A loud thud on the front step, followed immediately by the sound of a key in the lock, jolted her out of the sensual daze. Anthony stiffened and tried to step back. But the door opened wide before they could completely untangle themselves from each other’s arms.
She stared in amazement at the sight of Lavinia sweeping into the small hall. Her aunt was closely followed by Tobias, who was assisting a coachman with a large trunk.
“Home at last.” Lavinia jerked off her yellow straw bonnet and sent it sailing toward the nearest table. “Whoever said that life in the country was a soothing tonic for the nerves obviously did not have the faintest notion of what he was talking about.”
Chapter 9
Mrs. Chilton bustled back into the house just as Tobias sent the coach away. Her basket was overflowing with garden produce. She gazed in surprise at the small crowd in the front hall.
“What’s this? Is something wrong? You weren’t expected home until tomorrow, ma'am.”
“Plans changed, Mrs. Chilton,” Lavinia said. “It is a long story. Meanwhile, Mr. March and I are famished. The food at the inn where we stopped for a meal was quite wretched. But, then, I suppose that is all of a piece with the entire, wretched trip.”
“Mrs. Lake is right,” Tobias said. “The food was, indeed, bad. I am feeling the pangs of hunger myself.”
Mrs. Chilton snorted. “I don’t doubt that for a moment. Very well, I’ll prepare a cold collation.”
“Thank you.” Tobias smiled deliberately at her. “Would you happen to have any of those extraordinary currant tarts on hand, by any chance? I have been dreaming about them since we stopped at the inn.”
Mrs. Chilton gave him a beady-eyed look of disapproval. “I’m surprised you’ve got the energy left to eat any currant tarts, sir, what with that long, exhausting journey and all.”
“Vale’s carriage was so nicely sprung I was able to get a bit of rest.”
Lavinia frowned at that blithely spoken untruth. Tobias had not slept a wink on the journey home. The two of them had spent most of the time plotting strategy and discussing the new case.
But Mrs. Chilton made a clucking sound with her tongue and shook her head. “I may have one or two tarts left over from the batch I made up for the basket you took with you on your trip to the country.”
“I am very much obliged, Mrs. Chilton,” Tobias said, a little too humbly.
Lavinia watched the pair closely. This was not the first time she had cause to suspect that she was missing some secret joke shared by the two. Tobias and Mrs. Chilton were not the only ones who appeared inexplicably amused. Anthony was examining the floor very intently, the corners of his mouth twitching. Emeline suddenly turned away to hang the yellow bonnet on a hook.
Lavinia had had enough. She planted her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes at Tobias. “More currant tarts? Allow me to tell you, sir, that you have become obsessive about currants in recent weeks. You are forever requesting that Mrs. Chilton provide you with some delicacy made of currants. I vow, there have been enough currant jam, currant cakes, and currant tarts around here to feed an army.”
“I am obviously lacking something in my diet that can only be satisfied with currants,” Tobias said.
“I’ll bring the tray into the library,” Mrs. Chilton said quickly.
She hurried off down the hall toward the kitchen.
Lavinia reluctantly decided to abandon the subject of currants for the moment. There were other, more-pressing matters.
She led the way into her study. Tossing the notebook that she had removed from her reticule onto a little table, she went straight to the sherry cabinet.
“We shall tell you the whole story,” she assured Anthony and Emeline. “But first, I believe that Tobias and I are both in need of a tonic.”
“I will not quarrel with that,” Tobias said. He lowered himself into the largest of the chairs and propped his left foot on a stool, making himself at home, as had become his habit of late.
Lavinia was still not certain how she felt about the ease with which he had begun to embed himself into her daily life. It had happened gradually over the past few months, she realized. Tobias owned a perfectly pleasant house of his own a few blocks away in Slate Street, but he seemed to be spending less and less time in it. Instead, he had got into the habit of showing up on her doorstep whenever the notion took him.
She grumbled frequently to Emeline and Mrs. Chilton about how often he managed to arrive just as breakfast was served. He did not hesitate to take a seat at the table and help himself to coffee and eggs. He also had an uncanny knack for appearing when she was alone in the house. His timing on those occasions was really quite remarkable, she reflected. He seemed to know when Mrs. Chilton and Emeline would be absent, and he frequently took advantage of the privacy to make passionate, if somewhat hurried, love to her.
She declared loudly to anyone who would listen that it was exasperating to have Tobias constantly underfoot, but the truth was, she was growing accustomed to his presence in the household.
The knowledge that, deep down, she rather liked having him about was unsettling.
A decade ago, when she had wed John, she had not experienced any of these qualms. She had been in love with her gentle poet of a husband, and marriage had seemed the logical culmination of that romantic attachment.
But the union had ended after only eighteen months, when John had succumbed to a fever of the lungs. For four years she had been obliged to make her own way in the world and then Emeline had come to live with her. She was well aware that the responsibility of taking care of herself and her niece had changed her in some ways. She was not the same woman she had been all those years ago.
Not only was she older and more worldly now, she thought, but she had come to value the freedom and independence that her status as a widow bestowed upon her. Unlike Emeline, she was no longer subject to the strict rules of decorum that governed younger, unwed ladies. She was free to indulge in the occasional passionate affair if she chose. All that was required of her these days was that she be reasonably discreet. Widows enjoyed the best of both worlds, she told herself. They could savor the pleasures of passion and still retain the control and independence allowed by their single state.
Somewhere along the line, she thought, she had reached the conclusion that she would remain unmarried for the rest of her life. She had been quite content with that prospect.
Until recently.
Matters were no longer so clear to her. In point of fact, she thought, her future appeared quite murky at the moment.
Falling in love with Tobias had caught her off guard and was also proving to be a decidedly disturbing experience. It had taken her some time to even comprehend what had happened. She had not immediately identified her feelings for Tobias as the bonds of love, because the emotions were so markedly different from the tender, innocent sentiments she had known in her marriage.
Granted, ten years had passed since John’s death, but to the best of her recollection the two of them had never disagreed, let alone quarreled in the course of their marriage. Of course, she reflected in a sudden burst of insight, there had been very little to quarrel about. The truth was, John had been only too happy to turn over all of the decision-making to her.
John had been dedicated to his poetry. He had yearned for nothing more than to be freed from dealing with all the pesky details of daily life, including the necessity of making a living.
She had taken charge from the outset of the marriage. Not only had she managed their household but, because John’s brilliance as a poet had gone unrecognized and he had therefore been unable to secure an income from his writing, she had supported them both with her skills in mesmerism.
The arrangement had actually worked quite well over the short course of the marriage. She had been content. She told herself that John had loved her and she was certain that was true. But looking back, she knew now that he had reserved his deepest passions for his writing.
r /> Perhaps that was the real reason why they had never quarreled, she reflected. John simply had not cared enough about anything except his writing to be bothered to argue.
Her relationship with Tobias was altogether different. The emotions that flared so easily between them were far more intense than those she had experienced with John, but those heated discussions resulted more often than not in heated lovemaking.
She was obliged to admit to herself that she could not manage Tobias the way she had managed John. She was not certain how she felt about that.
An affair was the perfect solution, she assured herself. It was a familiar litany, one she repeated quite often late at night when she found herself lying awake and alone in her bed.
She pushed the disquieting thoughts aside and poured the sherry. When she turned around to hand one of the glasses to Tobias, she saw that he was absently massaging his left leg. She frowned.
“Is your wound bothering you?” she said.
“Do not concern yourself.” He took the glass from her. “The long carriage ride stiffened my leg somewhat. A glass of sherry will soon fix the problem.” He swallowed half the contents of the glass and eyed the small amount that remained. “On second thought make that two or three.”
She refilled his glass, sat down, and propped her heels on the hassock.
“I cannot tell you how good it is to be home,” she said to Emeline and Anthony.
Emeline took a chair near the globe. Her pretty face filled with concern. “What happened at Beaumont Castle?”
“The entire affair was a complete disaster,” Lavinia announced.
Tobias drank more sherry and looked thoughtful. “I would not say that. The house party had its moments.”
She saw the glint in his eyes and knew that he was recalling the passionate interlude they had shared late last night in her bedchamber. She gave him a quelling look, which he did not appear to notice.
“Out with it.” Anthony lounged on the corner of the desk, arms folded. “Emeline and I cannot tolerate the suspense. What occurred to bring you both back to London in such a great hurry?”
“Where to start?” Tobias turned the nearly empty sherry glass between his palms. “I suppose one could say that the murder of Lord Fullerton was something of a turning point.”
“Murder.” Emeline’s lips parted in astonishment. Then her expression brightened with interest. “Well, that certainly explains a few things.”
“It does, indeed.” Anthony’s enthusiasm was plain. “Can I conclude that we have a new case?”
“You may.” Lavinia flicked a quick glance at Tobias. “Always assuming our new client can afford us? As I recall, there was no discussion of our fees.”
Tobias finished his sherry and lowered the glass. “Mrs. Gray can well afford us.”
“I suggest you start at the beginning and tell us all,” Emeline said.
Lavinia waved a hand at Tobias. “You may do the honors, sir. I believe I require more sherry.”
Tobias held out his own glass for a refill. Then he launched into an account of events at the Beaumont estate.
She listened carefully while she splashed sherry into the two glasses and reseated herself. To her relief, Tobias left out a few particulars, such as why she had come to be sneaking about in the castle hallways so late at night.
When he finished, Anthony and Emeline were both bubbling with questions, comments, and suggestions.
“Time is plainly of the essence here,” Anthony said. “You will need our help on this case.”
“Yes.” Tobias’s hand tightened around his glass. “We will, indeed, require some assistance.”
“We made some plans during the trip back to London,” Lavinia said. She picked up the small notebook she had put on the table a few minutes earlier and flipped it open. “There are several lines of inquiry to be pursued. The memento-mori ring we found in Fullerton’s bedchamber appears to be old. There is a possibility that the killer purchased it or stole it from one of the antiquities shops.”
Emeline absently spun the globe beneath one hand and looked thoughtful. “It could also have been pawned and sold by a jeweler.”
Tobias nodded. “Quite true, although it does not appear to be the sort of ring a jeweler would want to purchase.”
“There is not a lot of demand for memento-mori rings these days,” Lavinia put in. “They are not nearly so fashionable as they once were.”
“It is a clue,” Tobias added. “We cannot afford to ignore it.”
Anthony looked at him. “Emeline and I are to interview shopkeepers and jewelers who might know something about the ring, I assume?”
“Yes,” Tobias said. “There is also the matter of the wig.”
“A blond wig.” Emeline considered briefly. “Not at all in the current mode.”
“We believe that may be precisely the point,” Lavinia said. “The killer wanted to be certain that, if he was seen, the only thing anyone would recall clearly was a woman’s blond hair. Oh, and one more point. Although Tobias is certain the killer is a man, I am reserving judgment.”
Anthony looked at Tobias, brows elevated inquiringly.
“My intuition tells me that we are dealing with a man,” Tobias said. “But Lavinia has a point. We cannot rule out the possibility that this new Memento-Mori Man is actually a woman.”
“Very well.” Anthony straightened away from the desk. “Emeline and I will see what we can learn on the subject of blond wigs and missing memento-mori rings.”
“The first step is to draw up a list of wig shops and antiquities dealers who specialize in old rings,” Emeline said.
Tobias frowned. “Have a care when you ask your questions. We are dealing with a killer who has openly challenged me. I fear that he is playing a vicious chess game, just as Zachary Elland once did. I want to ensure that his attention remains focused on me. I do not want this villain to take an interest in either of you. Understood?”
“Do not concern yourself, sir,” Emeline said quickly. “Anthony and I will be extremely discreet in our inquiries.” She smiled. “It is the motto of our little agency, is it not? Discretion assured.”
“What do you and Mrs. Lake plan to do while we are investigating the ring and the wig?” Anthony asked.
Tobias looked at Lavinia. “Our first goal is to find out who benefited most from Fullerton’s death.”
“Of course.” Emeline smiled. “I expect that will be quite straightforward. Just look to the heir, as you are so fond of saying, Mr. March.”
Lavinia tapped her notebook against the arm of the chair. “Our second objective may be far more complicated. We wish to discover whether or not there have been any other similar deaths in recent months and, if so, who profited from them.”
“The Memento-Mori Man prided himself on his professional approach to his business.” Tobias leaned his head against the back of his chair and closed his eyes. “Elland did not kill at random. With the exception of his work as a spy, each murder involved a financial transaction.”
Chapter 10
Tobias and Anthony left an hour later, after having demolished an entire leek-and-potato pie, a large wedge of cheese, a goodly portion of pickled salmon, most of a loaf of bread, and a number of small tarts.
“Mr. March and Mr. Sinclair are certainly blessed with hearty appetites,” Mrs. Chilton said with an air of satisfaction as she cleared away the empty dishes. “A sign of a healthy constitution in a man, I always say.”
“I don’t know how any household can afford to feed two such healthy constitutions day in and day out,” Lavinia muttered. “I do hope they will not get into the habit of dropping by for dinner or supper. It is expensive enough as it is to feed Mr. March his breakfast every morning, to say nothing of those days when he is accompanied by Anthony. I vow, if they both dined with us for every meal they would soon eat us out of house and home.”
“Rubbish.” Emeline picked up her teacup and wrinkled her nose. “It is not that bad and well you
know it. Really, Lavinia, you do tend to exaggerate whenever you are discussing Mr. March’s little eccentricities and small foibles.”
“You call that appetite a little eccentricity?” Lavinia swept out a hand to indicate the few crumbs that remained on the plates. “For heaven’s sake, I do believe that Tobias ate every single one of Mrs. Chilton’s currant tarts.”
Mrs. Chilton shook her head and hoisted the tray. “Expect he’ll be asking me to go out for more currants this week. Mr. March’s taste for currants seems to know no bounds.”
“Yes, I’ve noticed that.” Lavinia removed her low half boots and slid her stocking-clad feet into a pair of comfortable slippers. “Indeed, he consumes them as though he believes them to be some sort of invigorating tonic.”
Emeline abruptly sputtered and coughed. “Sorry,” she mumbled into a napkin. “Difficulty swallowing the tea.”
Mrs. Chilton made an odd noise and hurried out the door.
One of these days, Lavinia thought, she would discover what it was about currants that created such an effect on everyone else in the household.
“I vow, I am exhausted,” she said. “Vale’s carriage had excellent springs and was quite comfortable; nevertheless, it was a very long trip back from Beaumont Castle. I believe I shall go to bed early tonight. Tomorrow will be an extremely busy day.”
Emeline watched her closely for a moment and then slowly put down her cup. “Were you enjoying the house party before the dreadful events occurred?”
“Oh, yes. With the exception of a rather upsetting episode involving a change of rooms, it was all quite festive. I was looking forward to the rest of the activities. That is, until I discovered Cleopatra in Tobias’s bedchamber.”
Emeline stared at her. “I beg your pardon?”
“Our new client, Aspasia Gray, came dressed as Cleopatra for the evening.”
“I understand, but what was she doing in Mr. March’s bedchamber?”
“An excellent question—one I asked, myself.” Lavinia drummed her fingers on the arms of her chair. “They are old friends, as Tobias told you a while ago.”