Leo turned to see a blond woman gowned and veiled in unrelieved black. She was seated on a marble bench just
A m a n d a
inside the temple. Her head was bent gracefully over a leather-bound book open on her' lap.
Even from his vantage point Leo could discern that the cut of the black carriage gown was the creation of a very expensive modiste. It molded Madame Virtue's tall, slim figure in a manner that was both elegant and discreetly provocative. The black satin brim on the veiled hat was a striking contrast to her pale hair. Black gloves and black kid half-boots completed her attire.
All in all, the proprietress of the House of the Rod could have set the fashion among the elite of the ton on Bond Street or in the park that afternoon.
He took Beatrice's arm. "Something tells me that she did not choose to wear black because she is in mourning." "But it is very unusual to wear quite so much of it." "Madame Virtue is in an unusual profession."
"Yes, of course." Beatrice paused. "Do you know, I have been so eager to speak with her that I had very nearly forgotten the nature of her career."
"You would do well to keep the fact in mind at all times." He steered her between two moss-covered pillars.
The woman in black closed he 'r book and regarded Leo and Beatrice through her veil. She said nothing, merely waited.
"Madame Virtue?" Beatrice released Leo's arm. She folded her veil back onto the brim of her green hat and stepped forward. "I am Beatrice Poole. This is my associate, Lord Monkcrest. It was very kind of you to agree to speak with us."
Leo watched, mildly amazed, as Beatrice greeted the brothel keeper with the same gracious manner she would have used with a high-ranking lady of the ton. No other woman of his acquaintance would have behaved in such a fashion. But, then, none of those he knew would have arranged this meeting in the first place.
"Mrs. Poole." Madame Virtue's voice was rich and vel-
W i t h T h i s R i n g
vety. She raised her own veil to reveal fine, aristocratic features and cool, calculating blue eyes. She inclined her head toward Leo. "Monkcrest."
"Madam." Leo had the feeling that he was being assessed as a potential client. He smiled faintly.
Madame Virtue indicated the opposite bench. "Won't you please be seated?"
"Thank you." Beatrice sat down. She arranged her skirts with a twist of her gloved hand. "I have a number of questions."
"I shall try to answer them."
Leo chose to remain standing. He propped one shoulder against a pillar and folded his arms. He studied the two very fashionable, very formidable women who were from two such very different walks of life.
For her part, the proprietress of the House of the Rod appeared both bemused and amused by Beatrice's forthright manner. Leo would have bet any amount of money that it was curiosity, not a spirit of helpfulness, that had prompted Madame Virtue to agree to this bizarre meeting.
In her line of work, Madame Virtue most certainly entertained any number of respectable gentlemen. But she had very likely never had a conversation with a respectable lady.
A sense of unreality gripped Leo. It suddenly struck him that his life, which less than a week before had fallen into a depressingly dull pattern, was suddenly filled with the unpredictable and the strange. It occurred to him that he had experienced a greater range of sensations and moods in the past few days than he had known all the previous year.
He wondered if he had blundered into a waking dream. Perhaps in another moment he would open his eyes and find himself gazing into the flames on the hearth of his library.
"I am told that my uncle, Lord Glassonby, died in your presence." Beatrice spoke carefully. "Is that true?" "Indeed." An expression of polite regret appeared in
Madame Virtue's eyes. "I am sorry to tell you that he
A m a n d a Q u i c k
collapsed in the middle of my new carpet. It was quite lovely. The carpet, I mean. A sort of sea-green color with a great many dolphins and seashells worked in the pattern. I have recently redecorated in the new Zamarian style."
I see."
"Unfortunately there were some stains," Madame Virtue said delicately. "There often are at the time of death, you know."
"Yes." Beatrice clasped her hands together. "I know." "My housekeeper was unable to remove them. I was obliged to replace the entire carpet."
Leo did not care for the catlike gleam in her eye. "I trust you do not expect Lord Glassonby's family to reimburse you for the cost of the carpet, madam."
Beatrice stiffened. She turned her head very quickly to glance at Leo. "I beg your pardon?"
"Of course I do not expect reimbursement." Madame Virtue gave a throaty chuckle. "Rest assured that Lord Glassonby spent more than enough money in my establishment to cover the cost of the carpet he ruined. What else do you wish to know, Mrs. Poole?"
Beatrice straightened her shoulders with a determined air. "I shall be blunt, madam. Was there anything about my uncle's death that gave you cause to believe that he did not die of a heart seizure?"
"Ah, you wonder if I killed him with an overzealous application of the rod?" Madame Virtue gave another soft, husky laugh when she saw Beatrice blush. "I assure you that I did no such thing. I am expert. In spite of the occasional temptation, I long ago established a firm policy of leaving my clients in reasonably good condition. I rely on repeat business, you see."
"That was not what I meant," Beatrice said tightly. "Could you please describe the exact manner in which my uncle-died?"
Madame Virtue grew thoughtful. She tapped one black-
W i t h T h i s R i n g
gloved finger against the spine of her book. "It was not a pretty sight, but then, death never is, is it?"
"No," Leo said. "You may keep your description brief and factual. There is no need to enact a drama."
"Very well. As I recall, we had just finished our session. Glassonby was in the process of donning his trousers. He appeared to be having some trouble. Then he began to choke. The next thing I knew, he cascaded onto my new carpet."
"Cascaded?" Beatrice repeated. "You mean he fell?" "She means that your uncle was violently ill," Leo explained. He was amused to see that for all her worldly ways, Beatrice did not have a close acquaintance with the vulgar cant favored by the young rakes of the ton.
"Oh." Beatrice nodded. "He vomited."
"I am told that is not unusual in the case of heart seizures," Madame Virtue said helpfully.
Leo glanced at Beatrice. He knew what she was thinking. A fit of vomiting could also be attributed to poison. "Following his collapse on my new carpet," Madame
Virtue continued, "he proceeded to thrash around a bit. Then he clutched at his chest and expired. It was all over in a matter of moments. I assure you, I summoned aid immediately. There was, as it happens, a doctor in the house at the time."
"He came at once?" Beatrice asked.
"Yes, but then, he generally does. I am working on the problem with him. We have made a great deal of progress, I am pleased to say."
Leo raised, his eyes to the ceiling of the temple ruin. He studied the small classical nudes carved there.
"I do not understand." Beatrice sounded genuinely baffled. "Do you often have gentlemen expiring on your carpet?" Leo lowered his eyes from the temple ceiling to her
confused face. "Madame Virtue made a rather poor jest when she said that the doctor came quickly, Mrs. Poole. If you like, I will be happy to explain it later."
A m a n d a
Q u i c k
Madame Virtue gave him another one of her amused smiles.
Beatrice turned very pink. "I fail to see any humor in this situation."
"Indeed," Madame Virtue said. "As I was saying, the doctor examined Glassonby and seemed quite convinced that he had died of a heart seizure. There was nothing to be done. The man was dead."
"Had my uncle had anything to eat or drink a few minutes before he became ill?"
Madame Virtue's secretive smile vanished. Her eyes narrowed. "Do you suspect me of poisoning him, Mrs. Poole?"
"No, of course not," Beatrice said quickly. "As you have just pointed out, you have no motive. I cannot imagine that poisoning your clients would be good for business."
"Quite true." Madame Virtue relaxed slightly, but her
gaze was wary.
"As it happens, I am aware that my uncle was in the habit of taking a special tonic to treat a, uh-" Beatrice cleared her throat again. "A debilitating problem of a physical nature."
"Yes, of course. His Elixir of Manly Vigor." Madame Virtue resumed her thoughtful expression. "Several of my clients use Dr. Cox's tonic. I believe your uncle did indeed drink some of it before our last session, but there was nothing out of the ordinary in that. He always took a cup of his special elixir before I administered the rod. It did him a world of good."
Beatrice pressed on with a gritty determination that Leo could only admire. This conversation had to be extraordinary, even by her unusual standards. When all was said and done, she had been raised as the daughter of a vicar.
"Did my uncle remark on the unusual taste of the tonic that last time?" Beatrice asked.
"No," Madame Virtue said. "I believe that he found it to be even more invigorating than usual."
"Hmm." Beatrice hesitated. "Madame Virtue, I will be blunt. We are attempting to find some items that have gone missing from my uncle's estate."
Alarm flared in Madame Virtue's eyes for the first time. "See here, I sent Glassonby's clothes and personal effects off with his body. I assumed all of the items were returned to his family. If his diamond cravat pin or anything else is missing, you cannot blame me."
"I am not accusing you of theft," Beatrice assured her crisply.
"I certainly hope not." Madame Virtue relaxed again, but she still looked wary.
"Tell me, are you acquainted with Dr. Cox?"
"The herbalist who sold Glassonby his special tonic?" Madame Virtue shook her head. "No, I have never met the man. He and I would no doubt have much in common, as we both treat the same ailments in gentlemen. But thus far we have contrived not to be introduced to each other."
"You do not have his direction?" "No. 11
"Thank you," Beatrice said. "You have been very helpful. I appreciate your time."
Madame Virtue narrowed her eyes. "I have a question of my own, Mrs. Poole."
"Yes?" "Why are you so curious about the manner of your uncle's death? What makes you suspect poison?"
"As I said, we believe that some valuables were stolen from my uncle around the time of his death.We are attempting to recover them."
"You believe that he may have been murdered for these valuable items?"
"It was a possibility we had considered." Beatrice
A m a n d a
sighed. "But from what you have told me, it now appears unlikely."
"I can assure you it is not only unlikely, it is impossible. Believe me, I would have noticed if someone had been murdered in my presence." Madame Virtue reached up to lower her black veil. "Well, if that is all, I must be on my way. If you will excuse me, Mrs. Poole?"
"Yes, of course." Beatrice glanced at the book. "I see that you are reading The Castle of Shadows."
"Oh, Yes, I read all of Mrs. York's books. She is amusingly na1ve on the subject of men, but her scenes of haunted crypts and ghosts and such are quite thrilling. I also find her female characters to be a pleasant change from the usual weepy, fainting heroines one finds in so many novels."
Beatrice blinked. 1, too, read Mrs. York's novels. I do not find her at all na1ve on the subject of men."
Leo glanced at her and nearly groaned when he saw the glint of challenge in her eye. This was not the time, place, or proper company for a discussion of the literary merits of Amelia York's novels.
"I fear that Mrs. York has some extremely misguided notions when it comes to men," Madame Virtue murmured. "What misguided notions would those be?" Beatrice demanded.
"She appears to believe that there actually are a few heroes running about the countryside." Madame Virtue turned to walk through the row of pillars. 1, on the other hand, learned long ago that there are none."
Beatrice opened her mouth and then quickly closed it. "I see," she said with unexpected gentleness. "Would you mind answering one last question of a personal nature?"
"What is it?"
"Do you enjoy your career?"
Madame Virtue went very still for a few seconds. Then her silvery laughter shivered through the air, as light and as cold as icicles.
"What a very droll question, Mrs. Poole. I love my work. What could be more entertaining than to regularly flog the very flower of English manhood and to get paid for it into the bargain?"
The skirts of her black gown rustled softly as she walked out of the ruin.
Leo unfolded his arms and straightened away from the pillar. "I will see you to your curricle, Madame Virtue."
She glanced back at him over her shoulder, her expression inscrutable behind the black veil. "How kind of you, my lord."
He walked with her to the small two-wheeled vehicle, assisted her into the elegant cab, and handed her the reins. She studied him briefly. "I am usually able to identify
future clients at a glance, Monkcrest. I can see that you will not be among them."
'My eccentricities do not extend to the sort of services provided by the House of the Rod."
-Pity.- "I am, however, prepared to pay very well for some things," Leo said deliberately.
The black-gloved hands stilled on the reins. "What sort of things?"
"In your profession you are in a position to gain a great deal of information."
"Very true."
"If you happen to learn anything of interest that pertains to the death of Lord Glassonby or to certain relics that have gone missing from his estate, I would very much like to hear of it. I will make it worth your while."
"I am always willing to turn a profit, my lord. If I hear anything of note, I will be happy to sell the information to YOU."