“I sincerely hope the feeling is mutual.”
“Edison.”
“Just before I fell asleep for the second time, I could have sworn I heard you say something to the effect that you loved me.” He paused. “Or was I hallucinating again?”
“No.” She unstuck herself from the floor and flew toward him. “No, you were not.”
She threw her arms around him and hugged him with all of her strength. “Edison, I love you so much it hurts.”
He sucked in his breath very sharply. “Yes,” he said. “It does.”
“Good heavens, your wound.” She released him and stumbled backward, horrified by what she had done. “I am so sorry.”
He grinned. “I’m not. It was worth it. Now I won’t have to write that bloody reference for you.”
The captain of The Golden Orchid arrived the following morning to make his report. Emma was obliged to cool her heels with Victoria in the library while he was closeted with Edison.
“I’ve a good mind to tell him how many problems he caused me,” she fumed as she poured tea.
“Look at the positive side, my dear.” Victoria peered at her over the rims of her reading glasses. “If it had not been for Captain Frye’s problems at sea, whatever they were, you would never have met Edison.”
“Are you quite certain that you consider that a positive thing, madam?”
“Rest assured,” Victoria said quietly, “nothing so positive has happened to me in a good many years.”
Emma felt warmth flood through her. “I am so very glad that you and Edison have grown closer in recent days, madam.”
“Yes, indeed,” Edison said from the doorway. “Nothing like a little theft, murder, and kidnapping to bring a family closer together, I always say.”
Emma shot to her feet. “You should not be out of bed, sir.”
“Calm yourself, my dear. I feel perfectly fit.” He winced as he walked into the room. “Or very nearly so.”
Freshly shaved, a crisp white shirt covering his bandaged ribs, his Hessians newly polished, he looked as elegant as ever. It really was most unfair, she thought. If one did not know better, one would have thought that he had done nothing more onerous during the past two days than drop in at his St. James Street club.
“Well,” she said gruffly, “just what did Captain Frye have to say for himself?”
“The Golden Orchid was blown far off course, got becalmed for several days, and was forced to put into an unscheduled port in order to take on fresh food and water.”
Emma folded her arms beneath her breasts. “I would like to have had a word with Frye. That man caused me no end of trouble.”
Edison took the cup of tea Victoria handed to him. “Frye assures me that the contents of the cargo will more than make up for any inconvenience the investors have suffered. In fact, it exceeds even my expectations.”
Emma decided not to hold a grudge against Frye after all. “This is wonderful news. I must write to my sister immediately.”
“I look forward to meeting her,” Edison said.
“So do I,” Victoria murmured. “It should prove quite entertaining to shepherd a young lady through her first Season. A new experience for me.”
Edison raised his brows. “If Daphne is anything like Emma, the experience will no doubt prove memorable.” He put down his cup. “If you will excuse me, I must be off.”
“What on earth are you talking about?” Emma demanded. “Surely you do not intend to carry on with your usual business affairs. You must rest.”
He met her eyes. The lightness that had infused his mood a moment ago was gone. In its place was a bleak determination.
“I will rest after I have finished the affair of the missing book.”
“Finish it?” For a moment she was lost. Then it struck her. “Oh, yes, you did say that you were inclined to believe that Basil Ware told the truth when he claimed that he did not kill Miranda.”
“Yes.” Edison turned to walk toward the door. “Until that issue has been settled, we cannot close the door on this matter.”
She suddenly knew where he was going. “Wait, I will come with you.”
He paused in the opening. “No.”
“I have been as deeply involved in this as yourself, sir. I insist upon seeing it through to the end.”
He appeared to give that considerable thought. Eventually he inclined his head.
“You have that right,” he said.
Victoria glanced at each of them in turn. “What is going on here? Who are you going to see?”
“The man who murdered Lady Ames,” Edison said. “And who also brought about the deaths of several other people into the bargain.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Forgive me for not rising, Miss Greyson.” Ignatius Lorring remained in his chair and bowed his head with a grace that belied his frail condition. “This is not one of my better days. Nevertheless, it is a great pleasure to make your acquaintance. I have long been curious to see what sort of lady Edison would choose when the time came.”
“Sir.” In spite of herself and all that she and Edison suspected about this man, Emma gave in to habit and dropped a little curtsy.
She thought that she had been prepared for this encounter, but she was nevertheless dismayed by the sight of the obviously ill man. Edison had been right, she thought. Ignatius could not possibly have long to live. He was so pale that he appeared almost translucent.
Ignatius gave her a rueful smile as she rose from the curtsy. “Yes, my dear. I am indeed, dying. I suppose I ought to be grateful for the privilege of having had a long and eventful life. But I cannot seem to accept my imminent demise with equanimity.”
Edison went to stand in front of the fire. “Was that why you went to such an effort to obtain the Book of Secrets? Did you hope to find a magical elixir that would prolong your life in that damned manuscript?”
“So you have reasoned it all out, have you?” Ignatius settled deeper into his chair and contemplated the infinity of libraries reflected in the mirrored wall. “I assumed that was the case when my butler announced you a moment ago. In answer to your question, I, and many others in the Vanzagarian Society, are convinced that the mysteries of the ancient occult sciences are not magical in nature. They are based upon a science different from the one we practice today, but they are not magic.”
“You must have known that sooner or later I would understand that you were deep in the Strategy of Distraction.”
“Quite right. I knew it would be only a matter of time before you came to realize that I was at the heart of the matter. Tell me, what was it that gave me away?”
“The business of the candles,” Edison said. “Ware was not the type to bother himself with the training of a student. But if he had taken one on, he would never have given him meditation candles that were crafted with the same herbs and colors as his own. The risk was too great. He was using the Strategy of Concealment, after all. He would have known that another practitioner of Vanza could easily make the connection between himself and Stoner.”
“To know the master, look at the student’s candles.” Ignatius nodded.
“Someone had given Stoner his candles. And then planted the remains of identical candles in Ware’s study.” Edison looked at him. “Only someone who knew that I was already suspicious of Ware would have laid that trail for me.”
“I worried a bit about the candles. But I thought I could get away with it long enough to get my hands on the book.”
“You believed that you could decipher the recipes in the Book of Secrets?”
“Oh, yes.” Ignatius flashed him a look of icy humor. “If Farrell Blue could work out the key to the recipes, I certainly could have done so also. I am twice the Vanzagarian scholar that he was.”
“Why did you involve me in the search for the book in the first place?”
“It was a grave risk.” Ignatius’s mouth crooked grimly. “But you were my last hope of finding it. You were the best stud
ent of Vanza that I ever had. I know your capabilities better than you do yourself. I know how very dangerous you are. But it was worth the gamble. I had nothing left to lose, you see.”
“You masterminded the entire affair.” Edison looked at him. “You arranged for the theft of the book from the temple. But whoever you hired for the task betrayed you.”
“Indeed. The bastard secretly sold the book to Farrell Blue. My people were closing in, but by the time they got to Rome, Blue was dead and his villa lay in ashes. There was no sign of the book.”
“Most likely it went up in flames.”
Ignatius tightened his pale hand into a trembling fist. “I could not allow myself to believe that. To do so was to abandon all hope.”
“You scoured Rome for rumors and you realized that at least one of the recipes had been deciphered.”
“Servant talk. But it was all I had. I concluded that the fire was no accident. I assumed it had been set to conceal the murder of Blue and the theft of the book, or, at the very least, the recipe.” Ignatius raised one frail shoulder in a small shrug. “But I was growing weaker by the day. I needed the assistance of someone who was intelligent enough and objective enough to continue the search on my behalf. Engaging your help was a calculated risk, Edison. But I was a desperate man.”
“Why did you kill Lady Ames?” Emma asked.
“Time was running out. Edison had told me that she had the recipe but he wanted to apply the Strategy of Patience to the situation. Unfortunately, that was a luxury I could not afford. I was certain that she either possessed the book or knew where it was. I went to see her that afternoon immediately after she sent the message to you, my dear.”
Edison eyed him closely. “She opened the door to you? A stranger?”
Ignatius’s pale eyes glittered. “I have not lost all of my skills. I assure you, the little adventuress never heard me enter the house. She was not aware of my presence until I confronted her and demanded that she turn over the recipe and the book.”
Edison looked up from the fire. “She gave you the recipe but she could not give you the book because she did not possess it.”
“She told me it had burned when Farrell Blue’s study went up in flames, but I did not believe her.” Rage gave Ignatius’s face a brief vestige of color. It did not last long. His thin body spasmed. He gasped and then succumbed to a wave of wracking coughs. “I knew she was lying. She had to be lying.”
Emma saw Edison tense but he did not leave his position at the mantel.
The dreadful coughing eventually ceased. Ignatius took a snowy white linen handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his mouth.
“I was so certain that she was lying,” he repeated dully. “I confess I lost some of my self-mastery when she refused to give it to me.”
“In your frustration and anger, you shot her,” Edison said. “Then you tore apart her library hoping to find the damned book.”
“Yes.” Ignatius sighed. “The library and her bedchamber both. My search was interrupted by the arrival of Basil Ware. I took the recipe for the elixir and retreated to the garden to keep watch. Ware did not stay long inside. When he emerged, he did not give the alarm. I realized then that he was playing his own game.”
Emma was incensed. “You must have known that Ware might very well be after the recipe. Yet you did not warn Edison.”
“By then things had grown more complex,” Ignatius conceded. “Edison had already learned that there was a rogue involved in the business.”
“You,” Edison said flatly.
“Yes. I was relieved to know that my young student, John Stoner, had not betrayed me. Nevertheless, I thought it best to provide another distraction for you, Edison.”
“You took the remains of a meditation candle from the batch you had created for John Stoner to Ware’s house. You left the melted bits in his study for me to find,” Edison said.
“I hoped it would confuse you for at least a while longer.”
“The candles you crafted for Stoner were not the same color or scent as the ones you used when I was your student. When did you change the formula?”
Ignatius’s mouth twisted. “When I began to explore the darker secrets of Vanza. I wanted new candles to light my new path.”
“Why did you steal the elixir recipe from Miranda?” Emma asked. “Even if it worked, it was not the sort of potion that could help you.”
“Quite true, my dear Miss Greyson. The last thing I need at this point is more money. I took the recipe with me in the faint hopes of using it to lure whoever has the Book of Secrets out of the woodwork. After all, if the book is still out there, whoever has it is no doubt having a great deal of difficulty deciphering it.”
Emma frowned. “You thought you might be able to convince whoever possesses it that you had some sort of key to the other recipes?”
“It was worth a try,” Ignatius said. He leaned his head against the back of the chair and closed his eyes in unutterable weariness. “But it appears that my time has run out.”
“Where is the recipe?” Edison asked.
“Here.” Ignatius opened his eyes and sat up slowly.
He opened a leather-bound journal that lay on the table beside him and removed a sheet of paper. “Take it. I obviously have no further use for it.”
Edison took the page from his hand. He studied what was written there for a while and then he shook his head with infinite regret.
“Utter nonsense,” he said. “Ignatius, you are not yourself these days. Otherwise you would know that your entire scheme was for naught. There is nothing of value in the Book of Secrets. It is an historical curiosity, nothing more.”
“Do not be too sure of that, Edison.” Ignatius leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes again. “The deepest secrets of Vanza have been locked in that book for generations. Who knows what can be learned from them?”
There was a long silence. After a while Edison took his hand from the mantel and walked back across the room to join Emma.
“Come,” he said. “It’s time to leave.”
“By the bye,” Ignatius murmured from the depths of his chair, “what did you do with my young, eager acolyte?”
“John Stoner?” Edison paused. “I put him on a ship bound for Vanzagara. There he will be able to study the true way of Vanza.”
“I am rather glad that you did not kill him.” Ignatius smiled faintly. “He reminded me of you at that age.”
Edison took Emma’s arm. “We have our answers. The affair is finished.”
“What’s this?” Ignatius did not bother to open his eyes. “Surely you intend to have me taken up on charges of murder? Where is your sense of justice, man?”
“You are a master of Vanza,” Edison said quietly. “And you are dying. Justice will be served without my interference.”
Ignatius said nothing. His eyes remained closed. His chest did not appear to move.
Edison led her to the door. Something made Emma glance back over her shoulder just as they were about to walk out into the hall.
She saw Ignatius toss the sheet of paper containing the deciphered recipe from the Book of Secrets into the heart of the fire; The flames leaped to consume it.
Edison was at his desk in his study later that day when he got the news that Ignatius Lorring had taken his own life with a pistol.
He read the note twice and then, very slowly, he refolded it.
After a while he went down the hall to the conservatory. He was in the midst of repotting a golden orchid when Emma burst through the door.
“Edison, I came as quickly as I could. What’s wrong?”
He watched her hurry toward him. She was flushed and breathless. Red curls bobbed wildly from beneath her cap. She had not taken the time to put on a bonnet. The soft slippers on her feet were the sort that ladies reserved for indoor wear.
“You look as if you have run the entire distance between the Fortress and this house,” Edison said.
“Not exactly.” She cam
e to a halt in front of him. “I hailed a hackney.”
“I see.” He started to touch her cheek and belatedly recalled that his fingers were dirty from his work among the plants. He lowered his hand. “What makes you think something is wrong?”
“I just had a feeling.” She searched his face. “What is it, Edison?”
“Lorring put a bullet through his head this afternoon.”
She said nothing. Instead, she put her arms around him and leaned her head against his shoulder.
Edison felt something inside him ease. He gathered her close, seeking the warmth she offered.
Neither moved for a long time.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The wedding was the event of the summer. Lady Exbridge insisted upon making a splash. It was not difficult because everyone in the Polite World was more than eager to witness the gala conclusion to the Season’s most outrageous betrothal. Invitations to the elaborate wedding breakfast held after the service were much sought after.
When Emma walked down the aisle in her gown of white and gold, she wore a wreath of golden orchids in her hair. She caught her sister’s eye and winked.
Daphne grinned. Emma’s heart swelled at the happiness in her face. Her younger sister had taken to life in London with an exuberant enthusiasm that showed no signs of waning. Thus far she appeared vastly more interested in the city’s museums, theaters, and fairs than she did in her upcoming Season. The Fortress was now a house filled with warmth, light, and activity as Victoria supervised preparations for bringing her out.
Edison had endured the elaborate wedding arrangements with stoic patience. “It would have been a good deal more practical to get married by special license and be done with it,” he said on several occasions.
But Emma knew that he had tolerated the cheerful chaos because of Victoria, who glowed with joy and a renewed pleasure in life these days.
Edison turned to watch Emma walk toward him. She did not need her intuition to see the love in his eyes. It dazzled her senses. She gave him a radiant smile as she joined him at the altar.
The words of the wedding service echoed in her heart. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the vows would sustain them both during all the years of their lives.