by Amanda Quick
“I shall look forward to it.”
“Speaking of sensations, your grandmother told us that you and a widow named Mrs. Bryce managed to create a small one of your own last night. What happened? I thought you were deeply involved in your investigation of Hastings. Did you change your mind?”
“Don’t look so pathetically hopeful. I’m afraid Mrs. Bryce is connected to my investigation.”
“Devil take it.” Marcus grimaced. “Should have guessed as much. When your mother and I and Clarice heard that you had taken a lady home from the ball, I suppose we leaped to the assumption that perhaps—”
“I had allowed myself to be distracted? I’m sorry to disappoint you.”
Marcus leaned back against a workbench. “You can’t blame us for worrying about you, Tony. You’re obsessed with this business of proving that Hastings murdered Fiona. It’s a dangerous business you’re pursuing. If you had been caught prowling through Hastings’s house—”
“I found Fiona’s necklace last night,” Anthony said quietly.
Marcus stared at him. “Bloody hell. Where?”
“It was in Hastings’s safe.”
Marcus exhaled heavily. Then his eyes narrowed. “Are you certain it’s the Risby necklace?”
“Yes. He must have taken it off her after he killed her.”
Marcus rubbed the back of his neck. “So you were right, after all.”
“It certainly looks that way.”
Marcus folded his arms, thinking. “But it makes no sense. Why would he do such a thing?” He squinted a little. “You don’t think it’s possible that he seduced her, do you? A lover’s quarrel, perhaps?”
“No,” Anthony said.
“You sound very certain. I know you were fond of Fiona, Tony—we all were—but don’t let your old affection blind you to certain possibilities.”
“Fiona was not intimately involved with Hastings.”
Marcus did not look entirely satisfied, but he nodded, not arguing further.
“Very well, then,” he said. “What of a motive? What possible reason could he have had for murdering an innocent young woman?”
“I don’t know. That’s one of the things I intend to find out.”
“Give it up, Tony. Too much time has passed. You won’t be able to prove anything now.”
Anthony went to stand at one of the workbenches. He looked down at the array of tools arranged on the wooden surface. “Hastings has been blackmailing several wealthy old ladies for over two years.”
“You’re joking. Hastings? An extortionist?”
“I found the proof in the safe, along with the necklace. Unfortunately, like the necklace, it was useless. I will make arrangements to return the extortion evidence to the various victims anonymously, but for obvious reasons none of them can be expected to testify against him. In fact, I very much doubt that they even knew the identity of their blackmailer.”
“Good Lord.” Marcus grimaced in disgust. “The man’s a villain, all right. But if you can’t prove anything, what do you hope to do?”
“First things first.” Anthony looked up from the tools. “My main objective at the moment is to discover why he murdered Fiona. That question has plagued me from the start of this affair.”
“And just how in blazes will you manage that?”
“I’m certain there was no intimate connection between them. That leaves the possibility that Fiona somehow learned too much about his business affairs. Perhaps she discovered that he was a blackmailer.”
Marcus thought about that. “You think he killed her to keep his secrets?”
“It would be a strong motive.”
“Perhaps. But, again, how will you prove it after all this time?”
“I don’t know.” Anthony went to the steel safe that stood on one side of the room. He put a hand on the gleaming green surface and traced the decorative gold design with one finger. “Hastings’s safe was, indeed, an Apollo, as you said. He had it installed in the floor of his bedroom, just as Carruthers told you. Thank you for getting the information for me.”
Will Carruthers of the Carruthers Lock and Safe Company was an old friend of the family. He was the exclusive purveyor of the Apollo Patented Safe in London. Carruthers had sold the safe to Hastings. He had also overseen its installation.
Marcus’s brows arched. “I take it you haven’t lost any of your safecracking skills?”
“I was a bit rusty, but I had it open inside of thirty seconds.”
“Would have been fifteen in the old days.” Marcus smiled reminiscently. “I’ll never forget the many happy hours you spent picking locks in this workshop, testing out new devices for me.” His white brows snapped together again. “Which reminds me, it’s about time you provided me with some grandchildren. I need new assistants. You’re never around anymore, and Clarice is always busy with her plays.”
“Someday,” Anthony promised. “When this other affair is concluded.”
“Promises, promises.” Marcus’s expression sharpened. “What of Mrs. Bryce? Where does she fit into this?”
“It’s complicated. Last night I encountered her just as she emerged from Hastings’s bedroom.”
Marcus’s mouth opened, closed, and opened again. “His bedroom? Are you joking? What in blazes was she doing in there?”
“The same thing I had intended to do. She went there to search his private possessions.”
“Why?”
“She was looking for proof that Hastings invested funds in a brothel.”
“She cracked the Apollo?”
“No. But after she made my acquaintance in the hallway outside the bedroom she hired me to do the job for her.”
“She hired you?” Marcus was practically sputtering now.
“She mistook me for a jewel thief. As I said, it’s somewhat complicated.”
“Good Lord.” Marcus scowled. “Who the devil is this Mrs. Bryce?”
“I am still working on the answer to that question. However, I have discovered that, among other things, she is a correspondent for the Flying Intelligencer.”
“I don’t believe it. She writes for the sensation press?”
“Yes.”
“But you despise the press because of how it handled Fiona’s tragic death. I find it difficult to believe that you have formed an association with a journalist.”
“It comes as something of a surprise to me, as well, sir. But, then, I have discovered that Mrs. Bryce has a way of keeping one off balance. While we’re on the subject, I would appreciate it if you would keep Mrs. Bryce’s career a deep, dark family secret. She goes to great lengths to conceal her identity.”
Marcus’s brows shot skyward. “Because she’s a female?”
“In part, no doubt. But the primary reason she uses a pen name is because she conducts her journalistic investigations in the Polite World. Her career would come to an end rather quickly if her identity were to be revealed to Society.”
“That’s a fact.” Marcus snorted. “Her name would be dropped from every guest list in town if word got out. She would never receive another invitation.”
“Precisely.”
Marcus stroked his chin thoughtfully. “This is astonishing. Absolutely astonishing.”
“Do you recall the Bromley scandal?”
“I should think so. Talk about a sensation. Who would have imagined that pretentious, self-righteous prig, Lord Bromley, was making money off a ring of opium dens. When the news appeared in the Flying Intelligencer, Bromley was forced to leave the country on an extended tour of America. He hasn’t dared return.”
“Mrs. Bryce is the one who first reported that story and presented evidence to the public. She writes under the name I. M. Phantom.”
“So she’s Phantom.” Marcus paused, frowning. “And now she’s after Hastings. Well, well, well.”
“I tried to talk her out of conducting the investigation, but she won’t hear of it. I feel responsible for seeing to it that she doesn’t come to an
y harm, so I have agreed to work with her on this venture. For the foreseeable future it will appear to the world that she and I have formed an intimate liaison.”
“I see.” Marcus looked shrewd. “And have you?”
“I assure you, our association is based entirely on business.”
“According to your grandmother, everyone is saying that you have formed an intimate liaison with Mrs. Bryce.”
“That is the point, sir. With luck, the gossip will serve as camouflage. If people, including Hastings, believe that Mrs. Bryce and I are involved in a liaison, they are less likely to guess what we are really about.”
“An interesting theory,” Marcus said without inflection.
“Unfortunately, it is the only one I’ve got. Good day, sir.”
Anthony left and walked swiftly toward the staircase. He half-expected Clarice to be lurking in the front hall, but luck was with him. There was no one around downstairs. Nevertheless, he did not breathe easily until he was safely outside on the street.
MARCUS WAITED until he heard the front door open and close. When he was certain that Anthony had departed, he took off the leather apron and went downstairs to the library.
Georgiana and Clarice were both drinking tea. They looked at him with expectant expressions.
“Did Tony tell you anything about his association with Mrs. Bryce, Papa?” Clarice asked.
“A little.” Marcus took the cup of tea that Georgiana held out to him. “It is all quite amazing. Bizarre, in fact.”
“Do you think he is serious about her, dear?” Georgiana asked. “Or is she some passing fancy?”
“She’s no passing fancy,” Marcus said, absolutely certain of the conclusion. “Although I don’t think Tony realizes that yet. He’s still fixated on finding Fiona’s killer.”
“What do you think of Mrs. Bryce?” Georgiana asked.
“Difficult to say. Haven’t even met the woman.” Marcus drank some tea and lowered the cup. “But from what I’ve heard so far, I’d say she would fit rather well into this family.”
13
Miranda Fawcett agreed to meet with them the following day. She received Louisa and Anthony in a grand drawing room that resembled the lobby of a luxurious theater. Red velvet curtains trimmed with gold cords framed the windows. The carpet was crimson, decorated with an elaborate flower motif. The sofa and chairs were gilded and covered in gold upholstery. A heavy crystal chandelier hung overhead.
Miranda, herself, was equally striking in a turquoise-blue tea gown and a vast amount of pearls. She wore an impressive crown of hair done in an intricate style that must have taken hours to prepare. Louisa was certain their hostess was wearing a wig. Very few women of Miranda’s age—or any other age, for that matter—possessed such a great volume of hair. The rich brown color was equally suspicious.
“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Stalbridge.” Miranda sparkled up at Anthony as he inclined his head over her hand.
“The pleasure is all mine, Mrs. Fawcett.” He straightened, smiling. “You are a legend, madam. But, then, you know that. No actress has ever been able to replace you on the stage. I was fortunate enough to see your last performance as Lady Macbeth.”
Louisa nearly fell out of her chair. Anthony could certainly turn on the gallantry at will. Half an hour ago, when he had arrived in Arden Square to collect her for their appointment with Miranda, he had not seemed the least bit pleased at the prospect of meeting the retired actress. He had, in fact, been quite stunned to learn the identity of her informant.
“How the devil did you come to meet Miranda Fawcett?” he growled, following Louisa up into the carriage.
“I was able to do her a small favor shortly after I took up my career as a journalist,” Louisa explained. “She was grateful.”
“The woman must be nearing sixty.”
“I believe so, yes.”
Anthony leaned back against the seat and grew thoughtful. “In her day she was said to be the mistress of some of the most powerful men in the country.”
“So Emma told me.”
“There were rumors that she formed a long-term liaison with a man named Clement Corvus.”
“I believe Miranda has mentioned his name on occasion.”
“Louisa, the man is reputed to be a crime lord.”
“Surely not, sir.” She smiled serenely. “Had Mr. Corvus been a criminal he would have been arrested.”
“From what I have heard, he is far too clever to get caught. He is always careful to keep himself at arm’s length from the criminal activities from which he profits. They say he lives like a gentleman of wealth and means while running an underworld empire. On the street he is known as The Raven.”
The authority that rang in his voice captured her attention. She regarded him with sudden curiosity.
“You seem to know a great deal about Mr. Corvus,” she said.
Anthony hesitated. “He has been on my mind of late. I’ll be frank. The fact that you have a connection with his former mistress makes me extremely uneasy.”
“I do not believe that there is anything former about their relationship,” Louisa said, amused. “I have the impression that they are still quite close. Miss Fawcett makes an excellent informant. I would not be surprised if much of the information she has given me came directly from The Raven.”
“Why would he wish to assist a newspaper correspondent?”
She gave a tiny shrug. “Perhaps it amuses him. I know Miss Fawcett finds being my informant extremely entertaining.”
“Just what sort of favor did you do for her?”
“It is a long story.”
Watching Miranda glitter and glow now, Louisa felt a mix of amusement and admiration. At the height of her career, Miranda had been the most celebrated actress in England. She had also toured America to great acclaim. Although she had left the stage it was plain that she had lost none of her ability to charm an audience.
Miranda dimpled at Anthony. “You are very kind, sir. I must admit, sometimes I cannot believe that I have been out of the theater for so long. I miss it dreadfully. Real life can be so excruciatingly dull.” She flashed a knowing smile at Louisa. “At least it was until I made the acquaintance of Mrs. Bryce. I vow, she has brought a new zest into my drab existence.”
Anthony sat down in one of the gold chairs. “Mrs. Bryce does have a way of injecting a certain excitement into things.”
Louisa shot him a repressive glare. He gave her a polite smile.
“Indeed, she does,” Miranda said. She regarded Anthony with an expectant air. “She tells me that you are assisting her in one of her exciting little investigations, Mr. Stalbridge.”
“I thought it would be amusing,” Anthony said. “I, too, have found life a trifle dull of late.”
Louisa raised her eyes to the ceiling.
Miranda gave a throaty chuckle. “Mrs. Bryce will soon rectify that problem for you.”
“I have already noticed a marked change in the monotonous routine of my daily affairs,” he assured her.
Hah, Louisa thought. Nothing about his life could possibly be routine, let alone monotonous.
“I can well imagine that,” Miranda murmured. “One hears that after you returned from your extensive travels abroad a few years ago you immersed yourself in the business of managing your family’s finances.”
Startled, Louisa looked at Anthony for confirmation.
“It is dull work,” he admitted. “Unfortunately, it became painfully clear that I was the only one in the family with a head for investments.”
Miranda chuckled. “By all accounts you are, indeed, exceptionally skilled in that regard. One hears that you saved the entire Stalbridge clan from bankruptcy.”
“Our fortunes have historically tended to fluctuate somewhat,” he said politely.
Miranda winked. “Not since you took the helm. I trust your family is suitably grateful for your financial talents.”
He smiled. “Very few members of my family pay any a
ttention whatsoever to finances. They only notice if there is suddenly no money conveniently at hand.”
Louisa felt the heat rush into her face. To think she’d once imagined that he had restored the family fortune via a career as a jewel thief.
She cleared her throat. “Thank you for seeing us, Miranda,” she said in a businesslike manner. “It was very kind of you.”
“Nonsense. I’ve been looking forward to it.” Miranda smiled. “I do so enjoy our little conferences.”
Anthony looked at her. “May I ask how you and Mrs. Bryce came to form your interesting association?”
“Hasn’t she told you?” Miranda raised her brows. “The truth is, sir, I am very much in her debt. Several months ago she came to me because she discovered that I was about to invest a considerable sum of money in an investment scheme that was being concocted by two socially prominent gentlemen.”
Anthony looked at Louisa.
“The California Mine Swindle,” she said.
“Ah, yes.” Anthony leaned back in his chair. “I remember it well. Grayson and Lord Bartlett were the two men behind the swindle. In the wake of the reports in the press, they were forced to retire to their estates.”
“The scheme was a complete fraud, of course,” Miranda said coldly. “It was designed to take advantage of people like me. People who possess money but who do not move in Society.”
“Yes,” Anthony said quietly. “I know.”
Miranda made a soft sound of disgust. “Grayson and Bartlett would never have dreamed of ruining any of their high-ranking acquaintances in the Polite World, but they did not hesitate to destroy those whom they felt were beneath them. I was not the only intended victim.”
Louisa gripped her muff very tightly. “They laughed about it.”
Anthony contemplated her with an enigmatic expression. “How did you come to learn of the scheme in time to warn Miss Fawcett?”
“It was a matter of the sheerest chance,” she said. “Emma and I attended an art exhibition one evening. The hall was very warm. I stepped outside to get some fresh air, and I overheard part of a conversation that was taking place between Grayson and Lord Bartlett. I did not catch all the details, but it was enough to know that they were plotting some villainy involving Miss Fawcett.”