Chapter 22
Crackenburne lowered his newspaper with more alacrity than usual and peered at Tobias. “There you are. Where the devil have you been?”
“Detecting clues.” Tobias lowered himself into the vacant chair in front of the club’s hearth. “That’s how I earn my living, if you will recall. Not all of us are so fortunate as to be able to spend our entire lives in our clubs as you do, sir.”
Crackenburne snapped the paper closed and tossed it onto the small table beside his chair. “You’re in a bloody bad temper this evening. I assume this means the detecting business is not going well.”
“On the contrary, I’ve got more clues than I can handle, and none of them is giving me any useful answer.” Tobias rested his elbows on the arms of the chair and stretched out his left leg. “Tell me, sir, has it ever occurred to you that a mature lady might commission a murder to ensure that her granddaughter marries well?”
Crackenburne blinked a couple of times. Then he scowled. “Hadn’t actually considered the question, but there’s no getting around the fact that marriage is damned important business in the ton. Where there are fortunes and titles involved, who is to say what a strong-minded person with no scruples might do? I’ve known parents to conspire to compromise their own daughters with young gentlemen to force an offer. Every Season some ladies and gentlemen as good as sell their offspring into a miserable alliance in order to secure an inheritance. Why not commit a murder if it would achieve one’s ends?”
“Indeed. Well, it appears that our new Memento-Mori Man may have noted that unique demand in the marketplace and seized the opportunity. Mrs. Lake and Mrs. Dove are convinced that Lady Huxford, the Dowager Lady Ferring, and a certain Mrs. Stockard may have been among his clients.”
He explained Lavinia’s theory.
“How very odd.” Crackenburne frowned. “But now that I consider the deaths from that perspective, I must admit such a conclusion is not beyond probability. I remember some of those scenes Lady Ferring and Lady Rowland conducted. Quite entertaining. And those old rumors about Lady Huxford and Fullerton. Well, we did wonder at the time. I am not well-acquainted with Mrs. Stockard, but it is not difficult to see why an intelligent person would object to an alliance with Newbold.”
“Mrs. Lake and Mrs. Dove are going to attempt to discreetly question Lady Huxford and Lady Ferring tomorrow night at Vauxhall. Meanwhile, I will continue to flounder about in my own rather ineffectual fashion in hopes of finding some clue to the identity of the person who sent a villain to try to frighten my partner.”
“Have you any notions in that direction?”
“A few. To hire someone like Sweet Ned, one must make inquiries in the underworld. In my experience, that sphere is a mirror image of Society, governed by the same immutable laws of nature.”
“In other words, the rivers of gossip flow just as freely.”
“Precisely.”
“It certainly did not take long for the rumors concerning the employment of Sweet Ned to reach your friend Jack at the Gryphon.”
“Jack is continuing to fish in that pond on my behalf. With any luck, he will pull up something useful.”
“Has he turned up anything regarding Elland?”
“Not yet.”
Crackenburne’s brows knit above the rims of his spectacles. “Do you know, your observations concerning Elland’s deliberate avoidance of the stews and the poorer neighborhoods struck me as quite interesting. I have been giving them a great deal of consideration. You are correct. He fancied himself as an elegant sort of murderer, did he not? He took professional pride in the fact that he moved in Society, not in that mirror-image world you describe.”
“I recall that on several occasions when I asked him to assist me in gathering intelligence at some dockside tavern or brothel, he always refused. He claimed that he had no knowledge of those environments and that he would be unable to be effective in them. But looking back, I believe that he had more than just a disdain of those whom he considered his social inferiors. I think there was an element of fear in his attitude.”
Crackenburne looked thoughtful. “He certainly would not have been the first to employ outward scorn to mask such an emotion.”
“I am hoping that in Elland’s case he had good reason to be wary of the stews.”
Crackenburne frowned. “What is that?”
“If he came from that world, it would make sense that he would not have wanted to take the risk of going back into it.”
“For fear of being recognized, do you think?”
“Or triggering someone’s memory. Who knows? But whatever the answer in Elland’s case, evidently our new Memento-Mori Man does not share the same inhibitions. He was willing to go into a notoriously bad neighborhood to find Sweet Ned.”
“Perhaps he was simply desperate.”
“Regardless, I can hope that in seeking assistance in that quarter, he will have left some traces.”
“I wish you the best of luck in your hunt.” Crackenburne cleared his throat. “By the way, I have a bit of news for you on another subject.”
Tobias stilled. “Dominic Hood?”
Crackenburne leaned back in his chair. “I do not know if you will find it helpful, but it may provide you with a place to start looking.”
Tobias slipped the lock pick back into its leather sheath and studied the heavily shadowed laboratory. He recognized some of the apparatus and equipment. Rows of glass beakers glinted on a nearby shelf. A large electrical machine loomed in the corner. He saw a handsome telescope on a bench. Next to it was a microscope.
There were several other items that he could not identify, but all looked expensive and all spoke of a passion for science. He had already searched the bedchamber and the small parlor. The laboratory had been locked, so he had saved it for last. Now, standing amid the treasures Dominic Hood clearly valued most, he knew that if the young man had secrets to conceal, they would be hidden here.
It was just after nine o’clock. He had watched Dominic leave his lodgings a short while earlier. The young man had been dressed for an evening at his club or the gaming tables. He would not be back for several hours. His manservant had left shortly afterward, looking as though he were headed for a nearby coffeehouse.
Tobias went about the search swiftly but methodically. He was aided by the orderly precision of the laboratory. He found what he was looking for in a small, locked drawer in the desk near the window.
The diary was bound in leather. The handwriting was feminine. The dates of the entries began twenty-two years earlier.
. . . My heart beats so rapidly when he touches my hand that it is a wonder I do not faint. I cannot begin to describe the intensity of this great emotion that his presence creates within me. Just knowing that he is near fills me with delight. He has warned me that I must not tell Mama or Papa or any of my friends, but how can I keep this astonishing secret to myself?
Tobias flipped forward several pages and paused at a sprinkling of other entries.
. . . I cannot believe that he has abandoned me. He swore that his passion for me was as great as mine for him. Surely he will come for me as he promised. We will run away together. . . .
***
. . . Mama says that I am ruined. She has spent the entire day crying in her bedchamber. Papa went into his study this morning and locked the door. He has not come out all day. Phillips says that he is getting drunk on claret and brandy. I am very frightened. I sent a message to my love but he has not responded. Dear God, what will I do if he does not come for me? I cannot bear to contemplate my life without him. . . .
***
. . . Papa has just informed me that my love is married to another. Mama claims that he not only possesses a wife, but that there is a small daughter and another babe due in the summer. This is not possible. Surely he would not have lied to me. . . .
***
. . . We are to leave for the country in the morning. Papa says that he has no choice but to accept Mr
. Hood’s offer for my hand. I must be wed immediately or I am doomed. Phillips took another message to my love this afternoon, but again there was no response. Dear God, my heart is broken. I do not care if I live another day. Mr. Hood is an old man. . . .
Anthony shot to his feet. “He’s my brother?”
“Half-brother, to be precise.” Tobias sank down on the edge of his desk. “It was all there in the diary. Helen Clifton named your father as the man who seduced her when she was brought to London for her first Season.”
“It’s impossible.” Anthony stalked tensely across the study to the window. He scowled at the night-darkened garden. “Surely I would know if I had a brother.”
“Not necessarily. It would have been a dark family secret as far as the Cliftons were concerned, and Hood was only too pleased to acknowledge Dominic as his son. Crackenburne tells me that the man was twenty years older than Helen. He had been widowed twice and had no offspring. He was desperate for an heir.”
“So when his young wife informed him that she was with child, he was only too willing to believe that the babe was his?”
“He was no doubt told that the babe was born before its time. It is a common enough story. In any event, the last entry in the diary was made some three months after Dominic was born. In it, she states that she loves the babe and for his sake she will keep her secret until he is old enough to understand and forgive her. I suspect that she may not have told him the truth until she was on her deathbed. Perhaps she did not tell him at all.”
“Do you think Dominic found the diary after she was gone?”
“I cannot say. Either way, it must have come as a great blow.”
Anthony gripped the windowsill very tightly. “What a terrible way to discover the secrets of your own life.”
“Crackenburne informed me that Hood died about five years ago. Dominic’s mother was taken off last year.”
“A fever?”
“No. Apparently she suffered from spells of melancholia. According to Crackenburne’s sources, those who knew her believe she deliberately took too much laudanum one evening. By the time they found her, she was gone. Dominic inherited a considerable amount of property and a comfortable income from both sides of his family.”
“That certainly explains his fine boots and the excellent cut of his coats,” Anthony muttered. “As well as all that expensive laboratory equipment.”
“He may be comfortably situated, but he is alone now in the world.” Tobias paused a beat. “Except for you.”
“It is difficult to grasp the notion that I might have a brother.” Anthony turned around, revealing the confusion and uncertainty in his eyes. “But if what you say is true and Dominic has both a respectable name and a substantial income, why does he hate me so much?”
“I suggest that you ask him,” Tobias said.
Chapter 23
The following evening, Lavinia sat with Joan in a colonnaded supper box and gazed with unabashed delight at the booths, rotundas, and fanciful pavilions that surrounded them.
Vauxhall was ablaze with lights tonight. Countless lamps and lanterns concealed in the trees illuminated the grounds, while the thrilling music of Handel drifted over the scene. Mysterious grottos, historical tableaux, and galleries hung with paintings drew large crowds. A short distance away, the pleasure garden’s notorious tree-lined walks, many of them dark and secluded, lured amorous couples into the shadows for a bit of mildly scandalous dalliance.
If it were not for the fact that she and Joan were here on very serious business, Lavinia thought, she would have enjoyed herself immensely.
“I have not been here in years,” Joan said, examining the selection of cold meats on her plate with dry amusement. “But I vow nothing has changed. The ham is still sliced so thinly that one could read a newspaper through it.”
“My parents and I visited Vauxhall on a few occasions when I was young,” Lavinia said. “They purchased ice cream for me. I remember a balloon ascent and some acrobats and, of course, the fireworks.”
Memories floated up from the past, bringing images of another time when she had lived sheltered and secure in the warm bosom of her small family. The world then had been a very different place, she thought. Or, more likely, she was the one who had been different. In those days she had still been innocent and naive.
But one had to grow up eventually. She had done just that a decade ago when, in the course of eighteen months, she had been married and widowed and lost her beloved parents at sea. In what had seemed a single, shattering moment, she found herself alone in the world, forced to survive on her wits and her skills at mesmerism.
Joan’s life had taken some equally difficult twists and turns, she reflected. Perhaps that was the basis of the bond of friendship that had grown between them.
“You appear to be lost in thought.” Joan forked up a dainty bite of the very thin ham. “Are you contemplating how to go about questioning Lady Huxford and Lady Ferring?”
“No.” Lavinia smiled slightly. “You may find this odd, but I was pondering how you and I come to be sitting here tonight, eating this vastly overpriced meal and wearing gowns created by one of the most fashionable dressmakers in London.”
Joan was briefly startled. Then, without warning, she gave one of her rare chuckles. Her eyes danced with laughter and shared knowledge.
“When but for the hand of fate we could so easily have come to another, far less pleasant end? Quite right.” Joan picked up her glass of wine. “Let us drink to the fact that neither of us ended up as an impoverished governess or some man’s discarded mistress.”
“Indeed.” Lavinia touched her glass to Joan's. “But I do not think that we should give fate all the credit for helping us avoid either of those dreadful professions.”
“I agree.” Joan took a sip of wine and put down her glass. “Neither of us was afraid to grasp our opportunities when they appeared, were we? We have both taken some risks along the way that I fear would cause others to shudder.”
“Perhaps.” Lavinia shrugged. “But we survived.”
Joan’s expression turned thoughtful. “I do not think that either of us could have contemplated doing anything else, at least not for long. Our temperaments are such that we must take command of the course of our own lives and fortunes. Fielding always said that one of the things he admired most in me was my willingness to turn a corner and go forth into the future.”
Lavinia smiled. “May I take that comment to mean that you have decided that your new connection to Lord Vale does not dishonor your old love for your husband?”
“You may.” Joan cut another slice of ham with a resolute motion of her hand. “I gave your comments on the subject a great deal of close thought and I am certain of my heart. I have told Maryanne as much. It may take her some time to accept the situation, but I hope that eventually she will come to understand that I cannot live shrouded in the past. Nor would Fielding have wanted me to do so.”
“She will come around in time. She is still very young.”
“Yes, I know.” Joan chewed delicately and swallowed. “Do you think that we were ever so young and innocent? I cannot remember—” She stopped, eyes narrowing faintly. “Ah, here they come at last. I was beginning to fear that they had changed their plans for the evening.”
“Lady Huxford and Lady Ferring?”
“Yes. This is perfect. They are being shown to the table directly behind you, just as I requested.”
The request had been honored, Lavinia thought, because Joan had tipped handsomely to ensure that outcome. She resisted the urge to turn around in her seat.
“Lady Huxford has noticed me,” Joan murmured. She smiled coolly at a point just past Lavinia’s right shoulder and raised her voice slightly. “Lady Huxford, Lady Ferring. How lovely to see you here this evening.”
“Mrs. Dove.” The first voice was brittle and sharp.
“Mrs. Dove.” The second voice was raspy and rather hoarse.
“Allow me to int
roduce my very good friend, Mrs. Lake,” Joan said.
Lavinia forced herself to take her time. She turned slowly in her seat and, following Joan’s lead, inclined her head ever so slightly.
Her first thought was that she had made a terrible mistake. Remorse swept through her. Surely neither of these two women teetering on canes was capable of commissioning a cold-blooded murder.
Lady Huxford was frail and nearly as thin as the slice of ham on Joan’s plate. Lady Ferring appeared sturdier, but it was clear that in her younger days she had probably been several inches taller. Her shoulders were now bent and rounded.
Lavinia’s pang of guilt faded when she found herself meeting two pairs of eyes that glinted with the undimmed fires of strong, forceful personalities. The chilly arrogance in those gazes spoke of long lives spent manipulating events and people to obtain their own ends. Their bodies might have succumbed to the weight of the years, but there was nothing wrong with either Lady Huxford’s or Lady Ferring’s mental faculties, Lavinia thought.
Or with their sense of style either, she noticed. Lady Huxford’s bronze gown was trimmed with yellow ribbons. Lady Ferring was garbed in an expensively cut dress of heavy rose silk. Both wore high, stiffly pleated lace ruffs, no doubt designed to conceal wrinkles and loose skin at the throat.
Each wore a fetching little hat too. The charming confections were perched jauntily atop great quantities of silver-gray hair piled and curled into elaborate coiffeurs. Wigs, Lavinia thought. The false hair was fashionably arranged with a great deal of frizzing on top to add height. She could not see the back of the ladies’ heads from this angle, but she had a hunch the chignons were equally elaborate.
“Lady Huxford,” Lavinia said very casually, “please allow me to extend my condolences on your recent loss.”
Lady Huxford raised her lorgnette and squinted at Lavinia. “What loss? I haven’t lost anyone of note since his lordship died fourteen years ago.”