Authors: Amanda Quick
“Missing?”
“Thieves broke into his house the night he died. I believe the journal was taken by them.”
Leo frowned. “Why would common housebreakers steal a gentleman’s personal journal? They could not hope to fence it.”
“Perhaps these housebreakers were not so common.”
“Was anything else of value removed?” Leo asked sharply.
“Some silver and such.” Beatrice shrugged. “But I think that was done only to make it appear that the housebreaking was the work of ordinary thieves.”
He eyed her thoughtfully. “But you don’t believe that.”
“Not for a moment.”
“Impossible.” Leo drummed his fingers on the mantel. “It defies credibility.” But he could not forget the tales of the Rings that had come to his attention. “Did your uncle have an interest in collecting antiquities?”
“He was always interested but he could not afford to collect them until he came into his inheritance. After that he did not purchase many, however. He claimed that most of the items that were for sale in the antiquities shops were fakes and frauds.”
Leo was impressed in spite of himself. “He was right. It sounds as if your uncle had good instincts for artifacts.”
“A certain sensibility for that sort of thing runs in the family,” she said vaguely. “In any event, Uncle Reggie apparently believed that the Forbidden Rings were the
key to a fabulous treasure. That is what compelled him to pursue them.”
“Ah, yes. The lure of fabled treasure. It has drawn more than one man to his doom.” Leo frowned. “Did he go to the House of the Rod often?”
Beatrice turned pink. “Apparently he was a regular client of the proprietress, Madame Virtue.”
“How do you know that?”
Beatrice studied her fingers. “Uncle Reggie made a note of the visits in his appointment book. He, uh, treated them rather as if they were visits to a doctor. I believe he suffered from a certain type of, uh, masculine malady.”
“A masculine malady?”
She cleared her throat again. “A sort of weakness in a certain extremity that is unique to gentlemen.”
“He was impotent.”
“Yes, well, in addition to his appointments at the House of the Rod, he was apparently a regular patron of a certain Dr. Cox, who sold him a concoction called the Elixir of Manly Vigor.”
“I see.” Leo released his grip on the mantel and crossed the room to his desk.
For the first time, he considered seriously the possibility that there had been some truth to the rumors that he had heard. The notion was absurd on the face of it. The tales stretched logic and credibility to the limit.
But what if the Forbidden Rings had been found?
Beatrice watched him intently. “I have told you the particulars of my situation, sir. It is time for you to keep your end of the bargain.”
“Very well.” Leo recalled what he had read in the old volume he had consulted after the antiquities dealer had contacted him. “According to the legend, a certain alchemist
crafted a statue of Aphrodite some two hundred years ago. He fashioned it out of a unique material that he had created in his workshop. Supposedly the stuff is extremely strong. It is said to be impervious to hammer or chisel.”
Beatrice’s brows drew together in a small frown of concentration. “I see.”
“It is also said that the alchemist hid a fabulous treasure inside the statue and sealed the Aphrodite with a lock fashioned from a pair of Rings. The statue and the Rings disappeared shortly thereafter.” Leo spread his hands. “Treasure seekers have searched for them from time to time down through the years, but neither the Rings nor the statue has ever been found.”
“Is that all there is to the tale?”
“That is the essence of the matter, yes. There have been a number of fakes produced over the years. It is quite conceivable that in spite of his instincts for antiquities, your uncle fell victim to a scheme designed to make him believe that he had purchased the actual Forbidden Rings.”
“Yes, I know that it is possible he purchased some fraudulent artifacts. But I have no choice. I must pursue the matter.”
“Assuming that he somehow managed to obtain a pair of Rings, genuine or otherwise, what makes you believe that he was murdered because of them?”
Beatrice released the back of the chair and went to stand at the window again. “In addition to the fact that his house was torn apart the very night he died, Uncle Reggie left some notes in his appointment book. They indicate that he was becoming quite anxious about something. He wrote that he thought someone was following him around London.”
“You said he was a noted eccentric.”
“Yes, but his was not a fearful or overanxious temperament. I also find it rather suspicious that he died shortly after purchasing the Forbidden Rings.”
A chill of dread stirred the hair on the back of Leo’s arms.
Control yourself, man. You study legends, you do not believe in them
. “Mrs. Poole, if, for the sake of argument, you were to find the Rings, what would you do with them?”
“Sell them, of course.” She sounded surprised by the question. “It is the only way we can hope to recover at least some of my uncle’s money.”
“I see.”
She turned away from the window. “My lord, is there anything else you can tell me about this matter?”
He hesitated. “Only that it can be dangerous to get involved in an affair that lures treasure hunters. They are not a stable lot. The prospect of discovering a great treasure, especially an ancient, legendary one, has unpredictable effects on some people.”
“Yes, yes, I can well understand that.” She brushed his warning aside with a graceful flick of her wrist. “But can you tell me anything more about the Rings?”
“I heard an unsubstantiated rumor that a while back they turned up in a rather poor antiquities shop operated by a man named Ashwater,” he said slowly.
“Forgive me, my lord, but I already know that much about the business. I went to see Mr. Ashwater. His establishment is closed. His neighbors informed me that he had left on an extended tour of Italy.”
It occurred to him that she was losing her patience. He did not know whether to be annoyed or amused. She was the uninvited guest here. This was his house. She was
the one who had descended on him without a by-your-leave and demanded answers to questions.
“You have already begun to make inquiries?” he asked.
“Of course. How do you think I came to learn of your expertise in legendary antiquities, my lord? Your articles, after all, are published in somewhat obscure journals. I had never even heard your name before I began my investigations.”
He wondered if he should be insulted. “It’s quite true that I am not an author of popular novels such as Mrs. York.”
She gave him a smile that bordered on the condescending. “Do not feel too bad about it. We cannot all write well enough to make a living, sir.”
“I write,” he said through his teeth, “for a different audience than does Mrs. York.”
“Fortunately, in your case, there is no need to convince people to actually purchase your work, is there? The Monkcrest fortune is the stuff of legend, according to my aunt. You can afford to write for journals that do not pay for your articles.”
“We seem to be straying from the subject, Mrs. Poole.”
“Indeed, we are.” Her smile was very cool. There were dangerous sparks in her eyes. “My lord, I am extremely grateful for the information, limited as it is, that you have given me. I shall not impose on your hospitality any longer than necessary. My maid and I will leave first thing in the morning.”
Leo ignored that. “Hold one moment here, Mrs. Poole. Precisely how do you intend to pursue your inquiries into the matter of the Rings?”
“My next step will be to interview the person who was with my uncle when he died.”
“Who is that?”
“A woman who calls herself Madame Virtue.”
Shock held him transfixed for the space of several heartbeats. When the paralysis finally wore off, Leo sucked in a deep breath. “You intend to speak to the proprietress of the House of the Rod? Impossible. Absolutely impossible.”
Beatrice tipped her head slightly to the side, frowning. “Why on earth do you say that, my lord?”
“For God’s sake, she is a brothel keeper. You would be ruined if it got out that you had associated with her.”
Amusement lit Beatrice’s eyes. “One of the advantages of being a widow of a certain age, as I’m sure you’re aware, my lord, is that I have a great deal more freedom than I did as a younger woman.”
“No respectable lady possesses the degree of freedom required to consort with brothel keepers.”
“I shall exercise discretion,” she said with an aplomb that was no doubt meant to reassure him. “Good night, my lord.”
“Damnation, Mrs. Poole.”
She was already at the door. “You have been somewhat helpful. Thank you for your hospitality.”
“And they call me mad,” Leo whispered.
DECEPTION
A Bantam Book
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Bantam hardcover edition / July 1993
Bantam paperback edition / May 1994
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 1993 by Jayne A. Krentz.
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 93-3108
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