“Yes.” A faraway expression flickered in Lady Wilmington’s eyes. Once again she touched her locket in a fleeting gesture as though seeking comfort while she looked into the past. “Mind you, it was fashionable in those days for some who were consumed by the study of science and mathematics to flirt with the occult. In some circles the dark arts continue to fascinate even the most well-educated minds today. No doubt that will prove to be true in the future as well.”
Elenora watched her closely. “It is said that the great Newton himself was fascinated with the occult and devoted many years to the serious study of alchemy.”
“Indeed,” Lady Wilmington stated firmly. “And if a mind that brilliant can be seduced by the dark arts, who can blame a lesser mortal for falling prey to such intriguing mysteries?”
“Do you think that Glentworth or Treyford might have continued to secretly pursue such researches after they had all agreed to abandon alchemy?” Arthur asked.
Lady Wilmington blinked and straightened her shoulders. When she turned to Arthur she was clearly back in the present.
“I cannot imagine that for a moment, sir. They were, after all, highly intelligent, educated men of the modern age. They were not real alchemists, for heaven’s sake.”
“I have one more question, if you will be kind enough to indulge me,” Arthur said.
“What is it?”
“Are you certain that Lord Treyford died in that explosion in his laboratory all those years ago?”
Lady Wilmington closed her eyes. Her fingers went to the locket. “Yes,” she whispered. “Treyford is most certainly dead. I saw the body myself So did your great-uncle, for that matter. Surely you do not believe the killer you seek is an old man?”
“Not at all,” Elenora said. “We are well aware that we are searching for a young man in his prime.”
“Why do you say that?” Lady Wilmington asked.
“Because the villain had the nerve to dance with me after he murdered Ibbitts,” Elenora said.
Lady Wilmington looked stunned. “You danced with the killer? How do you know it was him? Can you describe him?”
“No, unfortunately,” Elenora admitted. “The occasion was a masked ball. I never saw his face. But there was a tear in his domino which we believe may have been created during a struggle with the butler.”
“I see.” Lady Wilmington’s expression was troubled. “I must say, this is all quite odd.”
“Yes,” Arthur said, “it is.” He glanced at the clock. “We must be off Thank you for seeing us, madam.”
“Certainly.” She inclined her head in a regal nod. “You must keep me informed of your progress in this matter.”
“Yes.” Arthur took a card from his pocket and set it on a table. “If you think of anything that might assist me in this investigation, I would very much appreciate it if you would send word immediately, no matter what the time, day or night, madam.”
Lady Wilmington picked up the card. “Of course.”
***
Arthur said nothing to Elenora until they were both inside the carriage. He settled into the seat, resting one arm on the back of the cushions.
“Well?” he said. “What do you make of Lady Wilmington?”
She thought about the manner in which the woman had touched her gold locket time and again throughout the conversation.
“I think that she was very much in love with one of the members of Society of the Stones,” she said.
Arthur’s face tightened with surprise. “That is not quite what I had expected to hear, but it is certainly interesting. ‘Which of the three, do you think, caught her fancy?”
“Lord Treyford. The one who died in the prime of life. The one she and the others considered the most brilliant of the three. I suspect it is his picture that she carries inside that gold locket.”
Arthur rubbed his chin. “I had not noticed the locket, but I was certainly aware of the fact that her ladyship was concealing some information. I have done business with enough cunning people to know when someone is lying to me.”
Elenora hesitated. “If she did lie to us, I suspect it was because she was convinced that it was necessary.”
“Perhaps she is trying to protect someone,” Arthur said. “Whatever the case, I am convinced now that we must learn more about Treyford.”
***
The killer had dared to dance with Miss Lodge. He must have been mad to have taken such a daring liberty.
Mad.
Lady Wilmington shivered at the thought. She sat alone for a long time, staring at the earl’s card and fingering the locket. Old memories rushed in upon her, clouding her vision. Dear heaven, this was so much worse than she had allowed herself to believe.
After an eternity, she straightened her shoulders and dried her eyes. Her heart was breaking but she no longer had any choice. Deep down inside she had known that eventually this time would come and that she would have to do what must be done.
Reluctantly she opened a drawer in the writing desk and took out a sheet of foolscap. She would send the message immediately. If she planned well, everything would soon be under control.
By the time she finished the brief note, some of the words had been smudged by her tears.
28
St. Merryn had visited Lady Wilmington.
The killer could scarcely believe what he had seen. Shaken, he stood in the shadows of the doorway halfway down the street and watched the gleaming carriage disappear around the corner.
Impossible. How had the bastard made the connection? And so quickly?
He had not been surprised when the street urchin who was his paid spy had reported that St. Merryn and Miss Lodge had gone to Mrs. Glentworth’s address. It was inevitable that sooner or later the earl would speak with Saturn’s widow. But what had that silly old woman told him that had sent him straight to the Wilmington townhouse?
Frantically, the killer went back over his plans, trying to deter mine if he had made a mistake. But he could not find any errors in his elaborate scheme.
He could feel himself starting to perspire. The sight of the St. Merryn carriage parked in the street outside Lady Wilmington’s front door was the first indication that this amusing game of wits that he had begun playing with his opponent had taken a nasty, unplanned turn.
Enough. He did not want to risk any more surprises. He had everything he required now to complete the device. The time had come to end the affair.
He moved out of the doorway and set off down the tree-lined street, his clever mind already at work on his new strategy.
29
Jeremy Clyde slouched out of the front door of the brothel. He ignored the handful of carriages and hacks waiting in the street hoping for fares. He needed some fresh air. His head was buzzing from the copious quantities of wine he had consumed.
He tried to think of where to go next. His club? One of the hells? The only other option was to go home to the shrew he had so foolishly wed. That was the very last thing he wished to do. She would be waiting for him with a long list of questions and demands.
He had thought that marrying a wealthy woman would solve all of his troubles. Instead it had increased his misery a thousand fold. Nothing had gone right since Elenora had lost her lands and her inheritance. If only her stepfather had not been so damnably stupid.
If only. It seemed to Jeremy that he repeated that phrase a hundred times each day.
It was not fair. Here he was, trapped in a dreadful marriage, hostage to the whims of his wife’s stingy parent, while Elenora had landed on her feet like the cat she was. She was going to marry one of the wealthiest and most powerful men in town. How could that be? It simply was not fair.
A man came toward him out of the darkness. Jeremy hesitated uncertainly. He relaxed when the light of the gas lamps revealed the fine, elegant coat and the gleaming boots that the stranger wore. Whoever he was, he was most certainly a gentleman, not a footpad.
“Good evening, Clyde,” the man said with an easy air.
“Beg your pardon,” Jeremy muttered. “Have we met?”
“Not yet.” The stranger swept him a mocking bow. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Stone.”
There was only one explanation for Stone’s air of amused familiarity, Jeremy thought grimly. “I suppose you’re going to tell me that the reason you know my name is because you witnessed my fall in the park the other afternoon or else heard the gossip concerning it. Save your breath.”
Stone chuckled. He draped his arm around Jeremy’s shoulder in a companionable way. “I admit that I was present on that unfortunate occasion, but I was not amused by your predicament. Indeed, I felt naught but a great sympathy. I also know that, had I been in your shoes, I would be eager for a bit of revenge against the gentleman who had caused me such humiliation.”
“Bah. There’s little chance of that.”
“Do not be so certain, sir. I may be able to assist you. You see, I have made a study of St. Merryn. I have set street boys to watch him from time to time, and I have interviewed his recently deceased butler who was, I assure you, a veritable fount of information. I know many things about the earl and his very unusual fiancée, things that I think you will find extremely interesting.”
30
Two days later, late in the evening, Elenora stood with Margaret at the back of yet another crammed, overheated ballroom. It was nearly midnight and she had dutifully endured several endless dances. Her feet ached, and she was restless and anxious.
None of those things would have mattered a jot, of course, if the dances had been with Arthur, but that was not the case. He had been gone all evening, just as he had been the night before, pursuing his inquiries. She wished she had been able to talk him into taking her with him, but, as he had explained, he could not smuggle her into the various gentlemen’s clubs where he went to interview the old men.
Her thoughts kept returning to the conversation with Lady Wilmington. It had occurred to her this afternoon that there was one very important question that she and Arthur had neglected to ask.
A pretty young woman, polite smile frozen in place, glided past in the arms of a middle-aged gentleman who could not seem to keep his attention away from the lady’s fair bosom.
“I must say, the longer I play my part in this affair,” Elenora murmured to Margaret, “the more my respect grows for the stamina and endurance of the young ladies who are being dangled on the marriage mart. I do not know how they manage.”
“They have been in training for years,” Margaret said dryly. “The stakes of this game are very high, after all. They are all well aware that their futures and in many cases the futures of their families are riding on the outcome of this one short Season.”
Elenora felt a rush of sudden understanding and sympathy. “That was how it was for you, was it not?”
“My family was in desperate straits the year I turned eighteen. I had three sisters and two brothers as well as my mother and grandmother to consider. My father had died, leaving very little. Contracting a successful marriage was our only hope. My grandmother scraped together the money required to give me a single Season. I met Harold Lancaster at my very first ball. His offer was accepted immediately, of course.”
“And you did what you had to do for the sake of your family.”
“He was a good man,” Margaret said quietly. “And I came to care for him in time. The greatest difficulty was the difference in our ages. Harold was twenty-five years my senior. We had very little in common, as you can imagine. I had hoped to take comfort in my children, but we were not blessed with any.”
“What a sad tale.”
“But a very familiar one.” Margaret nodded toward the couples on the dance floor. “I expect there will be many similar stories repeated this Season.”
“No doubt.”
And the result would be any number of cold, loveless alliances, Elenora thought. She wondered if, in the end, Arthur would be obliged to make such a marriage. He had no choice but to wed, after all, whether or not he found a woman he could love with all the passion that was locked inside him. In the end, he would do his duty by the title and the family, regardless of his own feelings.
“I must say, you are right about this crowd,” Margaret said, fanning herself briskly. “It really is quite a crush tonight. It will take ages for Bennett to get back to us with the lemonade. We shall likely perish of thirst before he returns.”
The throng parted briefly. Elenora spotted the elaborately curled, old-fashioned powdered wig that was part of the livery worn by their host’s footmen.
“There is a servant over there by the door,” she said, standing on tiptoe to get a better view. “Maybe we can catch his eye.”
“For all the good it will do,” Margaret muttered. “This lot will have emptied his tray before he gets anywhere near us.”
“Stay here so that Bennett will find you when he returns.” Elenora turned to pursue the rapidly disappearing footman. “I’ll see if I can catch up with that servant before he runs out of lemonade.”
“Be careful you don’t get trampled underfoot.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be right back.”
With a few polite murmurs, Elenora slipped through a cluster of middle-aged ladies and made her way as quickly as possible toward the spot where she had last seen the footman.
She was only a few paces away when she felt the brush of gloved fingers on the skin of her bare back, just beneath the vulnerable nape of her neck.
An icy chill flashed down her spine. She suddenly could not breathe.
Just an accidental touch, she assured herself; the sort that could occur so easily when so many people were crowded together. Or perhaps one of the gentlemen had seized the opportunity presented by the tight quarters to take liberties.
Nothing personal.
But it was all she could do not to shriek out loud. Because her intuition told her that the touch of those gloved fingers drifting intimately across her naked skin had been very personal indeed.
It can’t be, she thought. Not here. He would not dare. Cold terror prickled her skin in spite of the heat. Surely she was mistaken.
But the villain had come to her the last time in the middle of a crowded ballroom, she reminded herself.