The Trouble With Moonlight (18 page)

“In the dark, sir?” Pickering snarled.

That was an interesting observation, James thought, one that he’d have to ask her about later. “Pickering, if she was rummaging for secrets, don’t you think she would have lit the lamps? Or do you think her vision is sharpened by lack of light?”

Pickering bristled at the jest made at his expense. “I think she’s up to no good.” James waved a hand to dismiss the notion, but Pickering continued inching closer until he stood in Locke’s face. “I think lust is getting the better of you. There’s no shame in that. You’re a healthy man with healthy appetites. But there’s women in town trained to please a man’s cravings. You don’t have to bring one here.”

James slammed a hand down on the desk. “Miss Havershaw is not a doxy.”

“I saw her with her hands wrapped around your neck, pressed up against you like a whore, she was. I’m not so feeble as to not know what goes on between an able-bodied man and a beautiful woman. Maybe you and she sleep in separate beds, but she’s willing. I could see it in her face. No virtuous lady would move into this house, and that’s a fact.”

“That’s enough.” James could barely manage those words through the red haze that clouded his thoughts. His fingers curled into fists at his side. He took a breath and willed himself to calm before Pickering felt the blows from same. He fixed Pickering in his gaze, and schooled his voice to carry all the authority and weight of his position.

“We’ve been together a long time. We both know that you are more than the manservant that you present to society, and I’m grateful for all the assistance you have given me in the past. But in this matter you’ve overstepped your bounds. I will tolerate no further criticism of Miss Havershaw. She’s here at my insistence, not by her own volition. Do you understand? ”

Pickering nodded, though his stance suggested he wasn’t mollified in his thoughts.

“Now I asked everyone to leave the household early for the evening. I expect you to leave with the others. Understood? ”

He blanched. “You meant me as well, then? I thought you were talking to the others. I thought I’d just stay above stairs. Why do I have to leave?”

“You will leave because I directed you to do so. I do not believe an explanation is necessary.” He stepped forward so as to remind his associate that James held the authority. “Pickering, I will not tolerate anarchy in my own house, is that understood? ”

“Yes, except this ain’t your house.” He took a stubby finger and stabbed James’s chest. “You don’t have a house. You don’t have a family. You don’t have a life. You’ve got me and you’ve got money, and that’s the cold, hard truth of it.”

He turned on his heel and left the room, leaving James to ponder those biting comments.

TRUE TO HIS WORD, LOCKE DID COME TO ADVISE her of Pickering’s departure. He kept his distance, wished her success, and promised to reconnoiter later to review her discoveries. Once he had left, the house stilled to a lonely, empty silence.

She should have brought Shadow back to the residence with her, she thought as she undressed in her room. Another heartbeat, even a feline one, would be welcome. But Aunt Eugenia had rejoiced to see the pet return, and so she had left Shadow behind. She contemplated wearing the beautiful munisak, but the single fastening would expose too much of her highly visible, naked body for comfort, even in a deserted household. Instead, she slipped on a colorful silk robe that her aunt had given her, then pulled one of the blankets from the bed, before proceeding to the conservatory.

Daylight still streamed through the glass frames of the conservatory, but the faint outline of the waning moon hung low in the east. As long as the moon was remotely visible, her skin would absorb the weak moonbeams. The danger lay in discovery as she’d be fully visible without the benefit of clothing to protect her modesty. However, the house was empty, and a brick wall separated the property from the street, so she felt free to be wanton.

The early evening air in the conservatory was rich with the scent of so many beautiful blossoms. She walked toward the back where her moonflowers were beginning to unfold their wide white petals. Gathering the opening blossoms between her hands, she breathed deeply of their familiar fragrance, letting their familiarity ease her tensions regarding the mission ahead. After all, she’d completed similar ventures before in her recovery business. Logically, there should be no reason why she felt an added level of anxiety. Yet she did, and she suspected her earlier experience in this very conservatory provided the source.

She arranged her blanket on an open patch of floor and lay upon it, opening her robe to expose her full body to the moon. She lay powerless, vulnerable, waiting for the familiar tingling in her extremities. She closed her eyes and listened to the distant tolling of the grandfather clock inside the house, the breeze stirring the garden, and the muffled rattle of London proper. Within a brief period, she knew phasing had begun, but the sensation was dull, barely ascertainable. As suspected, it would take longer than normal to soak sufficient moonlight to phase for even a limited period of time. Fortunately, she had allowed herself two hours before she had to be in the carriage that would take her to the Farthingtons’. Hopefully, that would be sufficient.

After a time, she shifted on the hard floor, thinking she should have requested a chaise longue be placed in the conservatory. Just as she settled into what she hoped would be a more comfortable position, Lusinda heard a rustling sound. Her body had begun to glow, meaning she’d be fully visible if she were to sit up to investigate. She strained her ears to hear more, but the sound was gone. It had been muffled at best, like that of an animal in the gardens outside. Perhaps Shadow had not been the efficient mouser of his youth. The initial panic in her chest relaxed a little. Some nocturnal creature must have come out from its hiding spot to forage for food in the gardens. She redirected her thoughts toward something more pleasant.

Locke. Lately, any misguided thought always managed to drift back to Locke. What would he think if he were to see her lying in the moonlight? Would he become the passionate Locke who made her insides glow much as her skin did now? Or would he become the removed, reserved Locke who stepped back from her embrace? She knew which she would prefer. A languid warmth filled her at the thought.

The sun had fully set now. A few clouds drifted across the sky. She peeked down her length. Her skin had moved beyond the glow to a sheer almost transparent state. Another thirty minutes should make her completely invisible, though at the moon’s weakened strength, she wasn’t sure how long she could maintain that state once removed from the lunar influence.

Normally, she would wear her widow’s weeds to enter her carriage and then disrobe inside so as to exit in her invisible state. Tonight, however, she’d decided she would disrobe closer to Farthington House, near the bushes she had noted on her earlier visit. In an emergency, she would need access to her clothing quickly, and while her own driver was aware of her . . . eccentricities, she wasn’t as sure about Locke’s driver. She glanced upward through the glass ceiling at the clouds slowly drifting across the night sky. Yes, she would definitely plan for ready clothing.

LOCKE’S DRIVER PULLED THE CARRIAGE TO THE SPOT AT which her own driver had stopped two nights previous. She left the carriage and strolled over to a hedge on the side of the house that offered shielding from the street. The dim moonlight combined with her dark attire rendered her almost invisible fully dressed, but she employed the cover of the hedge just the same. With practiced ease, she slipped out of her dress, veiled bonnet, and gloves and carried them to the base of a tree out of view of the street. She paused for a moment, enjoying the play of a breeze along her sensitive skin and the slight lifting in her unbound hair. She would have liked to just savor the freeing sensations, but there was work to be done, a mission to accomplish.

The music room window stood open to the breeze, just as it had been the night of the recital. Better to take advantage of an inviting window than to arouse suspicion by opening a closed door. She climbed over the sill but froze when a voice assailed her.

“Oh, spirits of the night, we beseech you to bring our dear niece back to us.” Lusinda peered through the darkened room to a table in the back where four women sat holding hands in a circle. Mrs. Farthington sat at the table’s head with a turban on her head, chanting in a monotone before several lit candles. “Bring her back, great spirit, so that we may wish her well and so that she can pass through to the land beyond.”

Although tempted to blow out a candle, or perhaps answer the invocation, Lusinda didn’t want to waste her precious phase time. She opened the door on the far side of the room to hushed silence. From the hallway she heard behind her, “Mabel, is that you? Show us a sign?”

“I think she just did,” another voice added.

Lusinda chuckled to herself as she slipped up the stairs to the second-floor bedroom.

Although the room was outfitted with gas jets, she didn’t want to risk the attention that an unattended lamp would bring. Instead, she checked the drawers for the supply of candles used to light the jets. Using a lit candle, she located the key, hidden in an urn just as Locke had advised. She quickly identified the painting Locke had described, and after placing her candle in an empty candleholder on a side table, lifted the painting then placed it on the floor. With the recovered key in hand, it was a simple matter to open the safe and explore the contents.

The first thing she noticed was Mrs. Farthington’s necklace. Foolish woman, she thought, as if there wasn’t enough evidence of that very thing in the room downstairs. She found a few stock certificates, a house accounting, and one letter. She scanned the letter but found nothing of political significance. As she was returning it to the safe, Lusinda heard footsteps in the hall.

She quickly blew out the candle, locked the safe, and replaced the painting. She didn’t have time to replace the key, so she dropped it on the floor where it bounced under the bed with a soft thud just as the door opened.

“. . . A bunch of caterwauling women, can’t talk business with all that weeping and wailing.”

Even though she was still in phase, Lusinda pressed herself into the corner by the bedstand so she wouldn’t be accidentally bumped. A scent of wispy smoke emitted from the freshly extinguished candle. She hoped the two men were too involved in conversation to notice.

“Why did you drag me from that poker game? I had young Locke by the throat.”

“I had reason to believe there would be an attempt on your safe this evening. Do you still have the list of sympathizers? ” She could see only the speaker’s back, yet his voice sounded familiar.

Farthington laughed. “No one would be able to sneak past that group of gaggling geese downstairs. You saw how they all flocked to you. They can smell bachelors, they can, better than a bloodhound.” He chuckled.

“Still, sir . . .”

“No need to worry. I passed that particular document along some time ago. There’s not much of concern in my safe, but if you’d like to check . . .”

A faint tingling began in Lusinda’s fingers and toes. She wouldn’t have long until she would phase to a ghostlike apparition, and a naked ghost at that. Lusinda thought of crawling under Farthington’s bed. She might reach the patch of moonlight that struck the carpet on the opposite side and thus delay the phasing process. However, Farthington had taken a step toward his safe and would probably trip over her prone body if she were to attempt that route. She scrunched down and wrapped her hands around her knees so as to be shielded by a tall wooden wardrobe.

“What was that?” Farthington asked. “Did you hear that noise?”

The bachelor’s negative response sounded near. Lusinda was tempted to peek out from her hiding place to see his face, but as he might see her as well, she resisted. The tingling intensified.

“Ever since the recital the other night, I’ve been hearing odd noises and seeing suspicious shadows,” Farthington admitted. “I’m beginning to think perhaps a ghost haunts this place.” He raised his voice. “Stay away from me, ghost. I have no truck with you.”

“If the document is gone, there’s really no reason to dally here.” The bachelor sounded hesitant, as if he really wished to stay. She prayed for them to go. The patch of moonlight faded, eliminating help from that quarter. A cloud must have covered the moon. Her skin emitted a soft, luminous glow.

“Lord Pembroke is expecting my report yet this evening.”

Relief flooded her as she heard two sets of footsteps traipse down the hall. Still, she took her time creeping out from her hiding space. Her arms were as wispy clouds on a bright day. Remembering Locke’s caution that the safe appear untouched, Lusinda felt the floor for the key and carefully placed it back in the bottom of the urn. She couldn’t very well return the way she had come, so she crept to the windowsill, opened it, and made a grab for a branch that loomed a foot from the house.

Rhea would be proud of her big sister, she thought as she swung from the branch like one of the monkeys she and Rhea had seen at Regent’s Park. Of course, that monkey did not glow with an unearthly luminescence. She found purchase on a lower branch and worked her way down to the final leap to the ground. The cloud covering the moon finally traveled beyond the crescent, allowing its beams to reach her once more. She landed on the ground with a thud and a sprinkling of leaves.

“I see her! I see her!” a woman’s voice called from the music room window. “Dear saints above, she hasn’t a stitch on!”

Lusinda spread her tingling arms out wide to accept the full power of the direct moonbeams. The tingling intensified till she was quickly rendered invisible once more.

“Where? Where?” Farthington’s voice called, tinged with disappointment. He braced his arms on the sill, pushing his head far through the open window. “I don’t see a naked ghost. You must have imagined it.”