Mischief (41 page)

“But surely they cannot simply resume their places in Society after all that has happened. There may not be any proof of their guilt, but there will be a great deal of gossip.”

“They can survive a little gossip about murder.” Matthias smiled faintly as he sat down on the edge of an open sarcophagus. “I did.”

“You have a point.” Imogen yanked a large square of canvas off a jumble of clay tablets. She tossed the shroud aside and picked up the first tablet in the heap. “Still, I must tell you that I cannot possibly live such a restricted life for much longer. Patricia does not seem to mind, but it will soon drive me into Bedlam.”

Matthias was amused. “It may interest you to know that the sort of restrictions I have placed upon you and Patricia this past week amount to no more than the ordinary limitations most ladies accept readily enough here in Town.”

“Well, I certainly do not intend to accept them for
long.” Imogen bent over at the waist to examine a tablet. “Matthias, there is something I have been intending to ask you.”

He studied the enticingly rounded curves of her derriere. “Ask, madam. I am at your service today.” He contemplated the prospect of lifting her skirts while she was in such an inviting position. He could always explain that it was another exotic Zamarian lovemaking position.

“Do you know what actually did happen to Rutledge?”

The question sent a jolt of surprise through him. It took a moment to recover. He drew a deep breath. “Yes.”

“I thought that might be the case.” Imogen straightened and began to stack the tablets with great precision. “Well, my lord? Are you going to tell me?”

Matthias gazed thoughtfully at the notebook he had brought along to record Imogen’s observations. “Rutledge tried to murder me. He died in the attempt.”

“Good heavens.” Imogen swung around so quickly that her elbow struck the stacked tablets. She reached out quickly to steady the pile. Her eyes were fixed on his face. “You do not jest, do you?”

“Not about this. We were exploring one of the corridors in the labyrinth. I had taken the lead. Rutledge always said that I was far better at that sort of thing than he was.”

Matthias had come upon the stone staircase without any warning. One moment he was in the narrow confines of the cramped underground corridor, the next he was hovering on the brink of an endless flight of stairs hewn from solid rock.

“What is it?” Rutledge demanded from behind him. He sounded hoarse and out of breath.

“Another staircase.” Matthias held the lamp higher, but the light could not penetrate the darkness at the bottom of the steps. It was as though the staircase plunged down into hell itself. “It looks treacherous. We’ll need ropes to descend.”

“Go on,” Rutledge ordered. “We don’t need the ropes.”

“It’s not safe. I cannot even make out the bottom of the passage.”

It was the sound of Rutledge sucking in his rasping breath that alerted Matthias. He turned to see what was wrong. Rutledge was rushing toward him, a spade raised to strike.

“Rutledge, no.”

“I said you don’t need the bloody ropes.” Rutledge’s face was contorted with fury. He swung the spade downward.

Matthias moved, but there was very little room to maneuver in the narrow passageway. He took the blow on his shoulder rather than on his skull. It stunned him and sent him staggering back to the top step. For an instant he teetered on the brink of eternity. Then he dropped the lamp, caught his balance, and threw himself forward toward the man who had once been his closest friend.

“Die, damn you,” Rutledge screamed. “I don’t need you any longer. You have served your purpose.”

The spade came up again. Matthias seized the wooden handle. He yanked it out of Rutledge’s hands.

“You have to die.” Rutledge charged him, blinded by rage.

Matthias flattened himself against one stone wall. Rutledge groped for him and missed. His own momentum carried him to the top of the staircase.

For a few seconds Rutledge seemed to hover there, scrabbling futilely for purchase. Matthias started toward him, intending to catch hold of him and drag him back into the safety of the corridor.

But he was too late. Rutledge plummeted over the edge and fell into the endless darkness at the bottom of the stone steps. His scream echoed off the corridor walls for a very long time.

“B
ut why would he do such a thing?” Imogen asked softly, bringing Matthias back to the present.

Matthias studied a leering clay mask that was propped against the side of the sarcophagus. “He had been acting oddly ever since I had made a rather valuable discovery two days earlier.”

“The library?”

“No. Something else. It doesn’t matter now. We had formed an agreement. When it came to the individual artifacts, we would each keep whatever we uncovered. But Rutledge was obsessed with the item I had found. He was willing to kill to possess it.” Matthias raised his eyes to meet Imogen’s. “The thing is, I would have given it to him if he had simply asked for it.”

Imogen fitted her hands to her hips and began to tap the toe of her little half-boot. “Do you think, perhaps, that Rutledge went mad, as poor Lucy did?”

“No,” Matthias said evenly. “I think he used me from the very beginning. He realized even sooner than I did that I might have actually located the clues that would lead me to Zamar. He made himself my friend. Gave me access to his library. Accompanied me on the journey. And then he tried to kill me when he had no further use for me.”

“But he was your friend.”

“I choose my friends more carefully these days.” Matthias grimaced at his own youthful naiveté. “Fool that I was, I was actually honored that Rutledge had such faith in my researches. For some reason that I have never been able to comprehend, I wanted his approval.”

A gentle understanding appeared in Imogen’s eyes. “Perhaps he gave you what your father—” An ominous scrape of stone on stone interrupted her. She whirled to stare at the looming artifacts around her. “What on earth was that?”

Matthias put down the notebook and got slowly to his feet. “I believe we have company.”

Alastair Drake rose from the depths of a half-covered
sarcophagus on the opposite side of the room. “I have always wondered what happened to Rutledge.”

“Drake.” Matthias watched Alastair step from the coffin.

“So you pushed him down a flight of stairs, eh, Colchester? Very clever.” Alastair smiled the smile that had made him so popular in the best drawing rooms and aimed the pistol in his hand at Matthias. “Pity you will never be able to tell the tale yourself.”

“Alastair.” Imogen stared at him with openmouthed shock. “What are you doing here?”

“I should think that was obvious,” Alastair said.

“Indeed.” Matthias glanced regretfully at his greatcoat, which was hanging well out of reach. He cursed himself silently for having left the pistol in the pocket. “Where is your charming sister?”

“Right here, Colchester.” Selena stepped gracefully from behind a sheet of canvas that had concealed several statues. She had a small, elegant pistol clasped in her gloved hand. “We have been waiting for the two of you to join us. We have been watching your town house for several days, knowing sooner or later an opportunity would present itself.”

Alastair smiled at Imogen. “I’m sure you will be pleased to learn that you and your husband will end your studies of ancient Zamar in a suitable fashion. You will be hailed by one and all as the latest victims of the Rutledge Curse.”

Imogen’s chest felt very tight. She realized that she had stopped breathing. She glanced anxiously at Matthias. He still lounged against the edge of the sarcophagus as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. His face was a cold, enigmatic mask. This was the man who had earned the epithet Cold-blooded Colchester, she thought. Now she knew why.

She wondered how she could ever have concluded that Matthias suffered from a weakness of the nerves.

His ghost-gray eyes briefly met hers. The icy resolve in him raised the hair on the nape of her neck. She knew that if it were possible to escape this situation, Matthias would arrange for them to do so.

This was Colchester of Zamar
. Imogen felt a certain sense of vindication. She had not been mistaken. She had always known that he was a man of action.

Imogen started to breathe again. They were comrades, companions, partners. She must be ready to do her part in whatever plan Matthias was formulating.

“I suppose it was too much to hope that the pair of
you would take yourselves off to the Continent,” she said with what she prayed was a tone of disgust.

“And abandon everything that we have worked so hard to achieve?” Selena’s smile was very thin. “Don’t be a complete fool. My brother and I have gone through far too much to gain our present positions in Society. We do not intend to lose our new roles because of a silly bluestocking eccentric such as yourself, Lady Colchester.” She looked at Matthias. “Or because of your rather more dangerous husband.”

Imogen nodded seriously, as though Selena’s words had been enlightening. “I see. Colchester said something along those lines, but I told him that you were far too clever to hang about after all that has occurred.”

“Obviously, you overestimated their intelligence, my dear,” Matthias said softly.

Anger blazed in Alastair’s gaze. He raised the barrel of the pistol with a short, jerky movement that betrayed his agitated state. “Silence, you arrogant, interfering bastard. In a short while you and your lady will be occupying one of these very convenient Zamarian coffins. I think that with a bit of squeezing we can just manage to fit you both into the same sarcophagus. A romantic notion, is it not?”

“That’s your plan?” Matthias’s mouth twisted with sardonic amusement. “You intend to stuff us into one of these things?” He patted the edge of the stone sarcophagus.

Alastair frowned at the small movement. His expression eased when Matthias’s hand stilled. “It will work.”

“You’re more of an idiot than I thought, Drake,” Matthias said. “I do have one or two friends in London, you know. They will soon reason out what happened and they will know who is responsible.”

“Not bloody likely.” Alastair narrowed his eyes. “Even if someone, say your good friend Felix Glaston, deduces what happened, he will not be able to prove a damn thing. He won’t even be able to find your bodies.”

Imogen stared at him. “What do you mean?”

Alastair smiled. “The sarcophagus containing you and Colchester will be carted out of this chamber late tonight in a nightman’s wagon. You will journey out into the country together with the contents of several cesspits. I have hired a group of stout villeins from the stews to handle the matter. They are not the sort to ask questions. And they certainly will not raise the lid of a sealed coffin to peer inside.”

“You will both disappear into an unmarked grave in some farmer’s field,” Selena said. “Very simple. Very tidy.”

“It will not be that easy,” Imogen said fiercely. “Our coachman will return for us within two hours. When he does not find us, he will have the entire Zamarian Institution searched.”

“A message has already been sent to your residence stating that you will not be needing the carriage again this afternoon.” Alastair’s eyes were bright with a feverish excitement. “Your butler has been informed that as it is such a fine day, you have decided to walk home.”

Matthias looked briefly interested. “What makes you think anyone will believe that?”

Selena gave him a satisfied smile. “Two people will be seen leaving the Zamarian Institution this afternoon. The gentleman will be wearing your black greatcoat, hat, and boots, my lord. The woman will be dressed in Lady Colchester’s distinctive Zamarian-green gown and her very unfashionable bonnet.”

Imogen scowled. “You’re going to leave here wearing our clothes?”

“And disappear into the London crowds, never to be seen again.” Selena made a negligent movement with her free hand. “More victims of the Rutledge Curse.”

“There will be talk,” Imogen insisted. “Colchester is right. His friends will ask questions.”

“Questions that will never be answered,” Selena assured her. “Society will thrive on speculation and gossip for a time and then the entire affair will fade away. Alastair
and I will return to Town in a few months and resume our usual routine. No one will link us to your disappearance.”

“Or to the death of Lady Vanneck?” Matthias stirred slightly, as though he needed to stretch a bit. His boot brushed the clay mask that rested against the side of the coffin.

Alastair started at the small movement. His eyes went to Matthias’s boot. Then he relaxed. “So you reasoned that out, did you? Very clever.”

“It was not difficult after I read Lucy’s journal,” Imogen said. “You killed her because she was trying to blackmail you into running off with her to Italy.”

Alastair grimaced. “Lucy had ceased to be amusing. I tried to end the affair in the usual fashion, but she would not leave me alone. She became obsessed with the notion of going off to Italy, although why the devil she thought I would want to accompany her is beyond me.”