Emma heard Edison in the hall shortly after one o’clock that afternoon. She put down her pen, pushed aside the letter she had been attempting to write to her sister, and leaped to her feet.
“He has finally returned, Lady Exbridge.”
“I am well aware of that, my dear.” Victoria looked up from her book, removed her spectacles, and glanced toward the door of the library. “I do hope he has some news that will ease your nerves.”
“There is nothing wrong with my nerves.”
“Indeed? It is a wonder that you did not drive me to Bedlam today with your anxious forebodings and your endless pacing. You have acted like the heroine of a horrid novel all morning.”
Emma gave her a dark look. “I cannot help it if I am inclined toward premonitions and forebodings.”
“Nonsense. I’m sure you could curb the tendency with a bit of fortitude and an application of will power.”
The door opened before Emma was obliged to come up with a response. Edison walked into the room without giving the long-suffering Jinkins a chance to announce him. His eyes went first to Emma. Then he inclined his head briefly to his grandmother.
“Good day to you both,” he said.
“Well?” Emma hurried around the corner of the desk. “What did you discover, Edison?”
“Basil Ware has packed up and left Town.”
“Gone. Hah. He knows we are on to him.”
“Perhaps.” Edison walked to the desk and leaned back against it, his hands braced on either side of his thighs. “The housekeeper informed me that he has left Town to rusticate at his country estate. I have sent one of the Runners to Ware Castle to check, but I doubt that he will find Ware in residence.”
Victoria frowned. “Emma has told me most of what has happened in the past few hours. What do you think is going on now?”
“I don’t yet know the whole of it,” Edison said. “But I think it’s safe to say that Ware was once a member of the Vanzagarian Society. Nothing else would explain the tattoo of the Flower of Vanza that Sally Kent apparently noticed.”
“Poor Sally Kent,” Emma whispered. “I wonder if he killed her because she discovered the tattoo.”
“I doubt it,” Edison said. “The tattoo would have meant nothing to her.”
“But she was blackmailing him for some reason,” Emma said. “She may have attempted to extort money from him by pretending that she was with child, but such a ploy would have been doomed to failure. Yet in the end she actually got money, from him, so she must have learned something about him that was far more damaging—” She broke off, recalling Polly’s tale. “Yes, of course.”
“What is it?” Edison demanded.
“Murder. I think she witnessed murder. Dear heaven.”
Victoria stared at her. “Whose murder?”
“Lady Ware’s.” The logic of the thing came together quickly in Emma’s mind. “That explains everything. Polly the maid told me that the night Lady Ware died, she saw Basil emerge from the bedchamber. He told her that his aunt had just succumbed and then he went on down the hall to inform the household. Polly went into the room and saw Lady Ware’s body. As she pulled up the sheet, Sally rushed from the dressing room looking as though she’d seen a ghost, and fled.”
Edison looked at her. “You think she saw Basil kill his aunt?”
“My former employer was given Lady Ware’s old bedchamber when we stayed at the castle,” Emma said. “The dressing room adjoins it in such a way that it would be quite possible for someone to be inside without anyone in the outer room being aware of the fact. I’ll wager Sally was in there that night when Basil went to see his aunt for the last time.”
“If she saw Ware do something to hasten the woman’s death, that would explain the blackmail,” Edison said slowly.
“Indeed. Nothing else does. In my experience paid companions who are so foolish as to become involved in Incidents with their employers or a member of the employer’s family rarely get paid for their efforts. They are far more likely to be dismissed.” Emma shot Edison a sidelong glance. “Without so much as a reference, let alone two hundred pounds.”
Edison scowled. “This is no time to bring up that particular subject.”
Victoria looked politely puzzled. “What on earth is going on here?”
“Nothing of any great importance,” Edison muttered. “All we have at this point is speculation and deduction. Perhaps we will know more when the Runner returns from Ware Castle. In the meantime, I have taken some other precautions.”
Emma paused to peer at him. “What other precautions?”
“I have some influence in certain quarters down at the docks. I have offered a reward to any ship’s captain who reports a man of Ware’s description booking passage on board any vessel either here in London or in Dover. In addition, I have sent word out to the various members of the Vanzagarian Society to watch for Ware.”
“What if he travels north?” Emma demanded. “Or alters his looks and changes his name?”
Edison shrugged. “I did not say it would be easy to find him. But in time we will get him.”
“Hmm.” Emma paused beside the desk. She drummed her fingers on the polished mahogany. “He is a very clever man. Now that he knows we are on his trail, he may easily disappear.”
“You are assuming that he left town because he realized we were closing in on him,” Edison said. “But there is another reason he may have chosen this particular moment to vanish.”
“What do you mean?”
“He may have accomplished his goal,” Edison said softly. “Perhaps he found the recipe or the Book of Secrets. We still do not know which one he was after.”
Victoria met Edison’s eyes. “Do you think he will still want to get his hands on Emma?”
Edison did not answer immediately. He turned to study Emma as though she were an interesting problem in scholarly logic.
Emma did not like the expression in his eyes. She stepped back and held up her hand. “Now, hold on one moment here. Let’s not get carried away with wild imaginings. At this very moment Basil Ware is either scurrying off to the Continent with his stolen book or he is busy attempting to elude you in some other fashion, sir. Either way, he has a good deal more on his mind than kidnapping me.”
“I do not think we can depend on that,” Edison said.
Emma closed her eyes and flopped down into the nearest chair. “You cannot keep me cooped up forever in this house, you know. I will go mad.”
“There is an alternative,” Edison said casually.
Emma opened one eye. “What is that, pray tell?”
“We could keep you cooped up in my house.”
“I don’t think so.” Emma opened the other eye. “I wish to preserve what little is left of my reputation, tattered and torn though it may be.”
“Quite right.” Victoria closed her book with a snap. “I, however, am free to come and go, and I think that I might be very useful to both of you in this little drama.”
Emma and Edison stared at her.
“How?” Edison asked.
Victoria gave him a cool smile but there was an anticipatory gleam in her eyes. “Gossip flows through the ton like water through a sieve. Why don’t I go out this afternoon and pay a few social calls? Perhaps I shall learn something useful. Who knows? Basil Ware may have accidentally dropped a hint of his intentions to someone in Polite Circles, someone who would have had no notion of what he meant.”
Edison hesitated. Then he nodded once. “It’s worth a try. I, in turn, will take myself off to my clubs to see if I can pick up any information in that quarter.”
Emma made a face. “What of me?”
“You can finish your letter to your sister.” Victoria got to her feet with brisk enthusiasm. “Now, if you will excuse me, I believe I shall go upstairs and change my gown. One needs to be properly dressed for this sort of thing.”
Emma waited until the door closed behind Victoria. Then she looked at Edison.
“I do believe that your grandmother is enjoying this adventure.”
His mouth curved slightly. “You may be right. Astonishing.”
“Obviously this unfortunate taste for excitement runs in the family.”
My Dearest Daphne:
I have good news and some bad news. First, the good. It appears that my current employer will not be requiring my services much longer
Emma stopped abruptly and gazed sadly at what she had written. The thought of the impending end of her term of employment with Edison was not good news. It was the most unhappy news imaginable. She could hardly bear to contemplate the prospect of the lonely life she would be obliged to endure without him.
Dear heaven, she had fallen in love with the man.
Enough. She had to pull herself together, for Daphne’s sake, if nothing else. Determinedly she dipped her quill in the blue-black ink.
I have every expectation of receiving the final portion of my wages within a few days. I am having some difficulty securing a reference from him, but I think, in the end, I will manage to do so. Please try to carry on there at Mrs. Osgood’s School for Young Ladies for just a while longer.
Now for the less cheerful news. There is still no word in the newspapers regarding The Golden Orchid. By all accounts it has, indeed, been lost at sea, yet I cannot seem to abandon the notion that the ship will eventually return. Perhaps it is only that I cannot bring myself to believe I was so foolish as to invest in a doomed
Carriage wheels clattered in the drive. An unpleasant shiver shot through Emma, startling her with its intensity. She looked up from the half-finished letter to her sister and glanced at the tall clock. It was nearly five o’clock.
She peered out the library window and caught a fleeting glimpse of a dark red and black carriage pulled by a team of handsome grays. Lady Exbridge’s town coach. Victoria had returned from her afternoon calls.
Of course it was the Exbridge carriage, Emma thought. Edison had given strict instructions that no other coach was to be allowed through the gates until he returned. Even the milk wagon and the fishmonger’s cart had been barred for the day. Cook had been obliged to go to the end of the drive to buy the items she required for the evening meal.
Victoria would no doubt have interesting gossip. Emma tried to breathe a sigh of relief, but it got stuck in her throat.
This was ridiculous. There was no call for this sense of panic. Edison had left one of the Bow Street Runners to watch the house. Nothing would get past the man.
Outside, the carriage halted on the paving stones. Emma’s sense of foreboding deepened. She tried to force herself to write another line or two to Daphne while she waited for Victoria to come down the hall to the library.
She gripped the quill too tightly. It snapped in her fingers. Annoyed, she tossed it aside. She was starting at shadows, she thought. The tension of the past few days had obviously begun to affect her nerves.
Victoria must be in the hall by now. Straining to listen for the butler’s greeting, Emma opened the center drawer of the desk to search for a fresh quill. And saw the small knife that Victoria used to sharpen the nibs of her pens. She removed the cap and saw that the blade was fashioned of good, stout steel with a keen edge.
A low murmur of voices echoed in the hall. The butler sounded anxious.
“Sir, I really must insist that you leave. Lady Exbridge has given instructions not to allow anyone except members of the family and the staff into the house.”
“Calm yourself, my good man. I assure you that Miss Greyson will see me.” Basil Ware opened the door of the library. “Won’t you, Miss Greyson? After all, Lady Exbridge would be positively crushed if you refused to join us in her carriage.”
“Mr. Ware.” Emma stared at him and knew that all of her forebodings had been accurate.
“Do say you will come, Miss Greyson.” Basil’s eyes glittered with malice but his smile did not slip. “It’s nearly five. We are going for a drive in the park. Your future mother-in-law thinks that it will be just the thing to show the Polite World that you have her seal of approval.”
“What the devil do you mean, you let him walk right into the house and take her away?” Edison slammed the hapless Runner up against the wall of the library. “You were supposed to guard her. I paid you to protect her.”
The ruddy-faced man’s name was Will. He had come highly recommended from Bow Street, but at that moment Edison was close to strangling him.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Will said earnestly. “But it’s not my fault they got yer lady. Ye don’t understand. Miss Greyson insisted on going with Lady Exbridge. And I didn’t have no instructions regarding Mr. Ware.”
His own fault, Edison thought. It had never occurred to him that Basil would walk right up to the front door. The Strategy of the Obvious.
“The very least you could have done was follow the damned carriage,” Edison growled.
“Well now, I don’t expect it will be too difficult findin’ that fine vehicle,” Will said soothingly. “Someone will ’ave noted which direction it went.”
“You idiot, he probably abandoned my grandmother’s town coach as soon as he was out of sight of the house. Switched to a hackney or something else equally anonymous, I’ve no doubt.”
“Give up a ’andsome carriage like that?” Will stared at him as if he’d gone daft. “But it’s worth a bloody fortune.”
“He couldn’t care less about the damned coach.” Edison tightened his hands on Will’s collar. “It was Miss Greyson he wanted. And now he’s got her, thanks to your bloody incompetence.”
Will’s face twisted in bewilderment. “What’s incompetence mean, sir, if ye don’t mind my askin’?”
Edison closed his eyes briefly and breathed. He forced himself to release Will. Then he took a step back from the Runner and turned away.
He would accomplish nothing if he did not regain his self-control, he thought. His only hope now was logic and strategy. He had to start thinking the way Basil Ware thought. That meant he had to begin thinking in the way of Vanza.
He unfolded the note that had been waiting for him when he returned to Victoria’s mansion and reread the message.
Stokes:
They are both safe and will remain unharmed providing you arrange to transfer the recipe to me. Instructions regarding where and when to deliver it will he sent to you sometime during the next few hours.
He was dealing with a student of Vanza, Edison reminded himself as he crumpled the note in his fist. A man who had sunk himself so deeply into the Strategy of Deception that he had escaped detection as a former member of the Vanzagarian Society. A man who was so deeply into Vanza that he evidently believed in the efficacy of the occult elixir.
Basil Ware would place his faith in the Strategies. All of his planning would be done according to those tenets.
Sending messages regarding the delivery of a valuable item while keeping oneself and one’s hostages hidden was no simple task, Edison reflected. It would certainly not be easy to manage from a distance. Time was a factor. Once the game was in play, Ware would want things to happen as swiftly as possible. The longer the entire process went on, the-greater the risk for him.
Therefore, Ware was still somewhere in London. He would be deep into the Strategy of Concealment now.
That particular Strategy taught that the best hiding place was the place one’s opponent considered the least likely for the simple reason that he believed it to be secure and under control.
“You’re a fool, Ware.” Emma looked at Basil with disgust.
The nondescript hackney in which they rode had been waiting in a nearby lane. Basil had closed the curtains, but a few minutes ago Emma had caught a whiff of the river. The stench told her they were in the vicinity of the docks.
“You have no room to talk, my dear.” Basil sat on the opposite seat. He had put away his pistol after one of his men had secured Emma’s and Victoria’s hands behind their backs. “Had you taken my offer at Ware
Castle, you could have enjoyed a pleasant position as my, shall we say, associate. Instead, you chose to cast your lot with Stokes.”
Realization dawned. “It was you who shot Chilton Crane in my bedchamber, not Miranda.”
“I kept a close eye on Miranda while she was at Ware Castle. When she tried to involve one of my staff in her scheme to send Crane to your bedchamber that night, I realized her intentions.”
“She wanted me to be found in bed with Crane.”
“Indeed. She believed that if you were thoroughly compromised, she would be able to control you by offering you a post. But you are a most determined female, Miss Greyson. I was almost certain you would find your way out of such a simple tangle.”
“You followed Crane to my room, saw the opportunity, and murdered him so that I would be facing the specter of the hangman’s noose, not merely unemployment due to a soiled reputation.”
Basil inclined his head. “I am Vanza. I believe in making a thorough job of such things.”
“Miranda must have assumed that I really did kill Crane,” Emma said.
“Probably. But she was dumbfounded, not to say furious, when Stokes came to your rescue in such a gallant fashion. She assumed that he must be after the recipe.” Basil smiled. “And I confess I leaped to the same obvious conclusion.”
Victoria glowered imperiously. “Why on earth would my grandson need some ridiculous occult potion that can only be used to cheat at cards? Why, he can make more money in one successful shipping venture than he could in several months in the gaming hells.”
“Besides,” Emma added, “Edison is a man of honor. He would never cheat at cards.”
Basil shrugged, unruffled by the implied accusation. “Perhaps he believes that the recipe will lead him to the Book of Secrets.”
“Aren’t you interested in the book?” Emma demanded.
“Not particularly. I do not think it exists. I suspect it was consumed by the fire in Farrell Blue’s villa. Even if it escaped the flames, it is useless to me.”
“Why do you say that?” Emma asked.
“Now that Blue is dead, I doubt that there is anyone alive today who can decipher any more of the recipes. And as it happens, I am interested in only this one, very special elixir.”