The Adventuress (6 page)

“You are quite certain?”

“Quite. Second, neither you nor Miss Wells has any sort of understanding of what, exactly, bachelors do. I am sure you would both be rather disappointed should you ever find out. The halls of debauchery are not nearly so wild as you expect. Do you really believe that most gentlemen…” He sighed. “How is it that I am discussing this with my wife?”

“How is it that you would be discussing it with anyone else?” I gave him a quick kiss, noticing that a very slight hint of color had crept onto his handsome visage. “I shall stop mortifying you, however, and will accept your assertion that you do not view the married state as one requiring enormous sacrifice.”

“Quite the opposite, I would say.” His eyes darkened with passion. “Perhaps we should retire—”

“I do hope, my dear, that you meant ‘return,' not ‘retire,' and, if so, you are quite right. We ought to return to the subject at hand.” His countenance again colored ever so slightly as I spoke, and I could feel my own cheeks blushing in reply. I could not deny the appeal of retiring in the manner to which I knew he referred. “Jeremy left the casino early as well—although not so early as you. Do you know where he went?”

“It is of little consequence, Emily. The Prince of Wales has his yacht docked in Cannes. I should not be surprised if he joined the royal party.”

“In the middle of the night?” I asked. He looked away from me.

“I know how close you are to Bainbridge, but you do not always understand him so well as you think.”

“You are wrong on that point. Jeremy makes a show of profligacy, but when have you ever known him to actually follow through on something really outrageous? Does not my position on this point concur with what you were only just telling me about gentlemen and bachelors and marriage?”

“I think it would be best if we abandoned the topic altogether. I shall speak with Bainbridge and ascertain exactly what he was up to during the night. In the meantime, I must go see the Sûreté. They should have the autopsy results by now.” He took me by the arm and steered me back toward the hotel before I could protest. His efforts would prove to be in vain eventually, as I had every intention of revisiting the subject later.

 

Amity

Six months earlier

How Jack managed to wrangle so much leave before being posted to Cairo was a mystery even to him. He half suspected Mr. Wells was behind it, although he could not determine how such a thing would be possible, even for the enterprising American. Not that he objected. Quite the contrary. He could not remember when he had enjoyed more pleasant company than that of Christabel and Amity. Some days he fancied himself in love with either or both of the girls, but he never could decide which he preferred, and he cringed at even making the comparison. Perhaps he could marry one of them and persuade his brother to take the other. After all, when one counted d'Artagnan, there had actually been four musketeers.

When he saw the amber light of the sunset reflected on Christabel's fair skin as they stood in the midst of Jaipur, the Pink City, her brow crinkled as she contemplated the best angle for a photograph, he was certain he should propose. Then, however, he noticed a deep longing in Amity's eyes as she stared across the reflecting pool at the Taj Majal, and he wondered how any gentleman could resist wanting to know everything about her. He adored them both, but the truth was, he had no reason to think either was in love with him, and perhaps that was just as well.

It was also just as well that he would soon be leaving India, for he could see that Mrs. Wells had grown tired of their endless excursions. She had come abroad with a purpose: to see her daughter well married. Jack knew she tolerated him only because he might eventually introduce Amity to his brother, the very eligible duke, and the more he considered the matter, the more he thought it a capital idea. Jeremy would gain an excellent, spirited wife. The dukedom (one hoped) would soon thereafter have a new heir. And he, Jack, would never again have to worry that he might be summoned permanently back to England. How could he finish exploring the Himalayas if he were forced by family obligation to live back home? He had begun a trek the previous year to see the great Peak XV—now called Everest after Sir George, who had identified it—but furious storms had prevented him reaching his goal. He was determined to set eyes on what the Great Trigonometrical Survey claimed to be the highest mountain on earth.

From that day on, he regaled the girls with stories of his brother, presenting him in the best possible light. As he told them, he realized that Amity was unequivocally the right girl for Jeremy. He need not edit his brother's history strategically, as he thought he might. Amity delighted in every scrape, every subterfuge, every debauch. She asked so many questions about him that Jack began to believe she was already falling for the duke.

During Jack's last week in India, they traveled to the Ajanta caves. Mrs. Wells had stayed behind. She had, she explained, seen the copies of their paintings displayed in the Crystal Palace in London before Amity had been born, and had no desire to make such a difficult trip to see the same thing again. Amity rolled her eyes, and complained that she ought to know the difference between a copy and an original, but her mother would not be persuaded, leaving Mr. Wells to organize and supervise the party. The journey was rough, along narrow roads and steep cliffs, but the destination was worth nearly any trouble. The caves were spectacular.

“I am a bit disappointed,” Amity said, standing with Jack, inspecting the paintings by candlelight. “I had heard stories of tourist parties in this region being attacked by natives brandishing bows and arrows.”

“You should have liked that?”

“Very much. I would have befriended them all and taken tea with them in their villages.”

“You are an extraordinary lady, Miss Wells,” Jack said.

“
Miss Wells?
” Amity crinkled her nose. “You are not going formal on me now, not after all this time, Jack.”

“No, not really.” He could hardly take his eyes off her beautiful face. “I am only teasing.”

“I like it when you tease.” She looked down, suddenly coy. “I am very pleased we will see you in Egypt.”

For a moment, Jack wondered if maybe, just maybe, she was in love with him, instead of falling for the idea of his brother, and even though he knew her parents would never approve of the match, would forbid their marriage, he wished he could take her in his arms. Unable to think of anything suitable to say in reply, he took her hand and kissed it.

“Would you do something for me, Jack? Something I want desperately, but should never admit to anyone except you? Will you persuade your brother to visit you in Cairo?” She blushed slightly as she posed the question, and Jack thought she had never looked so beautiful. “I am told the society is second only to that in London, and there is nothing to do in England during the winter. Isn't that correct?”

Jack felt as if she had struck him and splintered his heart, but he recovered without hesitation. “It is indeed. Everyone retreats to country estates.”

“Damp, horrible estates. Or so I am told.” She took him by the shoulders and shook him playfully. “I am American, Jack. I am accustomed to central heating.”

“I guarantee you would have not the slightest use for it in Cairo, Amity. And I will do my best to get my brother over just as soon as I can.”

Her smile could have charmed anyone.

 

4

I did not accompany my husband to collect the autopsy results from the Sûreté. Experience had taught me that the police, no matter what the country, view ladies as nothing more than an encumbrance to any sort of investigation. Not that I am suggesting this was an investigation rather than a desperate search for something that might help us understand Mr. Neville's actions. Not yet, at least.

Cécile, Margaret, and I had retreated to the wide balcony of my suite to await Colin's return, knowing that any information he had to share would be better disseminated in private. The view our location afforded was magnificent. Palm trees lined La Croisette below us, their silvery green fronds dancing with every breeze that came off the Mediterranean while sunlight shimmered on the water, and the shades of blue, from cerulean to azure, were too numerous to count.

Cécile, who had ordered a salad of exotic fruits to be sent up to us, was searching through it with a fork and removing only chunks of mango, which she placed on a plate in front of herself. “You may rhapsodize about our natural surroundings as much as you like, Kallista, but to my mind the more interesting view is directly below us on the terrace. Look at the hat Madame Wells is wearing. What can she mean by owning such a thing, let alone displaying it in public? I count at least two mounted birds, and I have not the proper angle to make a thorough study of the odious object. I thought the fashion for such things had fallen out of favor.”

“I like Birdie, even if she does allow her nickname to influence her fashion choices,” Margaret said, popping a chunk of pineapple into her mouth and looking thoughtful as she chewed. “She did let Amity traipse all over India with very little regard to propriety. Would your mother have let you hunt tigers, Emily?”

“Never,” I said. “I shouldn't have wanted to, however.”

“My mother would have refused me India altogether.” Margaret frowned. “I do despise her.”

“Yet she let you have Oxford,” Cécile said. “A fair enough trade for a make-believe broken heart,
oui
?”

“Yes, yes,” Margaret said. “But it doesn't seem fair that I have the least noxious mother of all of us. Except perhaps you, Cécile. We never hear about your mother.”

“She is no longer with us. If she were, you would find her deeply disappointing.”

Margaret sighed. “Cigarette?” She held out an elaborately engraved golden case.

“I would prefer a cigar,” I said.

“Ask and ye shall receive.” Margaret produced three from her reticule. “I believe one ought to be prepared for every situation.” Cécile begged off hers, but Margaret and I indulged, dissolving into laughter as Margaret tried—with a spectacular lack of success—to teach me how to blow rings with the smoke. She had attempted to do this countless times since we had first met, but I had never shown even the slightest sign of having the skills necessary to master the trick.

“You have, I believe, tormented Monsieur Hargreaves enough,
mes amies
,” Cécile said. “He has been leaning against the door for some time now, tolerating this exhibition. I cannot tell if he is amused or suffering from acute despair.”

“It is amusement, Cécile, I assure you,” Colin said, lowering himself into a wrought-iron chair. “We have little enough of it in our current circumstances, so I would not ask them to restrain themselves.”

“You have the autopsy results?” I asked.

“Yes. Neville died from strychnine poisoning.” Colin's voice, low and rough, reflected the somber look on his face.

“Strychnine? I do not think that would be my first choice for suicide,” I said. “Is it not an extremely unpleasant death?”

“It is,” Colin said. “Convulsions and asphyxiation.”

“Mr. Neville may have used it only because it was all he could find,” Margaret said. “He also may not have had any knowledge of what sort of death it would bring.”

“
Oui
, Margaret. I imagine he cared more about the end result than the process of getting there.”

“Where does one find strychnine in Cannes?” Margaret asked.

“I am afraid it does not matter now,” Colin said. “He had dosed the entire bottle. There can be no doubt that he meant to die.”

“The entire bottle?” I asked, feeling my eyebrows knit together. “That strikes me as odd. Wouldn't he have put the poison in his glass—in whatever amount he felt necessary—and then poured in enough whisky to make the deadly concoction tolerable?”

“What difference does it make?” Margaret asked.

“What if Jeremy had returned, found the body, and poured himself a drink to steady his nerves in the face of seeing his friend in such a state?” I asked. “He would be dead as well. I do not think Mr. Neville would have been so careless.”

“I do not think Neville would have given the possibility any thought, Emily,” Colin said. “He did not so much as leave a note. He may have done this in a fit of despair, during which his mind was too clouded to consider anything other than his own death.”

I stood up and started to pace. “Now that I think of it, I cannot remember ever seeing Mr. Neville take whisky. Can you, Colin?” I asked. “When we first arrived in Cannes, Mrs. Wells hosted us all for dinner. There were drinks before, and most of us had champagne—do you recall?—appropriate to celebrate an engagement. Jeremy insisted on whisky though, as he is wont to do, and you joined him.”

“Yes, I did,” Colin said.

“Mr. Fairchild did the same. Jack was content with champagne until his brother cajoled him into switching over, but Jeremy was unable to convince Mr. Neville. I remember it quite well.”

“Not everyone wants whisky before dinner, Emily,” Colin said.

“Mr. Neville stated that he would prefer rum, and Jack goaded him about it, saying it was only fit for lowly sailors.”

“I do remember this, Kallista,” Cécile said, nodding. “Monsieur Neville insisted that this was not the case, and that he had enjoyed it greatly when he visited the West Indies some years back.”

“And he went on to say that he had never much cared for whisky, finding brandy far superior. Jeremy trounced him soundly over holding such a position,” I said. “Is it reasonable to believe that a gentleman, bent on ending his own life, would choose as his final drink a libation he has admitted to not liking?”