"I can't believe you encountered Mr. March again. And under such odd circumstances." Emeline put down her coffee cup and regarded Lavinia across the breakfast table. "What an astounding coincidence. " "Rubbish. It is no such thing, if his tale is to be believed." Lavinia tapped her spoon against the side of her plate. "According to him, this affair of blackmail is connected to that business in Rome." "Does he think that Holton Felix was a member of this criminal gang called the Blue Chamber?" "No. Apparently Felix came into possession of the diary more or less by chance." "And now someone else has it." Emeline looked thoughtful. "Presumably whoever murdered Felix. And Mr. March is still on the trail. He is really quite tenacious, is he not?"
"Bah. He is doing this for the money So long as someone is willing to pay him to make inquiries, it is in his own best financial interests to be tenacious." She made a face. "Although why his client continues to purchase his services after his shockingly incompetent performance in Rome defeats me." "You know very well we must be grateful for the way he carried out his inquiries in Italy. Another man in his position might well have concluded that we were, indeed, members of that gang of cutthroats and acted accordingly." "Anyone engaged in such inquiries would have had to be a fool to imagine we were involved in criminal activities." "Yes, of course," Emeline said soothingly, "but one can certainly see how another, less intelligent, less observant gentleman than Mr. March might have concluded that we were members of the gang." "Do not be so quick to credit Tobias March with any positive qualities, Emeline. 1, for one, do not trust him." "Yes, I can see that. Why ever not?" Lavinia spread her hands. "For heaven's sake, I found him at the scene of a murder last night." "He found you at the same scene," Emeline pointed out. "Yes, but he had got there before me. Felix was already dead when I arrived. For all I know, March was the one who killed him." "Oh, I doubt that very much." Lavinia stared at her. "How can you say that? March was quite free with the information that Mr. Carlisle did not survive the en- counter in Rome." "I thought you said something about an unfortunate accident on the stairs." "That was March's version of events. It wouldn't surprise me in the least to discover that Carlisle's death was not an accident."
"Well, that is neither here nor there now, is it? The important thing is that the villain is dead." Lavinia hesitated. "March wants me to help him find the diary. He wants us to combine our efforts." "That makes perfect sense, does it not? You are both determined to find it, so why not form a partnership?" "March has a client who is paying him a fee for his efforts. I do not." Emeline studied her over the rim of her coffee cup. "Perhaps you can negotiate with Mr. March to give you a portion of the money his client pays him. You developed a distinct talent for bargaining while we were in Italy." "I have given the matter some consideration," Lavinia admitted slowly. "But the notion of a partnership with March makes me extremely uneasy" "It does not appear that you have much choice. It would be a trifle inconvenient for us if the gossip about our business in Rome began to circulate here in London., "You have a gift for understatement, Emeline. It would be more than inconvenient. It would utterly destroy my new career, to say nothing of your chance to enjoy a Season." "Speaking of your career, did you happen to mention the nature of your new profession to Mr. March last night?" "Of course not. Why would I do that?" "I merely wondered if, in the intimacy of the setting in which you and Mr. March found yourselves, you perhaps felt called upon to confide in him." "There was nothing intimate about the setting. For heaven's sake, Emeline, there was a dead man in the same room with us." "Yes, of course." "One does not become intimate under such circumstances."
"I understand." "In any event, the last thing I would want to do is become intimate in any way with Tobias March." "Your voice is rising, Aunt Lavinia. You know what that means." Lavinia slammed her cup down onto the saucer with a great deal of force. "It means that my nerves have been sorely tried." "Indeed. But it is clear to me that you have no choice but to do as Mr. March suggests and join together to search for the diary." "Nothing can convince me that forming a partnership with that man would be wise." "Calm yourself," Emeline said gently. "You are allowing your personal feelings about Mr. March to interfere with sound judgment." "Mark my words, Tobias March is once again playing his own deep game, just as he was the last time we had the misfortune to encounter him." "What game would that be?" Emeline asked, showing the first hint of exasperation. Lavinia contemplated the question for a moment. "It is entirely possible that he is seeking the diary for the same reasons that Holton Felix wanted it. For purposes of extortion and blackmail." Emeline's spoon clattered loudly on the saucer. "Never say you actually think that Mr. March intends to set himself up as an extortionist. I refuse to believe he has anything in common with a creature like Holton Felix." "We know nothing about Tobias March." Lavinia flattened her palms on the table and shoved herself to her feet. "Who can guess what he would do if he managed to gain possession of the diary?" Emeline said nothing. Lavinia clasped her hands behind her back and began to pace around the table.
Emeline sighed. "Very well, I cannot give you any reason to trust Mr. March, beyond the fact that he did see to it that we got safely back to England after the disaster in Rome. It must have cost him a small fortune." "He wanted us out of the way In any event, I very much doubt March paid the expenses of that journey I'm sure he sent the bill to his client." "Perhaps, but my point is that you have no choice in this affair. Surely it is better to work with him than to ignore him. At least that way you will be in a position to learn whatever he discovers." "And vice versa." Emeline's expression tightened. An uncharacteristic anxiety flickered in her gaze. "Have you got a more cunning plan?" "I don't know yet." Lavinia came to a halt and reached into the pocket of her gown. She removed the piece of paper that had fallen out of The Education of a Lady. She examined the address written on it. "But I intend to find out." "What have you got?" "One small clue, which may well lead nowhere." She put the address back into her pocket. "But if that proves to be the case, I can always consider the merits of a partnership with Tobias March." "She found something important in that bedchamber." Tobias shoved himself up out of the chair and walked around to the front of the wide desk. He leaned back, bracing his hands on either side. "I know she did. I sensed it at the time. Something in the extremely innocent look in her eyes, I believe. Quite an unnatural expression for the woman." His brother-in-law, Anthony Sinclair, looked up from the depths of a large tome dealing with the subject of Egyptian antiquities.
He lounged in his chair with the negligent case that only a healthy young man of twenty-one can achieve. Anthony had moved into his own lodgings last year. For a time, Tobias had wondered if the house would seem lonely. After all, Anthony had come to live with him while still a child when his sister, Ann, had married Tobias. After Ann died, Tobias had done his best to finish raising the boy. He had gotten accustomed to having him underfoot, he thought. The house would seem odd without him. But within a fortnight of setting up in his own lodgings a few blocks away, it had become clear that Anthony still considered this house an extension of his own rooms. He certainly seemed to be around a lot at mealtime. "Unnatural?" Anthony repeated neutrally. "Lavinia Lake is anything but innocent." "Well, you did say that she was a widow." "One can only wonder about the fate of her husband," Tobias said with some feeling. "I wouldn't be surprised to learn he spent his last days chained to a cot in a private asylum." "You have mentioned your suspicions about Mrs. Lake at least a hundred times this morning," Anthony said mildly. "If you are so certain she found a clue last night, why did you not confront her? " "Because she would have denied it, of course. The lady has no intention of cooperating with me in this matter. Short of upending her and giving her a shake or two to empty out her pockets and reticule, there was no way to prove she had discovered some clue." Anthony said nothing. He just sat there gazing at Tobias with an expression of grave inquiry. Tobias tightened his jaw. "Don't say it."
"I fear I cannot help myself. Why did you not upend the lady and shake out whatever it was you thought she had found?" "Bloody hell, you make it sound as if turning respectable fe- males upside down is in keeping with my normal mode of behavior toward the opposite sex." Anthony raised his brows. "I have pointed out on more than one occasion that your manners where women are concerned could do with some refinement. Nevertheless, they generally fall within I the boundaries expected of a gentleman. With the exception of Mrs. Lake. Whenever her name is mentioned, it never fails but that you sink into a fit of extreme rudeness." "Mrs. Lake is a most exceptional creature," Tobias said. "Exceptionally strong-minded, exceptionally stubborn, and exceptionally difficult. She would give any sane man fits," Anthony nodded with an air of sympathetic understanding. "it is always so damnably irritating to see one's most pronounced traits mirrored so clearly in another, is it not? Especially when that other person is a member of th fair sex." "I warn you, I am in no mood to serve as a source of amusement for you this morning, Anthony" Anthony closed the large book he had been reading with a soft snap. "You have been obsessed by the lady since the incidents in Rome three months ago." " 'Obsessed' is a gross overstatement of the situation and well you know it," "I don't think so. Whitby gave me a full account of your ramblings and ravings during that period when he tended to the fever caused by your wound. He said you conducted several lengthy, one-sided, mostly incoherent conversations with Mrs. Lake. Since your return to England, you have found a reason to mention her name at least once a day I would say that borders on obsessed."
"I was obliged to spend nearly a month trailing around behind the wretched woman in Rome, watching her every move.,, Tobias gripped the carved edge of his desk. ,You try following a female around for such an extended period, keeping track of every person she greets on the street, every shopping expedition. And all the while wondering if she consorts with cutthroats or if she herself is in danger of having her throat slit. I assure you, that sort of thing takes its toll on a man." "As I said, you developed an obsession." " 'Obsession' is far too strong a term." Tobias absently rubbed his left thigh. "She leaves an indelible impression, however, I'll grant you that much." "Evidently." Anthony propped his right ankle on his left knee and carefully adjusted the pleats of his stylish trousers. "Is your leg aching badly today?" "It's raining outside, in case you haveift noticed. It is always more uncomfortable when the weather turns damp." "There is no need to snap at me, Tobias." Anthony grinned. "Save your temper for the lady who inspires it. If the two of you do form a partnership to find the diary, I expect you will have ample occasion to vent your ill humors on her." "The very thought of a partnership with Mrs. Lake is enough to send chills down a maifs spine." He paused at the sound of a brisk knock on the door of the study. "Yes, Whitby, what is it?" The door opened to reveal the short, dapper figure of the man who served as his faithful butler, cook, housekeeper, and, when necessary, doctor. In spite of the occasionally precarious state of the household's income, Whitby always managed to appear elegant. Between Whitby and Anthony, Tobias usually felt at a grave disadvantage when it came to matters of masculine fashion and style.
"Lord Neville is here to see you, sir," Whitby said in the ominously weighted tones he employed whenever called upon to announce persons of high rank. Tobias knew that Whitby did not actually consider such beings to be superior by virtue of their social status; rather, he reveled in the opportunity to indulge his personal flair for melodrama. Whitby had missed his calling when he had failed to become an actor. "Send him in, Whitby" Whitby vanished from the doorway Anthony uncoiled slowly from his chair and got to his feet. "Bloody hell," Tobias said very softly "I dislike having to deliver bad news to clients. It never fails to annoy them. One never knows when they will decide to stop paying one's fee." "It is not as though Neville has a great deal of choice," Anthony said just as quietly. "There is no one else to whom he can turn." A tall, heavily built man in his late forties strode into the room, not bothering to conceal his impatience. Neville's wealth and aristocratic lineage were evident in everything about him, from his hawklike features and the way he carried himself to his expensively cut coat and gleaming boots. "Good day to you, sir. I did not expect you so early" Tobias straightened and waved a hand in the general direction of a chair. "Please, sit down." Neville did not respond to the formalities. He searched Tobias's face, his eyes narrowed and intent. "Well, March? I got your message. What the devil happened last night? Any trace of the diary?" "Unfortunately, it was gone by the time I arrived," Tobias said. The tight twist of Neville's lips made his disgruntled reaction to the news blazingly clear. "Damnation." He stripped off a glove. The black stone in the heavy gold ring on his right hand glittered when he shoved his fingers through his hair. " I had hoped to have this matter resolved quickly." "I did turn up some useful clues," Tobias continued, striving to project an image of professional expertise and confidence. "I expect to locate it in the near future." "You must find it as soon as possible. So much hangs upon this matter." "I am aware of that." "Yes, of course you are." Neville went to the brandy table and seized the decanter. "Forgive me. I am well aware that we have a mutual interest in finding the bloody diary." He paused with the bottle in midair and glanced at Tobias. "D'you mind?" "Of course not. Be my guest." Tobias tried not to wince at the sight of the large quantity of brandy that Neville poured into a glass. The stuff was expensive. But it generally paid to be gracious to the client. Neville took two quick swallows and put down the glass. He studied Tobias with a grim expression. "You must find it, March. if it falls into the wrong hands, we may never know who Azure really was. Worse yet, we will not learn the name of the single surviving member of the Blue Chamber." "Another fortnight at most and you will have the diary, Sir," Tobias said. "Another fortnight?" Neville stared at him with an appalled expression. "Impossible. That is too long to wait." "I will do my best to uncover it as soon as possible. That is all I can promise." "Damnation. Every day that passes is another day in which the diary may be lost or destroyed." Anthony stirred and politely cleared his throat. "I would remind you, sir, that it is only because of Tobias's efforts that you are even aware the diary exists in the first place and is somewhere here in London. That is a good deal more information than you had last month at this time." "Yes, yes, of course." Neville prowled the room with long, restless strides and massaged his temples. "You must forgive me. I have not slept well since learning of the diary's existence. When I think of those who died during the war because of the actions of those criminals, I can scarcely control my rage." "No one wants to find the damned thing more than I do," Tobias said. "But what if whoever has it destroys it before we can get hold of it? Those two names will be lost to us." "I doubt very much that whoever has possession of the diary will consign it to the fire," Tobias said. Neville stopped rubbing his temples and frowned. "What makes you so certain it will not be destroyed?" "The only person who might conceivably want it destroyed is the one surviving member of the Blue Chamber, and it is highly unlikely that he has got hold of it. To anyone else, it is worth a great deal of money as a source of blackmail. Why burn potential profits? " Neville thought about that. "Your logic seems solid," he finally admitted, somewhat grudgingly. "Give me a little more time," Tobias said. "I will find that diary for you. Perhaps then we shall both sleep better at night." The artist always worked near the hearth. The warmth of the flames together with a pan of hot water and the natural heat of the human hand softened the wax so it could be sculpted and shaped. Most of the initial modeling was done with thumb and forefinger. It required a strong, sure hand to mold the thick, pliant wax. In the initial stages of creation, the artist often worked with eyes closed, relying on a keen sense of touch to form the image. Later a small, sharp, heated tool would be used to add the all-important fine details that breathed vigor and energy and truth into the waxwork. In the artist's opinion, the ultimate effect of the finished piece always hinged on the smallest details: the curve of the jaw, the details of the gown, the expression of the features. Although the viewer's eye rarely focused on such tiny elements, those bits and pieces of reality were the very factors responsible for eliciting the thrilling shock of comprehension that was the mark of all great art. Under the artist's hands, the warm wax seemed to pulse as though blood ran beneath the smooth surface. There was no material so perfect for capturing an imitation of life. None so ideal for preserving the instant of death.