“My niece has informed me that we have every reason to be grateful to you for your assistance last night,” Bernice said. “You are a hero in this household today.”
“Thank you, Miss Reed. I appreciate your kind words.” He flicked a glance at Madeline. “But I have been assured by Mrs. Deveridge that I was not exactly a hero in the affair. I was merely fulfilling my obligations as the proprietor of the establishment where the kidnapping took place, you see.”
Madeline winced. Artemas took some small satisfaction from the expression.
Bernice stared at Madeline, clearly aghast. “Good heavens, dear, surely you never said such a thing to poor Mr. Hunt. He went far beyond the call of responsibility last night. I do not see how you can possibly claim that he had any obligation at all in the situation. Nellie was kidnapped outside the pleasure garden, not inside the grounds.”
“I made it quite clear to Mr. Hunt that his services were appreciated,” Madeline said through obviously gritted teeth.
“She did indeed,” Artemas said. “In fact, I proved so useful that she is contemplating hiring me for another task. Something to do with the notion of employing a thief to catch a thief, I believe.”
Bernice gasped. “She called you a thief, sir?”
“Well,” Artemas began.
Madeline threw up her hands. “I never called you any such thing, sir.”
“True enough,” Artemas allowed. He turned back to Bernice. “She never actually called me a thief.”
“I should hope not,” Bernice said.
Madeline groaned.
“Being in trade,” Artemas said, “I am naturally quite excited by the prospect of continued employment.” He winked at Bernice as he went toward the door. “Between you and me, Miss Reed, I have every expectation of obtaining the post. There are very few other qualified candidates, you see.”
He walked into the hall and let himself out the front door before either woman could get her mouth closed.
CHAPTER FIVE
He is Vanza,” Madeline said. “That means that he is playing some deep game. Hiring him to assist us will be quite risky.”
“I do not think that it is wise to use words such as hire or employ when one discusses the prospect of asking Mr. Hunt to aid us.” Bernice pursed her lips. “It is difficult to envision him as a paid employee, if you see what I mean.”
“On the contrary, thinking of Mr. Hunt as a paid employee is the only sensible way to view any connection to him.” Madeline sat forward on the chair behind her desk and studied the brass paperweight in front of her as though it were an ancient oracle. “If we pursue this plan of mine, we must take great care to ensure that Hunt knows his place.”
Bernice sipped her tea, which Nellie had brought in. “Hmm.”
“My greatest fear is that we no longer have any choice in the matter.”
Bernice blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“He knows about Papa’s book, you see.”
“Oh dear.”
“Yes, I know, it was a mistake to show it to him.” Madeline got restlessly to her feet. “I told him about it in the course of explaining how I came to learn of his connection to the Dream Pavilions. I thought it would reassure him to know that I hadn’t actively spied on him.”
Bernice’s eyes no longer gleamed with amusement. “Now that he is aware that some of his secrets are recorded, he will want to get his hands on that journal at all costs.”
“I fear you are correct.” Madeline gazed out into the severely trimmed garden. “I saw the look in his eyes when he came to the page with his name on it. I knew at once that I had made a grave error.”
“So you offered him a bargain.” Bernice nodded. “Not a bad notion. He seemed willing enough to entertain the prospect of such an arrangement.”
“A bit too willing, if you ask me, but I don’t know what else to do except continue on this course.” Madeline glanced at Bernice. “There is no doubt but that he could be of use to us. I saw him in action last night. The scheme he devised for rescuing Nellie from that tavern was quite clever. And he carried her over his shoulder for the entire length of the alley. He appeared to be quite physically fit for a man of his age.”
“He is hardly in his dotage.”
“No, of course he isn’t,” Madeline said hastily. “I was merely pointing out that he is not an extremely young man.”
“No.”
“Nor an old one, as you just pointed out,” she continued doggedly. “Indeed, one could say that he appears to be exactly the right age. Mature yet still quite agile.”
“Mature yet still agile,” Bernice repeated neutrally. “Yes, that does describe Hunt, I think.”
“I am entertaining a few doubts about your conclusions concerning Mr. Hunt’s reasons for keeping his ownership of the Dream Pavilions a dark secret.”
“Are you?”
“Yes. I am no longer entirely certain that he is doing so because he wishes to find himself a wealthy, highborn wife.”
Bernice looked mildly surprised. “Why? Forming an alliance with a powerful family seems a perfectly logical thing for an ambitious gentleman to do.”
“It is easy to believe that Mr. Hunt has a few ambitions.” Madeline tapped a finger against the window ledge. “But I’m not so sure they involve marriage. Something tells me that if that had been his goal, he would have achieved it by now”
“A good point.”
“There should have been an announcement of an engagement. At the very least, we ought to have heard some gossip connecting his name to that of some eligible young ladies of the ton.”
“There is that.” Bernice paused. “Interesting that we have heard no names dropped, as it were. What do you think is going on?”
“Who can tell with a Vanza master?” Madeline swung around and began to pace the library. “But there is something about him.”
“Something?”
“Yes.” Madeline waved a hand as she struggled to find words to explain what her intuition told her was true. “He is certainly not your typical gentleman of the ton. It is as if he were made of something more substantial than the usual denizens of the social world. He is a hawk among moths.”
“Presumably a mature yet still agile hawk among moths, eh?” A distinctly amused gleam lit Bernice’s vivid eyes. “What an interesting description. So poetical. Almost metaphysical in tone.”
Madeline glared. “You find my description of Hunt humorous?”
Bernice chuckled. “My dear, I consider it to be vastly reassuring.”
That brought Madeline to a halt. “Whatever do you mean by that?”
“After your experience with Renwick Deveridge, I had begun to fear that you would never again take a healthy interest in the male of the species. But now it seems I had no reason to be concerned, after all.”
Shock left Madeline speechless. When she finally pulled herself together, she still could not think of anything coherent to say.
“Aunt Bernice. Really.”
“You have kept yourself closeted away from the world for a year now. Perfectly understandable, given all that you went through. Nevertheless, the entire affair would have amounted to an even greater tragedy if it transpired that you never recovered your natural womanly feeling. I take your evident interest in Mr. Hunt as an excellent sign.”
“I am not interested in him, for heaven’s sake.” Madeline stalked back toward the bookcase. “At least not in the way you mean. But I am convinced that now that he knows about Papa’s journal, it will be extremely difficult to get rid of him. So we may as well make good use of him, if you see what I mean.”
“You could simply give Hunt the journal,” Bernice said dryly.
Madeline stopped in front of the bookcase. “Believe me, I thought of that.”
“But?”
“But we are in need of his expertise. Why not strike a bargain for his skills? Two birds with one stone and all that.” She was falling back on a great many proverbs this morning, she reflec
ted.
“Why not, indeed?” Bernice looked thoughtful. “It is not as if we have a lot of choice in this affair.”
“No, we do not.” Madeline glanced at the bells on the shutters. “In fact, I suspect that if we do not offer to give Mr. Hunt the journal in exchange for his services, he will pay us a visit some dark night and help himself to the bloody book.”
The following morning Madeline put down the pen she had been using to make notes and closed the slim, leather-clad book she had been attempting to decipher.
Decipher was, indeed, the appropriate word, she decided. The little book was very old and well worn. It was a handwritten jumble of apparently meaningless phrases. As far as she could determine, the words were a mix of ancient Greek, Egyptian hieroglyphs, and the old, long-dead language of Vanzagara. It had been delivered three weeks earlier after a long and complicated journey from Spain and had intrigued her immediately. She had set to work on it at once.
Thus far she had made no headway, however. The Greek was simple enough, but the words she had translated made no sense. The hieroglyphs were a great mystery, of course, although she had heard that Mr. Thomas Young was developing an interesting theory concerning Egyptian writing based on his work with the Rosetta stone. Unfortunately, he had not yet published his analysis.
When it came to the ancient language of Vanzagara, she knew herself to be one of a very small handful of scholars who stood any chance of translating even a portion of the text. Very few people outside the family were aware of her skill. The study of Vanza and its dead tongue was considered to be the province of gentlemen. Ladies were not admitted to the Society, nor was it considered suitable to instruct them in subjects connected to it.
Even if they had been informed that Winton Reed had taught his daughter everything he knew, few members of the Vanzagarian Society would have believed a female capable of comprehending the complexities of the strange language of the old books.
Madeline had been working on the small volume in her spare moments for several days now. The project, difficult and demanding as it was, had been a welcome distraction from her other concerns. But this morning it was not proving effective.
She found herself looking up frequently from her work to check the clock. It annoyed her to realize that she was counting the minutes and hours since her message had been sent off to Artemas Hunt, but she could not help herself.
“It’s here!” Bernice’s voice rang out in the hall. “It has arrived!”
“What on earth?” Madeline stared at the closed door of the library and listened to her aunt’s footsteps hurrying along the corridor.
A few seconds later the door was flung wide. Bernice sailed triumphantly into the room, waving what appeared to be a white card. “This is so exciting.”
Madeline peered at the card. “What is it?”
“Mr. Hunt’s response to your note, of course.”
Relief poured through Madeline. She leaped to her feet. “Let me see that.”
Bernice handed the card to her with the air of a magician producing a dove out of thin air.
Madeline tore open the note and read it through once, quickly At first she thought she had misread the contents. Stunned, she went back to the beginning and went through it again. It made no more sense the second time around. She lowered the card and stared, bemused, at Bernice.
“What is the problem, dear?”
“I sent Mr. Hunt a message informing him that I wished to pursue a discussion of our business arrangement. He sent back this … this …”
“This what?” Bernice took the note from Madeline. She whipped out a pair of spectacles, plunked them on her nose, and read the note aloud.
“I request the honor of escorting you to the masquerade ball
that is to be held on the grounds of the Dream
Pavilions on Thursday evening.”
Bernice looked up, eyes widening with glee. “Why, dear, it’s an invitation”
“I can see that.” Madeline ripped the note out of Bernice’s fingers and glared at the bold, masculine script. “What the bloody hell is he up to?”
“Really, Madeline, you are entirely too suspicious for a woman of your age. What is so odd about being invited to a ball by a respectable gentleman?”
“This is not a respectable gentleman we are discussing, this is Artemas Hunt. I’ve got every right to be suspicious.”
“You are becoming somewhat overwrought, my dear.” Bernice frowned. “Have you had trouble sleeping again? You are using my special elixir, are you not?”
“Yes, yes. Very effective stuff.” She saw no reason to tell Bernice the truth. She had poured the elixir into the chamber pot last night, just as she did every night, because she dared not use it. The last thing she wanted to do at night was fall asleep. The dreams were getting worse.
“Well then, if it isn’t lack of sleep that is affecting your nerves, perhaps it is something else,” Bernice said.
“My reaction to this note of Hunt’s is not a case of delicate nerves. It is common sense.” Madeline snapped the card against her palm. “Think of it: I inform the man that I wish to engage his services for a specified fee and he sends back an invitation to a fancy dress ball. What sort of answer is that?”
“A most interesting one, if you ask me. Especially as it comes from a mature yet still agile gentleman.”
“No.” Madeline eyed her grimly. “I fear that it is a very Vanza answer. Hunt is deliberately trying to confound me. We must ask ourselves why.”
“I can think of only one way to discover the answer to that question, my dear.”
“What is that?”
“You must accept his invitation, of course.”
Madeline stared at her. “Have you gone mad? Go to a masked ball with Hunt? What a perfectly bizarre notion.”
Bernice gave her a knowing look. “You are dealing with a master of Vanza. You will have to handle him with great cleverness and skill. Never fear, I have boundless faith in your abilities to get at the truth.”
“Hmm.”
“In any event, I do not see how it will do you the least bit of harm to go to a ball,” Bernice added. “I vow, you need some entertainment. You are starting to become as eccentric and reclusive and secretive as any of the gentlemen of the Vanzagarian Society.”
CHAPTER SIX
I see Glenthorpe is in his altitudes a bit earlier than usual tonight.” Lord Belstead cast a disapproving eye toward the man slumped in a wing-back chair in front of the hearth. “Not yet ten o’clock and the man’s already foxed.”
“Mayhap we should invite him to play a hand or two with us.” Sledmere did not look up from his cards. “Glenthorpe is a fool, especially when he’s drunk. We could no doubt win a fair amount off him tonight.”
“Too easy.” Artemas examined his own hand. “Where’s the sport in playing cards with a drunken fool?”
“I was not thinking of the sport involved,” Sledmere said. “I was contemplating the profit.”
Artemas put down his cards. “Speaking of which, allow me to tell you that I have just made a bit of one.”
Belstead glanced at the cards and snorted. “At my expense, it appears. You do have the devil’s own luck, sir.”
Across the room, Glenthorpe put down his empty glass and lurched to his feet. Watching him, Artemas said, “I have pushed that luck as far as it will go this evening. If you will excuse me, I believe that I am late to an appointment.”
Belstead chuckled. “Who’s the fair lady, Hunt?”
“Her name escapes me at the moment.” Artemas rose from his chair. “No doubt it will come to mind at the appropriate moment. Good evening, gentlemen.”
Sledmere laughed. “Make certain you recall the correct name at the right instant, sir. For some odd reason, females take offense if one gets the names mixed up.”
“Thank you for the advice,” Artemas said.
He left the card room and went into the hall to collect his greatcoat, hat, and gloves from t
he porter.
Glenthorpe was at the door. He staggered slightly and turned. “I say, Hunt, are you leaving?”
“Yes.”
“Care to share a carriage?” Glenthorpe peered blearily through windows. “Difficult to find one on a night like this, y’know. I vow, the bloody fog is so thick you could slice it with a knife.”
“Why not?” Artemas put on his greatcoat and went through the door.
“Excellent.” Glenthorpe’s expression of relief was almost comical. He hurried to follow Artemas out into the mist-shrouded street. “Safer to leave together, y’know. Night like this, there’s bound to be footpads and villains abroad.”
“So they say.” Artemas hailed a hackney.
The carriage clattered to a halt in front of the club steps. Glenthorpe vaulted awkwardly into it and sank down on one of the seats. Artemas followed and closed the door.
“Never known so much fog in early summer,” Glenthorpe muttered.
The hackney rattled off down the street.
Artemas contemplated Glenthorpe. The man did not notice the perusal. He was too busy watching the dark street. He appeared anxious. There was a strained, nervous look about his eyes.
“It’s none of my affair, of course.” Artemas lounged deeper into the shadows of the corner. “But I can’t help noticing that you seem a trifle uneasy tonight, Glenthorpe. Is there something worrying you?”
Glenthorpe’s eyes jerked from the view through the window to Artemas’s face and then back again. “Ever had the sense that someone was watching you, sir?”
“Watching me?”
“Me. Not you.” Glenthorpe closed the curtains on the window and sank back against the worn, threadbare squabs. “Lately I have had the oddest notion that I am being followed at times. But when I turn to look, there is never anyone behind me. It is very unsettling.”