Romance: Detective Romance: A Vicious Affair (Victorian Regency Intrigue 19th England Romance) (Historical Mystery Detective Romance) (2 page)

“A child is dead,” Wilbert said. “Lucia, there’s something you need to know.”

“Is this concerning love? I believe we have discussed this.”

“No,” Wilbert said stiffly. “It’s about a killer I almost caught ten years ago. Malcolm Radfoot, the one the papers called ‘the Viking’.”

“Yes,” Lucia said. “I remember him. What of it?”

“Once, when I caught him cutting up the Durnham lad, he turned – axe in hand – and screamed at me:
Hello Detective!
It could be a coincidence—”

“There are few of those, I’m afraid,” Lucia interjected. “You think the Viking may have returned?”

“I fear it,” Wilbert admitted.

*****

One of the reasons Lucia respected Wilbert was his strength. It was true that he needed her help to see the finer details, but once those details were illumed, he bore the aftermath with considerable stoicism. His only weakness seemed to be his love for her, and he even took the rejection of that with a stony face. Now she saw the fear within the hard outer shell. He stared down at his hands and a shiver went through him. She thought intellectually about his attractiveness as a mate. A purely hypothetical question: if she were the type of woman to take a man, would Wilbert be the man for her? He was certainly handsome. He was tall, and muscular, and his face was clean-shaven and his jaw was square. His eyes were earth-brown. His heart was sincere; he was cynical but he loved her all the same. The woman in her called out to him oftentimes, in the night, but she stamped out these impulses. They had no place in her world.

“Then we will catch him,” Lucia declared.

Wilbert nodded. “You know why they called him the Viking?”

“Yes,” Lucia said. “The man carried two axes, didn’t he, and liked to pretend he was a Viking berserker?”

Wilbert nodded again. “If it is him, I fear I may be putting you in a considerable amount of danger.”

“I am not some rose, to fear the wind. Plus, when has danger stopped me before?”

Wilbert smiled and looked into her eyes. She did not flinch. She returned the smile. For a moment, it was possible—

Then the carriage stopped, and the case was on.

*****

A stricken-faced footman emerged from the house as Lucia and Wilbert left the coach. He paced over to them, bowed profusely, and then, with downcast eyes, spoke so quickly it was difficult to follow what he said. “I am gravely sorry,” he said, in one breath. “My lady Lavery is not expecting company. Perhaps there has been some misunderstanding in the scheduling of the meeting. Did you send a card? I am not implying, you understand, that you are not worthy of her company. It is simply that Lady Lavery does not take unscheduled visits.”

Lucia regarded the man for a few moments. How best to handle this? “What is your name?” she said.

“My name, my lady?”

“Yes, your name.”

“Ralph.”

“Okay, Ralph, would you be so kind as to give Lady Lavery a message for me?” Without waiting for the man to reply, she took out her notebook and scrawled quickly.
Remember how we played in Wells, my dear, and you send your footman to greet me like a common vagabond! What have I done to deserve such ill-treatment? His Grace, the Duke of Wells, will be absolutely mortified to hear of this! I beg you, remedy this, and grant me access! I merely wished to see an old friend!
She handed the footman the note and watched as he scurried away.

“Do you think it will work?” Wilbert said, when she’d told him what she’d written.

“It will work,” Lucia said. “Lady Lavery
did
play in Wells. I heard that somewhere. I forget where. And she is a social-minded woman. There was just enough haughtiness in that note to sound believable without being ridiculous.”

The footman returned with ample apologies, and they were admitted into the drawing-room. Lucia took a seat and closed her eyes. Wilbert sat beside her. She could feel the heat of him. Spring had set it, and the setting sun’s rays were becoming cold as night took over, but Wilbert seemed hot beside her. She opened her eyes and saw that he was watching her. Her eyes lingered on her neck. She did not cover it, as other ladies would; instead, she craned it, baring it further. Sometimes, she liked to be looked upon by Wilbert.

Lady Lavery entered the drawing-room. Wilbert and Lucia rose to their feet. Lucia clapped her hands together in the impression of a giddy girl. “Oh, my lady!” she cried. “It is so good to see you again!”

“You are not
friend
of mine!” Lady Lavery cried. “I have never seen you before! And your hair! Ugh, have you no respect, woman?”

“She is twice the beauty you are!” Wilbert exclaimed.

“Wilbert,” Lucia said, laying a hand upon his arm.

He looked, shame-faced, at the walls for a moment. Then he recovered himself and stepped forward. “You could have us banished from the premises,” he said. “But that would not be wise, my lady. There is going to be a murder here tomorrow night. Have you heard of the Viking?”

Lady Lavery was a cold-looking woman. Her features were like ice. Her dress was impeccable. Not a bad word could be said about it. But when Wilbert mentioned the Viking, something seemed to pass through her. She shivered, and walked to the window, so her back was to Lucia and Wilbert.

“I have heard of him,” she said.

“He is going to kill here, tomorrow night,” Wilbert said. “You want us here, to stop it.”

“Do you think you can stop him?” Lady Lavery said, in a voice full of disbelief. “Do you think anybody can stop him?”

“Yes,” Lucia said. “Why, do you disagree?”

“What would I know?” Lady Lavery said at length. “I am just a lonely widow. My children are gone, to America, to the Colonies, to Wales. My husband is dead. Lady Lavery is just a lonely woman, living out the last of her days. What would I know of killers? The only pride I have is in the painting of the garden that caused delight in society. And what was that, twenty years ago?”

“Well,” Wilbert said, casting a questioning look at Lucia, “we would be obliged if you could give us rooms for the night, and perhaps some supper. We mean to stop the Viking, my lady. On that score you can have no doubt.”

“Yes, yes, very well,” she said. “I will see to it.”

She walked from the room with slow steps. “She is hiding something,” Lucia said. She had seen it immediately. She had gone to the window so she did not have to look upon them as she withheld something from them. Lucia was annoyed; she did not immediately see what it was. Why
this
house? Why would the Viking choose to kill somebody here?”

“We must look at the garden before we dine,” Lucia said. “Perhaps there will be some clue.”

“Perhaps,” Wilbert said. “Fine, let’s go.”

“Wait, wait,” Lucia said, touching his arm. “We should wait for Lady Lavery’s permission. It will make things easier.”

“Lucia Skiffins, a slave to propriety,” Wilbert smiled. “You are a constant source of surprise.

“I shall take that as a compliment,” Lucia said.

Something within her wanted to reach out and touch him then. Touch his face, perhaps. Or lay her hand upon his shoulder. She recalled the carriage, when she had laid her hand upon his leg. Had she wanted to move her hand further up? She tried to view these details as she viewed a case, but they were too close to her. They were too personal. Inside her mind, there were two factions. One faction detested these
lesser
feelings and wanted her to sever all ties to her emotions, to exist as a wholly intellectual being. The other faction wanted her to thrown herself into Wilbert’s arms and demand to be kissed. Hitherto the first faction had been by far the strongest, but now, after spending time with him after an absence, the latter faction was beginning to gain ground.

“It is a compliment,” Wilbert said, moving forward.

“Wilbert, what are you doing?”

He moved forward until he was standing exactly opposite her. For some reason, an event from five years ago came into Lucia’s mind. They had just finished a case, and Wilbert was walking with her back to her flat. As they approached the flat, a whine had sounded from a nearby alleyway. Lucia bade they continue, but Wilbert ignored her and found the source of the whine: a malnourished, dying cat. Lucia watched as Wilbert picked up the small, dying thing and held it in the light. It was shivering, its bones showed through its skin, and its fur was patchy and thin.

Wilbert had left her then, to return home alone. Weeks later, she saw a cat roaming the neighborhood. There could be no mistake; it was the malnourished cat Wilbert had found. She later learnt that he had nursed it back to health, ensured that it was sprightly enough to hunt and sustain itself, and then set it loose once again. Lucia still saw the cat from time to time. It was in the prime of its life. It was actions like this that set them apart. Lucia
would never
have tended to the cat. Wilbert was a kinder person than her.

Wilbert was standing close to her now.

“Just one kiss,” she murmured. “We have work to do.”

The words escaped her as though by accident. Wilbert laid his hands upon her shoulders and then leaned in and kissed her. His lips were warm. For a moment she just stood still, and allowed him to kiss her. Then she kissed him back, moving her lips. Warmth rose within her, and she found herself laying
her
hands upon
his
shoulders. Her hands wanted to go other places, too, and she wanted to kiss him more and more—

The door opened and a footman entered. Lucia and Wilbert jumped apart, smiling with embarrassment.

“My lady wishes you to know that supper is ready, if you care to follow me.”

Lucia looked at Wilbert. He grinned at her like a naughty schoolboy. After a moment, she returned the smile.

*****

Lucia, by observing other people, had learnt that ladies loved when one lavished praise upon them. Knowing this, Lucia adopted her most groveling tone, and aimed at nothing more than expanding the lady’s ego. She felt no shame at this. It was merely an intellectual ploy, and she did not get embarrassed when it came to intellect. “The garden looks so,
so
incredible in the painting,” she said, smiling widely. “It would please me so to gaze at it. It would be like gazing at a god! How beautiful it must be, living so close to it. I hardly think the painting can do it justice. Would you mind, terribly, if Wilbert and I had a peek at it after supper? Please, do say yes, my lady.”

The ploy worked, Lady Lavery all but swooned, and eight o’clock saw Wilbert and Lucia in the garden. Lucia could not look at Wilbert for any extended length of time. She kept thinking about how kind he was, about how utterly different from her he was. They were like two strangers in their attitudes toward life, and yet they got on so very well. Indeed, Wilbert was the only person Lucia could tolerate
to be
around for any extended period of time. Wilbert walked close to her, and every now and then their elbows brushed. Lucia felt a distracting – and unprofessional – thrill run through her.

“The painter deserves credit for making this place beautiful,” Lucia said, casting an eye around. The roses were dying. Weeds sprouted up between the flowerbeds. Even by 
light
of
torch
, everything looked damp and ignored.

“She has let her gardener go, by the looks of it,” Wilbert agreed. “One must remember, that the painting was finished a long time—My god!”

Wilbert clutched at his collar, as though he suddenly found it stifling. Lucia ran to him and began unbuttoning the top bottoms. He was struggling to breathe. Lucia put her hands on his face. “Calm down,” she said. “Wilbert, dear, calm down. There is nothing so frightening in this world that it cannot be approached calmly.”

Life swam back into his eyes. He grinned at her. “I lost myself for a moment,” he said. His grin fled. “But there is a reason for my reaction. Look over there, beside the worm-eaten bench.”

Lucia walked over to the bench and looked down. She gasped. Wilbert’s pipe, which he had left at the scene of the murder earlier that day, sat
upon
the armrest of the bench. Beneath it was a folded-up piece of paper. “I cannot look at it,” he said quietly. “Lucia, would you?”

She unfolded the note and read—

A wayward son,

A scare little lady,

A darkening sun,

A squalling, unwanted baby.

An abandoned child,

Left feral and ghoulish,

Alone in the wild,

Oh, my lady, how foolish!

Now the Viking hath returned,

And he hath earned,

His right to retribution.

Let’s see this house burn!

Ha-ha, ha-ha!