“Do you regret it?” He watched her, trying to read her eyes. “Because if so, I’d rather you told me now so that I can ensure it doesn’t happen again.”
“For the last time, I knew what I was doing and I do not regret it. Is that enough for you to be certain that my nerves have not been completely shattered?”
“Thank you,” he said.
She drummed her fingers on her forearms. “Well? You appear to be waiting for me to say something else.”
He cleared his throat. “This might be an appropriate time to tell me that you found our encounter at least mildly pleasurable if not entirely satisfactory.”
Her eyes widened in shock. “Oh. Yes. Well, as to that, I am not sure.”
He winced. “On second thought, it might be best if we moved on to another topic. At this rate you will completely unman me.”
“The thing is, something did happen—something that was . . . unfamiliar to me.”
“Generally speaking it’s not the sort of thing that is easily confused with other activities.”
She started pacing again. “I believe I experienced what the doctors refer to as a paroxysm. A cathartic paroxysm.”
“I’m not sure I could even spell paroxysm. What the devil is that?”
She paused to glare at him. “You know what I mean. A physical . . . release.”
“Are you trying to tell me that you experienced a climax?”
She raised her chin. “The medical profession calls it a paroxysm when it happens in women. I suppose they don’t think it’s possible that women are capable of actually experiencing pleasure in the way that men do so they give it a label that makes it sound more like a case of shattered nerves.”
A relief so great that it equaled the pleasure he had experienced a short time ago nearly overwhelmed him. He started to smile, caught himself and quickly suppressed it.
“Ah,” he said. “I see.”
She shot him a suspicious look. “What do you see?”
He could no longer suppress the smile. Crossing the short distance that separated them he cupped her face in his hands.
“I realize that you have been a widow for many years now. Perhaps it has been some time since you enjoyed that sort of thing.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I never enjoyed one of those. I expect that is why I did not recognize the sensation at first.”
“Your marriage was not a happy one? Not even in the beginning?”
“I told myself I was content—at least, I did until I discovered Jeremy’s gambling habit and his taste for brothels. I understood belatedly that he had married me to get his hands on the small inheritance my father left me. I did not realize that there was something missing in our physical relationship. I suspect it is that way for many other women, as well. It certainly explains why so many of them are making appointments with their doctors for the treatment of congestion and hysteria.”
“Are you telling me there is a treatment for, uh—”
“I believe a medical instrument called a vibrator is involved.”
“You’re serious, aren’t you?”
She was bright pink now. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. My assistant, Matty, booked an appointment for a treatment with a doctor last month. She was practically glowing when she returned to the office. She says she plans to schedule another appointment soon. She recommended the therapy. Highly.”
Slater was stunned. And then he started to smile again. The smile turned into a grin and then a chuckle. Without warning he was suddenly roaring with laughter. Ursula watched him, bemused.
Eventually he regained his composure. When he did he realized he felt uncharacteristically lighthearted.
He brushed his mouth lightly across her lips. “Promise me that you will consult with me before you make any appointments with a doctor.”
She blushed a deeper shade of red and then she smiled. It was a brilliant, dazzling smile. Sensual laughter lit her eyes.
“I will do that,” she said.
He realized he was getting hard again. He wanted to pick her up in his arms and carry her back to the chair to demonstrate to her that what she had experienced was not a one-time event.
He groaned and pulled her to him. “I would like very much to make love to you again but I regret to say we have more pressing issues.”
“Rosemont and his laboratory.” Ursula raised her head. “And Anne’s connection to the drug trade, which appears to have been going on for several months. I just do not understand it.”
“Neither do I, not yet. But her involvement may have led to her death.”
“That reminds me.” Ursula stepped out of his arms and went to the satchel sitting on top of her desk. “I have something to show you. I collected a sample of the dried herbs that I found in Rosemont’s laboratory. I think he used them to concoct the drug. I saw no other plant specimens on the premises. And he said something about ruing the day he agreed to make the ambrosia.”
“He admitted that he was concocting the drug?”
“Yes.”
Slater watched her open the satchel and remove a small bundle created from a knotted handkerchief. When she untied the square of linen he saw a handful of dried leaves and flowers.
“I don’t recognize that plant,” he said. “It’s nothing like the opium poppy.”
“I have never encountered it, either.”
“One way or another, we must consider the stuff to be dangerous. Rosemont was willing to commit murder and destroy his own laboratory to protect his secrets. If you don’t mind, I’ll take the sample to a botanist I know. He was a friend of my father’s. Perhaps he will recognize the leaves.”
“I suppose I could ask Lady Fulbrook about the herb.”
“No,” Slater said. “We don’t know what is going on in the Fulbrook household. You must not tell Lady Fulbrook or anyone else what happened to you today. Above all, you must not let on that you discovered these leaves.”
“Very well.”
“We need more information,” Slater said.
“About the plant, do you mean?”
“That, too. But I want details of the goings-on at the Olympus Club.”
“I thought that was why we were trying to arrange an interview with the brothel madam, Mrs. Wyatt.”
“I don’t think that we can count on obtaining a great deal of information from her—not if she is involved in this drug business. She will have her own interests to protect.”
“Will you talk to one of the members of the club?” Ursula asked.
“That would be the best approach. Unfortunately, there is a problem. I am not a member of the club, and due to the fact that I have been out of the country for the greater part of the past decade, I lack the social connections I need to convince a member to confide in me. But there are other ways to gather information.”
Ursula was silent for a little too long.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
“I’m thinking that your partner, Lord Torrence, might be able to assist you,” Ursula said.
“You refer to my former partner who evidently detests the sight of me.”
“I told you, I don’t think Torrence hates you. I believe he is afraid of you.”
“I think you’re wrong but even if you’re correct, it comes to the same thing. He won’t help me.”
“It will be your task to convince him to change his mind. Meanwhile, it occurs to me that whoever was supplying the herbs to Rosemont must be a very expert gardener. It might be interesting to take a closer look at the contents of Lady Fulbrook’s conservatory tomorrow.”
Ghostly fingers touched Slater’s neck. “I don’t think you should return to that house.”
“There’s nothing to worry about.” Ursula smiled reassuringly. “After all, Griffith will be out front in the street the whole time I am inside.”
r />
TWENTY-FIVE
Matty looked up from her typing when Ursula opened the door of the office.
“Good morning,” Matty said. “You’re late. I was starting to wonder if you were not feeling well.”
Ursula unpinned her hat and tossed it onto a table. “Once and for all, I am not ill.” She flung her gloves after the hat.
Matty blinked a few times and then she smiled. “No, you are not. In fact, you are positively glowing with good health this morning.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” Matty said. “Just that I have the impression that you will not need to make an appointment with Dr. Ludlow for the treatment of congestion and hysteria.”
Ursula sighed and sank down into her chair. “Is it that obvious?”
“That you and Mr. Roxton have become very, very good friends?” Matty chuckled. “Yes it is and I congratulate you.”
“I’m not sure congratulations are in order.”
“Nonsense. We are both well past the age when we need concern ourselves with our reputations. So long as we are discreet, there is no reason why we should not enjoy the few benefits available to widows and spinsters.”
Ursula had been about to open a desk drawer. She paused.
“We?” she repeated.
Matty smiled serenely and looked at the flowers on her desk.
“Mr. Griffith stopped in to see me first thing this morning,” she said.
“Griffith brought you flowers?”
“Pretty, aren’t they?”
It was Ursula’s turn to smile. “Yes, they are.”
“Mr. Griffith is a very impressive man,” Matty said. “He spent years touring the country and America with a theatrical group.”
“I had heard that.” Ursula paused. “He is a very large man.”
“Yes, he is.” Matty looked pleased. “I believe it is all muscle.”
“No doubt.” Ursula clasped her hands on her desk. “Do you remember Anne’s satchel?”
“Yes, of course. Why?”
“I woke up during the night and remembered that it was not among her things. If you will recall, we packed all of her possessions and clothes into two trunks. I went through both this morning. Her satchel was not in either trunk.”
Matty raised her brows. “It was a very nice satchel. Remember how she showed it off to us the day she bought it? I wonder if her landlady pinched it.”
“I found Anne’s jewelry behind the water closet but there wasn’t room to conceal a large leather satchel there.” Ursula surveyed the office. “Where would you hide a satchel?”
Matty reflected briefly. “I don’t know. I’ve never considered the problem.”
“If I wanted to hide something as big as a satchel and if I didn’t have a safe or some other secure place, I might keep it in a location where a burglar was unlikely to look.”
“Where would that be in a house?”
“Not in a house, Matty.” Ursula jumped to her feet. “In an office.”
She started opening drawers. Matty joined her.
In the end, Ursula discovered the satchel at the back of a filing cabinet drawer.
“She must have been very anxious about the possibility that someone would steal her lovely new bag,” Matty said. “Wonder what’s inside?”
Ursula set the satchel on a desk and unlatched it.
There was a small bundle of letters inside. Ursula selected one at random.
“It’s from Mr. Paladin,” she said. “Editor and publisher of the Paladin Quarterly in New York.”
“Who is Mr. Paladin?” Matty asked.
“Lady Fulbrook’s publisher.” Ursula removed the letter from the envelope and read it quickly.
Dear Miss Clifton:
I have received your short story, “A Proposal from a Lady.” It is clever and intriguing, just the sort of thing that would be of interest to our subscribers. If you have any other stories of a similar style and content I would be happy to consider them for publication in our literary quarterly.
Sincerely,
D. Paladin
“Well, no wonder Anne was careful to hide those letters,” Matty said. “I’ll wager Lady Fulbrook would be furious if she knew that her secretary was secretly selling short stories to the Paladin Quarterly.”
“Do you think so?” Ursula asked.
“Certainly. Very likely she would have viewed Anne as competition.”
TWENTY-SIX
Your suggestion that we go into my conservatory to work is excellent, Mrs. Kern.” Valerie rose slowly from her chair, as though burdened by a weariness of the spirit so heavy she could scarcely bring herself to move. She rang a bell and drifted slowly toward the door of the library. “I can always count on inspiration from my plants and flowers.”
Ursula collected her stenography notebook and her satchel and got to her feet.
“It was just a thought,” she said lightly. “I’m glad you believe that it might have a beneficial effect on your poetry.”
“Very little lightens my spirits, Mrs. Kern. But I do find some peace in my conservatory.”
The plan, such as it was, could only be described as simplistic, Ursula thought. She was no botanist but she had done a careful sketch of the dried leaves and small flowers of the herb that she had salvaged from Rosemont’s laboratory. She thought she would recognize the plant in its growing state if she saw it in the conservatory.
Valerie led the way down a long hallway and out into the lush garden. A maid followed at a discreet distance. They crossed a small brick courtyard and went along an ornamental path.
The big mastiff staked to a heavy chain lumbered to his paws and watched them with a wolf’s unblinking stare. Ursula kept a wary eye on him. On the previous trip to the conservatory Valerie had explained that the dog was turned loose at night to guard the grounds. The animal looked as if it would cheerfully rip out one’s throat.
At one point Valerie glanced briefly over her shoulder at the maid.
“I hate them all, you know,” she confided in low tones.
“The servants?” Ursula asked, keeping her voice equally low.
“They watch me day and night. I cannot leave the house unless my husband is with me. He and that witch of a housekeeper hire each and every member of the staff. They serve as his spies and prison guards. I cannot trust any of them.”
When they reached the large, gracefully arched, glass-walled hothouse, Valerie took a key out of the pocket of her day gown and handed it to the cold-faced maid, who used it to open the door.
A soft rush of warm, humid air freighted with the scents of rich soil and growing things wafted through the opening. Valerie breathed deeply of the lush fragrance. Some of her tension and anxiety visibly lessened, just as it had the last time Ursula had accompanied her into the glasshouse.
“That will be all for now, Beth,” she said. She took the key from the maid and made it disappear into her pocket. “Mrs. Kern and I are not to be disturbed.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The maid gave Ursula a disapproving look that bordered on suspicious, bobbed a curtsy and hurried back toward the house.
“Bitch,” Valerie whispered.
Ursula studied her surroundings. The first time she had accompanied Valerie to the conservatory she’d taken only a cursory look around. The glasshouse was huge, the largest facility of its kind that she had ever seen. Ferns, palms, orchids and a myriad assortment of towering, leafy plants filled the glass chamber. The foliage was so abundant that in many places it formed a canopy that was thick enough to block the daylight.
Ursula looked at Valerie. “I hope you don’t mind if I tell you how much I admire your conservatory. It’s nothing short of magnificent.”
“Thank you. I have always been interested in horticulture and botanical science. B
ut after my marriage this conservatory became my passion.” Valerie walked slowly down an aisle formed by rows of broad-leafed plants that arched over her head in a natural green tunnel. “It is the one place where I know I can find privacy and peace. No one comes in here without my permission, not even my husband.”
“Lord Fulbrook does not share your passion for gardening?” Ursula asked, trying to make the question sound as innocent as possible.
Valerie paused at the far end of the leafy tunnel and smiled. For the first time since they had met, Ursula got the impression that she was amused.
“My husband avoids this place as if it were filled with poisonous substances—which it is, at least for him.”
Ursula was halfway through the green tunnel. She stopped, eyeing some tropical flowers with a bit of trepidation.
“You grow poisonous plants?” she asked.
“Calm yourself, Mrs. Kern. I doubt that there is anything in here that could harm you. If you were as unpleasantly affected by the atmosphere as Fulbrook is, I’m sure you would be aware of it by now. After all, you were here on a prior occasion.”
“I see.” Ursula relaxed and resumed making her way through the tunnel. “Your husband is one of those who suffers from the symptoms of a head cold when he is near certain plants and trees?”
Valerie chuckled. “His nose becomes so congested that he is forced to breathe through his mouth. His eyes turn red. He sneezes and coughs and is generally quite miserable.”
“No wonder he does not like to enter your conservatory,” Ursula said. She hesitated, knowing she had to tread carefully. “You are fortunate.”
The amusement faded from Valerie’s eyes. “In what conceivable way, Mrs. Kern?”
“Some husbands would have insisted that a conservatory that induced symptoms of a head cold be removed.”
Valerie surveyed her green realm. “My husband sees some small value in my conservatory. Like my poetry, it keeps me entertained and therefore makes me less of a nuisance to him.”
“I see.”
“Do you take an interest in gardening and horticultural matters, Mrs. Kern?”