Slightly Shady (8 page)

"I generally manage to find out what I need to know," Tobias said. Lavinia turned back to Joan. "Rest assured we shall begin our inquiries immediately" "Where do you propose to start?" Joan asked, genuine curiosity in her eyes. Lavinia stood and walked to the table where Tobias had placed the waxwork death threat. She examined it closely again, noting the fine details. "This is clearly not the work of an amateur," she said slowly. "I believe we should begin by seeking advice from some workers in wax. Artists often have distinctive styles and methods. With luck we may find someone who can tell us something about the unique elements of this particular sculpture." Tobias regarded her with poorly veiled surprise. "That is not a bad notion." She clamped her teeth together., "How will you discover the names of these expert modelers in wax?" Joan asked, clearly oblivious to the byplay Lavinia drew a finger slowly along the frame of the picture. "I shall ask my niece for some advice in the matter. Emeline has been going about to a great many museums and galleries of all sorts since we returned to London. She will likely know the ones that exhibit waxwork sculptures." "Excellent." Joan rose gracefully and adjusted her gloves. "I shall leave you to it." She paused. "Unless you have some more questions for me?" "Only one." Lavinia hesitated, gathering her nerve. "I fear you Will find it presumptuous." Joan appeared dryly amused. "Really, Mrs. Lake. I cannot imagine a more presumptuous question than the one concerning why I am being blackmailed." "The thing is, my niece has received a small number of invitations, thanks to Lady Wortham. But Emeline requires some new gowns if she is to go about with Priscilla. I am wondering if you would be so kind as to supply me with the name of your modiste," She could almost feel Tobias raising his eyes to the ceiling, but he had the good sense not to speak. Joan contemplated Lavinia with a thoughtful expression. "Madame Francesca is very expensive." "Yes, well, as to that, I have a plan to finance at least one or two nice gowns." "I am sorry to tell you that she takes new clients only on recommendation." Lavinia's spirits plummeted. "I see." Joan walked toward the door. "I shall be happy to supply you with one." They showed the malignant little waxwork to Emeline a short time later. "If I were you, I would start with Mrs. Vaughn in Half Crescent Lane." Emeline studied the picture with a troubled expression. "She is by far the most proficient worker in wax in London." "I have never heard of her," Lavinia said. "Probably because she does not receive many commissions." "Why not?" Tobias asked. Emeline looked up from the waxwork. "You will understand when you see her creations." Congratulate you on securing'a client to pay your expenses in this affair." Tobias lounged in the hackney seat. "It is always pleasant to know that when one is finished one can send a bill to someone." "I very nearly lost her, thanks to you, Sir." Lavinia pulled her serviceable woolen cloak more snugly around herself, warding off the damp chill. "I do not believe you could have been any more rude if you had tried." He smiled slightly. "At least I did not presume to inquire the name of her modiste." Lavinia ignored him. Very pointedly she looked out the carriage window. London was a study rendered in a thousand shades of gray today. Paving stones gleamed damply beneath a lowering sky. The rain had driven most people indoors. Those who braved the weather took refuge in carriages or dashed from doorway to doorway. The coachmen huddled on their boxes, swathed in their many-caped greatcoats, hats pulled down over their ears. "Would you like a word of advice?" Tobias asked mildly. "From you? Not particularly" "Nevertheless, I am going to give you some words of wisdom, which you will do well to heed if you elect to continue in your new career." Unwillingly she dragged her attention away from the gloomy street. He was an expert, she reminded herself. "What advice do you have for me, Sir? " "It is never a good idea to cry when clients tell you their tales of woe. It gives them the impression that you will believe whatever they say In my experience, clients tend to lie quite regularly. There is no reason to encourage them with tears." She stared. "Are you saying you think Mrs. Dove lied to us?" He shrugged. "Clients always lie. If you continue in this profession for long, you will soon learn that simple fact of business." She gripped the edges of her cloak very tightly. "I do not believe for one moment that Mrs. Dove invented her story." "How would you know?" She raised her chin. "I have a keen sense of intuition." "I shall take your word for it." He never failed to annoy her, she thought. "Allow me to tell you, Sir, that my parents were both skilled practitioners of mesmerism. I became their assistant at a very early age. After their deaths I continued to make my living for some time giving therapeutic treatments. Intuition is a requirement for success in that field. Indeed, my father told me on a number of occasions that I had a talent for the business."

"Bloody hell. I have a practitioner of animal magnetism as a partner. What did I do to deserve this?" She gave him a thin smile. "I am glad that you are amused, sir, but it does not change the fact that I believe Mrs. Dove's story." She paused. "Most of it in any event." He shrugged. "I will allow that she probably did not inventall of it. I suspect she is smart enough to know that interweaving fact with fiction makes for a more genuine-sounding tale." "You are very cynical, Mr. March." "It is an asset in this business." She narrowed her eyes. "I will tell you one thing for certain. She was not lying about her love for her late husband." "If you remain in this career for long, you will eventually learn that all clients lie when it comes to the subject of love." The hackney rattled to a halt before she could pursue the matter. Tobias opened the door and made to alight. He did not drop lightly to the street, she noticed. Rather, he eased himself out of the vehicle with the air of a man who was in some pain. But when he turned to assist her, his face was impassive. A small shock of awareness went through her when she felt the strength in his hand. She allowed him to bundle her into the shelter of a doorway and tried to cover her unsettling reaction by pretending a deep interest in their surroundings. Half Crescent Lane was a cramped, curved passage. It twisted through a narrow, densely shadowed valley formed by looming stone walls. It was probably never a sunny place, but on a day such as this it was drenched in stygian gloom. Tobias rapped sharply on the door. Footsteps sounded from within. A moment later an aged housekeeper appeared. She squinted at Tobias.

"What is it ye want?" she inquired in the very loud tones used by those who were hard of hearing. Tobias winced and took a step back. "We're here to see Mrs. Vaughn." The housekeeper cupped her ear with one hand. "What's that?" "We're here to see the modeler in wax," Lavinia said, enunciating her words very carefully "Ye'll'ave to purchase a ticket," the housekeeper announced in ringing accents. "Mrs. Vaughn doesn't let anyone into her gallery without a ticket anymore. Too many folks takin' advantage, yknow. Claim they want to give her a commission but once they're inside they just have themselves a good look at the sculptures and then they leave." "We're not here to view her waxworks," Lavinia said loudly. "We wish to speak with her on another matter." "I've 'eard all the excuses. None of 'em. will work with me and that's a fact. No one gets in without a ticket." "Very well." Tobias dropped a few coins into the woman's hand. "Is that enough to get us two tickets?" The housekeeper examined the coins. "That'll do, Sir, that'll do." She stepped back. Lavinia walked into the small, poorly lit hall. Tobias followed her. When the door closed behind him, the shadows intensified. The housekeeper moved off down a darkened corridor. "This way, if ye please." Lavinia glanced at Tobias. He made a slight movement with his hand, motioning her to precede him down the hall. Without a word, they followed the housekeeper to the end of the passageway. She opened a heavy door with a theatrical flourish.

"Go right in," she shouted. "Mrs. Vaughn will be with you in a moment or two." "Thank you." Lavinia stepped into the dimly lit chamber and came to an abrupt halt when she saw that a number of people were gathered there. "I didn't realize Mrs. Vaughn already had guests." The housekeeper cackled and shut the door, leaving Tobias and Lavinia inside the crowded room. Heavy drapes were drawn across the two narrow windows, shutting out what little light might have managed to seep into the chamber from without. The only illumination came from the two tapers in the large, ornately worked candelabra that sat atop the piano. There was a decided chill in the atmosphere. It seemed to emanate from the dense shadows around the visitors. Lavinia saw that there was no fire on the hearth. The other guests stood and sat in a variety of poses. A man with an elegantly tied cravat read quietly in a wing-back chair, although he did not have a candle beside him to throw light on the page. His legs were casually crossed at the ankle. A comfortably rounded woman dressed in a long-sleeved gown trimmed with a crisp white ruff occupied the piano bench. She wore a large white apron. Her thick gray hair was pinned in a heavy knot beneath a lace cap. Her fingers hovered in the air just above the keys as though she had just finished one piece and was about to begin another. Near the unlit hearth sat a man with a half-finished glass of brandy in his hand. Next to him two other gentlemen were engaged in a game of chess. An eerie stillness cloaked the long, narrow chamber. No heads turned to look at the new arrivals. No one moved. No one spoke.

The piano remained silent. It was as if everyone in the chamber had been frozen forever in a moment of civilized pursuit. "Good heavens," Lavinia breathed. Tobias moved past her and crossed to where the chess players sat at a game that would never be finished. "Astonishing," he said. "I have seen other examples of waxworks but none so close to life as these." Lavinia walked slowly toward the figure reading the small volume. The waxwork head was tilted at a realistic angle. The glass eyes appeared to be absorbed with the print on the page. There was a small frown between the brows, and tiny hairs rose from the back of the veined hands. "One almost expects them to speak or move," she whispered. "I vow, there is even a slight bluish tint to the veins, and just look at the pale cast of that woman's cheek. It is unnerving, is it not?" "Your niece told us that most workers in wax use clothing and jewelry and other items to achieve the effect of a living image." Tobias moved to a woman dressed in a fashionable gown. The fingers of the figure's hand toyed negligently with a fan. She seemed to smile coyly "But Mrs. Vaughn is a master in her profession, an artist who need not rely on tricks. These statues are brilliantly modeled." The figure in the apron and cap seated at the piano bowed from the waist. "Thank you, sir," she said with a merry chuckle. Lavinia swallowed a small shriek and took a hasty step back. She came up against a dandy who frowned at her through a quizzing glass. She jerked herself aside as if the figure had reached out to touch her. In the process she nearly dropped the package she had brought with her.

She caught her balance, feeling foolish, then shook out the folds of her cloak and summoned a determinedly polite smile. "Mrs. Vaughn, I presume?" she said briskly. "Yes, indeed." "I am Mrs. Lake and this is Mr. March." Mrs. Vaughn rose from the piano bench. Her smile dimpled her cheeks. "Welcome to my exhibition chamber. I invite you to examine my figures for as long as you please." Tobias inclined his head. "My congratulations, madam. This is an amazing collection." "Your admiration is extremely gratifying, sir." Mrs. Vaughn looked at Lavinia, amusement sparkling in her bright eyes. "But something tells me that Mrs. Lake is more reserved in her opinion." "Not at all," Lavinia said quickly. "It is just that the impact of your art is ... unexpected. Striking, I should say. I mean, it is as if this room is filled with people who are ... well ... uh-" "People who are not quite alive and yet not quite dead, is that what you mean?" Lavinia smiled weakly. "Your skill is extremely impressive." "Thank you, Mrs. Lake. But I can see you are one of those who are not entirely comfortable with my art." "Oh, no, really, it is just that these figures are so very lifelike." Corpselike would have been a more accurate description, she thought. But she did not want to appear critical. After all, the woman was an artist. Everyone knew they were eccentric and inclined to be temperamental. Mrs. Vaughn's dimples appeared again. She waved a hand in a reassuring gesture. "You need not worry about offending me, Mrs. Lake. I am well aware that my work is not to everyone's taste." "They are certainly interesting," Tobias said.

"Nevertheless, I gain the impression you are not proposing to give me a commission for a family portrait, either." "You are a very astute woman, Mrs. Vaughn." Tobias studied the elegantly modeled throat of the woman with the fan. "Perhaps that is why your figures achieve such a semblance of life." Mrs. Vaughn gave another bubbling chuckle. "I do pride myself on an ability to read the truth that lies just beneath the surface. You are quite right-that skill is key to achieving an accurate portrayal. But it requires more than insight to bring a figure to life. It takes a great amount of detail work. The little lines at the corner of the eye. The accurate placement of the veins so they appear to throb with blood. That sort of thing." Tobias nodded. "I see." Lavinia thought about the extraordinary degree of detail in the waxwork picture she clutched and went very still. What if fate had led them directly to the killer? Across the room, she caught Tobias's eye. He shook his head slightly. She took a deep breath to compose herself. He was right, of course. It was simply too much of a coincidence to believe they had come straight to the killer seeking answers about a death threat she had sent. Then again, how many expert workers in wax were there in London? The number could not be large. Emeline had put Mrs. Vaughn at the top of the list of the most skilled without any hesitation. As if she had read Lavinia's mind, Mrs. Vaughn glanced at her with a knowing expression and smiled broadly. Lavinia shook off the cobwebs of unease that had settled over her senses. What on earth was the matter with her? She was allowing her thoughts to become disordered. It was impossible to envision this small, cheerful woman in the role of murderess.