“I have no idea what you are talking about, madam,” she said briskly when they were alone again.
Miranda gave her shivery little laugh. “Going to play the role of the virgin bride, are you? How delightful. But I must tell you the effect has already been somewhat spoiled by the events at Ware Castle. After all, everyone there did see you in your nightclothes and wrapper. And I must remind you that it was Stokes himself who assured Ware’s guests that you had been with him when Crane was murdered.”
Emma made a noncommittal response and covered it with another sip of tea.
Miranda’s eyes glittered. “Never say that was not true?”
Oh no you don’t, you witch. You are not going to trip me up on that point.
“It was all perfectly true, Miranda. But a trifle awkward in terms of my reputation.” Emma smiled blandly. “Not, however, as awkward as hanging for murder.”
“I understand.” Miranda propped her delicate chin on her hand and looked at Emma with a confiding air. “But really there is no need to be coy. As there are only the two of us at the moment, I cannot resist asking you what you think of Stokes’s tattoo.”
Emma nearly dropped her cup. “His what?”
Some of the self-assured certainty vanished from Miranda’s eyes. “His tattoo. Surely you have seen it. After all, you have been intimate with him.”
“Gentlemen do not have tattoos,” Emma said forcefully. “Men who go to sea and pirates have them, or so I have been told. But certainly not gentlemen of Mr. Stokes’s station.”
Miranda kept her smile but there was a pinched quality to it. “Perhaps in the darkness you did not notice it.”
“I have no notion of what you are talking about.”
Miranda’s eyes widened. “Dear me, do you mean to say that he does not take his shirt off when he makes love to you? How very disappointing. I myself enjoy the sight of a manly chest.”
Emma was bloody well not going to admit that the one and only time he had made love to her, Edison had not bothered to remove his shirt. She put the teacup down with great precision and looked straight at Miranda.
“I am well aware that I am new to the ways of the ton, Lady Ames. You must forgive me if I am mistaken, but I was under the impression that it is considered quite vulgar for ladies to kiss and tell.”
“I beg your pardon.” Miranda’s expression hardened. “Just what are you implying?”
“I cannot believe that a well-bred lady would ever discuss such things as tattoos and manly chests. Surely only a certain kind of female, a member of the demimonde”—Emma paused just long enough to give emphasis to her next words—“or perhaps an actress, would actually boast of a sexual conquest.”
The effect on Miranda was instantaneous. Her jaw dropped. She jerked as if she had been struck. Her eyes turned glassy with malice. Her rage was a palpable force in the room.
“How dare you imply that I am vulgar?” Miranda’s voice was a grating whisper. “You are the one who is as common as dirt. You were nothing but a paid companion before Stokes took a notion to save you from the hangman’s noose. If I were you, I would start worrying about just why he bothered. You are certainly not the sort of woman a man in his position would ever marry. Why, you are no better than—”
She broke off abruptly, leaped to her feet in a rustle of satin, and swept out the door. The air around her crackled with her fury.
Miranda did know how to make an exit, Emma noted. Yet more evidence that she had once trod the boards. And it was clear that a nerve had been struck with the reference to ill-bred actresses. That will teach you to tangle with a professional companion, Emma thought.
It was only when the spurt of triumph faded that the full realization of what she had just done hit her. She had as much as told Miranda outright that she knew about her past career as an actress.
What on earth had come over her? She might very well have put her wonderful new post in jeopardy with her rash words. If Miranda panicked and took flight, Edison would no longer need any bait. He would no longer need her, Emma thought.
A cold feeling settled into the pit of her stomach.
Emma clenched one gloved hand into a fist. If only the witch had not made that reference to Edison’s tattoo. It was as good as an admission that they had had at least one tryst.
When had it occurred? Emma wondered. At Ware Castle? Or afterward, here in Town? She recalled the way Edison had hovered over Miranda’s hand in the theater box earlier that evening. Just how far had he gone in his efforts to learn more about the actress’s mysterious past?
Another chill of dread trickled down her spine, jolting Emma out of her grim reverie. The sensation of being touched by ghostly fingers had nothing to do with her unhappy imaginings concerning Miranda and Edison.
Edison was in danger. She was sure of it. But there was not a thing she could do about it.
The unmistakable stench of the Thames was especially strong tonight. Edison would have known where he was even if he had been blindfolded. The river had made London a great trading port. Indeed, he was well aware that he owed a substantial portion of his fortune to it. But it also functioned as the city’s sewer. On any given day it was thick with the offal of cesspits and stables, the carcasses of dead animals, and the occasional victim of a footpad.
He stood in the shadows of a fog-shrouded doorway and listened to One-Eared Harry pound on the door of a dock shed.
“Ye’d better be in there with the money ye promised, ye sneaky bastard.” Harry rapped harder. “I’ve carried out me end o’ the bargain and I’ve come for me pay.”
This section of the docks was deserted at this hour. Warehouses and storage buildings loomed dark and silent in the swirling fog. The soft murmur of the black water had a hungry sound, as though the river anticipated prey. Vessels of various sizes groaned and creaked and sighed as they shifted gently against the ropes that secured them.
The only light was the weak glow of Harry’s lantern. It reflected wildly in the fog, creating an unearthly glare near the shed door.
Harry rapped on the wooden panel. “We ’ad a bargain, damn yer eyes. I’ve come for me money. No one cheats One-Eared ’Arry.”
Hinges squeaked. From where he stood, Edison could see the shed door open partway to reveal a wedge of inky darkness. A voice emanated from the shadows.
“You met with the One Who Went Outside the Circle?”
“Now see ’ere, I don’t know nothing about any circle. I met with Stokes, just like we agreed.”
“You told him exactly what I instructed you to tell him?”
“Aye. And now I’ve come for me money. Where is it?”
“If you have carried out your duties, you are of no further use to me.”
“What d’ye mean?” Harry stepped back quickly. The lantern in his hand swung wildly. “Now see ’ere, we ’ad a bargain.”
“Indeed we did, Mr. One-Eared Harry.” The door opened wider. “You have betrayed your friend, have you not?”
“That’s a bloody lie,” Harry protested. He sounded genuinely offended. “I didn’t betray Stokes. Why would I do that? ’Im and me is friends. We’ve been business associates from time to time.”
“Nevertheless, tonight you betrayed him.”
“I just relieved ’im of some of ’is blunt, is all. ’E won’t miss it. ’E’s got more than enough and that’s a bloody fact. It was just business.”
“On the contrary. You have lured him to this meeting, where he will meet great defeat.”
“The devil I did,” Harry snapped. “I didn’t lure him anywhere. We both know there ain’t no pie shop in Oldhead Lane and no rooms above it, either.”
“He is no fool. He is One Who Could Have Been Grand Master. He will not go to Oldhead Lane. He will have followed you here. And here his legend will be destroyed forever.”
“Now ’old on just one bloody damn minute.” Harry took another step back and held up a hand. “If ye think I told ’im those things to make ’im follow me
so that ye could get yer bloody ’ands on ’im, yer as mad as a bedlamite.”
“I am not mad, Mr. One-Eared Harry. I am an Initiate of the Great Circle of Vanza. Tonight I employed the Strategy of Deception to draw out the One Who Could Have Been Grand Master.”
“Why’d ye want to go and do that?” Harry whined.
“When I defeat him in honorable combat, I will prove to my master that I am worthy of being initiated into the next Level of Ascendancy.”
“God’s blood, yer talkin’ gibberish, ye are.”
“Enough.” The dark figure shifted in the shadows of the doorway. A moment later a second lantern flared to life. “I do not have the time to waste discussing great matters which you can never hope to comprehend.”
Edison moved out of his place of concealment, closing the distance between himself and the dark figure who stood in the shed’s doorway.
“I think it’s time you left, Harry,” Edison said quietly.
“What the devil?” Harry raised his lantern, half turning to peer into the swirling fog. “Stokes? What the bloody ’ell are ye—”
The shed door opened wider. A man dressed entirely in black, his features concealed behind a cloth mask, emerged.
The Vanza fighter took two quick steps, leaped high into the air, and lashed out with his foot. The blow struck Harry in the ribs.
Harry gave a muffled grunt and toppled backward over the edge of the dock. There was a resounding splash when he hit the water. The lantern he had been clutching sank like a stone. The light winked out.
Silhouetted in the glare of the lantern he had lit earlier, the Vanza fighter bowed formally to Edison.
“O Legendary One Who Went Outside the Circle. O Great One Who Could Have Been Grand Master, you will honor me by giving me the victory tonight.”
Edison winced. “Do you always talk like that?”
The young fighter stiffened. “I speak with respect to one who is still legend.”
“Who in blazes told you that I was a legend?”
“My master.”
“I’m not a legend,” Edison said softly. “I’m an ex-practitioner of Vanza. There is a very large difference.”
“My master told me that you could have been a Grand Master.”
“To become a Grand Master, one must first call another man Master. I was never very good at that.”
The lack of any splashing sounds was starting to concern Edison. He walked toward the edge of the dock.
“My master says that you could have been the greatest Grand Master of Vanza in all of Europe.”
“Highly unlikely.” Edison risked a quick glance over the side of the dock. There was enough lantern light bouncing off the fog to reveal Harry clinging weakly to a rung embedded in the quay. “By the bye, who is this master of yours?”
“I cannot tell you.” The fighter’s voice dropped to a reverential tone. “I have taken an oath of secrecy.”
“A secret Vanza master? How very odd. Well, I can certainly tell you one thing about him.”
“What is that?” the fighter demanded.
“He is not a good master. Any true practitioner of the arts would have told you that there is nothing courageous or honorable about kicking someone like One-Eared Harry into the river.”
“You are concerned for this One-Eared Harry?” The young man’s voice rose in disbelief. “How can that be? He called himself your friend, yet he betrayed you. He is unworthy of your trust, O Great One Who Could Have Been Grand Master.”
Down below in the water, Harry groaned. It was obvious that he did not have the strength to haul himself out of the river.
Edison reached into his pocket and closed his fingers around the pistol he had brought with him. “Nevertheless, as Harry told you, he and I go back a long way. I really will have to fish him out of the river.”
“Leave him.” The young man went into a fighter’s crouch and began to circle. “Tonight you and I meet in honorable combat.”
Edison removed the pistol and aimed it casually at the Vanza fighter. “Enough of that. I haven’t got time for it tonight.”
“What is this? A pistol?” The young fighter halted abruptly. His voice shook with outrage. “You would use a pistol? That is not Vanza.”
“No, but it’s effective. One of the reasons why I went outside the circle is that there is much about Vanza which I found to be exceedingly impractical.”
“I will not be denied my victory.”
“Take yourself off or we shall both discover whether or not you can achieve your victory over a bullet.”
The Vanza fighter hesitated only a few seconds.
“There will be another meeting between us,” he finally snarled. “I swear it on my oath as One Who Is Vanza.”
“You know, one of these days, you’ll get tired of talking as though you were on stage.”
But Edison was speaking to the fog. The Vanza fighter had vanished down a dark alley.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Emma was so relieved to receive the message from the footman that she did not even complain about the manner in which it had been delivered. The only thing that mattered at that moment was that Edison was apparently safe. He had finally arrived at the Smithton house and was waiting for her in his carriage. The fact that it was quite rude for a gentleman to remain in his vehicle while he sent a servant to fetch his fiancée from a ball was not of overriding importance just then.
She clutched her cloak at her throat and rushed down the steps to the waiting carriage. The interior lamps were unlit, she noticed.
A footman opened the door and handed her up inside. Edison was a dark, indistinct shape in the shadows.
“Sir, I have been extremely worried—” She broke off as she sat down and wrinkled her nose. “Good heavens, what is that perfectly dreadful odor?”
“A cologne distilled from the waters of the Thames.” Edison pulled the curtains closed and lit one of the lamps. “I doubt that it will become the rage.”
“What on earth has happened to you?” She stared at him, appalled, as the lantern sputtered and finally flared.
For once in his life, Edison did not look the least bit elegant.
He looked and smelled as if he had fallen into a cesspit.
He sat ensconced on the opposite seat, swathed from neck to knee in carriage blankets. She realized that she did not want to examine too closely the odd bits and pieces that clung to his wet hair. There was an oily smudge on his cheek that made it appear that he had a black eye.
The expensively tailored trousers, shirt, waistcoat, and coat in which he had begun the evening were bundled into a damp, disreputable heap on the floor. Much of the malodorous smell that filled the cab emanated from them.
She asked the first question that popped into her mind. “What happened to your greatcoat?”
“I was obliged to loan it to a friend who fell into the river.”
“Good heavens.” She was struck by the sight of his lower legs and feet, which were bare. He had very large feet, she noticed.
“My apologies for the uncivil way in which I summoned you from the ball,” Edison said. “As you can see, I am not dressed for Lady Smithton’s party.”
She realized she was still staring at his feet. With an effort she jerked her gaze back up to his face.
“You look as though you were the one who fell into the river, sir.”
Edison tightened his grip on the blankets. “I did not precisely fall into the river.”
“Do you mean to say that someone pushed you into it? Good God, my premonition of danger was correct. You were attacked, were you not? That man you went to meet, One-Eared Harry, did he do this to you?”
“Actually, I did it to myself in the process of pulling Harry out of the Thames.”
“Oh, I see.” She was somewhat relieved to hear that. Then a thought struck her. “But how did he fall in?”
“We had an encounter with the Vanza fighter,” Edison said softly.
“Dear heaven,
are you certain you are unhurt?”
“Quite certain. There is no damage done that a bath will not correct. But the Vanza practitioner got away because I was obliged to see to Harry.”
“Did you learn anything useful tonight?”
“All I got out of the affair were more questions.” Edison paused. “And confirmation of my suspicion that there is, indeed, a rogue Vanza master operating somewhere in London. He is no doubt after that damned book too.”
“What will you do next?”
“I have been giving the matter a good deal of thought. I believe that it would be interesting to find this master and question him,” Edison said rather casually.
A fresh frisson whispered through Emma. “How will you do that?”
“It should not be too difficult to draw out the young fighter again. Apparently I am standing in the path of his career advancement. He wants to prove himself by challenging me in ritual combat.”
“A duel, do you mean?” Emma’s hands went cold inside her gloves. “Edison, you must not even think of such a thing. You could be injured or killed.”
“Come now, Miss Greyson. Have a bit of faith in your employer. I admit I am not as young as I used to be, but I have grown more crafty over the years. I have every hope of giving a good account of myself.”
“Edison, this is no occasion for jest. It all sounds horribly dangerous. I do not like it.”
“I assure you, there is no cause for concern.” Edison brushed something that was slimy and green off his leg and settled deeper into his seat. “What about you? I assume you could not resist the opportunity to try to question Miranda at the Smithton affair.”
Emma gave a start. “How did you know that I tried to do just that?”
Edison’s mouth twitched. “Because you wanted to prove that you could be successful where I had failed, of course. Any luck?”
She flushed. There was no choice, she thought, squaring her shoulders. She had to tell him the truth. “I not only failed, but I did so rather spectacularly.”