The Mystery Woman

  “Sounds like a character in a Gothic novel.” Weaver’s eyes narrowed. “But your description is familiar. Nearly a year ago I heard rumors about such a man. It was said that he was recently arrived in London and that he was an experienced professional.”

  “Professional what?” Beatrice asked.

  “Assassin,” Weaver explained gently.

  “Oh, right,” Beatrice said.

  “I let it be known that I would be interested in employing such an expert but he never made any attempt to contact me. In fact, he disappeared almost immediately.”

  “He found another employer,” Joshua said.

  “I assume this other employer is from your world, Joshua. Because I would most certainly know if one of my competitors had hired him.”

  “His new employer is a madman named Clement Lancing,” Joshua said.

  Weaver nodded. “I assume you have a plan?”

  “The Bone Man’s weakness appears to be his professional pride,” Joshua said. “I intend to use that vulnerability to set a trap but I will need your assistance.”

  “Of course.”

  Joshua explained the nature of his request. Weaver comprehended immediately.

  “That will not be a problem,” he said. “I shall make the arrangements as soon as I return to my office.”

  “Thank you,” Joshua said. “Please consider your debt repaid in full.”

  Weaver grunted. “I will never be able to repay it.”

  Joshua opened the door of the cab and made his way down to the pavement. He reached up to assist Beatrice.

  Together they watched the gleaming black equipage disappear into the mist.

  “Dare I ask the nature of the favor you performed for Mr. Weaver?” Beatrice asked.

  “His daughter was taken when she was a young girl and held for ransom by one of Weaver’s underworld competitors,” Joshua said. “I was able to find her and retrieve her unharmed.”

  “I see. That explains why he feels he can never fully repay the debt.”

  There was something in her tone that made him realize she was concerned.

  “What is it?” Joshua asked.

  “Mr. Weaver is a very ill man,” she said quietly. “He is dying.”

  “It’s his heart, I’m told. For years he has maintained the truce in the criminal underworld. It will be interesting to see what happens when he is gone.”

  Forty-One

  Victor Hazelton’s library was infused with the dark, somber energy of long-standing grief. There was something else in the mix, as well, Beatrice thought—a quiet, anguished rage. Victor maintained a stoic façade but she could see the dark currents in his footsteps. She suspected that much of his well-controlled anger was directed at himself. He was the legendary Mr. Smith, after all, tasked with keeping the country safe from terrorists and conspirators. But he had failed to protect his beloved daughter from a madman.

  Victor was a silver-maned lion of a man with fierce dark eyes and a commanding presence. He appeared to be in his late fifties but he moved with the athletic ease of a much younger person. It was not difficult to imagine him as a legendary spymaster—privy to secrets in the highest levels of government and Society—sending out his trusted agents to track down traitors and crush conspiracies.

  He had clearly been surprised to see them when they had been ushered into the library, but he had welcomed them. Beatrice sensed a certain awkwardness between Joshua and Victor but there was also the unmistakable energy of a deep, long-standing bond.

  The three of them were seated in the library, Victor behind his massive desk.

  The high-ceilinged room was a shrine to Emma Hazelton. One nearby shelf was filled with her notebooks. Another held her diaries. Her framed watercolors were arranged on various walls. Her portrait occupied the place of honor over the fireplace. And all of it was hung with black silk.

  Emma had been extraordinarily beautiful, Beatrice thought. She glowed in her portrait. With her fine features, dark hair and dark eyes she would have turned any man’s head. But the artist had also managed to capture her intelligence, elegance and charm.

  “We must assume that Lancing is alive, Victor.” Joshua stacked his hands on the grip of his cane. “He will be quite mad by now.”

  Victor went very still. His silvery brows snapped together above his aquiline nose. “You believe he survived the explosion?”

  “Yes. I know this will be difficult for you to hear, but I think he managed to recover Emma’s body.”

  Victor turned pale. He took a sharp breath. His eyes narrowed.

  “Are you certain?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.

  “As certain as I can be without actual proof,” Joshua said.

  “But we found two bodies in the rubble,” Victor said. “A man and a woman.”

  “Charred beyond recognition. Two victims of his experiments, I imagine. Remember, Lancing lured me there that day with the intention of killing me and destroying all the evidence in a great fire. I think he may have had the two bodies ready before I even got there.”

  Victor looked shaken to the bone. “But what of Emma?”

  “I am speculating here,” Joshua said. “But I am almost certain that he has preserved her body all this time in the formula.”

  “Why in heaven’s name would he do such a thing?”

  Joshua’s jaw hardened. “You know why, sir. He is mad. He has convinced himself that he can bring Emma back to life.”

  Victor exhaled deeply and closed his eyes briefly. His pain was a harsh, sad force in the atmosphere.

  “Lancing was a brilliant scientist,” he said. He opened his eyes. “He of all people should know what is possible and what is not.”

  “He is still a brilliant scientist,” Joshua said. “But that does not mean he is not also mad. You know that he was obsessed with Emma. When she tried to escape him he murdered her. It is possible that his guilt and grief pushed him over the edge. By the way, I discovered that he has the Eyes of Anubis. Emma found them for him shortly before he killed her. For the past year Lancing has been purchasing the rare salts required to prepare the recipe for the Egyptian Water from an apothecary in Teaberry Lane.”

  “This is astounding news.” Victor rose and went to stand at the window looking out into the garden. “I am in shock.”

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Joshua said. “I know this is painful for you but I fear there is more unpleasant news. Miss Lockwood is in extreme danger.”

  Victor turned to face them, his strong features tightened into a grim frown. “Why is that?”

  “Lancing is evidently convinced that she possesses the paranormal talent required to activate the powers of the statue,” Joshua said. “He thinks he needs her to complete his grand experiment. He has made it plain that he will go to any lengths to kidnap her.”

  Victor looked at Beatrice with frank curiosity. “Do you possess some psychical abilities, Miss Lockwood?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Although Mr. Gage does not believe in the paranormal, he tells me that Clement Lancing does.”

  “There is no question about that.” Victor clasped his hands behind his back. “Lancing was convinced that there is an entire spectrum of paranormal forces that extend beyond the normal. In fact, he thought that my daughter possessed some talent. It was one of the reasons he was so obsessed with her. He was certain that she had the ability to ignite the reviving effects of the Egyptian Water.”

  “But with Emma dead, he requires another woman of talent,” Joshua said. “He has sent out a professional criminal who calls himself the Bone Man to kidnap Beatrice.”

  Victor arched one silver brow. “I am pleased to note that the efforts have failed.”

  Beatrice looked at Joshua. “Thanks to Mr. Gage.”

  Victor smiled a wistful, fatherly smile. His eyes warmed with memories. “You were always
my best agent, Josh. It appears your injuries have not changed that fact. I assume you have come to me because you have a plan?”

  “I have set a trap for the assassin,” Joshua said. “With luck he will walk into it tonight. Meanwhile, I would be very grateful if you would allow Beatrice to remain here with you where I know she will be safe.”

  “Of course,” Victor said. “Tell me your strategy.”

  Forty-Two

  I know you don’t believe in the paranormal, let alone the ability to sense the future, but we have agreed that there is such a thing as a sense of intuition,” Beatrice said.

  They were alone, strolling through the large conservatory attached to Hazelton’s mansion. On any other night, the scene would have been conducive to romance, Beatrice thought. Moonlight slanted through the glass walls and ceiling, illuminating an impressive array of greenery that ranged from ferns and palms to orchids of all descriptions. It was the only room in the house that was not drenched in gloom. In this space life thrived. Victor Hazelton should spend more time in his conservatory.

  Dinner had been a subdued affair. The dark, paneled dining room, like the library, was drenched in the accoutrements of deep mourning. The walls were hung with more billowing black silk. A photograph of Emma dressed in an elegant gown gazed down upon the diners from above the mantel. The somber-faced footman who served them wore a black armband. He had maintained a hushed silence as he came and went from the kitchen.

  Beatrice knew that she would not have enjoyed the meal even if the atmosphere had been more cheerful. Her sense of unease had been stirring all afternoon. It had only grown stronger throughout the evening.

  “In spite of appearances, I can take care of myself, Beatrice,” Joshua said.

  “I am well aware of that. But that does not mean that you should not pay attention to intuition. What is yours telling you?”

  He stopped and leaned back against a raised bed of ferns. He set the cane aside and pulled her into his arms.

  “I’ve told you, time is running out,” he said. “I cannot risk another moment. I must find the Bone Man tonight and use him to find Lancing. There is no time to devise another plan.”

  She wanted to argue with him but she knew it was no use. Perhaps if she had an alternative strategy to offer she might have been able to convince him, she thought. But she could not think of one.

  She gripped the lapels of his coat. “Promise me that you will be careful and that you will come back to me.”

  “I promise,” he said.

  He tightened his hold on her and kissed her. Her anxiety and her fear for his safety acted like fuel to a low-burning fire. She clutched at his shoulders and returned the kiss with a sense of desperation, as if she was afraid she might never see him again.

  He responded with a rush of desire that swept both of them into a hot torrent of energy.

  He pulled her down onto a nearby pile of canvas sacking and pushed her skirts up to her waist. He found the open seam in her drawers and stroked her until she was wet and aching. He opened the front of his trousers. She closed her hand around him, guiding him into her.

  “I cannot stop,” he warned against her throat. “Not tonight. You’re a fever in my blood.”

  “It’s all right,” she whispered. “It’s all right, my love.”

  My love.

  And suddenly she knew beyond any shadow of a doubt that it was the truth. She loved Joshua.

  If he heard her he did not react to the words. He was consumed with a feverish passion.

  He thrust deep and hard, once, twice, and then he was gritting his teeth against an exultant roar. She held him tightly until the waves of his release finally ceased.

  He collapsed on top of her for a moment. When his harsh breathing was back to normal, he groaned and rolled to one side on the canvas and looked up at the moon through the glass-and-steel roof of the conservatory. He picked up her hand and kissed her palm.

  “My apologies,” he said after a while. “I did not wait for you. I could not. That was ungentlemanly of me.”

  She smiled and levered herself up on her elbow to look down at him. In the moonlight his eyes gleamed with the heat of the aftermath.

  “See to it that you come back safely so that you can finish what you started here tonight,” she said. She kept her voice light and teasing.

  He did not respond to her attempt to lighten the mood. Instead his eyes got very hot. He wrapped his hand around the back of her head and drew her face down until her mouth was very close to his.

  “You have my oath on it,” he said.

  He kissed her once more to seal the promise.

  —

  TWENTY MINUTES LATER she watched him go out into the night and climb into the anonymous carriage that would take him deep into the dark streets of London. When the vehicle disappeared into the fog her intuition shrieked in silent warning. But there was nothing she could do.

  Victor took her arm and gently guided her back into the house. He looked at her, his eyes filled with understanding.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “Josh was always my best agent. Even in his present condition, I’m certain that he can take care of himself.”

  Forty-Three

  This household must strike you as a very morbid place, Miss Lockwood.” Victor poured brandy into a glass. “Some of my old friends have hinted that I have been in deep mourning far too long. They feel it is time that I moved forward with my life.”

  “I know that there are social rules when it comes to mourning,” Beatrice said gently. “But I am of the opinion that everyone grieves in his or her own way. Certainly there cannot be any loss more dreadful than that of a child.”

  They were back in the library. The black-clad housekeeper had brought in a coffee service. Victor had graciously poured two cups and added a splash of brandy to each but Beatrice had not touched her cup.

  She had been growing increasingly anxious ever since Joshua had left the mansion to seek a confrontation with the assassin. It was now after midnight. She was struggling to maintain control of her nerves. Periodically she gave herself a small lecture, reminding herself that Joshua knew what he was about. But the sense of dread continued to deepen.

  “Emma was all I had after her mother died,” Victor explained. He draped one black-clad arm on the white marble mantel and looked up at the portrait. “Society expects a widower to remarry within a few months, especially when he does not have any male heirs.”

  “Yes, I know,” Beatrice said.

  “But I loved my Alice and could not find it in my heart to betray her memory by bringing another woman into this house. I had my brilliant, beautiful daughter, and that was more than enough for me.”

  “I understand.”

  The rules and rituals for mourning were complicated but the social burden fell most heavily on women. Everything from the black-bordered paper used to announce a death to the length of time prescribed for wearing black and, later, gray gowns was a matter of great concern for ladies. A woman in mourning was watched with close, critical scrutiny. But gentlemen usually confined themselves to a black hatband and, at most, a black armband for a couple of months. Widows were discouraged from marrying again. A second marriage implied a lack of sensitivity. Men, however, were encouraged to take another wife as soon as possible.

  “I also had two young men in my life who were like sons to me,” Victor continued. “Indeed, my happiest hour came when Emma told me that she wished to marry one of them.”

  “Clement Lancing,” Beatrice said.

  “Yes. My daughter was quite beautiful. She could have had any man she chose. I knew that both Joshua and Clement loved her, but in the end I felt that Lancing was the right choice because he shared Emma’s fascination with Egyptology.” Victor’s jaw tightened. “It was one of the few times in my life that I have been wrong in my judgment of a man. The mistake
cost me my Emma.”

  “Were you aware of Lancing’s obsession with the formula for the Egyptian preservative fluid?”

  “Of course,” Victor said. “Emma was equally fascinated. We discussed it on several occasions. They were excited by the possibility that the ancients had discovered a means of preserving the newly dead in a state of suspended animation. Lancing was convinced that in that deep sleep the formula would exert a healing effect on the organs. When the process was complete, the individual could be successfully revived.”

  “As I told Mr. Gage, I am astonished that a scientist as brilliant as Clement Lancing would actually believe he could awaken the dead,” Beatrice said.

  “The line between genius and madness can sometimes be difficult to find.” Victor’s hand tightened around the edge of the mantel. “Mind you, Lancing did not think the Egyptian Water would work on a long-dead corpse, but he was convinced that if the body of a recently deceased person was immersed in the fluid within a few hours after death, there was every hope. He began conducting terrible experiments.”

  “Mr. Gage told me about that aspect of the affair.”

  “When my daughter discovered what was going on she was horrified. She confronted him and, well, I’m sure Josh told you the rest.”

  “Yes.”

  Victor shook his head, mouth tightening. “It is difficult enough to comprehend that Lancing actually survived the explosion. The possibility that he may have my daughter’s body preserved in a chemical bath is shocking beyond belief. All these months . . .”

  “I can only imagine how upsetting that notion must be for you.”

  “Joshua never took Lancing’s and Emma’s work on the Egyptian Water seriously because he doesn’t believe in the paranormal.”

  “Yes, he has made that quite clear.”

  Victor’s mouth twisted faintly. “We all have our blind spots. With Josh it is his great desire to live by cold logic and reason. He has always feared that to do otherwise means risking his sense of control.”