Don't Look Back (20 page)

Emeline gave him her warm, gracious smile. "Good morning, sir. How nice to see you."

"Miss Emeline."

Her smile dimmed only slightly when she looked past him into the empty hall. "Oh, I see Mr. Sinclair did not accompany you."

"He will be along in an hour to fetch you so that the two of you may start your inquiries at the Banks mansion." He turned to Lavinia. "Good morning, madam."

Lavinia looked up from the morning paper, a decidedly frosty expression in her vivid eyes. She was dressed in a rich, dark purple-red gown that framed her elegant neck in a dainty little ruff. Her red hair was bound up in a stylish knot at the back of her nicely shaped head and set off with a lacy cap. He thought about making love to her in the Stillwaters' conservatory and how it had felt when she had come undone in his arms. The memories heated his blood. He wondered if he would ever grow accustomed to the effect she had on him.

He smiled. "I vow, your eyes resemble emerald seas in the morning sun."

"It is raining, in case you had not noticed, sir."

Emeline gave Lavinia a troubled frown. "Aunt Lavinia, there's no need to be rude. Mr. March paid you a very pretty compliment."

"No, he did not." Lavinia turned the page in her paper. "The remark about my eyes was just another part of a diabolical experiment he is attempting to perform on me."

Emeline was clearly baffled. "An
experiment}"

"Mr. March thinks to employ charm in an effort to influence me so that I will take his instructions and orders in regard to my business affairs."

Emeline switched her bemused eyes to Tobias, silently seeking clarification.

He pulled out a chair and winked at her. "As you can see from her gracious, welcoming manner, my cunning plan is working. She is soft clay in my hands." He reached for the coffeepot.

Lavinia folded the paper with a crisp snap. "We do not generally expect callers at breakfast, you know."

"I'm amazed to hear you say that." He slathered butter on a muffin. "I have joined you for breakfast on several occasions of late. One would have thought that you would have grown accustomed to the sight of me at your table at this hour. Mrs. Chilton certainly has.

I've noticed that she has begun making extra servings of everything."

"Indeed. And I have noticed the cost of those extra servings. They have begun making a dent in the household accounts."

"Larder and pantry getting a bit bare?" He helped himself to a large spoonful of currant jam. "Don't fret. I shall have Whitby send over some supplies."

"That is not the point," Lavinia said.

He took a mouthful of muffin. "Why raise the issue if it is not the point?"

Emeline chuckled. "My aunt is in an ill temper this morning, sir. Do not pay her any heed."

"Thank you for alerting me to her foul mood." He swallowed the bite of muffin. "I might have missed it altogether if you had not called it to my attention."

Lavinia rolled her eyes and went back to reading the paper.

"Never mind," Emeline said quickly. "Please tell me more about the inquiries Anthony and I are to conduct today."

"Mrs. Rushton has agreed to allow you to question the members of her household staff," he said. "We wish to ascertain whether any of them might have had access to the key to the safe in Banks's dressing room."

"I see. You believe that one of them might have been involved in the theft of the bracelet?"

"It is a possibility that must be ruled out. But you and Anthony will need to be subtle in your questioning. None of the servants is likely to simply announce that he knows something about the affair."

"No, of course not." Emeline's enthusiasm for the project vibrated in her voice. "Anthony and I will be very cautious and circumspect."

"Remember to make notes, even if the details you learn do not sound as if they would be important.

Sometimes the smallest point proves to be crucial to the solution."

"I shall keep very complete notes," Emeline assured him.

Tobias looked at Lavinia. "What are your plans for the day, madam?"

"I have a few errands to see to this afternoon," Lavinia said with a vague air as she continued to read her newspaper. "I thought that I would call upon Mrs. Dove to find out if she has had any new thoughts on the case. What about you, sir?"

"I intend to consult with Crackenburne and Smiling Jack again," he said. He could be vague, too, he thought.

She nodded without looking up. "An excellent plan."

No doubt about it, he thought. Lavinia had concocted some private scheme she intended to carry out today. He knew the signs all too well.

The great difficulty in conducting an investigation with Lavinia was that he was obliged to spend nearly as much time keeping an eye on her as he did searching for answers for the client.

The dark green door opened just as Lavinia started up the steps. A woman emerged from the front hall of Dr. Darfield's rooms. Her cheeks were flushed with the pink glow of good health and there was a cheerful expression in her lively eyes.

"Good day." The lady bestowed a friendly smile on Lavinia as she swept past. "Lovely weather, is it not?"

"Very nice," Lavinia murmured.

The lady set off with an energetic stride, a living tribute to the skills of Dr. Darfield. Lavinia watched her for a moment, thinking of Mrs. Rushton's enthusiasm for the treatments she received from the mesmerist.

Obviously the good doctor inspired a very positive reaction in his patients.

She continued up the steps and clanged the knocker, still not certain what had induced this urge to pay a call on Mrs. Rushton's mesmerist today. Perhaps it had something to do with the great disappointment she had endured yesterday. She had been so certain that Mrs. Rushton's interest in the mesmeric therapies constituted a link with Celeste. It was very hard to give up the notion that she had come across a clue.

The door opened almost at once. A very handsome young man smiled at her. He was fashionably dressed in a brown velvet coat, yellow waistcoat, pleated trousers, and an intricately tied cravat. His blond hair had been ruthlessly attacked by a curling iron. Artfully arranged curls fell forward over his eyes in a seemingly careless style that had no doubt required a great deal of time in front of a mirror.

"Good day, sir. I wish to consult with Dr. Darfield."

"Do you have an appointment?"

"No, I'm afraid not." She stepped quickly into the hall and turned to smile at him before he could figure out how to politely close the door in her face. "My case of bad nerves came upon me quite suddenly this morning and I cannot wait for professional assistance. I fear that if I do not get help immediately, I may have an attack of female hysteria. I am hoping that you will be able to fit me into Dr. Darfield's schedule."

The young man looked deeply troubled. "I'm so sorry, but Dr. Darfield is very busy today. Perhaps you could come back tomorrow?"

"I'm afraid I really must see him now. My nerves are in the most dreadful condition. They are very delicate."

"I understand, but—"

She recalled the details of Dr. Darfield's advertisement, with its emphasis on widows and married ladies. "I have been a widow for some time and I fear that the strain of being alone in the world has taken its toll." She patted her reticule. "I am, of course, prepared to pay a bit extra for the inconvenience to Dr. Darfield's schedule."

"I see." The young man glanced thoughtfully at her reticule. "In advance, as it were?"

"Yes, of course."

He gave her a winning smile. "Why don't you have a seat in the reception room and I will have a look at the appointment book. It may be possible to work you in this afternoon."

"I cannot tell you how grateful I am for your consideration."

The secretary ushered her into a room across the hall and disappeared. Lavinia sat down, removed her bonnet, and surveyed her surroundings with professional interest.

She was accustomed to the soothing, calming quality that most practitioners of mesmerism sought to effect in their reception rooms. But Dr. Darfield's decorator had chosen a more dramatic theme.

The walls were covered with large murals depicting scenes from a Roman bath. Admirably painted classical columns framed tableaux of voluptuous, scantily draped ladies disporting themselves in the waters.

There were a number of full-size statues standing in the corners of the room. She recognized them as reproductions, but they were all very nicely modeled figures of nude Greek and Roman gods. Upon closer inspection she saw that they were extremely
well-endowed
gods. Not unlike some of the statuary that she had sold quite profitably during her sojourn in Italy, she thought.

Scenes of lovers entwined in various graphic poses were depicted on the red-figure Greek vases that flanked the windows.

There always seemed to be an inexhaustible demand for naked Greek and Roman gods in the antiquities business, but she was somewhat startled to see such figures here in a mesmerist's waiting room.

A low, masculine voice drew her attention to the small group of people in the corner. Three ladies, presumably patients, were gathered around a young man who, if anything, was even more handsome than the secretary. He read to the ladies from a leather-bound volume.

Lavinia recognized the lines. They were from one of Shakespeare's more sensual sonnets. Pleased with the prospect of listening to some well-read poetry, she collected her skirts, preparing to rise and move to another chair, one that was closer to the young man with the book.

At that moment, the door of the waiting room opened again. The blond secretary motioned to Lavinia.

"Dr. Darfield will see you now," he said in a low voice.

"Excellent." Already out of her chair, she changed direction and went through the door into the hall.

The secretary closed the door softly and inclined his head toward the staircase.

"Dr. Darfield's treatment rooms are on the floor above," he said. "If you will follow me I will show you."

"Thank you."

He gave her a charming smile. "But I must ask that you pay the fee in advance."

"Yes, of course." She opened her reticule.

The business transaction was completed with stunning efficiency. When it was finished, the secretary escorted her up the stairs and down a hall. He opened a door and bowed her into the chamber.

"Please be seated in the treatment chair. Dr. Darfield will be with you shortly."

She went through the opening and found herself in a dimly lit room. Heavy drapes were drawn across the window. A single candle burned on a table. The air was scented with fragrant incense.

The door closed quietly behind her. When her eyes were adjusted to the low illumination, she saw a large, padded chair with an unusual, hinged footrest and wide arms in the center of the room. A strange-looking mechanical device with a hand crank sat on a small, wheeled cart.

She put her bonnet aside and went forward to sit down on the padded chair. It proved to be quite comfortable, even with the footrest down.

The door opened just as she was bending over to see how the footrest worked.

"Mrs. Lake? I am Dr. Darfield."

"Oh." She sat up quickly at the sound of the deep, resonant voice.

A tall, broad-shouldered man dressed in exotically patterned blue robes stood in the doorway. The attire marked him as a true student of Mesmer, she thought. She had read accounts written by persons who had been privileged to observe the great man at work. According to them, Mesmer had favored flowing robes, subdued lighting, and background music played by handsome young men. Several of the observers had also taken note of the large numbers of women who had flocked to Mesmer's rooms for treatments, she recalled.

Darfield's brown hair was cut in a fashionable style that set off his deep, penetrating eyes and showed his excellent profile to perfection. He was not quite so handsome as his assistants, she decided, but he was a good deal more interesting, probably because he was not as young as his employees. It occurred to her that she had reached the age when a gentleman with some crinkles at the corners of his eyes and some experience of the world on his face was vastly more intriguing than a smooth-faced younger man.

She gave him what she hoped was a suitably grateful smile, the sort of smile a lady on the brink of a fit of female hysteria might give her medical practitioner.

"It was kind of you to see me on such short notice," she said.

Dr. Darfield walked into the chamber and closed the door. "My secretary tells me that your nerves are in very bad condition. Something of an emergency, I collect."

"Yes, I have been under considerable strain lately and I fear my nerves have not borne up well. I do hope you will be able to relieve me of some of my tension and anxiety."

"I will be happy to do what I can." Darfield picked up the single taper and carried it across the room to where she sat. "May I ask how you learned of my practice?"

"I saw your advertisement in a newspaper," she said, not wanting to mention Mrs. Rushton's name.

"I see." He sat down in a wooden chair across from her, his knees very close to her own. He looked at her across the flame of the candle. In the shadows his eyes were even more penetrating. "You were not referred by one of my other clients, then?"

"No."

"Very well. In that case perhaps I should explain a bit about my therapy. It is necessary that you relax and gaze directly at the flame."

She had no intention of allowing him to hypnotize her. In point of fact, she was not a good subject, according to her parents, who had run some experiments. But she had been an expert practitioner at one time and she certainly knew what a trance looked like in others.

A feigned trance would provide her with an opportunity to observe Dr. Darfield at work. Even if it transpired that it provided no particular insight into her investigation, it was always interesting to observe another professional in the field.

"A lady's nerves are delicate, in keeping with the gentle, refined sensibilities that nature has bestowed upon her." Dr. Darfield's voice was low and deep, with a melodious quality that could have taken him far in the theater. "This is especially true in widows such as yourself, who are deprived of the normal attentions of a husband."