“Discretion is the primary reason our clients come to us,” Beatrice said, not bothering to conceal her pride. “Flint and Marsh agents go into some of the wealthiest and most exclusive homes. Our goal is to be as inconspicuous as possible.”
“That is the goal of any good investigator,” Joshua said.
“Since we’re on the subject of self-defense, I would be very interested to learn that little trick that you used on Euston and Covington.”
“Please do not take this as an insult, but it is not a very useful technique for a lady. It requires considerable strength, not to mention a great deal of training and practice.”
“Oh, I see.”
“You need not sound so disappointed,” he said. He was amused. “You are very well armed as it is. Let us get on with the matter at hand. I assume you signaled me with the candle because you have had word from the blackmailer?”
“Yes.” Beatrice took the note out of her pocket and handed it to him. “When your sister and I went upstairs to retire for the evening we found this note. It was on Hannah’s pillow in an envelope that was addressed to her. A man’s handwriting, I’m sure of it.”
Joshua turned up a lamp and read the note aloud.
The great hall. Three o’clock, precisely. The doors will be unlocked. Send the paid companion with the money. If she is seen, no one will take any notice. You, however, might attract unwanted attention. Tell the companion to leave the offering inside the stone box at the foot of the sarcophagus. If these instructions are not followed exactly, the first of many revelations concerning the events of the night of January 9 three years ago will be sent to the press.
Joshua looked up from the note. In the glare of the lamp Beatrice could see that he was very focused. “He specifies that you must deliver the blackmail payment.”
“His logic is clear. If I am seen coming and going in the halls tonight no one will ask questions. But if Hannah is spotted outside her bedroom there will be gossip. The blackmailer does not want anyone to ask questions.”
“The great hall holds the most valuable artifacts in Alverstoke’s collection. It’s well secured at night with the most modern of locks,” Joshua noted.
“How do you know that the lock is modern?” she asked.
“I watched Alverstoke and his butler secure the chamber for the night.”
“Have you been prowling through the house tonight, sir?”
“As my former employer used to say, Know the terrain and you will be able to predict your opponent’s strategy.”
“Ah, yes, the mysterious Mr. Smith, otherwise known as Victor Hazelton?”
Josh’s brows rose. “Hannah certainly did confide in you.”
“Your Mr. Smith may have a few things in common with my former employer. Roland was fond of saying, Know your audience but make sure your audience does not know you. Mystery is everything onstage.”
“Excellent advice,” Joshua said gravely.
“Yes, well, obviously whoever sent that note to Hannah has access to the key to that great hall.” A jolting thought made Beatrice catch her breath. “Do you think that Lord Alverstoke is a party to this extortion business?”
“No,” Joshua said. He spoke with cool confidence. “I thought I made it clear, Alverstoke’s temperament and his eccentricities are such that it is impossible to imagine him as a blackmailer. In any event, he commands a fortune. He has no need to take the risk of extorting money from others. I’m quite certain that he is an unwitting pawn in this affair.”
“How difficult would it be for someone to steal the key to the great hall?” Beatrice asked.
“Based on what I observed tonight, it would be a relatively simple business. But the thief would have to have some knowledge of the household and its routines.” Joshua paused in thought. “There is an alternative, of course. He could try to bribe one of the servants. Either way, the theft of the key is the most easily explained aspect of this case.”
“The thing is, why go to the trouble of using the great hall as the location for the blackmail payment in the first place?” Beatrice tapped one finger on a table, thinking. “There are a thousand nooks and crannies here at Alverstoke Hall, not to mention all sorts of hidden places in the gardens. Why not arrange for the payment to be left in a less conspicuous, more accessible location, one that does not necessitate taking the risk of stealing a key?”
“A very good question, Miss Lockwood. The answer is obvious.”
She frowned. “It is?”
“The great hall is a room that the blackmailer feels he can control. It is certainly the one place where no one is likely to intrude this evening because it has been secured for the night.”
“Yes, of course,” Beatrice said. Admiration flashed through her. “Guests are even now skulking about the mansion searching for discreet locations for romantic trysts. But no one will bother to try the antiquities chamber because everyone is aware that it is always locked. That is a brilliant observation, sir. You really are quite good at this sort of thing.”
“I try.”
She ignored the dry humor in his tone. “Besides, what woman could possibly feel romantically inclined when she was surrounded by so much dark tomb and temple energy?”
“Some might find the surroundings . . . exotic.” Joshua spoke as if he was giving the issue close consideration. “An inspiration to the imagination.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Now you are teasing me, sir.”
“My apologies. Couldn’t resist.”
“You have made your disdain for the paranormal plain,” she said. “Tell me, have you never experienced anything that was beyond explanation, Mr. Gage?”
“Frequently. But the fact that I could not explain things at the time does not mean that the events were of a paranormal nature. Merely that science does not yet have all the answers.”
“Yet you survived in a very dangerous business for several years,” she said. “That leads me to conclude that your intuition is quite acute, perhaps even psychical in nature.”
“Trusting my so-called intuition is why I am now forced to walk with a cane and why small children stare at my face on the street,” Joshua said.
“Forgive me,” she said, mortified. “I did not mean to bring up the subject of your past, not tonight.”
“I would appreciate it if you did not bring up the subject on any other night, as well,” he said.
“I understand, it is a very difficult topic for you.” She was feeling more miserable by the moment. “About our plan tonight. I assume you will be watching the great hall after I leave to see who enters the chamber to collect the payment?”
Joshua smiled. “You sound as if you have had some experience with extortion investigations.”
“As a matter of fact, yes, I have. In the course of my work with Flint and Marsh, I have had some clients who were being blackmailed. It is actually a rather common problem in the circles in which I operate. Everyone has secrets. Wealthy people with secrets are always vulnerable to extortionists.”
“I never considered that you might have investigated something as serious as a case of blackmail.”
“For pity’s sake, sir, what do you think I do as a Flint and Marsh agent?”
“I meant no offense.”
“Yet you offend so well.”
“My apologies.” He glanced at the tall clock in the corner. “In answer to your question, yes, I will be watching the entrance to the great hall tonight. I will be there when you go inside. After you leave, I will wait for the blackmailer to arrive.”
She cleared her throat. “May I ask what, exactly, you plan to do with him when you catch him?”
“I intend to have an informative conversation.”
And that was all she was going to get on that subject, she decided.
“I see,” she said.
“I will e
scort you back to the floor where your room is located.”
“I came down the main staircase because I thought the servants’ stairs would be rather crowded tonight.”
“A good plan, but the main staircase is a bit too public for my liking,” Joshua said. “It would not do for us to be seen together going up to the bedroom floor. We will use another set of steps that I discovered earlier when I explored the house. This mansion is riddled with old stairwells. The one I found appears to have been closed up for years.”
He turned down the lamp, opened the door and surveyed the shadowy gallery. Satisfied, he stood back to allow her to move past him into the hall.
“Don’t dawdle, Miss Lockwood,” he said behind her.
“Wouldn’t think of it, Mr. Gage.”
She caught up the folds of her skirts and went briskly along the gallery pretending not to hear the muffled thud of his cane on the carpet behind her.
She walked more quickly, almost trotting now. He had ordered her not to tarry. If he chose to follow her and could not keep up, that was his problem, she thought. Really, the man was insufferable.
She was relieved to see that Covington was no longer lying unconscious on the floor of the gallery.
“I told you he would wake up in a few minutes,” Joshua said in low tones. “Don’t worry, I doubt he will remember anything of what happened here.”
“I hope not.”
“If he tries to make trouble I will ensure that he does, indeed, forget everything that occurred between the two of you.”
The steel in the words made Beatrice swallow hard.
“Oh,” she said. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. By the way, the door to the staircase I mentioned a moment ago is ahead on the right, just inside that intersecting hallway.”
She stopped and peered into the deeper shadows of the adjoining hallway.
“I don’t see the entrance to the hallway,” she said.
He caught up with her and took her arm. She took a sharp breath.
“I’ll show you,” he said.
“Really, there is no need to escort me all the way to my room,” she said.
“I will not go that far. I want to make sure you are not accosted again.”
“This is ridiculous,” she said. “I can take care of myself, Mr. Gage.”
She was about to continue with a stern lecture but abruptly there was a shift in the atmosphere. She glanced at him and saw that he was looking past her toward the far end of the gallery.
“What is it?” she asked.
Then she saw the couple coming toward them along the gallery. A woman’s seductive laugh was followed by a masculine voice that was blurred with drink.
“Come, my dear. Earlier this evening I noticed a number of empty rooms in the old wing of the house. I think we can find the privacy we seek there.”
“I insist upon a bed,” the woman declared, giggling. “I am not about to let you have your wicked way with me out in the gardens as you did last time. It was most uncomfortable to say nothing of my ruined gown.”
“I’m sure we will find suitable accommodations.”
The couple was closer now. Beatrice suppressed a frustrated groan. It was only a matter of time before the two people noticed that they were not alone in the gallery.
“There is no help for it,” she whispered. “We shall have to brazen it out. We must pretend to be another couple seeking a private location for a tryst.”
“An excellent plan,” Joshua said. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
The dryness of the words made her realize that he had already conceived a similar strategy. Before she could inform him that she found his attitude quite arrogant, he drew her into the dense shadows of a nearby alcove. A pedestal displaying a small quartz sphinx occupied the center of the space.
Her senses heightened intuitively. She had time enough to register the faint, ultralight shadows emanating from the sphinx and then she was in Joshua’s arms. He propped his cane against the pedestal and positioned himself so that his broad shoulders were turned toward the oncoming couple, thereby concealing her face.
He covered her mouth with his own.
Lightning danced across her senses. In that moment she knew that nothing would ever be the same.
Eighteen
The blackmailer unlocked the door of the great hall. The key rattled in the lock. He did not understand why his hand was shaking but there was no getting around it, he was very nervous tonight; far more anxious than he had anticipated. Then again, a large amount of money was at stake, more money than he had ever seen in his entire life.
He had come a long way, he thought proudly. From his early days as a footman stealing small valuables from his wealthy employers and a career as a small-time con artist, he had always managed to scrape by making a modest living. But now he was about to vault into the highest ranks of successful businessmen. Tonight was only the beginning. From now on he would live a very different life—a life of luxury—and all of it financed by those in the upper classes, who would pay any price to keep their secrets.
He finally got the door open and slipped into the thick darkness that cloaked the chamber full of artifacts. The uneasy feeling that had been rattling his nerves all evening intensified into a far more ominous sensation. For a few beats of his heart he had trouble catching his breath.
It was the atmosphere of the place, he told himself. Some of the relics around him had been removed from tombs, after all—ancient tombs, but tombs nonetheless. The dread that gripped him was not unlike the crawling anxiety that he got when he walked through a cemetery late at night.
A man had to guard against the effects of his own imagination.
He got the door closed and fumbled around in the absolute night until he managed to light the shielded lantern. He breathed a little easier when the yellow glare consumed some of the darkness in the immediate vicinity. Then he saw the hellish shadows that moved among the artifacts and a shudder went through him all the way to his bones. It was frighteningly easy to imagine that he was surrounded by the gods and demons of the Egyptian underworld.
He found himself standing next to a granite statue that had the body of a man and the head of a falcon. In the lantern light the eyes of the god seemed to glitter with life.
He moved hastily away from the falcon-headed figure and hurried toward the large stone platform that held the massive sarcophagus and the stone box. The lantern wobbled in his hand. He was shaking harder than ever. The faint scent of incense drifted in the chamber.
Get ahold of yourself, man. Nothing to be alarmed about in this room. Just a collection of old relics that belong in a proper museum.
But his fear grew with each step. The monstrous figures around him seemed to shift in the shadows. Earlier in the evening he had heard talk of curses. Some of the guests had laughed at the notion. So had he at the time. But now he wondered.
Don’t think about curses and tombs. Think about the money.
The plan was simple. He would conceal himself among the clutter of artifacts and wait for Hannah Trafford’s companion to deliver the payment. She had been instructed to leave it inside the stone box that sat at the foot of the sarcophagus. As soon as she left the chamber he would take the money and disappear.
He saw the box at the foot of the sarcophagus. The flaring light of the lamp illuminated the figure of a cat surrounded by a hunting scene carved into the quartz. He’d overheard someone say that the box was actually a miniature sarcophagus designed to hold the mummified body of a cat, but he did not believe that. He could not imagine anyone going to all that trouble just to bury a cat.
Not that he cared about the original purpose of the box. All that mattered tonight was the money that would be placed inside.
As soon as he had collected the payment he would return to his room downstairs. Tomorro
w he would disappear. No one would take any notice of him. No one ever did. His disguise was perfect. He was just one more servant among the many who had accompanied their employers to the country-house party for the weekend.
The lantern light splashed across the great sarcophagus as he went past. He averted his eyes and tried not to think about the nonsensical legends and stories with which Lord Alverstoke had regaled his guests that evening. But it was difficult to put aside the fantastical images that his lordship had conjured when he had enthusiastically described the embalming practices of the ancient Egyptians. “. . . Brain and other vital organs removed with special tools, bodies packed in natron to dry, magical spells chanted . . .”
He must stop thinking about death and focus on his future as a wealthy man.
He saw a massive stone altar. It would make an ideal hiding place. From that vantage point he could watch Trafford’s companion deliver the blackmail money without being seen.
The scent of incense was growing stronger now. The faint smoke was making him dizzy. For the first time he wondered about the source. One of the servants must have indulged in a cigarette before locking up for the night.
But if that was the case, why was the incense growing stronger?
It dawned on him that he might not be alone in the chamber. A cold chill slithered through him. He held the lantern aloft, searching the shadows.
“Who’s there?” he said, trying to sound authoritative, like the valet he was impersonating. “Come out, whoever you are. No one is allowed in this room at this time of night.”
Someone or something stirred in the deep shadows between two of the tall statues. A figure moved toward him. In the yellow glare of the lantern he saw with horror that one of the gods had come to life. It had the body of a man and the head of a jackal.
The blackmailer remembered Alverstoke’s description of the god associated with death and embalming. Anubis.