“Why would anyone follow you?”
“How the devil should I know?” Glenthorpe spoke much too loudly and far too vehemently. He blinked in alarm at the sound of his own voice. Hastily he lowered his tone. “But he’s there. I can feel it in my bones.”
“Who is this man you believe to be following you?” Artemas asked with very little interest.
“You will not credit this, but I think he is—” Glenthorpe broke off.
“Who?” Artemas prompted politely.
“It is difficult to explain.” Glenthorpe’s fingers twitched on the seat. “Goes back to something that happened a few years ago. Something that involved a young woman.”
“Indeed.”
“She was just an actress, y’know No one important.” Glenthorpe swallowed convulsively. “Terrible event occurred. Never meant anything of the sort, of course. The others said it would be amusing. Said the girl was only teasing. Playing hard to get. But she wasn’t, y’see.”
“What happened?” Artemas asked evenly.
“We took her someplace private.” Glenthorpe rubbed his nose with the back of his gloved hand. “Thought we’d all have a bit of sport. But she … she fought us. Ran off. It wasn’t our fault she … Never mind. Point is, I didn’t have any hand in what happened. The others had their way with her but when it came my turn, I couldn’t, if y’see what I mean. Too much to drink. Or maybe it was the way she looked at me.”
“How did she look at you?”
“As if she were some sort of witch casting a spell of doom. She said we’d all pay. Well, that was nonsense, of course. But I realized the others were wrong. She wasn’t teasing. She didn’t want any of us. I… I just… I couldn’t go through with it.”
“But you were there that night.”
“Yes. But only because the others dragged me along. It’s not the sort of thing I enjoy, you know. I’m not … that is to say, my nature is not as … as physical as that of other men.” Glenthorpe twitched again. “In any event, I made some sort of excuse. The others laughed at me but I didn’t care. I just wanted to leave. But the girl, she got free. Ran off into the night. There was an accident. She fell.”
“What did you do?”
“Me?” Glenthorpe looked horrified. “Why, nothing. Nothing at all. That’s what I’m trying to explain. There’s no reason for him to come after me. I didn’t touch her.”
“Who is after you?”
“She said—” Glenthorpe licked his lips and rubbed his nose again. “She said her lover would destroy us all for what we had done to her. But that was five years ago. Five long years. Thought sure it was finished and forgotten.”
“But now you’re no longer so certain?”
Glenthorpe hesitated and then shoved one hand into a pocket. He withdrew a watch fob seal. “Got this a few months ago. Just showed up on my doorstep.”
Artemas glanced at the gold seal engraved with the image of a rearing stallion. “What of it?”
“I think he sent it to me. The one she said would avenge her.”
“Why would he do that?”
Glenthorpe rubbed his nose. “I have a nasty feeling that he’s toying with me. The way a cat does with a mouse, y’see? But it’s not fair.”
“Why not?”
“Because of the three of us, I’m the only one who didn’t hurt her.” Glenthorpe slumped into his seat. “I’m the only one who didn’t touch her.”
“But you were there that night, were you not?”
“Yes, but—”
“Save your explanations, Glenthorpe. I am not interested in them. Perhaps you can try them out on whoever you think is following you.” Artemas rapped on the roof to get the attention of the coachman. “If you will excuse me, I shall leave you here. I believe that I would prefer to walk the rest of the way home alone.”
“But the footpads—”
“A man must make choices when it comes to the company he keeps.”
The hackney lumbered to a halt. Artemas got out and closed the door. He did not look back as he walked off into the dark, swirling fog.
CHAPTER SEVEN
He was breaking all of his own rules tonight. The laws he had lived by for so many years were few in number but they were rigid and unyielding: He sold dreams but he never committed the foolish error of allowing himself to believe in them. He had made a career of crafting illusions, but he himself never confused fantasy with reality.
He had told himself that a few waltzes with the Wicked Widow would amount to nothing more than elements in his strategy, clever ploys designed to lure her into his snare. The lady knew too much about him, and he knew that he had to gain the upper hand. The ancient Vanza adage summed it up well: That which is dangerous must be understood before it can be controlled.
Madeline gave him an impatient look through the eye openings of her feathered mask. “It is high time that we got down to business, sir.”
So much for seducing her with a waltz.
“I had hoped that you would allow yourself to enjoy the evening before we discussed our business affairs in detail.” Artemas drew her closer into his arms and swept her into another turn on the crowded floor. “I certainly intend to do so.”
“I do not know what game you are playing, Mr. Hunt, but so far as I am concerned, my reasons for being here do not include dancing and entertainment.”
“I must tell you, Madeline, you are not living up to your reputation as a seductive female capable of luring a man to his doom. I confess that I am somewhat disappointed.”
“Naturally I am devastated to learn that I am not proving sufficiently exciting, but I cannot say I am surprised that you noticed my failure in that regard. Why, only the day before yesterday, my aunt pointed out the fact that I have become as reclusive and eccentric as any member of the Vanzagarian Society.”
“Do not concern yourself, madam. It seems that I am rapidly acquiring a taste for reclusive, eccentric females.”
He saw her mouth open in outraged surprise. Before she could administer the set-down that he no doubt deserved, he whirled her into another wide turn. The folds of her black domino billowed around her ankles.
He was grimly determined to enjoy at least a portion of this evening. She felt as good in his arms as he had known she would: vibrantly warm and sensual. The scent of her was more intoxicating than the most exotic incense. A strange recklessness had been brewing in him since the interview in her library Tonight he would indulge it in spite of the risks.
It took her a quarter of the distance around the dance floor to collect herself. “Why in heaven’s name did you insist on this ridiculous charade of a waltz?” she asked tightly.
“It is not a charade. We are indeed performing the waltz, in case you had not noticed. Unlike so much of what is available on the grounds of the Dream Pavilions, there is no illusion involved in our dance. I expect we shall both be quite winded when we finish.”
“You know very well what I mean, sir.”
He smiled slightly. “I am in the business of selling dreams and illusions, madam. You are in the market for some of my goods. Like any expert tradesman, I insist you sample my wares before we settle to the tawdry details of striking a bargain.”
He swept her off in another direction before she could argue. Perhaps if he waltzed her vigorously enough, she would be too breathless to talk business for a while.
They would eventually have to deal with the subject, of course. But he intended the bargaining to take place here on the terrain that he controlled, not at a place of her choosing. Such details mattered greatly in any negotiation. When one did business with a lady reputed to murder gentlemen, one took care to occupy the high ground.
As he whirled Madeline around the floor, the practical side of his nature noted with detached satisfaction that the Golden Pavilion assembly rooms were crowded tonight. The masquerade balls, held every Thursday evening in the summer months, were among the most popular attractions in the pleasure gardens. They were open to anyone
who could afford the price of a ticket. The only requirement for admission was that the dancers be masked.
The democratic nature of the events offended many. But the masquerade balls had been declared amusing by some of the more jaded elements of the fashionable world. That was all it took to draw the crowds. The faint hint of scandal and intrigue that hung over the gardens proved infinitely seductive. On any given Thursday night dandies, officers, young rakes, and country gentry mingled with actresses, ladies, merchants, and rogues on the dance floor. They danced amid a fanciful re-creation of the splendors of ancient Egypt and Rome.
The shadowy lighting gleamed on gilded pillars, obelisks, and statuary. One end of the spacious rooms was dominated by a decorator’s version of an Egyptian temple, complete with imitation stone sphinxes. At the other end a Roman fountain surrounded by artistically broken columns splashed into a wide, low pool. Fake mummies, lavish thrones, and a great many painted urns were strategically displayed in between. There were also a number of dark alcoves and recesses equipped with small stone benches just large enough for two people.
When he had purchased the run-down pleasure garden three years ago, Artemas had had a vision of what he wished to create. Henry Leggett had faithfully carried out his instructions. It was Henry who dealt with the manager, the architects, and the decorators. They had all been instructed to fill the extensive grounds with the exotic, the sumptuous, and the mysterious.
No one understood the allure of dreams better than a man who did not allow himself to dream.
The music drew to a close too soon for his liking. Reluctantly he brought Madeline to a halt. The black folds of her domino swirled around her trim ankles one last time and fluttered to a rest. Her eyes challenged him through the mask.
“Now that you have amused yourself by teasing me, may we proceed to business, sir?”
Ah well. He had known he could not make the dance last all night. “Very well, Mrs. Deveridge, we shall discuss our bargain. But not here. We require privacy for such a sordid affair.”
“Hardly sordid, sir.”
“In the eyes of Society, madam, there is nothing quite so vulgar as a matter of business.”
He took her arm and guided her through the wide double doors out into the lantern-lit grounds of the Dream Pavilions. The mild night had drawn a large crowd to savor the slightly scandalous thrills of the pleasure gardens.
The careful lighting heightened the eerie effects of the tableaux of triumphal arches, mythical scenes, and classical ruins that were arranged along the winding, wooded paths. High overhead, an acrobat walked a tightrope. Down below, a troupe of dandies placed bets on the results of illusions crafted by a magician dressed in Oriental robes. People strolled about munching hot meat pies and pastries purchased from nearby booths. Men and women flirted in the shadowy garden alcoves and disappeared into the dark walks. Music, laughter, and occasional bursts of applause rose and fell across the grounds.
Madeline glanced at a group of noisy young people who had gathered in front of the anchoress’s cave. “I vow, that cavern looks quite real.”
“That is the point, Mrs. Deveridge.”
He tightened his grip on her arm and drew her toward the far end of the pleasure gardens where the woods lay shrouded in darkness. They passed the entrance to the Crystal Pavilion, where an audience had gathered to watch troupes of clockwork toy soldiers engage in a mock battle.
Applause spilled from the neighboring pavilion. Madeline turned to look at its illuminated entrance. “What entertainment is provided in that hall?”
“That is the Silver Pavilion. I have hired a mesmerist to give demonstrations.”
“Oh yes, of course. It was the mesmerist whom Nellie and Alice were so eager to see the other evening.” She eyed him curiously. “Do you believe in the powers of mesmerism, sir?”
He listened to the enthusiastic shouts of approval that echoed from the Silver Pavilion. “I believe in selling tickets, madam. The mesmerist does that quite well.”
Instead of smiling at his small bit of irony, her mouth tightened in a vaguely troubled line. “There are elements of Vanza that rely on what might be termed mesmerism.”
“I will not argue with that. The mind is an unknown realm. Its mysteries lie at the heart of the philosophy of Vanza.”
The crowd began to thin as the graveled path grew darker.
“Where are we going?” Madeline asked uneasily
“To a section of the gardens that has not yet been opened to the public. We can be private there. I will show you the newest attraction.”
“What is that?”
“The Haunted Mansion.”
Her head came around swiftly. “Haunted?”
The sharpness of tone surprised him. “Do not tell me that you are afraid of ghosts, Mrs. Deveridge. I would not believe it for a moment.”
She said nothing but he could feel the tension in her.
Ghosts?
When they reached the dark hedges that walled off the far end of the grounds, Artemas removed his mask.
“There is no need to be concerned that anyone will see you here, Mrs. Deveridge. This section of the grounds is closed to visitors.”
She hesitated and then reluctantly reached up to take off her own mask. The moonlight gleamed on her dark hair.
“The Haunted Mansion is still under construction.” Artemas opened a gate and picked up an unlit lantern that had been left nearby. “It is due to open next month. I expect it will be very popular with young people and courting couples.”
Madeline said nothing as he lit the lantern and guided her along a graveled path walled in with high hedges. They rounded a corner and confronted a stone gate.
“The new maze,” Artemas explained as they went past the gate. “It will open together with the Mansion. I designed it myself, using a Vanza pattern that I trust will confound most of my customers.”
“I do not doubt it. My father always claimed that Vanza mazes were the most intricate he had ever encountered.”
The disapproval in her voice made him smile. “You do not care for mazes?”
“As a girl I enjoyed them. But later I came to associate them with Vanza.”
“So of course you ceased to find them amusing.”
She slanted him an enigmatic glance but she did not respond.
He drew her around another corner. The Gothic facade of the Haunted Mansion loomed in the moonlight, its narrow windows appropriately dark and foreboding.
Madeline studied the ominous looking structure. “It looks exactly like a castle in one of Mrs. York’s horrid novels. I vow, I would think twice about entering the place myself.”
“I shall take that as a compliment.”
She gave him a startled look. Then she gave him a reluctant smile. “I collect that you had a hand in the design of this attraction as well as the maze?”
“Yes. I believe this one will send a few chills down the spines of my more adventurous guests.”
She gave him a searching look. “The Dream Pavilions are something more than a business investment for you, are they not?”
He contemplated the castle while he considered his answer. “I will tell you a secret that I would admit to no one else, Mrs. Deveridge. I bought these pleasure gardens because I believed them to be an excellent investment. I intended to build houses and shops on the land. Perhaps I will do that, eventually. But in the meantime I have discovered that I rather enjoy the planning and design of the various attractions. Selling dreams is a lucrative trade.”
“I see.” She gazed at the Haunted Mansion. “Do you intend to continue operating these gardens after you have found yourself a suitable wife?”
“I have not made that decision yet.” He propped one booted foot on the low rock wall that marked the path leading to the castle. “This is the second time you have asked about my intentions toward my future wife. You seem quite concerned that I be honest with her.”
“I recommend it highly.”
“A
h, but what if she objects to my source of income?”
Madeline clasped her gloved hands behind her back. She seemed fascinated by the Gothic pavilion. “My advice is to be honest with her right from the start, sir.”
“Even if it means that I shall risk losing her?”
“In my experience, deceit is not a good foundation for a marriage.”
“Are you telling me that your marriage was built on that particular cornerstone?”
“My husband lied to me from the moment we met, sir.”
The combination of ice and fear in her voice made him go still. “What did he lie about?”
“Everything. He lied to my father and he lied to me. I discovered too late that I could believe nothing he told me. To this day I am still trying to sort out fact from fiction.”
“An unpleasant state of affairs.”
“Worse than you can imagine,” she whispered starkly.
He reached out and caught her chin on the edge of his hand. “Before our business together proceeds any further, Mrs. Deveridge, I suggest that you and I make a pact.”
“What pact would that be?”
“Let us promise that we will not lie to each other during the course of our association together. There may be things that we choose not to discuss. We may each keep our own secrets. Everyone is entitled to privacy, after all. But we will not tell lies to each other. Agreed?”
“Such a pact is easy enough to make, sir.” Her eyes were bleak in the moonlight. “But how can either of us be certain that the other will live up to it?”
“An excellent question, Mrs. Deveridge. I have no good answer for it. In the end, it comes down to trust.”
Her mouth twisted slightly. “They say that I am quite probably mad and a murderess into the bargain. Are you certain you wish to take the risk of trusting me?”
“We all have our little quirks and foibles, do we not?” He shrugged. “If we make this bargain, you will have much to overlook in me. There is my Vanza past and the unfortunate fact that I am in trade, after all.”
She stared at him. Then she gave a short, muffled exclamation that could have been a laugh. “Very well, sir, you shall have my word, for what it’s worth. I will tell you no lies.”