"We came here today to consult with you about that very subject, Mrs. Vaughn," she said. "Artistic details?" Mrs. Vaughn beamed. "How intriguing. There is nothing I love to discuss more than my art." Lavinia put the package on the nearest table. "If you would be so kind as to examine this waxwork and tell us what you can about the artist who created it, we would be extremely grateful." "The work is unsigned?" Mrs. Vaughn moved closer to the table. "How unusual." "I think you will comprehend why the artist did not inscribe his signature when you see the picture," Tobias said dryly. Lavinia untied the string that bound the cloth. The material fell aside to reveal the unpleasant scene. "Oh my." Mrs. Vaughn removed a pair of silver spectacles from the pocket of her apron and pushed them onto the bridge of her nose. She did not take her gaze off the picture. "Oh my" Troubled lines appeared between her brows. She picked up the picture and carried it across the room to put it down on top of the piano. Lavinia followed. She stood behind Mrs. Vaughn and watched as the tapers in the candelabra cast a flaring light across the miniature ballroom and the dead woman in the green gown. "Can I assume that this is not intended to illustrate a scene from a play or novel?" Mrs. Vaughn asked without looking away from the waxwork. "You assume correctly" Tobias came to stand next to Lavinia. "We believe it was meant as a threat. We wish to find the artist who made it." "Indeed," Mrs. Vaughn whispered. "Indeed. I can certainly understand your desire to do that. There is great malevolence in this little piece. Great anger. Great hatred. Was it sent to you, Mrs. Lake? No, that cannot be. The hair is blond caught in the process of turning slowly silver. You are a younger woman and your hair is quite red, is it not?" Tobias gave Lavinia's hair an enigmatic glance. "It is very red." She scowled at him. "There is no need for personal remarks, Sir." "Merely an observation." It was more than an observation, Lavinia thought. She wondered if Tobias was one of those men who disliked red-haired women. Perhaps he actually believed all that nonsense about fiery tempers and difficult dispositions. Mrs. Vaughn looked up. "How did this little picture come into your hands?" "It was left on the doorstep of an acquaintance," Tobias said. "How odd." Mrs. Vaughn hesitated. "I must say, the piece is very elegantly modeled, for all its unpleasantness." "Have you ever seen workmanship of this quality?" Lavinia asked. "Other than my own, do you mean? No." Mrs. Vaughn slowly removed her spectacles. "I cannot say I have. I make it a point to tour the galleries and exhibitions of my competitors. I would have remembered such skill." "Do you think we can assume, then, that the artist is not exhibiting to the public?" Tobias asked. Mrs. Vaughn frowned. "I would not assume any such thing, Sir. An artist possessed of this degree of talent would find it extremely difficult not to exhibit his creations. There is a need to have one's work seen and appreciated." "One can hardly make a living otherwise," Lavinia said. Mrs. Vaughn shook her head decisively "It is not simply the money, Mrs. Lake. Indeed, if the artist is wealthy, the money is the least of it."
Lavinia glanced at the nearest of the fascinating waxworks. "I understand." "There really are not that many expert modelers in wax, you know," Mrs. Vaughn continued. "I fear waxwork is rapidly declining from the level of true art to a type of entertainment meant to appeal primarily to bloodthirsty schoolboys and apprentice lads. I blame the late, unpleasant business in France. All those death masks Madame Tussaud was obliged to make after the guillotine had done its work. It gave the public a taste for art that produces horrid thrills in the viewer." As if her own work did not create a few cold chills, Lavinia thought. "Thank you very much for giving us your opinion on this waxwork." She picked up the picture and began to rewrap it. "I had hoped you would be able to give us some clues. But it appears we shall have to pursue another avenue of inquiry." Mrs. Vaughn's round face lost much of its bright-eyed good cheer. "You will be cautious, I trust." Cold interest sparked in Tobis's expression. "What do you wish to imply, madam?" Mrs. Vaughn watched Lavinia tie a knot in the string. "Whoever modeled that picture was clearly intent on inducing terror in the heart of the person who received it." Lavinia thought about the stark dread she had seen in Mrs. Dove's eyes. "if that was, indeed, the artist's goal, I assure you he or she was successful." Mrs. Vaughn pursed her lips. "I regret I cannot tell you the name of the artist who created this picture. But I can' tell you that you are looking for someone who is consumed with a desire to inflict revenge or, perhaps, punishment. In my experience, there is only one thing that can turn so completely to hate." Lavinia stilled. "What is that, Mrs. Vaughn?"
"Love." Mrs. Vaughn smiled again. The sparkling cheerfulness returned to her eyes. "It really is quite the most dangerous of all the emotions, you know." Almost everyone had a strong opinion on love today, Lavinia reflected. "I don't know about you, Mr. March," Lavinia declared as she swept through the door of her study a short time later, "but I vow I am sorely in need of something of a medicinal nature to settle my nerves. Mrs. Vaughn and her collection of waxworks left me with a most unpleasant sensation." Tobias closed the door very deliberately and looked at her. "For once, Mrs. Lake, we are in complete agreement." "I do not believe that a pot of hot tea will be effective in this instance. A stronger tonic is required." She crossed the room and opened an oak chest to reveal the cut-glass decanter inside. It was nearly full. "We are in luck." She seized the decanter. "I believe I have found a remedy for what ails us. If you will see to the fire, sir, I shall pour us both a glass." "Thank you." Tobias walked to the hearth and went stiffly down on one knee. His expression tightened. Lavinia frowned, the sherry decanter tilted over a glass. "Did you injure your leg, Sir? " "A small misstep." He concentrated on setting the kindling ablaze. "The leg healed nicely, but on days such as this I am occasionally aware of my mistake." "Mistake? " "Pray do not concern yourself, Mrs. Lake." He finished his task, gripped the edge of the mantel, and pulled himself to his feet. When he turned toward her, his expression was politely unreadable. "It is nothing, I assure you." It was clear to her that he did not want to make further explanations, and the condition of his leg was certainly none of her business. Furthermore, she had no cause to feel the least bit of sympathy for Tobias March. Nevertheless, she could not repress the twinge of concern. He must have seen something in her eyes because his own hardened in annoyance. "The sherry will suffice to take care of the problem." "There is no need to snarl at me, sir." She splashed the liquor into the second glass. "I was merely being polite." "Between us, madam, there is no need for such niceties. We are partners, remember?" She handed him one of the glasses. "is there a rule in the private inquiry profession stating that partners do not have to be civil with each other?" "Yes." He downed a large quantity of the contents in a single swallow. "I just invented it." "I see."
She took a healthy sip from her own glass. The warmth of the sherry had a reviving effect on both her spirits and her temper. if the man did not want polite concern, she would certainly not go out of her way to smother him with the stuff. She stalked to one of the chairs in front of the fire and dropped into it with a small sigh of relief. The heat of the flames drove out the damp chill that had clung to her after leaving Mrs. Vaughn's establishment. Tobias took the large chair across from her without waiting for an invitation. They sat together in silence for several minutes, sipping from their glasses without comment. Tobias began to rub his left leg. After a while, Lavinia got restless. "If your leg pains you greatly, sir, I might be able to relieve some of the discomfort with a mesmeric treatment." "Don't contemplate such a notion for even a moment," he said. "Do not take offense, Mrs. Lake, but I have absolutely no intention of allowing you to put me ipto a trance." She stiffened. "As you wish, sir. There is no need to be rude." His mouth twisted. "Forgive me, madam, but I do not believe in the so-called powers of mesmerism. My parents were students of science. They agreed with the results of the public inquiry conducted by Dr. Franklin and Lavoisier. The whole business of inducing therapeutic trances with the power of the gaze or with magnets is utter nonsense. Demonstrations of that sort are best suited to entertaining the gullible." "Bah. That inquiry was conducted over thirty years ago, and bear in mind that it was held in Paris. I would not put too much stock in it if I were you. You will notice that it did nothing to lessen the public's interest in animal magnetism." "I have noticed that fact," Tobias said. "It says little for the intelligence of the general public."
if she had any sense, she would let the conversation end there, she thought. But she could not resist probing deeper. "Your parents were students of science?" "My father conducted researches in electricity, among other things. My mother was very taken with the study of chemistry." "How very interesting. Do they continue to perform experiments? " "They were both killed in an explosion in their laboratory." She caught her breath. "How dreadful." "From what I was able to make out from their last letter to me, I believe they had hit upon the idea of combining their two fields of research. They decided to conduct a series of experiments involving certain volatile chemicals and an electrical apparatus. It proved disastrous." She shuddered. "Thank heaven you were not injured in the explosion." "I was away at Oxford at the time. I came home to bury them." "Did you return to Oxford after their deaths?" "That was not possible." Tobias cupped the glass in his hands. "The explosion destroyed the house and there was no money. My parents had used all of their financial resources to fund their last great experiment." "I see." Lavinia rested her head against the back of her chair. "Yours is a very tragic story, sir." "It all happened a long time ago." He took another mouthful of sherry and lowered the glass. "What of your parents?" "They were invited to America to give a series of demonstrations of mesmerism. They accepted. Their ship went down. All aboard were lost." His jaw tightened. "I'm sorry for your loss." He glanced at her.
"You said you assisted them in their demonstrations. How did it happen that you were not with them?" "I had recently married. The gentleman who had invited my parents to America was unwilling to pay for the cost of two additional passages. John was not keen on the notion, in any event. He was a poet, you see. He felt that America was not conducive to the practice of serious metaphysical contemplation." Tobias nodded. "He was no doubt correct in that assumption. When did your husband die?" "Eighteen months after we were wed. A fever took him." "My sympathies." "Thank you." in the nearly ten years since his death, the sweet, gentle memories she had of ohn had taken on the wispy quality of an old J dream, she reflected. "Forgive me for asking," Tobias said, "but did your husband ever publish any of his poetry?", She sighed. "No. His work was quite brilliant, of course." "Of course." "But as is so often the case with true poetic genius, it went unappreciated." "I've heard that is a common occurrence." He paused. "May I ask how you survived financially? Did your husband have another source of income?" "During the course of our marriage, I supported us by giving mesmeric treatments. After John's death, I continued in the profession for a few years." "Why did you stop?" Lavinia took a sip of sherry and lowered the glass. "There was an unfortunate incident in a small village in the north."
"What sort of incident?" "I do not care to discuss it. Suffice it to say that I thought it best to pursue another career." "I see. And when did Emeline come to live with you?" "Six years ago, after her parents were killed in a carriage accident." It was time to change the subject, Lavinia thought. "Emeline said that after we viewed Mrs. Vaughn's waxworks, we would understand why she does not receive many commissions for her sculptures. I think I know now what she meant." "Indeed." "There may be such a thing as art that is too true to life. I found her statues . . ." She hesitated, searching for the right word. "Disquieting." "Perhaps it is the very nature of wax." Tobias studied the reing sherry in his glass with a thoughtful expression. "The main material is not innately cold like stone or clay. Nor does it allow for a two-dimensional image as is the case with a painting. Nothing looks more like human flesh when it is well modeled and properly painted." "Did you notice that Mrs. Vaughn went so far as to use real hairs on the hands and eyebrows and eyelashes?" "Yes." "Her work is extraordinary, but I would not want any of her figures sitting here." Lavinia shuddered. "It is one thing to have a painted portrait of one's grandfather hanging over the fireplace. Quite another to have a life-size, three-dimensional image of him occupying a chair in one's study." "Indeed." Tobias gazed meditatively into the fire. The flames leaped into the next pool of silence. After a while, Lavinia got to her feet to fetch the sherry
decanter from its cupboard. She refilled the two glasses and then sat down again. This time she left the decanter on the table next to her chair. She thought about what it was like to have Tobias here in her study. They had nothing in common, she told herself Unless one counted a murdered blackmailer, a missing diary, and a business. arrangement that would eventually end. It was difficult not to count those things, she discovered. After a while, Tobias stretched out his left leg in what appeared to be an attempt to make himself more comfortable. "I suggest we return to the problem at hand," he said. "I have been thinking of how we should proceed in this matter. It strikes me that Mrs. Vaughn was not terribly helpful today All that blather about love turning to hate was useless." "That remains to be seen." "It certainly did not give us any clues. I'm not at all sure this business of interviewing the proprietors of waxwork museums will lead us in the right direction." "Have you got a better notion?" she asked bluntly He hesitated. "I have put the word out to my informants that I will pay well for any information on the diary. But, at this moment, I must admit I have heard nothing from that quarter." "In other words, you do not have a better notion of how to proceed." He tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair. Abruptly he pushed himself to his feet. "No," he said. "I do not have a better notion." She watched him warily "Then we may as well talk to the other museum proprietors." "I suppose so." He gripped the edge of the mantel and looked at her with an enigmatic expression. "But it might be best if I handle the remainder of the interviews alone." "What?" She slammed the sherry glass down on the table and leaped to her feet. "Do not even think about proceeding on your own without me, Sir. I will not hear of it." "Lavinia, this situation grows more complicated and dangerous by the hour. It is clear to me now that it will not be easily resolved. I do not like the idea of your getting more deeply involved." "I am already involved, Sir. Lest you forget, in addition to having a client who has given me a commission to conduct inquiries into this matter, I was one of Holton Felix's blackmail victims." "I would, of course, continue to consult with you and keep you advised." "Rubbish. I know what this is about." She fitted her hands to her hips. "You're trying to steal my client, are you not?" "Bloody hell, Lavinia, I don't give a damn about your client. I'm trying to ensure the safety of your person." "I am quite capable of looking out for myself, Mr. March. Indeed, I have been doing so very successfully for a number of years. This is a ploy to get your hands on my client, and I will not allow it." He took his hand off the mantel and caught her gently by the chin. "You really are the most stubborn, most difficult woman I have ever met." "Coming from you, sir, I must take that as a compliment." The warmth of his fingers held her as motionless as any mesmeric trance. An awareness that was almost painful in its intensity fluttered through her. She suddenly felt light-headed. He was too close, she thought. She really ought to step back and put some distance between them. But oddly enough, she could not seem to summon the willpower to do so.