T
he household did not sit down to breakfast until eleven o’clock the next day.
“Mr. Oates says that someone must have left the door of the conservatory open last night,” Mrs. Oates announced. She plunked a heavy pot of tea down on the breakfast table. “The dogs got in and trampled a bed of young ferns. Smashed the whole lot, he says.”
Concordia’s fork stilled in midair. Heat warmed her cheeks. She hoped she was not turning an unbecoming shade of pink. She looked down the length of the table at Ambrose, who was calmly eating eggs.
“It’s the nature of dogs to dig in the earth if they get an opportunity,” he observed with a philosophical air. “Phoebe, would you please pass the jam pot?”
“Yes, sir.” Phoebe picked up the dish and handed it to him. “You must not blame Dante for the damage to the ferns, though. He was in the library with us all evening until you and Miss Glade returned. He spent
the rest of the night in the bedroom that Hannah and I are using. Isn’t that right, Hannah?”
Hannah looked up. Her face crunched into a perplexed expression, as though she had been distracted from other, more pressing thoughts. “Yes, he did.”
“Must have been Beatrice,” Mrs. Oates said.
“She was in the room with Theodora and me last night,” Edwina said helpfully.
John Stoner used a small knife to spread butter on a slice of toast. “So much for blaming the dogs. I wonder what happened to those poor ferns?”
Concordia saw the amused gleam in his eye and knew that he had a very good notion of the dire fate that had overtaken the ferns. She beetled her brows at Ambrose in a warning frown but he paid no attention. It was clear that he did not appear overly concerned with the unfortunate direction of the conversation.
Anticipating a disaster, she pulled herself together and took over the task of changing the subject.
“A stray must have somehow got into the garden and found its way into the conservatory,” she said crisply. “Now then, I think that is quite enough on that topic. Hannah, are you feeling ill? Did you have one of your bad dreams last night?”
“No, Miss Glade.” Hannah straightened quickly in her chair. “I was just thinking about something else, that’s all.”
Concordia did not entirely trust that response but she let it go. The breakfast table was not the place to question the girl.
“Now that the danger is past, it is time that I take the girls out for some fresh air and exercise,” she said. “They have been confined indoors far too long. The garden is very pleasant but it is not large enough to provide room for an invigorating walk.”
Edwina brightened. “Can we go shopping, Miss Glade? That would provide excellent exercise.”
“I want to go to the museum,” Phoebe announced. “One can get a great deal of healthy exercise walking around a museum.”
“I would rather go to an art exhibition,” Theodora chimed in.
Hannah stirred her scrambled eggs with the tines of her fork, saying nothing.
Ambrose picked up his teacup. “I think the park is far enough for today.” He looked at Concordia. “You will take the dogs, of course. They need the exercise.”
It was an order, not a suggestion, Concordia realized with a start. A trickle of dread went through her. She wanted to ask him why he insisted that they have the protection of the dogs, but she dared not do so in front of the girls.
“May I wear my trousers for our walk, Miss Glade?” Phoebe asked eagerly.
“Only if you are willing to go to the trouble of putting up your hair under a cap and masquerading as a boy,” Concordia said. “A girl dressed in boys’ clothes would draw attention. We do not want to do that.”
Phoebe beamed. “I don’t mind, so long as I can wear my trousers outside.”
“I am going to wear my new blue walking gown,” Edwina announced with an air of anticipation.
“I must remember to take my sketchbook and a pencil,” Theodora added. “It has been a long time since I have had an opportunity to do some landscape work.”
Hannah set down her fork. “Would you mind very much if I went up to my bedroom? I do not feel like going for a walk.”
Concordia frowned. “What is wrong, dear? Do you have the headache?”
“No. I’m just tired, that’s all. I did not sleep well last night.”
“A
LLOW ME
to congratulate you, Ambrose.” Stoner settled his long frame into an armchair, put his fingertips together and regarded Ambrose with an expression of pleased satisfaction. “The young ladies informed me that you and Miss Glade are to be wed soon.”
“The matter is not entirely settled.” Ambrose walked to the far end of the library and stood looking out into the garden. “I am still waiting for Miss Glade to ask for my hand.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Miss Glade is an unconventional lady. She holds modern views on the relationship between the sexes.”
Stoner cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon, but I understood from my conversation with the girls that there was a matter of ravishment involved.” He paused a beat. “To say nothing of the unfortunate disaster that overtook the ferns late last night.”
Ambrose turned abruptly and went toward the desk. “Miss Glade certainly has a lot to answer for in this affair. I can only hope that she will eventually come to feel the weight of her responsibilities in the matter and do the honorable thing.”
Stoner raised his brows. “The weight of
her
responsibilities?”
“Precisely.”
Stoner watched him steadily for a long moment. “Damn it to blazes, you’re afraid to ask her, aren’t you? You think she might turn you down.”
Ambrose gripped the back of his chair very tightly. John Stoner knew him very well, he thought. “Let’s just say that I do not want to make her feel that she must marry me for the sake of her own reputation.”
“Ah, yes, I comprehend now.” Stoner smiled and inclined his head. “You are employing the Strategy of Indirection.”
“More like the Strategy of Desperation.”
“But what if Miss Glade remains true to her unconventional modern principles and never asks you to marry her? Surely you do not intend to carry on a clandestine affair with a professional teacher? Not indefinitely at any rate.”
“I will take Miss Glade any way I can get her. And that is enough on that topic.” Ambrose removed a sheet of paper from the center drawer. “The subject of my forthcoming nuptials or lack thereof is not what I wished to discuss with you this morning. I would like your advice on another matter.”
Stoner looked as if he wanted to argue the point, but in the end he merely shrugged. “Very well. How can I assist you?”
Ambrose studied the notes he had made on the paper. “There is something that feels . . .” He hesitated, searching for the right word. “Unfinished about this case.”
“A question or two not yet answered?”
“Yes. And it may prove impossible to obtain answers because Larkin and Trimley are both dead. Nevertheless, I mean to try.”
Stoner settled himself more comfortably in his chair. “What is it that still bothers you?”
Ambrose looked up from his notes. “The question I find myself asking over and over again is, what, exactly, did Larkin and Trimley plan to do with Hannah, Phoebe, Edwina and Theodora?”
Stoner’s silver brows bunched together. “Thought you said they planned to auction off the girls as exclusive courtesans.”
“That is the conclusion that Concordia and her predecessor, Miss Bartlett, came to, and there is a certain logic to it. But what disturbs me is that Larkin already had financial interests in several brothels, one or two of which catered to an exclusive clientele. As far as Felix can determine, he had not bothered to concern himself with the day-to-day operations of those businesses for the past several years. So long as they made money for him, he remained in the background. He considered himself an investor, not a pimp.”
“Your point?”
Ambrose lounged back in his chair. “My point is that he appears to have taken an exceedingly personal interest in the scheme involving the four girls. I find myself wondering why he did so when, from all
accounts, it was not his customary manner of dealing with his criminal affairs.”
“Perhaps he considered the potential profits justified his personal involvement in the plan.”
“Perhaps,” Ambrose allowed. “But there are other aspects of the case that make me curious, as well. One of them is the rather high number of murders committed in the course of this affair. While it is true that Larkin was quite ruthless and certainly did not hesitate to get rid of anyone he believed was a threat to his empire, he did not climb to his position by leaving a lot of dead bodies around for people like Felix to find. At least not the bodies of people who were considered to be members of the more respectable classes.”
“I see what you mean.” Stoner looked very thoughtful now. “He would have been well aware that it would be quite simple to get away with the murder of a woman like Nellie Taylor. But he would have been considerably more reluctant to murder people such as Miss Bartlett, Mrs. Jervis and Cuthbert because their deaths might eventually attract the attention of Scotland Yard.”
“Granted, he and Trimley do seem to have been on the verge of getting away with the murders. Nevertheless, the sheer number of them does not fit with what Felix has told me over the years concerning Larkin’s usual methods.”
“Perhaps the murders were the result of Trimley’s influence.” Stoner’s mouth twisted in disgust. “He was new to the business of violent crime and may have enjoyed wielding that sort of power.”
Ambrose sat forward again. “As it happens, Trimley’s presence in the affair is the third question that remains unanswered. Why did Larkin take on a partner? It would seem to be the last thing he needed. He had everything a man of his nature could desire—a handsome fortune, a fine mansion, servants, elegant carriages, beautiful women. What more could he want?”
“There is an old Vanza saying. ‘Greed is a ravenous beast that can never be satiated.’”
Ambrose drummed his fingers on the desktop. “And as my father and grandfather were fond of repeating, ‘When you discover what a man desires most in the world, you can sell him anything.’”
“I thought it was Felix’s opinion that Larkin acquired a gentleman partner because he wanted to extend the reach of his business enterprises into the upper classes.”
“That has certainly been the working hypothesis to date,” Ambrose said. “But I have some doubts. Larkin was not the type to trust anyone, let alone a gentleman who moved in much higher social circles. He would have formed a partnership with a man from that world only if he believed it would help him obtain something he wanted very badly, indeed. Money, alone, could not have been the goal. He knew how to get that on his own.”
“What are you thinking?”
“I am thinking,” Ambrose said, getting to his feet, “that Felix and I may have badly underestimated Larkin’s ambitions. But there is someone who may be able to shed some light on the subject.”
“Who?”
“Rowena Hoxton.”
Stoner grimaced. “Good lord, not that silly, brainless social climber.”
Ambrose was halfway to the door. “I see you are acquainted with her. Would you care to accompany me while I pay her a visit?”
T
he day was warm. A brisk breeze had dissipated the customary haze. The outing in the park would have been quite pleasant, Concordia thought, if only the girls had not taken the opportunity to press the subject of her relationship with Ambrose.
“When will you ask Mr. Wells to marry you?” Phoebe demanded on the way home to the mansion. She tugged at Dante’s lead, urging him away from a tree that had caught his interest. “If I were you, I would not wait too long. Someone else might come along and sweep him off his feet.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” Concordia said. “As you and Hannah pointed out that first night at the inn, Mr. Wells is getting on in years. You will observe that no other woman has yet come along to whisk him off to the altar. Presumably there is no great threat from that quarter.”
“You’re teasing us, Miss Glade,” Theodora said. “You know very well that Mr. Wells is just the right age for you.”
“Do you think so?” she asked. “A younger man might be less set in his ways.”
“But you are hardly likely to find a younger man,” Edwina said. “Not at your age.”
“Thank you for pointing that out, Edwina.”
“Perhaps you should give Mr. Wells some flowers, Miss Glade,” Theodora suggested. “That would be a very romantic gesture.”
Edwina adjusted Beatrice’s lead. “Women do not give gentlemen flowers.”
“Not in the usual way of things,” Theodora conceded. “But Mr. Wells is not like other gentlemen.”
“No,” Concordia said, going up the steps of the mansion. “He is not at all like other men.”
He is the man I love. That makes him utterly unique in the entire world. And what in blazes am I going to do about that?
Mrs. Oates opened the door and gave the small group an approving smile. “I do believe that bit of exercise did you good. I expect you’ll be wanting a nice cup of tea and some cakes.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Oates.” Concordia removed her gloves. “Has Hannah come downstairs?”
“She’s still resting.” Mrs. Oates closed the door behind the girls and the dogs.
“Is Mr. Stoner home?” Phoebe asked. “He promised to tell us about some of the antiquities that he collected in his travels.”
“Mr. Stoner and Mr. Wells both went out right after you did,” Mrs. Oates said. “They said they would be gone for some time. Something about tying up a few loose ends. Now, why don’t you go into the library? I’ll have Nan bring in a tray.”
Concordia walked toward the stairs. “I’m going to check on Hannah first. It is not like her to take to her bed during the day. I’ll join you in the library in a few minutes.”
She hurried up the staircase, her sense of anxiety growing with each step. Hannah was an anxious girl but her health was generally excellent. Perhaps the strain of the last few days had proved too much for her nerves.
The door of Hannah’s room was closed. Concordia knocked softly.