Slightly Shady (25 page)

guarded. She was careless tonight. You almost got to her. But she will not make the same mistake twice." Neville grunted in disgust. "Joan is no better than the others. She was a whore by the time I finished with her, and not a very good one at that. I grew tired of her within a few months. I could scarce believe it when Dove married her. With his wealth and power, he could have had his choice of respectable heiresses." "He loved her." "She was his only real weakness. It is the reason I must get rid of her, you understand. It is likely that during the twenty years of their marriage she learned he was the head of the Blue Chamber. I must assume she knows a great deal about the workings of the organization." "You do not have the time to fret about whatJoan Dove knows," Tobias said. "For you, this matter is ended. Now, if you don't mind, my associate and I will be on our way." "Associate. " "Up here," Anthony called softly "On the box." Neville uttered a hoarse cry of alarm. He whirled around so quickly that he staggered and nearly lost his balance. He started to drag the barrel of the pistol toward the new target but froze when he saw the gun in Anthony's hand. Tobias took out the pistol he had brought with him in the pocket of his greatcoat. "It would appear that you have two choices, Neville," he said quietly "You can go home and wait for some very highly placed gentlemen who served at the highest levels during the war to call upon you tomorrow, or you can flee London tonight and never return." Anthony held the pistol steady. "An interesting choice, is it not?" Neville wobbled with impotent rage. His attention wavered back and forth between the two pistols trained on him. "Bastard." He was nearly incoherent. "You tricked me right from the start of this affair. You set out to destroy me." "I had some assistance," Tobias said. "You will not get away with this." Neville's voice shook. "I am the head of the Blue Chamber. I have more power than you can possibly imagine. I will see you dead for this." "I would be a good deal more anxious about that prospect were it not for the fact that I know you will be dead or on your way to France by tomorrow morning." Neville cried out in incoherent rage. He turned and pounded off into the night. His boot heel$ rang hollowly on the stones. Anthony looked at Tobias. "Want me to go after him?" "No." Tobias eased his gun back into his pocket. "He is Crackenburne's problem now, not ours." Anthony looked at the place where Neville had disappeared into the fog. "When you outlined his choices for him, you forgot to mention one. Most gentlemen in his position would put a pistol to their heads to save their families from the scandal of an ar- rest and trial." "I'm quite sure that if Crackenburne's friends discover Neville at home tomorrow when they call upon him, they will make that suggestion in no uncertain terms." Crackenburne lowered his newspaper when Tobias took the chair across from him. "He was not at home when Bains and Evanstone called upon him this morning. They were told Neville had left town to visit his estates in the country." Tobias raised his brows at the rare, grim quality he detected in Crackenburne's voice. He looked into the faded eyes and glimpsed some of the cold steel that very few ever noticed beneath the benign, absentminded veneer. Tobias stretched his legs out to the fire. "Calm yourself, Sir. Something tells me Neville will soon turn up." "Damnation. I told you I did not like your plans to confront him last night. Why was it necessary to give the bastard a warning?" "I told you, the evidence against him is very thin. A single letter, which he could claim was forged. I wanted to hear some confirmation from his own lips." "Well, you got your confession, but we have bloody well lost him now. The next thing you know, we will learn he is living well in Paris or Rome or Boston. Exile is not sufficient punishment for his crimes, I tell you. Treason and murder. By God, the man is a devil.,, "It is finished," Tobias said. "That is all that matters." The tiny cottage behind the old warehouse looked as if it had not been used in years. Unpainted, its windows caked with grime, it appeared on the verge of collapse. The only indication that someone came and went regularly from the small structure was the lock on the door. There was no rust on it. Lavinia wrinkled her nose. The smell of the river was strong and unpleasant here near the docks. The fog clinging to the old warehouses reeked. She studied the dilapidated structure in front of them. "Are you certain this is the right address?" she asked. Tobias examined the small map Huggett had sketched for him. "This is the end of the walk. There is no place left to go except into the river. It has to be the correct location." "Very well." She had been startled when Tobias had appeared at her front door a short while ago explaining that he had a message from Huggett. The note had been brief and to the point. Mr. M: You said you would pay for information relating to a certain modeler in wax. Please visit this address at your earliest convenience. I believe you will have your answers from the present occupant. You may remit the fee you promised to me at my place of business. Yrs. R Huggett. Tobias refolded the note and walked to the door. "It's unlocked." He removed a small pistol from the pocket of his greatcoat. "Stand aside, Lavinia." "I doubt Mr. Huggett would send us into a trap." Nevertheless, she did as she was told, moving to the left so she would not be a target for anyone who might be waiting inside the cottage. "He is far too anxious to receive the fee you promised him." "I'm inclined to agree, but I do not intend to take any more chances. It has been my experience that nothing is quite as it seems in this affair." Including you, she thought. You, Tobias March, have been the most astonishing surprise of all. Tobias flattened himself against the wall, then reached out and opened the door. Silence and the eerily familiar odor of death wafted out of the cottage. Lavinia clutched the cloak she had borrowed from Emeline more tightly around herself. "Oh, damn. I had so hoped there would be no more corpses in this affair." He glanced inside the opening, then lowered the pistol. He dropped the gun into his pocket, came away from the wall, and moved through the doorway. Lavinia followed reluctantly "There is no need to come inside." Tobias did not turn around. She swallowed against the smell of death. "Is it Lord Neville?" "Yes." She watched him move farther into the cottage. He turned to the left and disappeared into the shadows. She went as far as the threshold but did not enter. From where she stood she could see enough. Tobias was crouched beside a dark, crumpled shape on the floor. There was a pool of dried blood beneath Neville's head. A pistol lay on the floor near his right hand. A fly buzzed. She looked away quickly Her gaze fell on a tarp that covered a large, lumpy-looking object in the corner. " Tobias. " "What is it?" He glanced up, frowning. "I told you there was no need for you to come in here." "There is something over there in the corner. I think I know what it is." She walked into the cottage and crossed the wooden floor to the shrouded form. Tobias said nothing. He watched intently as she pulled aside the covering. They both looked at the half-finished waxwork that loomed before them. The roughly molded figure of a woman engaged in a lewd sexual act with a man was unmistakably similar to the sculptures in Huggett's upstairs gallery. The face of the female had not been completed. An array of artist's tools and equipment were carefully arranged on a nearby workbench. The dead coals on the hearth testified to the recent fires that had been lit to soften the wax. "Very neat and tidy, is it not?" Tobias rose stiffly "The murderer and traitor is dead by his own hand." "So it would seem. What about the mysterious artist?" Tobias studied the unfinished waxwork. "I believe we are to as- sume there will be no more commissions taken for sculptures suitable for exhibition to gentlemen only in Huggett's special gallery. " Lavinia shuddered. "I wonder what sort of hold Neville had over the artist? Do you think she might have been one of his former mistresses?" "I think it likely that we will never know the answer to the question. Perhaps it is just as well. I am more than ready for this affair to be finished." "So it is finished at last." Joan Dove looked at Lavinia across the expanse of blue and gold carpet. "I am very relieved to hear the news." "Mr. March has spoken with his client, who assured him the scandal will be kept to a minimum. It will be put about in certain circles that Neville suffered some severe financial losses recently and, in a fit of depression, took his own life. It will not be easy on his 'wife and family, but such gossip is certainly preferable to rumors of treason and murder." "Especially when it is discovered that Lord Neville's financial reverses were not nearly so severe as he had believed them to be when he put the pistol to his head," Joan murmured. "Something tells me that Lady Neville will be greatly relieved when she realizes she is not facing ruin after all." "No doubt. As it happens, Mr. March's client also made it clear the scandal will be hushed up for reasons other than protecting Neville's wife and family. It seems that certain very highly placed gentlemen do not want it widely known they were so thoroughly outfoxed by a traitor during the war. They wish to pretend the entire affair never happened." "Just what one would expect of highly placed gentlemen, isit not?" Lavinia smiled in spite of herself. "Indeed." Joan cleared her throat delicately "And the rumors that my husband might have been the master of a criminal empire?" Lavinia looked at her very steadily. "According to Mr. March, the rumors died with Neville." Joan's expression lightened. "Thank you, Lavinia." 'Think nothing of it. All part of the service." Joan reached for the teapot. "Do you know, I would not have thought Neville the sort to put a pistol to his own head, not even for the sake of protecting the honor of his family name." "One never knows," Lavinia said, "what a man will do under extreme pressure." "Quite true." Joan poured tea with elegant grace. "And I suspect the highly placed gentlemen who learned of Neville's treason applied a great deal of pressure." "Someone certainly seems to have done so." Lavinia rose, smoothing her gloves. "Well, then, that is that. If you will forgive me, I will be on my way." She turned to go toward the door. "Lavinia." She stopped and looked back. "Yes?" Joan watched her from the sofa. "I am very grateful for all you have done for me." "You paid me my full fee and in addition you introduced me to your modiste. I consider myself amply compensated." "Nevertheless," Joan said very deliberately, "I consider myself in your debt. If there is ever anything I can do to repay you, I hope you will feel free to call upon me without hesitation." "Good day, Joan." She was reading Byron when he came for her the next day. He asked her to walk with him to the park. She agreed, closing the volume of poetry and setting it aside. She collected her bonnet and pelisse and together they left the house. They did not speak until they reached the hidden Gothic ruin. He sat down beside her on the stone bench and looked out into the overgrown garden. The fog had dissipated, allowing the sun to warm the day to a comfortable temperature. He wondered where to begin. It was Lavinia who spoke first. "I went to see her this morning," she said. "She was very cool about the entire affair. Thanked me graciously for having saved her life, of course. Paid me too." Tobias rested his forearms on his upper thighs and clasped his hands loosely between his knees. "Crackenburne arranged for my fee to be paid into my bank." "Always nice to receive one's wages in a timely manner." Tobias studied the profusion of flowers and bright green leaves that cascaded in the wild garden. "indeed." "Now it truly is finished." Tobias said nothing. She gave him a quick, sidelong look. "is something wrong?" "The business with Neville is finished, as you said." He looked at her. "But it strikes me that some matters between us remain unsettled." "What do you mean?" Her eyes narrowed slightly. "See here, if you are unsatisfied with the fee you collected from your client, that is your affair. You were the one who struck the bargain with Crackenburne. You certainly cannot expect me to share my payment from Mrs. Dove with you." It was too much. He turned and caught her by the shoulders. "Bloody hell, Lavinia, this is not about the money." She blinked a couple of times but made no move to pull away "You're quite sure of that?" she asked. "Positive." "Well, then, what is this unfinished business you feel stands between us?" He flexed his hands on her, savoring the curve of her supple shoulders, and tried to find the right words. "I thought we did rather well working together as partners," he said. "We did, did we not? Especially when you consider the extremely difficult problems we were obliged to overcome. We did get off to a rather nasty start, if you will recall." "The meeting over Holton Felix's body?" "I was thinking of the night you destroyed my little business in Rome." "In my opinion, the events in Rome constituted something of a slight misunderstanding. We eventually straightened it out, did we not?" Her eyes gleamed. "In a manner of speaking. I was obliged to invent a new career for myself because of the slight misunderstanding. But I must admit that my new profession is a good deal more interesting than my former one." "It is your new career I wish to discuss today," Tobias said. "I assume you intend to continue in it in spite of my advice?" "I definitely intend to stick with this new occupation," she assured him. "It is very stimulating and exciting, not to mention occasionally quite profitable." "Then, as I was about to say, it will very likely transpire that, on occasion, you may be in the way of discovering future collaborations between us eminently useful." "Do you think so?" "I think it highly likely that we could be of some service to each other." "As colleagues?" "Indeed. I suggest we consider working together as partners again when the opportunities arise," he said, determined to wring some sort of affirmative response from her. "Partners," she said in a perfectly neutral voice. A woman like her could drive a man mad, he thought. But he controlled himself. "Will you give my suggestion some thought?" "I shall give it very serious consideration." He pulled her close. "I shall accept that for now," he whispered against her mouth. She framed his face with her gloved hands. "Will you?" "Yes. But I should warn you that I intend to do my best to convince you to give me an affirmative answer eventually." He untied the strings of her
bonnet and set it aside. One at a time, he captured each of her hands in his and stripped off the kid gloves she wore. He brought the inside of her right wrist to his lips and kissed the soft skin. She said his name so softly that he could barely hear it and then she wrapped her fingers in his hair. She kissed him on the mouth. He pulled her hard against him and felt her respond, vibrant and restless as the passion ignited. She nestled closer, filling him with a great, intense hunger. He lowered himself onto the stone bench and pulled her down on top of him. He raised her skirts so he could revel in the sight of her stocking-clad legs. She untied his cravat and went to work on the fastenings of his shirt. When she flattened her warm palms against his bare chest, he took a very deep breath. "I love the feel of you," she said. She bent her head and kissed his shoulder. "It is most invigorating to touch you, Tobias March." "Lavinia." He tore the pins from her hair and heard them scatter on the stone floor. She nibbled on him for a while, inspiring him with the thought that perhaps, given a quill and some ink, he might actually be able to write poetry. By the time he got the front of his trousers open, she was shivering in his arms. When he tumbled her gently off the bench onto the floor, she wrapped her elegant legs around him. He was no longer tempted to write poetry. There was, he concluded, no possible way to set down in words such a soul-stirring experience as this. She moved against him languidly and raised her head. "Is this what you meant by doing your utmost to convince me to give you an affirmative answer to your suggestion of future partnerships?" "Mmm, yes." He slid his hands into the tumbled fire of her hair. "Do you think I presented a convincing argument?" She smiled and he was suddenly swimming in the deep, seductive seas of her eyes. "What you presented was extremely convincing. As I said, I will give the matter my closest consideration." Lavinia studied her image in the fitting-room mirror with a critical eye. "Don't you think the neckline is a bit low?" Madame Francesca scowled. "The neckline is perfect. it is cut to hint at madam's bosom." "A rather broad hint." "Nonsense. It is an extremely discreet nod in the right direction." Madame Francesca tugged at a ribbon decorating the bodice. "Given that madam's bosom is not so grand, I have designed the gown to raise questions, not to answer them." Lavinia toyed uncertainly with the silver pendant. "If you're quite sure." "I am positive, madam. You must trust me in these matters." Madame Francesca frowned at the young seamstress crouched on the floor beside Lavinia. "Non, non, non, Molly. You did not pay attention to the drawing I made. There is to be only one tier of ribbon flowers at the hem, not two. Two would be entirely too much for Mrs. Lake. Quite overwhelming. She is on the short side, as you can see." "Yes, madam," Molly mumbled through a mouthful of pins. "Go and fetch my sketchbook," Madame Francesca ordered. "I will show you my design once again." Molly scrambled to her feet and hurried away. Lavinia eyed herself in the mirror. "I'm too short and my bosom is less than grand. Really, Madame Francesca, I find it amazing that you are willing to spend any time on me at all." "I do it for the sake of Mrs. Dove, of course." Madame Francesca put a dramatic hand to her own very expansive bosom. "She is one of my most important patrons. I would do anything to please her." She winked. "Besides, you are a challenge to my skills, Mrs. Lake." Molly walked into the fitting room, the heavy volume in her hands. Madame Francesca took it from her, opened it, and began to flip through the pages. Lavinia glimpsed a familiar green gown. "Wait. That was the dress you designed for Mrs. Dove to wear to her daughter's engagement ball, was it not?" "This one?" Madame Francesca paused to admire the sketch. "Yes. Lovely, isn't it?" Lavinia studied it intently "There are two tiers of roses. Not three. This sketch has been altered. You removed one entire row of roses, didn't you? I can see where you marked it out." Madame Francesca heaved a sigh. "I still maintain that with her elegant height, Mrs. Dove could have carried off all three tiers very nicely. But she was adamant that one row must be removed. What can one do when such an important client puts her foot down? One must submit. In the end, I changed the design." Excitement and a dreadful thrill of fear rushed through Lavinia. She whirled around. "Please help me out of this gown, Madame Francesca. I must leave at once. There is someone I must speak with immediately." "But, Mrs. Lake, we have not finished with the fitting." "Get me out of this dress." Lavinia struggled with the fastenings of the bodice. "I shall return another time for the fitting. May I beg a sheet of paper and a pen from you? I must send a note to my, uh, associate." It was raining again. There were no hackneys to be had. It took nearly forty-five minutes to make her way to Half Crescent Lane. Lavinia came to a halt outside Mrs. Vaughn's front door and raised the knocker. She had to be certain, she thought, banging loudly. There could be no more mistakes. Before she and Tobias made another move in this treacherous business, she had to talk to the one person who had been right all along. it seemed forever before the partially deaf housekeeper opened the door. She squinted vaguely in Lavinia's general direction. "Aye?" "Is Mrs. Vaughn at home? I must speak with her immediately. It is very important." The housekeeper held out her hand. "You'll have to purchase a ticket," she said loudly Lavinia groaned and reached into her reticule. She found some coins and placed them in the work-worn palm. "There. Please tell Mrs. Vaughn that Lavinia Lake is here." "I'll take ye to the gallery." The housekeeper led the way down the dark hall, cackling happily. "Mrs. Vaughn will be along in a bit." The housekeeper stopped in front of the gallery door and opened it with a small flourish. Lavinia went quickly into the gloom-filled room. The door closed behind her. She heard another muffled cackle in the hall and then all was silent. Lavinia hesitated, giving her eyes a chance to grow accustomed to the low lighting. A trickle of unease tingled through her. She reminded herself that this was the same disturbing sensation she had experienced the last time. She looked around, willing her pulse to slow to a more normal pace. The chamber looked much as it had when she had come he* with Tobias. The eerily realistic waxworks loomed around her, frozen in their various poses. She moved past the man with the glasses who sat reading in his chair and looked toward the piano. There was a figure seated on the bench, peering intently at a sheet of music, hands poised above the keys. But the sculpture was that of a man in old-fashioned breeches. A waxwork, Lavinia thought, not Mrs. Vaughn posing as one of her own creations this time. Perhaps the artist liked to vary the nature of her little jokes. "Mrs. Vaughn?" She wove a path through the figures, searching the wax faces around her. "Are you here? I know you enjoy this charade and it is quite effective. But unfortunately, I do not have time to play the game today I wish to consult with you again on a professional matter." None of the waxworks moved or spoke. "It is extremely urgent," Lavinia continued. "A matter of life and death, I believe." She glanced at a statue that stood facing the hearth. A new sculpture, she thought, not remembering it from her previous visit. The waxwork was that of a woman wearing a housekeeper's apron and a voluminous cap, the ruffles of which hid her profile. She was slightly bent at the waist, a poker in her hand, as if she were about to prod the dead embers of an unlit fire. Not Mrs. Vaughn, Lavinia thought. Much too tall and not nearly round enough at the hips. "Please, Mrs. Vaughn, make yourself known if you are in here. I cannot afford to linger." Lavinia circled the corner of the sofa and came to a sudden halt when she saw the figure sprawled facedown on the rug. "Dear God." The utter limpness in the limbs told her at once this was no waxwork that had toppled from a standing position. A terrible dread stole Lavinia's breath. "Mrs. Vaughn." She dropped to her knees, tore off a glove, and touched Mrs. Vaughn's throat. Relief flowed through her when she detected the throb of life. Mrs. Vaughn was alive but unconscious. Lavinia jumped to her feet, intent on rushing to the door to summon assistance. Her gaze went past the waxwork housekeeper bent toward the hearth. Her mouth went dry. There was mud on the figure's shoes. For an instant, Lavinia could not breathe. The only path out of the long, narrow chamber would take her within striking distance of the poker. Screaming would do no good, given that the real housekeeper was half deaf. Her only hope was that Tobias had received her message and would arrive shortly. in the meantime, she must distract the killer. "I see you got here before me," Lavinia said quietly. "How did you manage that feat, Lady Neville?" The figure at the hearth jerked and straightened with a sudden movement. Constance, Lady Neville, turned to face her, the heavy iron poker raised high. She smiled. "I am not a fool. I knew you were still potentially a great problem, Mrs. Lake. I set a man to watch you." Constance moved to block the path to the door. "He intercepted the street lad you sent to find Mr. March. He paid the boy well to give your message to him instead and came straight to me with it. Do not delude yourself with false hope, Mrs. Lake. There is no help on the way." . Lavinia edged backward, seeking to place the sofa between herself and the other woman. She put her hand on the locket she wore beneath her fichu. "It was you all along, was it not? You are the artist. I saw your figures in Huggett's upstairs gallery. They were most unusual." "Unusual?" Constance looked contemptuous. "You know nothing of art. My work is brilliant." Lavinia tugged hard on the locket. it came free in her hand. She held it up in front of her, letting the bright silver catch the little light in the gloomy chamber. "Brilliant like my locket, do you mean?" she asked in a gentle, soothing voice. "Isn't it pretty? See how it sparkles. So bright. So bright. So bright." Constance laughed. "Do you think you can purchase your life with that trinket? I am a very wealthy woman, Mrs. Lake. I have chests full of far more valuable jewelry. I do not want your locket." "It is so bright, don't you agree?" She let the silver locket swing gently it glittered and sparkled as it moved back and forth in an arc. "My mother gave it to me. So bright." Constance blinked. "I told you, I care nothing for such cheap goods." "As I said, your waxworks are most unusual, but in my opinion they lack the lifelike quality Mrs. Vaughn achieves." "You are a fool. What do you know?" Rage flashed across Constance's handsome face. She glanced at the swinging locket and frowned as if the sparks of light annoyed her. "My waxworks are far superior to these mundane sculptures. Unlike Mrs. Vaughn, I am not afraid to capture the darkest, most extraordinary passions in my work." "You sent the death threat to Mrs. Dove, didn't you? I finally realized that this afternoon when I saw the modiste's drawing of the original version of the green gown. You based your little waxwork image on that picture, which you saw before it was changed, not on the finished garment. As a patron of Madame Francesca's, you had an opportunity to study the design. You never saw the final version, though, because you did not attend the engagement ball. If you had, you would have known there were only two tiers of roses at the hem, not three." "It no longer matters. She is a slut, no better than any of his other women. She will die too." Constance moved closer. Lavinia caught her breath but she kept the locket in motion, never altering the rhythm of its arc. "It was you who arranged for Fielding Dove to die of poison, was it not?" she asked in soft, soothing tones. Constance glanced at the locket and then looked away As if she could not help herself, she looked at it once more, following it with her gaze. "I planned everything, each detail. I did it for Wesley, you see. I did everything for him. He needed me." "But Neville never truly appreciated your cleverness and your unfailing loyalty, did he? He took you for granted. He married you for your money and then went back to his other women." "The women he used as vessels for his lust were not important. What was important was that Wesley needed me. He understood that. We were partners." Lavinia winced and almost lost the rhythm of the swinging locket. Concentrate, youfool. Your life depends on this. "I see." The locket continued in its gentle arc. "Partners. But you were the clever one." "Yes. Yes. I'm the one who realized Fielding Dove was investigating Wesley's activities during the war. I saw that Dove was growing old and weak. I knew it was time to act. Once Dove was dead, nothing stood in Wesley's path. just a few loose ends to tie up. I have always taken care of that sort of thing for him." "How many of his mistresses did you murder?" "Two years ago I finally realized the necessity of getting rid of those cheap whores." Constance glared at the moving locket. "I began to track them down. It wasn't easy I have taken care of five of them so far." "You created those waxwork statues in Huggett's upstairs gallery to celebrate your achievements as a murderess, did you not?" "I had to show the world the truth about those women. I used my talent to demonstrate that in the end there is only pain and anguish for women who become whores. There is no passion, no poetry, no pleasure for them. Only pain." "But the last one got away, didn't she?" Lavinia asked. "How did that happen? Did you make a mistake?" "I made no mistake," Constance shouted. "Some fool of a scrubwoman left a bucket of soapy water near the door. I slipped and fell and the whore escaped me. But I will get her sooner or later. " "Who is the model for the man in your sculptures, Constance?" Lavinia asked evenly. Constance looked confused. "The man?" Lavinia swung the locket. "The face of the man in all of the sculptures is the same. Who is he, Constance?" "Papa." Constance dashed the poker at the locket as if trying to bat it out of the air. "Papa is the man who gives the whores so much pain." She slapped at the locket with the tip of the poker. "He gave me pain. Do you understand? He gave me so much pain." Lavinia had to duck the poker twice. This was not going well. She managed to keep the locket moving but she knew it was time to change the subject. "Things were going well until Holton Felix got his hands on the diary and began to send out his little blackmail notes," she said. "Felix learned from the diary that Wesley was a member of the Blue Chamber."