” Letty helped herself to another cup of tea and sat back on the yellow sofa. She had removed her bonnet a few minutes earlier when she had rushed through the front door with her news of murder most foul and titillating. But she was so eager to impart the latest on dit that she had not tak
en the time to change. She was still dressed in the gown she had worn when she had set out to pay her afternoon calls. It was a purple and yellow muslin confection trimmed with a neckline that dipped so low her much vaunted bosom threatened to spill out of it.
Emma had spent the day at home waiting impatiently for word from Edison. It was nearly five and he had still not arrived with news of the results of his search for Swan.
“Do the gossips say why Miranda’s servant would wish to kill her?”
Emma asked.
Letty’s eyes gleamed. “According to her housekeeper, it was no secret that Miranda dallied with the man on a regular basis. Difficult to believe, is it not?”
“Not particularly,” Emma said dryly. “When I took up my career as a companion, I was amazed to learn how many ladies of the ton enjoy a fling with a handsome footman.”
“Yes, of course, dear, that is common knowledge. Swan, however, was anything but handsome.” Letty broke off and pursed her lips as she contemplated the matter. “Nevertheless, I will admit that there was something quite fearsome about him, which might well have appealed to a woman such as Miranda.”
“A woman such as Miranda?”
“I always thought her tastes tended to be somewhat low when it came to that sort of thing.”
Emma raised her brows. It was not so very long ago, she reflected, that Letty had hailed Miranda as “all the crack” and “the very mirror of style and fashion.” It sounded as though the ravenous jackals of the Polite World were already turning on their newest victim. One could not even die in Society without becoming a subject of unpleasant gossip.
“You were saying, Letty, that Miranda and Swan had an affair?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t go so far as to dignify that sort of casual sport as an affair, dear. But, yes, apparently she invited him into her bed from time to time when she had no other lover conveniently at hand.”
“That does not explain why he would kill her.”
“Word has it that she became angry with him and dismissed him out of hand on the night of her ball. Turned him off without a reference, apparently. The servants report that he packed his things and left the house before dawn. They all claim that he was in a seething rage.”