“I’m sure I won’t have any problem recognizing the right candidate immediately,” Patricia said.
“In addition, parents sometimes raise barriers to the marriage because they disapprove of the prospective bride or groom for one reason or another,” Victoria said. “There is often considerable work for me to do in order to pull off a successful match.”
“My parents hold very modern notions on marriage,” Patricia assured her. “As I told you, it was my mother’s idea that I come to London to consult with you.”
“That is good to know,” Victoria said. “It bodes well.”
A thought struck Lucinda. “What happens if two individuals who resonate well together are already married to other people?”
Victoria tut-tutted. “That is a very sad situation and one which I am obviously unable to resolve. I regret to say that, given the inclination of so many people to marry for financial and social reasons rather than psychical compatibility, the problem arises all too often. The result is that illicit liaisons are quite common.”
“Oh,” Lucinda said quietly. “Yes, I suppose that does explain why there are so many people engaged in affairs.”
“How will you arrange for me to meet the eligible gentlemen in your files?” Patricia asked.
“Several extremely efficient mechanisms for introducing clients to a great many candidates already exist,” Victoria assured her.
“What are they?” Lucinda asked.
“The traditional methods, of course. Balls, parties, the theater, lectures, gallery receptions, teas and so on. People have used such techniques for generations to make introductions. The difference, of course, is that I accompany my clients to such events and assess the patterns of all those they meet.”
Lucinda froze. “I’m afraid balls and parties are out of the question.”
Victoria looked at her. “I don’t see why.”
“Lady Milden, I will be quite honest with you. I can afford to put on a ball or a party of some sort for Patricia but I’m sure you are aware of the notoriety that surrounds my family. I doubt very much that anyone on your list of candidates would accept an invitation from me. I cannot offer anything useful in the way of social connections.”
“Yes, Miss Bromley, I am well aware of the gossip. But I do not think we need let a few unfortunate rumors get in the way of a successful match for your cousin.”
“Unfortunate rumors?” Lucinda could not believe her ears. “Madam, we are talking about murder by poison and my father’s so-called suicide. All of the talk is baseless, I assure you. Nonetheless, the taint of scandal cannot be easily washed away. You know how it is in the social world.”
“I know how it is within the Arcane Society’s social world,” Victoria said calmly. “Rest assured, in that realm, an invitation from a member of the Jones family cannot be ignored.”
“I don’t understand,” Lucinda said, utterly bewildered now.
“As it happens, there is a very important Society affair coming up later this week,” Victoria said. “My son and daughter-in-law are giving a large reception to celebrate the engagement of my nephew, Thaddeus Ware, and his lovely fiancée, Leona Hewitt. A great many high-ranking members of the Society will be present, including the new Master and his wife. I will see to it that you, Miss Patricia, and the eligible gentlemen I have selected will all be on the guest list.”
“Good heavens,” Lucinda whispered, awed by Victoria’s daring.
For her part, Patricia was suddenly hesitant. “The lectures and gallery receptions sound fine, Lady Milden, but I’m afraid I’ve had very little experience of the social world.”
“There is no cause for alarm,” Victoria assured her. “I will be there to guide you every step of the way. All part of the service that I provide.”
“But if you accompany me, everyone will know that I am in the market for a husband,” Patricia pointed out. “Won’t that make things a trifle awkward?”
“Not in the least,” Victoria said. “Discretion is also part of the service. Trust me, I receive invitations to every important Society affair.” She winked. “You will not be my only client at the ball.”
“I think it would be best if I did not attend,” Lucinda said, feeling more than a little desperate. “My presence will only generate comment and speculation. Patricia’s last name is McDaniel. If I am not there it is quite possible that none of the other guests will realize that she is related to me.”
“Nonsense, Miss Bromley.” Victoria put her reading glasses back on and reached for a pen. “I can assure you that when it comes to dealing with the social world, timidity never pays. The weak get trampled. Only the strong, the bold and the very clever survive.”
In spite of her unease, Lucinda almost laughed. “You sound as though you subscribe to Mr. Darwin’s theories.”
“I cannot speak for every species on earth,” Victoria said, dipping her pen into the inkwell, “but there is no doubt but that Mr. Darwin’s notions most certainly apply to the polite world.”
Lucinda studied her for a moment. “Something tells me that the real reason we might be able to carry off your breathtaking scheme is because we will have the support of the Jones family.”
Victoria looked at her over the rims of her eyeglasses. “Within the Arcane Society, the Jones family sets down the rules, Miss Bromley.”
“And outside the Society?” Lucinda asked.
“Outside the Society, the Joneses follow their own rules.”
The knock on the door the following morning came just as Lucinda and Patricia were sitting down to breakfast. Mrs. Shute set the coffeepot on the table and cast a disapproving look in the direction of the front hall.
“Can’t imagine who that could be at this hour,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Perhaps someone is ill and needs Lucy’s advice,” Patricia said, reaching for a slice of toast.
Mrs. Shute shook her head in an ominous manner. “Those from the neighborhood who send for Miss Bromley always come around to the kitchen door. I’ll go and see who it is.”
She left the morning room, grim-faced.
Patricia smiled. “I pity whoever has the misfortune to be standing on the front steps.”
“So do I, but it serves him right for knocking on front doors at eight-thirty in the morning,” Lucinda said. She reached for the newspaper. The headline of the Flying Intelligencer made her gasp. “Good heavens, Patricia, listen to this—”
She broke off in midsentence when she heard the low rumble of a familiar masculine voice.
“That sounds like Mr. Jones,” Patricia said, sparkling with excitement. “He must have some news. Perhaps he has solved the case and discovered the identity of the person who poisoned Lord Fairburn.”
“I doubt that.” Lucinda put down the paper, trying to suppress the little rush of anticipation that soared through her. “Surely he hasn’t had enough time to interview all the people on that list of visitors that I gave him.”
Caleb loomed in the doorway. “You’re right, Miss Bromley. I am only partway through your list. Good morning, ladies. You’re both looking very fine today.” He surveyed the platter of fried eggs and broiled haddock with an expression of riveted interest. “Am I interrupting your breakfast?”
Well, of course he was interrupting breakfast, Lucinda thought. He was a detective. Surely he could detect the obvious. She studied him closely and was relieved to see that he appeared a good deal more rested than he had the day before. The bruises on his face were still quite colorful but they looked less painful. She was also gratified to sense that the tension in his aura had lessened somewhat. The tisanes were working.
“Please do not concern yourself, sir,” she said quickly. “I assume you are here because you have some news at least?”
“Unfortunately I have made very little progress in the investigation.” Caleb gazed at the gleaming silver coffeepot as though it were a rare work of art. “But some new questions have arisen. I was hoping you could answer them for me.”
“Certainly,” she said. It dawned on her that he looked famished. She frowned. “Have you eaten yet?”
“Didn’t have a chance,” Caleb said a little too glibly. “New housekeeper hasn’t got the hang of my schedule yet. They never do.”
Patricia looked quite blank. “Who never does what, sir?”
“Housekeepers,” he said, gliding toward the array of food with what Lucinda considered a decidedly surreptitious manner. “They never get the hang of my schedule. Breakfast is never ready when I require it. Expect Mrs. Perkins will be giving notice soon, just like the others.” He studied the haddock with a reverent expression. “That looks quite tasty.”
There was nothing for it but to invite him to sit down, Lucinda thought.
“Please join us,” she said brusquely.
Caleb gave her an unexpected smile. It transformed his features. She caught her breath. He had fascinated her from the start but now she suddenly realized that he was quite capable of charming her, as well. That was unsettling. She had believed herself immune to masculine wiles since the discovery that Ian Glasson had deceived her.
“Thank you, Miss Bromley, I believe I will,” he said.
He picked up a plate and began to serve himself with an alacrity that aroused even more suspicion. When he had left yesterday morning he had inquired about her customary breakfast hour. She had told him eight-thirty, thinking he wished to time his next visit so as not to interfere with the morning meal. She glanced at the tall clock. It was eight-thirty-two. That was not a coincidence, she concluded. Caleb Jones was not a man who made mistakes of that sort.
Patricia was doing her best to stifle a giggle. Lucinda gave her a repressive glare and then looked at Caleb.
“I take it there is a high turnover in staff in your household, Mr. Jones?” she said coolly.
“It’s not as though I require a large staff.” He piled eggs on his plate. “I’m the only one who lives in the house. Most of the rooms are closed off. All I require is a housekeeper and someone to take care of the gardens. I don’t like a lot of people running around when I’m trying to work. It’s distracting.”
“I see,” Lucinda said neutrally. Now she, too, was struggling to swallow laughter.
“I don’t understand it.” Caleb walked to the table and sat down. “Housekeepers come and go like trains. They last a month, two at most, and then they give notice. I am forever having to send a note around to the agency that supplies staff, requesting a new housekeeper. It is extremely annoying, I don’t mind telling you.”
“What seems to be the chief complaint?” Lucinda asked.
“The chief complaint is that they all give notice.”
“I was referring to the housekeepers, sir. Why do they leave your employ with such regularity?”
“Any number of reasons,” he said vaguely. He took a large bite of the eggs, chewed with enthusiasm and swallowed. “Several have told me that it alarms them to hear me walking around in my library and laboratory late at night. They say it sounds as though the house is haunted. Superstitious nonsense, of course.”
“Quite,” Lucinda murmured.
“Others claim to have been frightened by certain experiments that I occasionally conduct. As if a little flash powder ever hurt anyone.”
“Actually, it has been known to do just that, sir,” Lucinda said. “There have been any number of serious accidents among photographers who employ various dangerous chemicals to concoct flash powder.”
Caleb shot her an irritated look. “I have yet to burn down the house, Miss Bromley.”
“How nice for you, sir.”
He went back to his food. “In general, the complaint I’ve heard most often from housekeepers is my schedule.”
“Have you got one?” Lucinda asked politely.
“Of course I’ve got a schedule. The fact that it changes daily depending upon whatever projects I happen to be working on is not my fault.”
“Hmm.”
Patricia, evidently concluding that it was time to move on to a new subject, stepped in quickly.
“Lucy was just about to read the headlines in the paper,” she said.
“What have you got there?” Caleb asked. He glanced at the newspaper in Lucinda’s hand. When he saw the masthead, he shook his head in disgust. “Right. The Flying Intelligencer. Don’t believe even a fraction of what you read in that rag. It thrives on sensation.”
“Perhaps.” Lucinda contemplated the headline. “But you must admit this is a very thrilling account of a most bizarre crime. Just listen.”
She began to read aloud.
BLOODY HUMAN SACRIFICE THWARTED BY SPIRITS
by Gilbert Otford
Invisible hands from the Other World are credited with halting a gruesome occult rite, thereby saving the life of an innocent young boy. Those at the scene recounted a horrifying experience to this correspondent.
Impossible though it may be for readers of this newspaper to believe, police confirmed that a strange cult devoted to demonic forces has been practicing dreadful rituals in the very heart of London for some weeks.
On Tuesday night of this week the group intended to sacrifice a boy who had been kidnapped off the streets for the purpose. Astonishingly, witnesses tell of invisible paranormal forces from beyond the Veil intervening at the last moment to save the life of the intended victim.
The cult leader called himself the Servant of Charun. Police identified him as Mr. Wilson Hatcher of Rhone Street. The boy who was intended as the sacrifice fled the scene in stark terror and was unavailable for comment.
The police arrested a number of people, including Mr. Hatcher, whom authorities believe to be insane.
This correspondent spoke with an informant who confided that there were rumors to the effect that the intended victim of the ritual was rescued not by spirits but by members of a secret society dedicated to psychical research....
“Huh.” Caleb spoke around a bite of toast. “Gabe won’t like that. But I suppose a few rumors can’t be helped.”
Lucinda lowered the paper.
“Yesterday was Wednesday morning,” she observed.
“Yes, it was.” Caleb smiled at Mrs. Shute, who had just set a cup and some silverware in front of him. “Thank you, Mrs. Shute. The haddock is excellent this morning, by the way.”
“I’m glad you are enjoying it, sir.” Beaming, Mrs. Shute went back through the door that connected to the kitchen.