The Third Circle

  “Of course. No one who is not aware of its history would be likely to know the legend.”

  “Right. In addition, those who have gone after the stone in the past have all been obsessive collectors.”

  “Or members of my family,” she said very deliberately.

  He inclined his head. “Or members of your family. The point is that they have all been individuals operating very much on their own. This time Caleb feels that the situation is quite different.”

  Comprehension sparked in her face. “Because so many people have died?”

  “In part, yes. But also because, until now, Delbridge has never resorted to murder to acquire the antiquities that he covets.”

  “As far as you know.”

  “As far as we know,” he agreed. “What we do know is that Delbridge is now willing to kill for the crystal even though there is no indication he can access its power.”

  “So the question becomes why does he want this particular relic so badly, is that it?”

  “Yes. Caleb is convinced that there is something more important at stake. He believes that the affair of the aurora stone may be connected to another attempt to steal the Society’s darkest secret, a formula invented by Sylvester Jones.”

  “I see.”

  “Until recently the elixir was only a legend, but a few months ago Sylvester’s tomb was excavated and the formula was discovered inside.”

  “Good heavens,” she whispered, evidently quite awed. “I had no idea.”

  He felt the hair stir on the nape of his neck. Clamping his hands around the arms of the chair, he pushed himself to his feet and went to look out the window at the conservatory.

  “Almost immediately after the formula was discovered, an attempt was made to steal it,” he said. “Gabriel Jones and the lady who is now his bride foiled the scheme. At the time it was assumed that that was the end of the matter. And it was, at least as far as that incident was concerned. The madman who conceived the plot is dead.”

  “Is everyone quite certain of that?” Leona asked suspiciously.

  “There is no doubt. Gabe and Venetia both witnessed the death, but Caleb believes that Pandora’s box has now been opened, so to speak. He fears that the near success of that first plot has inspired another.”

  “There is a certain logic to that line of thought, I suppose,” she said. “But how could the aurora stone be connected to Sylvester’s formula?”

  He turned his head. She was watching him, transfixed.

  “We don’t know,” he admitted. “The only thing of which Caleb is absolutely certain is that the members of this new conspiracy come from the highest ranks of the Arcane Society, men like Delbridge. It is no longer enough to stop him. We must discover the identities of the others.”

  Understanding lit her eyes. “And the highest-ranking members of the Society will all attend the first Spring Ball.”

  “That is the theory that Caleb and I are both going on at the moment, yes.”

  She frowned. “But how are we to identify them? If one of them had the crystal on his person, I would be able to detect it if I got close enough. But it seems unlikely that the thief would bring the aurora stone to a formal ball.”

  “I agree. It fits into the pocket of an overcoat, but it is too large to conceal in an evening coat. It would ruin the line.”

  She smiled faintly. “Spoken like a Jones.”

  “What?”

  She glanced at the knot in his four-in-hand tie and then at his silver-and-onyx cuff links. “Uncle Edward once mentioned that the men of the Jones family were known for possessing a certain flair for style.”

  He shrugged. “It’s in the blood. Our tailors love us. But to return to the topic under discussion. The goal will be to identify some of the others in the room besides Delbridge who are involved in this new conspiracy.”

  “How will you do that?”

  “At some point during the evening, Gabriel Jones will rise and make a formal announcement to the effect that the aurora stone has just been returned to the Arcane Society. The stone is a great legend within the organization. The majority of those present will be thrilled to hear the news.”

  A slow smile curved her mouth. “But Delbridge and the others involved in its theft will no doubt panic.”

  “Panic creates its own unique kind of energy. It leaves a strong spore. There will be several trusted members of the Society present who are capable of sensing that kind of fear.”

  “What sort of talent confers that skill?”

  “Several kinds, actually. Panic is one of the easiest emotions to detect because it is so powerful and so elemental. I can pick it up. You probably can, too, if you happen to be near someone who is in a state of panic. It is very difficult to conceal.”

  “What will you do if you succeed in identifying the other conspirators?” she asked.

  “Some of the hunter talents will follow them and see where they go and what they do after the ball. Trust me, those involved in this affair will never know they are being trailed. With luck, one of the villains will lead us to the stone. Failing that, we will at least gain a great deal more information than we have now.”

  “In other words, the ball will be a trap for the conspirators.”

  “Yes,” he said. “And you will be there to help us spring it. Now do you understand why it is important for you to attend the ball with me?”

  Her shimmering excitement created so much energy in the atmosphere that Fog whined eagerly and thrust his nose into her hand.

  Leona ruffled his fur, smiling her mysterious smile.

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she said.

  25

  THE COMMOTION in the morning room reached all the way down the hall into the library. Madame LaFontaine, the dressmaker, was endowed with the grating, very carrying voice and the excruciatingly bad French accent of a woman who had probably emigrated from a neighborhood that was a lot closer to the docks than to Paris.

  “. . . Non, non, non, Miss Hewitt. Not the mushroom silk. Absolument pas. I forbid it. That is an excessively dull shade of gray, not at all suitable to your hair and eyes. Do you wish to fade into the woodwork?”

  Thaddeus put down his pen and looked at Fog, who had taken refuge with him. The dog was at the window, gazing longingly out into the garden.

  Thaddeus got to his feet. “I don’t blame you for wanting to get out of the house. Come along with me.”

  Fog padded quickly after him, ears lowered against the booming voice.

  “A hat with a veil? Have you gone mad, Miss Hewitt? One does not wear a veil in a ballroom, not with one of my gowns. Jeweled flowers only will I allow in the hair. Speaking of les cheveux, Maud, make a note. I will send Mr. Duquesne to dress Miss Hewitt’s hair on the day of the ball. He, alone, can be trusted to create a style that is fashionable enough for one of my gowns.”

  Thaddeus smiled to himself. In spite of his reassurances, it sounded like Leona was doing her best to come up with a disguise for the Spring Ball. He had a feeling she was fighting a losing battle.

  He opened the kitchen door and let Fog out into the garden. On his way back to the library he paused at the door of the morning room and watched the frenzied scene with some amusement. He had never seen Leona look so beleaguered, not even in the midst of fleeing from the scene of a murder.

  Madame LaFontaine, a tiny, sharp-featured woman dressed in an elegantly draped dark blue gown, dominated the scene. Her diminutive size belied her formidable voice. She stood amid an array of fabric samples spread out on the carpet and strewn across the table, directing the actions of two harried assistants. In one hand she wielded a folded fan, waving it about as though conducting an orchestra.

  “Alors, step away from the smoky satin, Miss Hewitt.” Madame LaFontaine brought the fan down quite sharply across Leona’s knuckles.

  “Ouch.” Leona hastily dropped the swatch of gray satin.

  “Madame LaFontaine is quite right,” Victoria declared from the
far end of the table. “You must stick to the jeweled tones.”

  “Quite right, Lady Milden.” Madame LaFontaine bestowed an approving look on her and then whirled and pointed the fan at one of the assistants. “Bring me the amber silk. I believe it will complement Miss Hewitt’s unusual eyes to perfection.”

  The swatch was produced and set out on the table. Victoria, looking more animated than Thaddeus had seen her in years, moved closer to consult with Madame LaFontaine. The pair pored over the amber-gold silk as though it were a treasure map.

  "Oui, parfait,” Madam LaFontaine declared. "I will do it with the most elegant, the most delicate pouf of a bustle and, of course, a full train.” She kissed her fingertips.

  Leona looked toward the doorway at that moment and saw Thaddeus. He contemplated her desperate expression with a sense of satisfaction, gave her a small wave and went on down the hall. He was as eager to get out of the house as Fog.

  He found a hansom on the street, stepped in and settled back to think about the intriguing new mystery that had occupied him for the past hour. It had come to light when he had explained to Leona that Caleb Jones believed they were dealing with a dangerous conspiracy to steal the founder’s secret formula.

  Leona had asked him a great many questions, but there was one very important one that she had not asked, one that any naturally curious person would have asked.

  She had not inquired about the nature and properties of a formula so dangerous and so powerful that it could cause men to commit murder. He could only assume that was because she already knew the answer.

  The truth about what the formula was intended to do was known to only a very few within the Society. The question of how Leona had come by that knowledge was tantalizing indeed.

  26

  I HAVE DECIDED TO BECOME a consulting matchmaker,” Victoria announced. Thaddeus looked up from his salmon and potatoes. "What did you say?”

  Victoria, seated halfway down the long table, fixed him with a challenging expression. “You heard me.”

  “I heard you,” he agreed politely. “But I don’t understand.”

  “I have concluded that the members of the Arcane Society require my special talents in order to form suitable marital alliances. Those possessed of strong abilities have a very difficult time with that sort of thing, you know. Take yourself, for instance.”

  Thaddeus looked at Leona, seeking enlightenment. “I think I am missing something in this conversation.”

  Leona smiled. “It is a brilliant idea. Your aunt has a talent for matchmaking.”

  “I see,” he said.

  “I am also well positioned to assist people in finding good matches,” Victoria continued. “After all, I have been a member of the Arcane Society my entire life. Furthermore, I married into the Jones family. That means I have excellent connections throughout every level of the Society. I will be able to make inquiries about individuals to determine who should be introduced to whom.”

  “It is an interesting notion,” Thaddeus said warily. “How do you plan to go about advertising your consulting services?”

  “Word of mouth. Never fear, the news will get around very quickly.”

  “It certainly will,” Thaddeus said, amused at the thought of what his mother would say when she learned of Victoria’s plans.

  “I will set up a registry of those seeking matches,” Victoria said, excitement lighting her entire face. “I will conduct interviews and make notes. Miss Hewitt is convinced that I shall soon be overrun with clients.”

  He had not seen his aunt looking this enthusiastic about anything since his uncle’s funeral. He had Leona to thank for the transformation. He smiled at her.

  “I’m sure Miss Hewitt is right,” he said. He turned back to Victoria. “Although I must admit that I never envisioned you setting yourself up in business, Aunt Vicky.”

  “Miss Hewitt has explained that people do not appreciate advice unless they pay for it.”

  He laughed. “Miss Hewitt would know.”

  27

  LEONA AWOKE WITH A START and lay still for a moment, willing the last fragments of the unpleasant dream to fade. Then she sat up slowly, trying to decide what had jarred her out of her restless sleep.

  A soft growl sounded again from the shadows. She realized it was not the first time Fog had uttered the warning.

  “What is it?” She pushed the covers aside and got to her feet. “What’s wrong?”

  Fog was at the window, forepaws braced on the sill, his head silhouetted in the moonlight. She went to join him. When she touched him she could feel the rigidly tense muscles beneath his fur.

  Together they looked down into the garden. For a moment she could see nothing out of the ordinary. Then she noticed the flickering light. Someone was moving through the shrubbery. He held a dimly lit lantern in one hand. Her fingers stilled on Fog.

  “An intruder,” she said. “I must sound the alarm.”

  But just as she was about to turn away to rush toward the door, another figure emerged from the kitchens and walked swiftly to meet the figure with the lantern.

  “It’s Thaddeus,” she said to Fog. “What on earth is going on?”

  Down below the pair spoke briefly. The man with the lantern left the same way he had come, disappearing into the night. Thaddeus returned to the house.

  She hurried to the bedroom door and opened it gently. Fog trotted eagerly after her and tried to stick his nose through the tiny opening. Footsteps, barely audible, echoed from the ground floor. Thaddeus had gone into the front hall.

  She opened the door wider. Fog practically leaped out into the hall and dashed toward the stairs. She grabbed her robe off the hook and followed.

  By the time she reached the top of the stairs, she could see Fog at the bottom, prancing excitedly around Thaddeus. Both were illuminated in the low light of a downstairs sconce. Thaddeus was dressed in the black linen shirt, black trousers, boots and long black coat that he had worn the night she encountered him in Delbridge’s museum.

  Alarm flashed through her. Clutching the lapels of her robe, she grabbed the banister in her right hand and rushed down. Thaddeus waited for her in the shadows at the foot of the staircase.

  “I should have known I could not leave without arousing the dog and you, as well,” he said.

  “Where are you going at this hour?” She halted on the last step. “Who was that man in the garden? The one with the lantern?”

  “You saw Pine?” He smiled and brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers. “You must not have been sleeping any more soundly than I was.”

  “Thaddeus, please, what is going on here?”

  He dropped his hand. “I do not have time to explain. I promise I will tell you everything in the morning.”

  She sensed his determination and his urgency and knew that nothing she could say would stop him.

  “I could come with you,” she said quickly.

  That startled him for an instant. Then he smiled wryly. “Yes, you could. But you will not.”

  “Take Fog, in that case.”

  “His job is to guard you. Do not worry about me, my sweet. I will be fine. I have had some experience in this sort of thing.”

  “Does this have something to do with your profession as an investigator?”

  “Yes.”

  He leaned forward and kissed her somewhat ruthlessly, as if she belonged to him and he intended that she never forget that fact.

  A moment later he was gone out into the night, closing the door behind him.

  28

  HIS REAL NAME was Foxcroft, but everyone had called him Red for so long, he doubted that anyone but his mother remembered. He was wiry, red-haired and cunning, having survived the city’s roughest streets since birth. His instincts were well honed. From the start of his association with the man who awaited him in the alley, he had known that his employer was dangerous.

  It had not been difficult to come to that conclusion. Any gentleman who was not afraid
to conduct meetings in dark alleys in this part of town was either extremely dangerous or a complete fool. After their first encounter, some two years ago, Red had quickly determined that his employer was certainly no fool. That left only the other alternative.

  Red paused within the weak circle of light cast by the street lamp and peered into the alley. He thought he sensed a presence there, but he could not be certain.

  “Are ye here, sir?” he asked cautiously.

  “Yes, Red, I’m here. I got your message. You have news?”

  The voice always made him think of the distant thunder of a gathering storm, low and ominous. Red had never seen the gentleman’s face and could not have described him. He did not know his name. But at night on the streets the man was known as The Ghost.

  It gave Red cold chills sometimes to think that he might actually be working for a dead man, but there was no denying that, at least in this case, the dead paid a good deal better than the living, and Red had six mouths to feed at home.

  “Aye, sir,” he said. He moved out of the safety of the lamplight and closer to the black mouth of the alley. “They’re saying in the tavern that there’s another girl dead tonight and one gone missing last night.”

  There was a short silence from The Ghost. It lasted just long enough for Red to begin to wonder if the specter had melted away into the shadows.

  “What are the names of the girls and where do they live?” The Ghost asked.

  “The dead one is Bella Newport. They say her body is still where the Midnight Monster left it, in a basement below her room in Dalton Street. The man who found her was afraid to summon the police for fear they’d think he was the one who killed her. Her throat was cut, like the others.”

  “What of the other girl? The one who is missing?”

  “Annie Spence. She works the street in front of the Falcon. The owner of the tavern says she was out in front beneath the street lamp all evening. Never brought any of her customers upstairs, though. He reckoned her business was just slow, like his. He closed early and went out to see if she was feeling like a bit of sport. But she was gone. He’s very worried about her. Says it’s not like her to go off with a customer.”