Late for the Wedding (20 page)

Ned’s expression relaxed. He no longer seemed aware of Tobias or his surroundings.

“Describe the woman who hired you to follow me today, Ned,” she said when she sensed that he was in a deep trance. “Picture her in your mind as though she were standing here in front of you. Is there enough light to see her clearly?”

“The moon is nearly full and she brought a lantern. I can tell that she is tall. Almost as tall as me.” The words were flat and completely lacking in emotion.

“What is she wearing?”

“She has a small hat with a veil. I can see her eyes glitter now and again, but that’s all.”

“What does her gown look like?”

The question seemed to perplex Ned. “It’s just an ordinary dress. Dark.”

Frustrated, she tried again. “Does it look like the sort of gown an elegant lady might wear? Is it made of fine cloth?”

“No.” He sounded very sure this time. “It’s plain. Brown or gray, I think. It looks like the gown my friend Jenny wears to work at the tavern.”

“Is she wearing any jewelry?”

“No.”

“What about her shoes? Can you see them?”

“Yes. She has set the lantern down at her feet. There is plenty of light near the ground, and she has her skirts hiked up a little to keep them out of the dirt. I can see her low kid boots.”

“Can you see the woman’s hair?”

“Some of it.”

“What color is her hair?”

“It looks very pale in the moonlight. Yellow or white, I think. I can’t tell which.”

“How does she wear it?”

Again, Ned seemed rather baffled. “She has pinned it in a knot at her neck.”

“What does the lady want you to do for her?”

“She wants me to go to Number Seven Claremont Lane and watch for the woman with the red hair who lives there. When she leaves her house I am to follow her until I can get her alone. I am to threaten her with the knife. I must tell her that if she does not stop asking questions I’ll come back and slit her throat from ear to ear.”

Tobias glided a step closer. Lavinia shook her head, silently warning him to remain quiet.

“Would you do that, Sweet Ned?” she asked gently. “Would you try to cut the lady’s throat if she doesn’t stop asking her questions?”

“No.” In spite of the deep trance, Ned suddenly became extremely agitated. “I’m no murderer. But I can’t let the woman know that. She’s my first client and I don’t want to lose her. I tell her I’ll do the job if it comes down to it. She believes me. I can see that she does.”

“Calm yourself, Ned.” Lavinia spoke quickly. “Watch the glittering light dance on the silver pendant and let yourself grow heavy.”

Ned relaxed visibly and fell back into the depths of the trance.

“How did the woman who gave you the commission find you?” Lavinia asked.

“She said she’d asked around. Someone told her I was the man she wanted for the job.”

“If you had been successful today, how would you contact her to collect the rest of your pay?” Lavinia asked.

“She said she’d find me just like she did the first time.”

Lavinia glanced at Tobias. He shook his head once to tell her that he had no other questions for Ned.

“Bring him out of the trance,” he said.

She turned back to Ned. “You will wake up when I snap my fingers, but you will not remember this conversation.”

She snapped her fingers.

Ned blinked owlishly and came back to full awareness of his surroundings. The anxiety returned to his eyes. He promptly dismissed Lavinia and switched his attention back to Tobias.

“If ye let me go, sir,” he said very earnestly to Tobias, continuing a conversation he did not realize had been interrupted, “I swear I won’t go anywhere near this lady again. On me honor as a professional.”

“A professional what?” Tobias asked mildly. “Professional intimidator of ladies?”

“I swear I won’t touch a hair on her head.”

“You’re right on that account,” Tobias agreed. “Turn over, Ned.”

Ned gave a violent start. “What are you going to do with me? I promise that if ye’ll let me go, I won’t take any more commissions for this sort of work ever again.”

Tobias took a long, narrow strip of leather out of one of the deep pockets of the old trousers he wore. “I said, turn over and put your hands behind your back.”

Ned looked as though he might cry. But he surrendered to the inevitable and reluctantly complied.

Tobias secured his wrists with a few deft twists. “On your feet.”

Ned struggled slowly upright, face twisted in despair. “Are ye going to hand me over to the Runners? Ye might as well stick a knife in me vitals now and be done with it. I’ll hang for sure.”

Tobias grasped his arm. “We’re not going to Bow Street.” He looked at Lavinia. “The three of us will walk to the corner. I’m going to put you in a hack and send you back to Claremont Lane. Wait for me there.”

She hesitated. “What about Ned?”

“Leave him to me.”

She did not like the sound of that any more than Ned did. Tobias’s mood was unreadable.

“He’s just a boy, Tobias,” she said quietly.

“He is no boy. He is a young man well on his way to becoming a hardened villain. The next time he agrees to accept a commission, he might decide that murder is not beyond the pale.”

“No, never,” Ned said quickly. “I’m no cutthroat. I’m a thief, but I’m not a murderer.”

“Tobias, I really don’t think he meant to do more than frighten me,” Lavinia said.

“I will deal with him.” Tobias hauled Ned toward the entrance to the lane. “Let us be off. I have several other matters to attend to this afternoon. I have no more time to waste.”

He would not do any great harm to young Ned, she assured herself. Tobias was in a dangerous mood but he was in full control, as always.

Sometimes one had to trust one’s partner.

Chapter 21

Vale watched Joan walk slowly through his collection of ancient vases and stone sarcophagi. She stopped in front of a glass case that contained several necklaces set with various colored gemstones. Sunlight from a nearby window burnished her fashionably styled hair, turning it a color that was nearly identical to the ancient Roman gold in the jewelry case.

Her classical profile would have done justice to a statue of a Greek goddess, he thought. But it was not her looks that drew him to her. There were, after all, a host of younger women who could surpass her in that aspect, although to his eye, they lacked the elegance and confidence that came with maturity.

No, it was the invisible power of her personality that pulled him so fiercely, he thought. There was a strength in her that called to everything that was male in him.

He marveled at the intensity of his desire. He could not remember when he had begun to fall in love with this woman. He only knew now that the emotion consumed him. Indeed, it had become so powerful that it had overtaken his passion for his other great love, the antiquities the Romans had left behind in England.

He had never allowed himself to think of Joan in intimate terms while her husband was alive. Fielding Dove had been one of his very few close friends. He had honored that friendship and valued it too highly to allow himself to lust after Dove’s beautiful wife. Not that it would have done him any good, he thought wryly. Joan would never have looked at another man while her beloved Fielding was on this earth.

But Fielding had been gone for over a year now, and Joan had finally emerged from the cocoon of mourning. He had waged a careful and very deliberate campaign of seduction, wooing her with his collection of antiquities and conversations concerning their many mutual interests. The passion had blazed between them easily enough, but somewhere along the line he had discovered that he wanted more from her.

He wanted her to love him as much as he loved her.

For a time he had begun to hope that his feelings were reciprocated. But in the past few days Joan had seemed to retreat from him. He sensed that he was in great danger of losing her, and the knowledge filled him with quiet desperation. But he was at a loss to know what had gone wrong.

“Has Mr. March asked you to consult on this business of the memento-mori-ring murderer?” Joan asked. She did not look up from her examination of an onyx cameo. “I know that he and Mrs. Lake are extremely concerned about their new case.”

“March mentioned the matter, but I was unable to offer much assistance. He and Crackenburne are attempting to learn who might have profited from the commissioned deaths.”

“They are searching for a person who gained financially from the murders. But Mrs. Lake and I find it interesting that these recent deaths have all resulted in a change of wedding plans for some young lady in Society.”

“You think there is a connection? That seems a bit far-fetched.”

“Do not be so certain of that.” Joan left the jewelry case and wandered over to a cabinet filled with pottery. “At first glance it may be difficult to imagine that anyone would commission a murder merely to halt one marriage or promote another.”

“You must admit it sounds quite extraordinary.”

She trailed a gloved fingertip along the carved edge of a stone altar. “Not if one considers how much is at stake in a marriage, especially one made in Society.”

Vale thought about the huge amounts of money that often changed hands in the form of marriage settlements. To say nothing of the estates and titles that were often affected.

“You may be right,” he admitted. “Perhaps it is not at all improbable that a person might kill to change the fate of a particularly lucrative marriage contract. As March has frequently pointed out, money is always an excellent motive for murder. But I collect that these deaths did not result in any obviously substantial change in the fortunes of those who stood to benefit most.”

“There are other things at stake in a marriage.” Joan turned to look at him down the length of the gallery. “In fact, given the enormous risk a woman assumes when she weds, it is really rather remarkable that there are not a great many more murders committed for the purpose of altering a young lady’s future.”

He frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

Joan moved to study a portion of a column he had removed in the course of an excavation of a Roman temple near Bath.

“For a woman there are a great many risks involved in marriage,” she said quietly. “Not all of them have to do with financial considerations.”

“I’m afraid I do not follow your logic, my dear.”

“For a young lady, there is the grave risk of childbirth, not to mention the fact that she will lose all legal control of her finances.”

He nodded. “It is the way of the world.”

She gave him a sharp, annoyed glare that caused him to wish he had kept that bit of conventional wisdom to himself.

“There is also the risk of finding oneself tied to a vicious man capable of doing physical harm to his wife or his own offspring,” she continued grimly. “Or the threat of marrying a wastrel who might throw away the children’s inheritance in a single night at the gaming tables. There is the possibility of finding oneself involved in a cold, loveless, desperately lonely business arrangement.”

“Joan—” He stopped, not certain what to say. The conversation had suddenly veered off in a direction he had not foreseen.

She turned slowly around to face him again, her eyes shadowed. “And for a woman there is no escape from any of these risks once the vows have been spoken and the contracts signed.”

Was this how all women viewed marriage, he wondered, as an enormous risk, not only for themselves, but for their children? He had never contemplated it from that point of view.

Few alliances in the ton were love matches. More often than not, couples went their own ways after the birth of an heir. It was customary for both husband and wife to conduct discreet affairs in so-called polite circles.

But there were limits to the freedoms that were permitted, he reflected. And divorce was almost impossible. Joan was right, there was no escape once the bargain had been struck. He had to admit that, until this moment, he had not given much thought to the very real physical, emotional, and financial risks involved for a woman in marriage.

“I understand.” He lounged against the edge of a Roman sarcophagus and folded his arms. “Very well, I concede that there are other matters involved besides money and estates. But where does that leave us in this case? From all accounts, the families seemed quite pleased with the marriage arrangements. I suppose it is possible the young ladies might have had some doubts, but do you really believe that they had the knowledge and means to hire themselves a professional killer?”

“No. Mrs. Lake and I feel that the people who commissioned the deaths are likely older and, more to the point, financially independent. They are persons who each have a strong interest in the outcome of the marriage. I think it is entirely possible that the three who hired the killer may know each other quite well.”

He was intrigued. “Why do you say that?”

“Partly because of the strong similarity in the reasons for these three murders. It seems likely that a professional killer catering to those who move in Society would, of necessity, be forced to rely on word of mouth to advertise his or her services.”

“Ah, yes, the problem of advertising.” He smiled slightly. “I had not thought of that.”

“Thus far I have collected the names of older women in each of the three families affected who would have had very strong feelings about the outcome of each marriage. Each possesses a will of iron. And each controls a significant fortune.”

“These are high-ranking ladies of the ton?”

“Yes.”

He spread his hands. “How would a lady who spends her time in Society’s drawing rooms and ballrooms go about finding a professional killer whom she could trust with such a dangerous business? I will be the first to agree that the women who move in Society often have their quirks and eccentricities, but they do not generally consort with members of the criminal class.”

“I shall let Mr. March and Mrs. Lake work that one out. In the meantime, before I speak to them about these three names, I would very much like to find a link between them. I have established that two are lifelong friends who play cards together every Saturday and go about together frequently. But the third does not reside in London. I do not know if she is even acquainted with the other two.”

“Who are these three women you suspect might have hired the murderer?”

“Lady Huxford and Lady Ferring are the two who are constant companions. But the third is Mrs. Stockard. She is not fond of life in London and she spends very little time here. She lives on one of her son’s estates.”

“Well, well, well,” he said softly.

She turned away from her examination of some ancient Roman coins and peered intently at him. “What is it, Vale?”

“I do not know if it means anything, but for what it’s worth, I saw Mrs. Stockard together with Lady Huxford and Lady Ferring in Bath last summer while I was conducting my researches on the mosaic floors of a Roman villa.”

Joan came toward him, her expression brightening with anticipation. “You saw them together? Did they seem to be good friends?”

“You know me, my dear, I have little patience with Society and those who move in it. But Bath is such a small place that it is impossible not to be aware of members of the ton who happen to be in town.”

She smiled knowingly. “And furthermore, it is your nature to be observant, sir. Tell me, what did you learn about those three ladies?”

“Not a great deal. I encountered them on the street on several occasions and once or twice in the bookshops.” He hesitated. “But I got the impression from some things that were said that all three ladies were in the habit of meeting in Bath quite regularly to take the waters. I believe they have done so for many years.”

Tobias strolled into the study shortly after five o’clock, just as Lavinia was considering a second glass of medicinal sherry. She rose quickly, relieved to see him.

“There you are,” she said. “I have been very worried. Do sit down, Tobias. I will pour you a glass of sherry.”

“Never mind the sherry.” He showed her the cloth-wrapped package that he carried under his arm. “I have concluded that when we are involved in a case together, I require a somewhat stronger restorative.”

She frowned at the package. “What is that?”

“French brandy.” He set the package on her desk and removed the cloth to reveal a dark bottle. “Smiling Jack was kind enough to allow me to purchase some from his new shipment.”

She watched with interest as he opened the bottle and poured a large amount of brandy into a glass. “Is it smuggled, do you think?”

He raised a brow. “Given Jack’s strong aversion to paying customs duties, I think we can be certain of it.” He downed a swallow of the brandy and looked at her. “Frankly, I did not bother to inquire into its origins. Would you care for some?”

“No, thank you, I believe I will stay with my sherry.” She went to the cabinet, picked up the decanter, and poured out a judicious amount. She studied the level of spirits in the glass for a few seconds and added some more. It had been a trying day, she reflected.

Tobias took his favorite armchair and propped his left ankle on a footstool. She settled back into her own chair.

“Very well,” she said. “Out with it. What did you do with Sweet Ned?”

“I turned him over to Jack.”

Startled, she lowered her glass. “Why on earth would you do that?”

“The boy needs to learn a more reliable trade.”

“Well, yes, but what on earth will Jack do? Teach him the art of tavern-keeping?”

“No. At least, not straightaway. As it happens, thanks to the connections he made in the course of his old profession, Jack is well-acquainted with a number of ships’ captains. They are always in the market for new crew members. As we speak, Sweet Ned is on his way to a glorious new career at sea.”

“From what you’ve told me of your friend Jack, poor Ned has no doubt become a member of a smuggler’s crew.”

“Look on the bright side. If all goes well, the lad will earn enough to allow him to retire in a few years. You and I, my dear, can only hope to do the same.”

“And if things do not go well?”

“Do not concern yourself on that account. Jack will make certain that our Ned sails with an experienced captain who knows his business.”

She tilted her head against the back of the chair. “He is so young, Tobias. Just a boy, really. Probably alone in the world.”

“Do not waste any sentiment on Ned. He thought nothing of taking money to threaten you with a knife. In another year or two, he might have been willing to stick that same blade between your ribs for a similar fee.”

“Oh, I really don’t think—”

“Trust me on this, Lavinia. Sweet Ned has all the makings of a professional villain.”

“Perhaps. But when one considers that he no doubt grew up in the stews with no prospects for the future, one can only feel pity.”

“I assure you, pity was most definitely not the emotion I experienced when I found him with you in that lane this afternoon.”

She smiled. “Do not tell me that you had no soft sentiments whatsoever. You could have taken him to Bow Street, where he would no doubt have been clapped in irons and later hung. Instead, you turned him over to Smiling Jack.”

“For all the good it will do.” Tobias looked down into the brandy. “The lad is still likely to end his life dancing on the end of a rope.”

“If he does,” she said gently, “it will not be because you sent him there.”

He took another swallow of brandy and said nothing. But some of the grimness eased from his expression.

They sat together in silence for a time. After a while Tobias shifted slightly in his chair.

“What was it Aspasia wanted to discuss with you today?”

Lavinia swirled the sherry in her glass and took a quick sip. “She wanted to assure me that she has no designs on you.”