Unholy Fire (28 page)

The place was unlike any other I had seen in the city, comprising an acre of ancient trees and plantings enclosed behind a white picket fence. Built in the early colonial times, the house was a sprawling, red-painted, three-story wooden structure, with two side wings, wrapping porches, and dormer windows sticking out from under the peaked roof.

I told the hansom driver to stop at the carriage park in front. Another coach was already there. As I watched, two men in evening clothes came out of the house and made their way slowly down the front path. One of them was obviously drunk and barely able to stand up. His compatriot assisted him into their coach.

“Should I wait?” asked my driver with a leer.

“No,” I said, immediately regretting it.

There would be a long walk back to Mrs. Warden's if my hunt was unrewarded. The men on the path had left the front gate unlatched. I walked up to the front door, which was flanked by two large gas lamps, along with a brass knocker in the shape of a woman's leg.

As I lifted it to knock, the door swung open to reveal a heavyset black woman. Behind her the hallway led toward a large, well-lit parlor. A wide staircase rose up into the gloom of the next floor.

“I wish to see Amelie,” I said.

The woman erupted into a thick patois of words that sounded like French but somehow weren't. Whatever she was trying to tell me, it was obvious she wanted me to leave.

“Amelie,” I repeated slowly. “Amelie.”

The woman began to close the door in my face. When I pushed back, she started yelling in the same strange language, all the while kicking out at me with her right shoe.

A shadowy figure appeared at the top of the stairs.

“Tante Louise,” came a commanding voice. The old woman went silent as the figure came slowly down the stairs.

I recognized her as soon as she came into the light, although her long black hair was bound up in a towel. She was barefoot and wearing a loose-fitting white dressing robe.

“Should I know you?” she asked. Her voice was low and vibrant, and had a lilt to it.

“We almost met in Falmouth three nights ago,” I said. “I saw you at General Hooker's birthday party. You were there with Anya Hagel.”

The expression on her seemingly guileless face didn't change at the mention of the dead girl's name.

“She was murdered that same night,” I said. “That is why I am here.”

“I did not know,” she replied.

“May I ask your full name?” I said.

“My name is Amelie Devereaux,” she said.

She was as lovely as I remembered, with a delicate beauty that radiated both innocence and intelligence. It seemed inconceivable to me that she could be bought and sold. The thought of it made me angry.

“I know it is late, Miss Devereaux, but I must ask you some questions about Anya Hagel's death.”

“You have proper identification?”

“Of course,” I said, silently berating myself for not having already shown it to her. I withdrew my identification card from my tunic and handed it to her.

“John McKittredge, Captain, United States Army,” she said, reading the words aloud. “Provost Marshal General's Department.”

“I am investigating her murder,” I said. “Obviously, you are an important witness to her final hours.”

“Yes, I understand. Please excuse me, but I have just finished my bath,” she said. “Would you come with me?”

As she turned, the dressing robe parted at her right side, revealing a slim, naked thigh. At the top of the stairs, we turned left down a well-lit hallway. I could hear low voices coming from behind the first door.

At the end of the hall, we went through an open doorway into a candlelit sitting room. Going straight to an armoire against the far wall, she pulled out several articles of clothing.

“Please wait here,” she said, before disappearing through the door beyond and closing it behind her.

The room extended under the slope of the back roof of the house. There was a dormer window at each end. Under the side roof, a French door led out to a little second-story porch. A coal fire was burning in the grate of the fireplace. Two inviting chairs sat in front of it.

A massive walnut sleigh bed dominated one corner. Next to the armoire was a walnut dressing table with matching mirror. There were no pictures or other adornments on the white plaster walls. Aside from a leather suitcase that lay on top of the armoire, I saw no personal objects of any kind.

It was very warm in the room. I removed my greatcoat and slung it over one of the chairs. The door to the armoire was open. Most of the space inside was empty. She had fewer than a dozen dresses and other outfits. A drawer at the base of the armoire contained an assortment of neatly folded silk undergarments. I heard the far door open and turned to see her coming toward me, her hips barely moving as she walked.

“Does my room pass your inspection, Captain McKittredge?” she asked, with the lilting French accent.

“I'm surprised at how little you seem to have,” I said coldly.

Her rose-high complexion seemed to color slightly before she responded.

“It is good not to have too many things,” she replied. “Then it is not so hard to leave them.”

She had changed into a simple white shift. It fell from her shoulders in the style of an old Greek engraving. At her neck she wore a band of lace-trimmed ivory satin. There were two matching satin bands around her wrists, each of them fastened by mother of pearl buttons.

Her hair was still wet, and it shined like polished ebony in the candlelight.

“I'm sorry to hear about Anya,” she said. “She was very greedy, but I liked her.”

“I gather it runs in your profession,” I said, feeling another surge of anger.

She smiled at me as if I were a disobedient child and sat down in one of the chairs near the fire.

“So you are an investigator,” she said, making the last word sound important.

I nodded.

“How old are you?” she asked.

“What does that matter?” I said.

“You seem quite young to be involved in a matter of such importance.”

“I'm twenty-one.”

“Then you must be good at what you do,” she said.

“How old are you?” I asked.

“Eighteen,” she said.

“Then you must be good at what you do,” I said with sarcasm.

“I am,” she replied evenly.

“When was the last time you saw Miss Hagel?”

“The night of General Hooker's party,” she said.

“Why were you there?” I asked, not pausing to think.

Her brown eyes searched mine with a puckish air.

“Why would you ask me that question?” she said. “You already know what I am.”

I tried not to look as stupid as I felt.

“Did you leave the birthday party together?” I said.

“Yes,” she replied. “When it ended, we both went to a more … to a smaller party.”

“And then?”

“I did not see her again after we arrived.”

“Did you happen to meet a woman there named Mavis Bannister?”

“There were a number of other women there. By then the guests were not exchanging last names,” she said.

“Where was this second party?” I asked next.

“At a country house … I have no idea where.”

“And you never saw Miss Hagel after you arrived at the second party?”

There was a knock at the door. The girl called out,
“Entrez,”
and the old woman came into the room, gabbling something in the same strange language. The girl nodded but said nothing. The woman left.

“Do you have a watch?” she asked then.

I removed it from the pocket of my uniform blouse.

“It is two-fifteen,” I said.

“One of my responsibilities is to see that the other girls are accounted for by now. One of them appears to be missing. Hopefully, it will take no more than ten minutes to determine why. Then I would be happy to answer the rest of your questions. Is that all right?”

I nodded.

“May I wait here?” I said.

“Of course.”

As she was going out the door, she looked back and said, “My hired woman spent an hour heating water for my bath. Perhaps, while you are waiting, you would like one, too?”

I had not had a bath in a week. The mere thought of it seemed like a chimerical illusion. Then an image of Val crossed my mind, the omnipotent gray eyes glaring at me from his hospital bed. I was about to say no, when she added, “It's just that I can see you are very tired.”

What could be the possible harm, I thought, already regretting my sanctimonious air. Who was I to judge anyone else, considering what I had become after Ball's Bluff?

“Thank you,” I said. “I would appreciate that.”

“Would you like something to drink? A glass of wine, perhaps?”

I shook my head.

“Well, the tub is right there in the trunk room,” she said, pointing to the door beyond. “I will be back as soon as I can.”

The trunk room was nothing more than an unheated windowless alcove under the raw undressed beams of the roof. In the light of a small oil lamp, I could actually see my breath in the air. It made the still steaming bathwater even more inviting.

The burnished copper tub was large enough for two people and shaped like an inverted top hat with most of the brim cut away. Quickly unbuttoning my uniform, I laid it on the table and stepped into the bath, sinking down into the soapy water until it completely covered my head.

Surfacing, I luxuriated in the cleansing heat, feeling it soak into my sore muscles and feet. After a few minutes, I lay my head against the back of the tub and closed my eyes.

“Are you still alive?” came a voice from a long way off.

I awoke with a start. She was standing in the open doorway of her bedroom.

“I fell asleep,” I said.

“The water must be quite cold by now.”

“It is,” I said.

Through the shift she was wearing, I could see the clear outline of her figure against the light behind her. She showed no sign of moving, and I felt a sudden stab of arousal. The bathwater hid my growing erection.

“If you'll give me a minute …”

She smiled and shut the door.

I vigorously toweled myself dry. When I went to the table to put my uniform back on, it was no longer there. Obviously, she or someone else had taken it while I was asleep. Feeling like a fool again, I wrapped the towel around my waist and opened the door. She was sitting at the dressing table, brushing her hair, which ran all the way down to her waist.

“Tante Louise is pressing your uniform,” she said, without turning to look at me. “It is a service of the house.”

“Please have her bring it now,” I said.

“Of course,” she replied, pulling the bell rope that hung next to her table. “In the meantime, I put a robe for you behind the door.”

As she glanced at the reflection of my image in the mirror, her eyes suddenly widened. It took me a moment to realize that she was staring at the network of livid weals on my abdomen. Quickly turning to the side, I returned to the trunk room.

A silk robe was hanging behind the door. I recognized it as soon as I removed it from the hook. The robe was emblazoned with beautifully embroidered gilt dragons on a field of purple. General Hooker had been wearing it when I met him for the first time in the lavatory of the Washington Insane Asylum.

I put the robe on, belted it, and went back into her room.

“Very becoming,” she said, standing up from the table and coming slowly toward me.

“Who brought you down to Falmouth?” I asked, trying to control my new bout of rage.

She saw the anger in my face, and halted in the middle of the room.

“I would prefer not to answer that,” she said.

“Who brought you down to Falmouth?” I repeated.

She stood motionless, her hands at her side.

“Was it General Hooker?” I asked.

“You sound like you know him.”

“Well enough to know that I'm wearing his robe.”

She could not hide the surprise in her eyes.

“And what about Laird Hawkinshield?”

She reacted as if I had slapped her.

“He owns this place,” she said.

“And you?”

“No one owns me,” she said almost defiantly.

“Did he bring you and Anya down to Falmouth?”

“You do not understand,” she said, slowly shaking her head. “This involves men of … great reputation.”

“Maybe I don't understand,” I said, “but Anya was murdered down there. That should mean something to you.”

I was shocked at the intensity of my desire for her.

She must have seen it in my eyes because she came toward me again, stopping less than a foot away. The crown of her head came up to my chin, and I could smell the fragrance of honeysuckle in her hair.

I forced myself to look directly into her eyes.

“Was it Hawkinshield?”

Her uplifted face was inches from mine.

“Do you have a girl?” she whispered, her full lips barely parted.

“Yes,” I lied.

She raised her lips toward mine.

“Have you ever made love to her?”

I could feel the sweet ebb and flow of each breath as she stood close to me, our mouths almost touching. Then she pressed her lips lightly against my mine. They seemed to soften before slowly parting.

Her mouth tasted like warm caramel.

I felt my nervousness disappear as a wave of pure sensation rippled down my spine. She groaned something incoherently against my lips, stepping away only when there was a light knock at the door. The old woman came into the room carrying my newly pressed uniform over her arm. As if there was some silent signal between them, she laid it on the back of one of the chairs and left. Amelie followed her and locked the door. Picking up a brass candelabrum from the dressing table, she carried it over to the stand next to the bed. Then almost shyly, she came toward me again.