Powder of Sin (18 page)

He was at the parlor door and knocked—hard. “It’s
Reed,” he shouted. “And I’m opening the door in thirty
seconds.”

“Make it a full minute,” Clermont called back
cheerily.

Beels stood next to Reed, puffed up and pale. “He
did not bribe me, sir. I did not speak to him at all after
announcing him. Lady Williamsford gave orders for privacy. She was
quite definite about not wishing interruptions.”

“That’s something. Glad to hear she wasn’t
reluctant.” He supposed that was good news. In a louder voice, Reed
said, “I’m counting down, Clermont.”

When he opened the door less than thirty seconds
later, both Clermont and the lady were fully dressed. Slightly
rumpled, perhaps, and pink, but no garments were askew, and her
hair was up and almost neat. Only a few wisps of her blonde hair
had escaped the complex arrangement of curls and braids.

The room looked more disheveled than either of them.
Of course. They’d been searching for the powder.

“Mr. Reed. My daughter’s good friend.” Lady
Williamsford came forward, hand outstretched. “You’re here for
another philosophical discussion, no doubt. Have you met Mr.
Clermont?”

“We’re traveling together. For the moment,” Reed
answered. He could see she’d known the answer to her question, and
wondered if Miss Ambermere or Clermont had told her of his job as
Clermont’s keeper. “I hope you’re well, my lady?”

“Topping, as you English say. Take a seat. My
daughter isn’t home, but I’m sure she won’t mind if I act as
hostess. Mr. Clermont was just trying to leave when I arrived home
and insisted he come in for tea. I’ll ring for another cup. And
maybe some more cookies. Those are biscuits, you know.”

“Thank you, my lady.” He went to the same stiff,
high-backed chair he’d taken on previous visits. Near the entrance,
nothing too hard to get up from in case Clermont tried to leave.
Time to be back on full guard.

The door opened, and Miss Ambermere came in. She
smiled brightly at them all and shook hands. He stood watching her,
but not too carefully because he knew Clermont and Lady
Williamsford watched them. He was relieved to see Miss Ambermere
didn’t twist her hands or blush or show any signs of
discomfort.

“And where did you disappear to, dear?” Lady
Williamsford scolded. She exchanged a small smile with
Clermont.

“I had to sign some papers and take something to Mr.
Dorsey. He didn’t like the fact that I went to his office. He’s so
stuffy. A dear man, but nervous about everything.”

Reed wanted to applaud. Good job. This would lead
Clermont to turn the lawyer’s office upside down in the search.

“Oh.” Her mother’s smile didn’t diminish. “And here
is our tea. No need for the females to pour. Silly ritual when your
Beels is so efficient.” She beamed up at him as he handed her a cup
of tea. The butler’s chest seemed to expand.

Lady Williamsford sipped the tea and went on. “I
meant to bring along my own Steppings to take a few lessons from
Beels on being awake and alert. I’ve instructed my Bessie to learn
your Murphy’s secrets. Such a way with your hair, Rosalie. She is a
marvel.”

They drank their tea in silence for a few
minutes.

“Where is Miss Renshaw?” Reed asked. “Is she still
under the weather?”

Lady Williamsford smiled and lied. “She begged my
pardon a thousand times and said she had to go somewhere, even
though we had a visitor in the house. Very mysterious.” She took a
dainty bite of her biscuit, chewed, swallowed, and licked her lips.
“Something has got into that woman, Rosalie. You’d best summon a
doctor. That nerve specialist with the wonderful electric
machine.”

She half closed her eyes and directed her
cat-in-the-cream smile first at Clermont, then Reed. She was like a
cat too, a hunter that disdained all the lesser creatures around
her.

Suddenly, for the first time in ages, Reed wished he
was home. Perhaps the recitation of his sisters’ and brothers’
names had started it. The family he hadn’t seen in more than a
year.

They’d all be bigger now, filled with concerns and
news he’d only heard of in letters. They’d needed his money, and
Elizabeth assured him again and again that she and Edgar could
manage the younger ones without him.

But now he wasn’t sure he wanted to manage without
them. Sitting in the wealthy, sophisticated young lady’s parlor,
he’d had enough of trying to interpret the strange words and body
language of the dedicated decadents. They tried to fill their whole
lives with only the delicious bits, nothing but the rewards without
the work or sweat or any real sentiment.

He wanted the raucous laughter and genuine, rough
embraces of his siblings. Children were selfish creatures too, but
their loving was genuine and uncontaminated by this sort of
greed.

The longing swept through him and left him almost as
confused as kissing Miss Ambermere did.

And then he noticed Miss Ambermere watched him, a
pleading look on her face. He couldn’t tell what she wanted him to
do, but knew something was wrong. The maudlin moment passed—she
needed him.

He got up and walked to a landscape at the far side
of the room. “This painting”—he waved at it—“this is your work,
Miss Ambermere? How did you manage the, er, blue?”

She rose at once and went to his side. To gain some
privacy, he had to turn his back on Clermont, who sat close to the
door. Reed doubted Clermont would simply stand up and leave. For
one thing, he appeared far too intrigued by Lady Williamsford’s
bosom.

“Yes? What’s wrong?” he asked in a low voice. She
looked so pale.

“I’m worried that Hawes will take some of the
powder. He knows what it can do.”

“He does?”

From Rosalie’s grim manner, Reed understood that
Hawes hadn’t just heard rumors—he knew and understood the strength
of the substance. Either the coachman had witnessed Miss Renshaw,
or someone else in the household had been exposed. Poor Miss
Ambermere. “Does he know it’s in your hatbox?”

“I’m sure he suspects. Please go to him. Take the
box and put it…put it…” She closed her eyes and chewed her lip.
“The coal cellar. Behind the furnace. I’m sure that would be safe,
I hope. Oh heavens. I wish I knew the bowels of my own house
better.”

“I wonder if a more private room would be better.
Your bedroom, perhaps?”

“No. That wouldn’t stop my mother, even if I asked
her to stay away.”

“The coal cellar it is. I’ll look for a good spot.
You don’t have a garden shed, so perhaps your gardener stores
supplies in the cellar?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“I’ll find some pot or container. I know how to hide
things. And I shan’t tell anyone but you where I put it.”

“All right.” She pretended to straighten the
picture. “Thank you, Mr. Reed. You are a good friend.”

He scowled. Certainly he wanted to be her friend.
The attraction wouldn’t kill that possibility, would it? If he
spent any time in New York, he might resent any of her true
suitors. But no need to worry about that. He would be gone soon.
Although now he understood he couldn’t go until Dr. Leonard had
neutralized the damnable stuff.

She put a hand on his arm and said, “Oh, I beg your
pardon. You’re looking fierce again. I mean to pay you, of
course.”

Her employee. That was a good way for them to go on
together. He’d ignore the sinking sensation that felt suspiciously
like disappointment.

Rosalie wanted them all gone. Her mother, Mr.
Clermont, even Miss Renshaw, who’d hurried into the room,
breathless and clutching a parcel. Only Mr. Reed should stay, and
they could make plans for the powder and perhaps talk about
something other than the dratted powder—about him, for
instance.

His accent was not lower-class, but that might have
been the product of his schooling rather than his background. She
wanted to know where he came from and how he’d learned to use irons
and a pistol.

A few minutes after they’d pretended to examine the
paintings and returned to their seats, Mr. Reed excused himself.
“Don’t leave without me, Clermont,” he said, smiling, but the
command was clear.

He returned in less than ten minutes and gave her a
tiny nod. He’d managed to hide the powder, and really, she was just
as glad not to know where. For the moment, at any rate.

Her mother was busy describing to Mr. Clermont all
the entertainments she’d planned. Plays, visits, dinners out with
gentlemen. The rancher, Rosalie recalled. Clermont listened
avidly.

“And your daughter will participate in this
delicious menu of events, of course?”

Of course. Deirdre would want her to come along
because she always dragged Rosalie to her city adventures.

As long as Deirdre didn’t insist on visiting the
expert in electrical cures. That greased, sinewy man had vacant,
pale eyes, and the way he twitched was no great advertisement for
electrical cures. She’d waited for her mother in his parlor,
reading health magazines, rather than take his cure.

Rosalie half listened to her mother and Clermont and
shot furtive glances at Reed, who wore his usual mask of boredom.
He sat near her but seemed to ignore her.

If she was free to do anything, she might take the
long ride out to Long Island and watch the seagulls wheeling over
the waves for a few days. It was by no means warm enough for sea
bathing, but she longed for the bracing, sea-scented wind without
the crowds of Rockaway or Coney Island.

Eventually the gentlemen stood, preparing to leave.
Mr. Reed leaned forward a brief moment while the other two were in
some close contact, Deirdre giggling over something Mr. Clermont
said.

Mr. Reed’s breath warmed her ear. “It’s behind the
furnace. You were right; there is a perfect little room there.”

His hand squeezed her arm, reassuring, but she felt
only the thick pang of desire that usually paralyzed her when he
touched her. This was another reason to go to Long Island. The sea
wind would blow away that foolishness.

“Your mother has been kind enough to invite us to
dinner,” Clermont told her as he kissed her hand good-bye.

“Dinner?”

“Here, of course. In two weeks. And don’t you worry;
I have already started plans,” Deirdre said. “The weather will be
lovely, and we might even be able to use that sweet garden of
yours. Croquet under lantern light. Sounds charming, doesn’t it,
gentlemen? Terrapin and champagne. Some sweet birds in cages. Don’t
look cross, dear. I’ll arrange it all.”

She hadn’t looked cross. Rosalie was far too well
trained to express her annoyance, especially not in front of
guests.

She didn’t even feel cross. Rosalie felt nothing but
panic.

Beels had been quietly warned about the coachman’s
visit by Rosalie, so he didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow when he
found Rosalie to announce he’d put Mr. Hawes in the red parlor. He
did put a slight emphasis on the word “mister.”

She wondered if the coachman had been discreet
enough to wait until her mother wasn’t on the premises—Deirdre’s
rancher had taken her out for a drive—or if it was only a
coincidence. Whichever was the answer, she was grateful. The
coachman sat at the edge of a chair. His clothes were surprisingly
quiet and tasteful. She had expected flashy and loud. He did reek
of lavender water and had obviously gone to a barber who favored
scented hair pomade. His hat was gray and new and jiggled as he
balanced it on a knee.

He jumped up when he saw her, and the hat hit the
ground.

“Miss…um. Miss. Yes, Miss Ambermere.” He started to
touch his forelock, then bent in a low bow instead.

“Thank you for helping Mr. Reed with the
hatbox.”

His eye twitched slightly. She’d never noticed he
had an eye twitch before. “Certainly, ma’am. Anything to give
satisfaction. I hope I might have a word with Miss Renshaw?”

“Yes, of course. I’ll go fetch her at once.”

Emily was in the back bedroom, sorting postcards and
buttons. When she heard who waited for her downstairs, she
immediately adopted her martyred look. “For you, Miss Ambermere.
Yes, I shall face him. And be civil and, I hope, kind.”

As the ladies walked down the stairs together,
Rosalie said, “I’ll leave you for a few minutes, shall I?”

“Please, oh no. I beg of you. Don’t leave me.”

“He won’t attack you.”

“But I shall feel so much better knowing my dear
Miss Ambermere was close by at my time of need.”

Rosalie gave up, and when they entered the parlor,
she seated herself in Miss Renshaw’s usual spot, acting as the
chaperone for the chaperone.

Much of the quiet conversation didn’t reach her, but
then she saw Miss Renshaw’s nose turn pink and her eyes well with
tears.

Rosalie got up and moved to a closer chair, and
neither of them seemed to notice her move, thank goodness.

Miss Renshaw groped in her sleeve. “Here, take
mine,” Hawes said and handed her a white handkerchief.

“Thank you. You are so kind, Mr. Hawes. I know. I
shall always remember how kind you have been.”

Now that Rosalie knew Hawes wasn’t insulting or
hurting Miss Renshaw, she should have moved away again, but
didn’t.

“Good. Just keep that in mind, hey, please, miss?”
he said, his gruff voice soft and the New York accent thickened.
“Don’t say yes or no.” He leaned forward. “I know you weren’t real
keen on what happened out in the garden. I mean, afterward. But it
wasn’t anything so terrible. Try to think of how good it felt.”

Rosalie wished she was invisible. Miss Renshaw gave
a small squeak of some sort.

Hawes cleared his throat. “What I mean ter say is,
it’s a-a thing God gave us. Right? He wants us to be happy.”

Miss Renshaw smiled. “You’re a spiritual man, Mr.
Hawes?”

She rested her hand on his.