Affair (7 page)

“You would do well to have some concerns on the
subject, Miss Arkendale. As I have already advised you, this little adventure of yours is fraught with danger. It is not too late to turn back. The carriage I hired is waiting just a short distance away in the park.”

“Not another word, if you please, St. Ives,” she said crisply. “You have been attempting to dissuade me from this project ever since we first discussed it. It grows wearying. I did not employ you to be the voice of gloom.”

“I feel an obligation to advise you.”

“I do not employ you for advice, either, sir. Enough. We don’t have time for any more of your warnings and dire predictions. The time has come to get on with it.”

“As you say, Miss Arkendale.”

He watched as she unfastened the low iron gate to the side of the main entrance and started down the stone steps that led to the kitchen.

The front area of the town house, designed to provide access for servants and tradesmen, was situated below street level. Tendrils of fog swirled out of the black pit at the bottom of the steps. Charlotte’s cloaked figure wafted, ghostlike, down into the stygian darkness before Baxter could think of any more warnings or arguments.

He moved swiftly to overtake Charlotte. He caught up with her as she came to a halt in the shadows near the kitchen door.

“Allow me, Miss Arkendale.”

“Very well, sir, but I pray you will not delay us any further.”

“I would not dream of it. Stand back.”

“Whatever for, sir?”

“Miss Arkendale, it is my turn to warn you not to delay us with idle questions. Now that we are committed to this piece of idiocy, speed is of the essence.”

“Of course, Mr. St. Ives.” Charlotte’s shoes scraped lightly on the stone as she stepped back. “Please proceed.”

Baxter could not see a thing in the thick darkness there below the street. He needed some light but he dared not use the lantern until they were inside the house.

He reached into the pocket of his greatcoat and withdrew one of three small glass vials he had stored there. He snapped the vial in half. There was a flash of bright, intense light. He used his body to shield the glow. The glare revealed the kitchen door and its lock.

Charlotte gave a startled exclamation. “What in heaven’s name is that, Mr. St. Ives?”

“I have devoted some time recently to working on a new method of producing instantaneous lights.” Baxter fished a set of steel needles out of his pocket. “I am attempting to develop one that will last for more than a few seconds.”

“I see.” Charlotte’s soft voice was imbued with admiration. “How very clever of you, sir. Where did you get those little tools?”

“We men-of-affairs must acquire a variety of skills in order to stay employable.” He had learned to use the lock picks before the venture to Italy, knowing full well that he would be obliged to get through several locked doors in Morgan Judd’s castle.

The light was already fading. Baxter selected a needle and slid it into the lock.

He closed his eyes and applied the lock pick gently. There was a faint click. The lock gave just as the last of the flaring light created by his new phosphorous compound sputtered out of existence.

“Excellent work, Mr. St. Ives.”

“It depends entirely on one’s point of view.” Baxter pushed open the door and moved cautiously into the
kitchen. “The new owner of this house, for example, may not be so happily impressed. In fact, he might well have a serious objection to this little act of housebreaking. I certainly would if I were in his shoes.”

“I told you, I made inquiries. The house is empty and likely to remain so until Mrs. Heskett’s heir arrives to deal with the estate. By all accounts he is a distant relative who lives somewhere in Scotland and is quite infirm. No one expects him anytime soon.”

“What of the servants?”

“They all left shortly after the murder. There was no one around to pay their wages. We have the place to ourselves.”

“As you are determined to go through with this business of searching for clues, we had best move quickly.” Baxter closed the kitchen door and lit the lantern. “I instructed the coachman to come in search of us if we did not reappear in the park within half an hour’s time.”

“Half an hour?” Charlotte’s disapproving frown was plainly revealed by the dim, golden glow of the lantern. “I do not know if that will be long enough to go through this entire house.”

Baxter glanced quickly around the empty kitchen. “The sooner we’re finished, the better.”

“Need I remind you, sir, that you are not the one in charge of this affair? You are employed by me and I will give the instructions.”

Baxter brushed past her into the hall. He opened another door and saw an empty sitting room that had no doubt been the province of the housekeeper. “We may as well start with the bedchambers upstairs and work our way back down through the house.”

“Now see here, Mr. St. Ives—”

“Don’t dawdle, Miss Arkendale.” Baxter took the
stairs two at a time. “The first rule of housebreaking is to be quick and efficient. Now, then, as I have the lantern, I propose that we work together.”

“Wait for me.” Charlotte’s footsteps sounded lightly on the stairs. “Really, sir, when this is finished, you and I are going to have a serious discussion regarding the precise nature of your duties.”

“Whatever you say, Miss Arkendale.” He turned the corner on the landing and started up the next flight of stairs. “It might save some time if you were to tell me just what we are looking for here tonight.”

“I only wish I knew.” She sounded slightly breathless as she hurried to catch up with him. “I’m hoping something useful will come to light.”

“I was afraid of that.” He paused at the top of the stairs and gazed down the length of the darkened corridor. “The bedchambers, I believe. Shall we start at the end of the hall?”

Charlotte came to a halt beside him and peered into the shadows. “That sounds logical.”

“I am nothing if not logical, Miss Arkendale.”

“Nor am I, Mr. St. Ives.” She lifted her chin and led the way to the door at the end of the corridor.

Baxter followed her into the first bedchamber and set the lantern down on a table. He watched Charlotte swiftly open and close drawers. Her expression was serious and intent. Whatever this was, it was no game to her, he realized.

“May I ask how long you have been pursuing your rather bizarre career, Miss Arkendale?” Baxter halted in front of a wardrobe and opened the door.

“Since shortly after my stepfather was murdered a few years ago.” Charlotte peered into the depths of a dressing table drawer. “My sister and I were left with very little in
the way of funds. There are not a great many careers open to ladies. It was either become a governess, which does not provide sufficient income for two, or invent an alternative.”

Baxter pushed aside a row of gowns to check the back of the wardrobe. “Where did you get the inspiration for this particular alternative?”

“My stepfather,” Charlotte said coldly. “Lord Winterbourne. He was a greedy opportunist who took advantage of my mother after she was widowed. He convinced her that he wished to take care of her as well as my sister and myself, but in truth he only wanted to get his hands on her money.”

“I see.”

“My poor mother died within months after Winterbourne married her. I do not think she ever realized what a truly dreadful man he was. But in truth he was a selfish, cruel, unfeeling creature. Neither my sister nor I could mourn him.”

“It does sound as though you are far better off without him,” Baxter said as he tried another wardrobe drawer.

“Infinitely so.” Charlotte went down on her knees beside the bed. “Society is riddled with such despicable liars, Mr. St. Ives. And for the most part women in my mother’s situation are extremely vulnerable. They have very few means by which to ascertain the true facts about a suitor’s background and financial status.”

“So you offer them your services.” Baxter went to the window and probed behind the heavy curtains. “Was your stepfather’s killer found?”

“No.” Charlotte rose to her feet and gazed around the room, searching for another likely hiding place. “Some nameless footpad did the deed.”

How very convenient, Baxter thought. “This business of having one of your clients die on you makes for your second brush with murder in a relatively short span of years. Many people live out their entire lives without ever coming so close to that particular crime even once, let alone twice.”

Charlotte swung around to face him. “Just what are you implying, sir?”

“Merely an observation. Those of us who are interested in science cannot resist noting odd bits of logic and unusual connections.” He was about to let the curtain fall back into place when he saw a slight movement on the other side of the street.

Baxter narrowed his eyes slightly. There was just enough glare reflected from the gas lamp to make out the shadowy figure that slipped through the swirling fog. A servant returning after an evening off from his duties perhaps, Baxter thought.

Or was it someone who had no more business being in this neighborhood than he and Charlotte?

“Is something wrong, Mr. St. Ives? Why are you staring out the window?”

“I was merely examining the street.” The shadowy figure had disappeared. Baxter let the curtains fall back into place. “I believe we have done a sufficiently thorough job on this bedchamber. Let’s move on to the next one.”

“Yes, of course. I wish to find Mrs. Heskett’s chamber.” Charlotte scooped up the lantern and hurried toward the door.

She gave him a sharp, reproving glance as she went past him. Her cloak billowed out behind her in a seething, roiling movement that seemed to reflect its owner’s irritation.

Baxter followed slowly.

A few minutes later, in the midst of searching the last bedchamber, Baxter heard Charlotte give a soft gasp of surprise.

“Find something?” Baxter turned to look at her.

She was down on her knees again, bent at the waist, tugging on some object she had discovered beneath a large, mirrored wardrobe.

“What do you make of this, Mr. St. Ives?” She hauled out a large leather-bound volume and flipped it open.

“What is it?” He walked across the carpet to join her. “A journal?”

“No, it’s a watercolor sketchbook.” Charlotte turned a few pages to reveal a series of delicate pastel drawings. “Very likely it belonged to Mrs. Heskett.” She paused abruptly and stared at one of the sketches. “Good heavens.”

Baxter raised his brows as he surveyed the watercolors. “Mrs. Heskett appears to have had a great interest in classical statuary.”

“Indeed,” Charlotte said dryly. “Greek and Roman gods for the most part, I believe. They are, uh, exceptionally well-endowed figures.”

“Indeed.”

Together they both gazed silently at the pictures of nude male statues that filled the sketchbook.

Charlotte cleared her throat. “I have seen a few of these statues myself in the British Museum. I think it’s safe to say that Mrs. Heskett has taken some artistic liberties with certain portions of the anatomies.”

“One could certainly say that.”

Charlotte closed the book with a snap. “Well, her choice of subject is not of interest to us. The important thing is that I found this sketchbook shoved out of sight beneath the cabinet.”

“What’s so odd about that? Many ladies enjoy painting with watercolors.”

“Quite true. My sister, Ariel, enjoys watercolors also.” Charlotte raised her head, her eyes gleaming. “But she does not hide her sketchbook under a cabinet.”

He suddenly understood where her deductions had led her. “Hold on a moment, Miss Arkendale. I would advise you not to leap to baseless conclusions. It’s highly unlikely that Drusilla Heskett deliberately hid her book of watercolors. It was no doubt accidentally kicked under there by one of the servants when they packed up after her death.”

“I disagree, sir. I think it was deliberately concealed there.”

“If so, it may well have been because of the subject matter. Perhaps Mrs. Heskett did not want her staff to know that she enjoyed drawing pictures of oversized phalluses.”

Charlotte blinked. She looked away and suddenly became very busy attempting to tuck the large sketchbook inside her cloak. “Nevertheless, I shall want to examine it. I’m going to take it with me.” She gave up trying to stuff the book inside her cloak and clutched it very firmly in front of her.

Baxter frowned at her sudden agitation. It took him a few seconds to realize that he had embarrassed her. The notion of the formidable Miss Arkendale being disconcerted by the use of the word
phallus
amused him.

“Miss Arkendale, I feel compelled to point out that if you take that volume out of this house you will have committed what some would call an act of theft.”

“Nonsense. I’m merely going to borrow it for a while.”

“Borrow it?”

“I am involved in an inquiry into the circumstances of my client’s death, after all,” she reminded him brusquely. “I need as much information as I can get.”

“What sort of information do you expect to find in a sketchbook full of pictures of nude statuary?” Baxter demanded.

“Who can say?” She whirled about and marched determinedly past him. “Come. We still have the downstairs rooms left to search.”

Baxter swore softly and started to follow her. But curiosity and an uneasy stirring at the back of his neck caused him to hesitate.

He went back to the window, moved the curtain aside an inch or so, and looked down into the street. The view from this bedchamber was similar to that of the first room he and Charlotte had searched.

The fog had thickened. The gas lamp across the way was only a pinpoint of glare now. It did nothing to illuminate the scene. Baxter waited for a long moment, searching for shadows amid the shadows, but he could not detect any movement.

“Come along, Mr. St. Ives,” Charlotte called softly from the hall. “We must hurry.”

Baxter released the curtain and turned toward the door. He had seen no evidence of anyone lurking in the fog but for some reason he did not feel any sense of relief.