The River Knows

by Amanda Quick

  “I do not know it for certain, of course,” Louisa said hastily. “It is a vague hunch that has been gradually forming in my mind. I meant to tell you about it when we returned to Arden Square after tea with your family this afternoon, but we got distracted, if you will recall.”

  His smile was slow and wicked. “Rest assured, Louisa, I recall every detail of that very delightful distraction.”

  She blushed and pressed on valiantly. “I am wondering if perhaps we should investigate the possibility that Victoria Hastings is still alive.”

  “Very well. Let us consider your theory. First, assuming that she is alive, why would she murder Grantley and Thurlow?”

  “I do not know.” Louisa spread her gloved hands. “But you will admit that she is one of the few people who might have been aware that both men were important to Hastings.”

  Anthony was silent for a moment. Then he inclined his head. “Go on. I’m listening.”

  She reached into her muff and took out her small notebook. Opening it to the pages headed VH she ran through the few facts that she had jotted down.

  “The thing that caught my attention at the start of this affair was that Victoria’s body was never recovered.”

  “That is sometimes the case with drownings.”

  “Yes, I know, but you will admit that fact does leave open the possibility that she survived.”

  “She would have to have been incredibly lucky, and she would have to have known how to swim. Women rarely learn that skill.”

  Louisa met his eyes. “Victoria Hastings knew how to swim.”

  Anthony watched her with growing curiosity. “How the devil did you discover that?”

  “Emma told me. I had a long talk with her about Victoria. Emma knows how to swim, you see. She mentioned, in passing, that Victoria Hastings was the only other woman she had ever met in Society who also possessed the skill.”

  “Interesting. Nevertheless, even if Victoria could swim, one would think that the weight of her gown and underclothes would have dragged her under.”

  “You are assuming that Hastings threw her into the river, but what if she staged her own suicide?”

  That gave him pause. “What put that notion into your head?”

  She had to be very cautious here. She could hardly tell him that she had come up with the possibility because she herself had faked her own death, and that her inspiration had come from the account of Victoria Hastings’s suicide primarily because the body was never recovered.

  She made what she hoped was a very casual gesture. “Oh, I suppose it is all those novels and plays about missing wives and husbands who always show up at the end of the story claiming to have miraculously survived a watery grave or some other catastrophe.”

  “Thereby ruining the possibility of a happy ending for the couple involved in the illicit tryst,” Anthony observed.

  She flushed and looked down at her notes. “Yes, well, to continue, one of the people I interviewed before I joined forces with you was Victoria’s lady’s maid. Elwin dismissed her after Victoria disappeared.”

  “You tracked down the maid? I’m impressed. That was very resourceful of you.”

  “Thank you.” She consulted her notes. “I was only interested in information concerning Mr. Hastings at the time, of course, but I did jot down some of the things the maid said about her former mistress.”

  “What did she tell you?”

  “The maid’s name is Sally. After she lost her position in the Hastings mansion she was hired by Lady Mounthaven, who allowed me to speak with her. Sally told me that her last task before leaving Hastings’s employ was to pack up Victoria’s clothes and possessions and send them to charity. She mentioned that the only thing missing from Victoria’s wardrobe was a nightgown.”

  “That would seem to work against your theory that she staged her own death. Surely a woman intent on disappearing would be unlikely to go off into the night in only a nightgown.”

  “But what if she had planned the so-called suicide well in advance? She would have had time to acquire a gown without her maid’s knowledge. She could have concealed it until she needed it. When she disappeared, leaving her entire wardrobe behind, her husband would be more likely to believe that she really had suffered a nervous breakdown, wandered down to the river, and jumped.”

  “You’ve given this a lot of thought, haven’t you?”

  She hesitated, once again selecting each word with great care. “You and Emma both agreed that Victoria Hastings did not seem the type to commit suicide.”

  “True.”

  “Emma said that Victoria had always struck her as a very determined, very strong-willed woman. She was quite surprised to read in the press that Mrs. Hastings was prone to bouts of weak nerves and melancholia.”

  “It was no doubt Elwin Hastings who put out that rumor,” Anthony said. “What else did the maid tell you?”

  “The most interesting piece of information she offered was that Hastings and Victoria talked a great deal about financial matters. She said her former mistress was very clever when it came to that sort of thing and that Mr. Hastings always took her advice.”

  Anthony went quite still. “You’re right. That is very curious. None of the rumors I picked up in the clubs suggested that she was intimately involved in arranging his investment consortiums.”

  “Well, one would hardly expect the gentlemen of the Polite World to consider for even a moment that a lady might possess a talent for financial matters.”

  “There is no need to remind me that a man can sometimes be quite oblivious to a lady’s abilities.” Anthony sank deeper into the corner of the seat, looking very thoughtful. “At the time that Hastings and Victoria were married, Hastings was rumored to be facing financial ruin, but within months of the wedding, his finances appeared to have greatly improved. He began putting together his various extremely successful investment consortiums.”

  A thought struck Louisa. “The blackmail schemes were instituted while Victoria was alive, also.”

  “But if Victoria was the one who planned those clever financial maneuvers,” Anthony said patiently, “why would she disappear and leave everything, including her money, behind? I still say he killed her.”

  “You may be right,” Louisa admitted. “But why would he murder her if she was the source of his new wealth?”

  “Perhaps he convinced himself that he no longer needed her. Did you learn anything else from the maid?”

  She turned a page in the notebook and glanced at what she had written. “She told me that she and the rest of the staff were given the evening off the night Mrs. Hastings disappeared.”

  “That was certainly convenient for someone,” Anthony said. “Is that all?”

  Louisa cleared her throat. “Well, there was one more thing.”

  “What?”

  She took a deep breath and readied herself for the next revelation.

  “Sally indicated that Mr. and Mrs. Hastings had what she termed a most vigorous private life,” she said, trying to sound businesslike and worldly.

  Anthony’s brows rose. “Vigorous?”

  Louisa closed her notebook with a snap. “It is difficult to conceive of this, but evidently a whip was involved.”

  “I see.” Anthony’s tone was suspiciously even.

  She looked up quickly and found him watching her with an amused expression. Heat rose in her cheeks. “According to the information I received from Roberta Woods, Elwin Hastings has not lost his taste for the whip. Indeed, that is the service he requests on his weekly visits to Phoenix House.”

  “I think,” Anthony said, “that we need more information on Phoenix House.”

  “Yes.”

  Anthony fell silent again, watching her from the shadows.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked after a moment.

  He smiled slowly, eyes darkly brilliant. “That you really are the most amazing woman.”

  “Oh.” She was not sure how to take that. “Wel
l, you are rather amazing, too, sir.”

  “We make a good match, don’t you think?”

  Her spirits rose. “Our partnership is certainly working out quite well.”

  There was another silence. She peered at him uneasily.

  “What are you thinking now, sir?” she asked when she could stand the suspense no longer.

  “I am thinking that I purchased some French letters on my way home from Arden Square this afternoon.”

  She blushed furiously. “I see.” Curiosity got the better of her. “Uh, where does one buy that sort of thing?”

  “The same place one buys books.” His smile widened. “In a shop.”

  “I see.” She frowned, amazed. “There are actually shops that specialize in such items?”

  “Yes. This particular shop advertised devices guaranteed to satisfy gentlemen of intrigue concerned with discretion.”

  “How very interesting.”

  “I’m surprised that you are not jotting down that bit of information in your little notebook.”

  “An excellent notion, sir. Thank you for reminding me.” She started to reach into her muff.

  He laughed softly, reached across the seat and pulled her onto his lap.

  “Before you do that, I suggest we try out one of my new purchases,” he said against her mouth. “Just to ensure that it works in a satisfactory manner, of course.”

  A rush of excitement swept through her. She touched the side of his face with one gloved hand.

  “In a carriage, sir?” she whispered.

  “Why not? I have it on good authority that carriages are very popular with illicit lovers.”

  He pulled the blinds down across the windows. A warm, inviting darkness enveloped them. His mouth closed over hers, seductive, urgent, and demanding.

  She stripped off her gloves and then she unfastened his shirt.

  The French letters worked as advertised.

  “Only think of the time that will be saved laundering and ironing your handkerchiefs,” Louisa said some time later.

  39

  Sorry to bother you with another message, Mrs. Bryce.” Roberta Woods poured tea into a thick mug. “But you did say that you wanted to be kept informed of anything of interest having to do with Mr. Hastings and his visits to Phoenix House.”

  “That’s right, Roberta, please don’t apologize. I was delighted to get your message.” Louisa took the notepad and pencil out of her muff and put them down on the table. “What have you learned?”

  They were sitting in the tiny upstairs parlor of the little house on Swanton Lane. It was midafternoon, and things were relatively quiet at the moment. The women of the streets seldom showed up until after dark. The muffled clang of pots and pans echoed from the kitchen, where the cook and her assistant were busy with preparations for the evening meal.

  Roberta was a strong, vital woman who seemed animated from head to toe with the zealous energy and determination of a dedicated social reformer. She set the mugs on the table and sat down across from Louisa.

  “A woman who claimed her name was Daisy showed up here just before dawn this morning,” she said. “The poor thing looked quite dreadful. She works at Phoenix House. A few days ago one of the customers beat her within an inch of her life.”

  “Good heavens. Did she need a doctor?”

  “She refused to see one. Said she couldn’t afford it. I told her that this establishment would pay the doctor’s fee, but she still refused. I could tell that she was badly frightened.”

  “Of the man who beat her?”

  “No, that is the interesting part.” Roberta’s eyes narrowed. “She was afraid of the proprietor of the brothel.”

  “Madam Phoenix?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did she say why?”

  “It seems that Daisy was more or less sold to the proprietor by one of her dead husband’s creditors.”

  Louisa’s fingers tightened around the pencil. “Not the first time we’ve heard that sad story from a woman who works at Phoenix House, is it?”

  “No,” Roberta agreed in steely tones. “It isn’t. In any event, Daisy was sure the proprietor would be furious if she discovered that one of her girls had run off before she had earned back her purchase price, so to speak.”

  “Go on.”

  Roberta drank some tea and put down the mug. “Daisy fled Phoenix House for good this morning. She had a little suitcase with her. She came here to ask for help. She said she’d heard rumors that someone at this establishment was willing to pay for information on one of the clients at Phoenix House. Elwin Hastings.”

  “Did you give her some money?”

  “Yes. Then I sent her to The Agency. She will be safe there, at least for now. They will conceal her identity.”

  “What did Daisy tell you about Hastings?”

  “Not a great deal, but you might find it interesting. Because of the beating, Daisy has been unable to earn her keep for the past few days. She was assigned to work as a maid until she healed, and she was told to keep out of sight of the customers. One of her tasks has been to scrub Madam Phoenix’s private bath every day.”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, yesterday, while she was going about her duties she overheard a conversation between Madam Phoenix and her lover.”

  Louisa looked up. “The proprietor of the brothel has a lover?”

  “Evidently. Daisy was in the bath, cleaning, at the time. She didn’t hear everything, but she did catch Elwin Hastings’s name.”

  “What was said about him?”

  “Daisy only caught snatches of the conversation, but she said that it was obvious that Madam Phoenix and her lover were arguing about Hastings. Madam Phoenix wanted to wait a little longer to do something. Her lover told her she should do it immediately.”

  “Do what?”

  Roberta moved one hand in a frustrated gesture. “That’s just it, Daisy didn’t know. All she could tell me was that Madam Phoenix and her lover disagreed about when something should be done about Hastings. She said the quarrel was quite intense.”

  Louisa made another note and then sat back, pondering the possibilities. “Did she say who won the argument?”

  Roberta made a face. “Madam Phoenix, of course. Daisy says she’s very strong willed. No one goes against her, not even her lover. According to Daisy he does whatever Madam Phoenix tells him to do.”

  Louisa picked up the mug and drank some tea. “Did Daisy know the name of the lover?”

  “She said no one knows his name. He comes and goes through the kitchen door, not the main entrance, and he always uses the servant’s stairs. The staff is instructed to allow him into the house whenever he shows up.”

  “How often does he visit?”

  “That was one of the interesting things Daisy told me,” Roberta said quietly. “It seems that the lover often meets Madam Phoenix in her private rooms at the same time that Hastings is getting his treatment.”

  Louisa tapped the tip of the pencil against the table. “How did she describe him?”

  “Said he was handsome enough, if you liked the hard-eyed type. Daisy does not like that sort, by the way. Dark-haired. Always wears an overcoat when he comes to visit.”

  “That could describe a thousand men. Anything else?”

  “One more thing,” Roberta said. “Daisy said he wore a very fine ring. Onyx and gold.”

  Louisa caught her breath. Then she wrote the name very carefully in her notebook.

  Quinby.

  40

  She hurried back to Arden Square, trying to make sense of what she had learned. It might mean nothing aside from the obvious, of course. What did it signify if Quinby was having an affair with Madam Phoenix? According to Daisy he had started visiting Phoenix House a couple of months ago. The implication was that he had met Madam Phoenix before he had become one of Hastings’s guards.

  What was so odd about a liaison between Quinby and the brothel proprietor? Quinby was a handsome man, after all, if
you didn’t mind those reptilian eyes. Madam Phoenix had every reason to be attracted to him and vice versa. They were probably two of a kind.

  The door of Number Twelve opened before she could dig out her key.

  “Welcome home, Mrs. Bryce.” Mrs. Galt stepped back. “There’s another message for you. It was delivered a few minutes ago. I put it on your desk.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Galt.”

  Louisa untied the strings of her bonnet and hung it on a hook. She went down the hall to her study, stripping off her gloves.

  The white envelope sat on the blotter. She picked it up, tore it open, and read the brief note written in a neat hand.

  I have obtained the Milton at a reasonable price. However, another client is quite eager to purchase it and will likely pay more. I will give you until five o’clock this afternoon to come for the book. If I do not hear from you, I shall send word to the other customer.

  Yrs.

  Digby

  Damn Digby. He would have to turn up the Milton this afternoon when she had other matters to deal with. She glanced at the tall clock in the corner. It was four-thirty. If she left immediately she could get to Digby’s Bookshop by five, pick up the book, and be home around five-thirty. There would be time enough to send word to Anthony about her recent discoveries after she returned from the shop.

  She went back out into the hall, tugging on her gloves. “Mrs. Galt?”

  The housekeeper appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. “What is it, ma’am?”

  “I must go out again.” Louisa went into the front hall and plucked the straw bonnet off the hook. “The message was from Digby. He has found a book that I am anxious to buy. I will be back by five-thirty at the latest.”

  “Very well, ma’am. Best take your cloak. You don’t want to catch a chill.”

  “You’re right.” Louisa took down the cloak and pulled it around her shoulders. “I’m expecting Mr. Stalbridge to call. If he shows up, please ask him to wait.”

  She snatched up her muff and flew out the door.

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