The Painted Lady (21 page)

Kasey hadn’t given one thought to Catherine’s welfare. “Bannister is supposed to look out for Lady Edgecombe, but yes, you could add her under your umbrella of protection. I am sure you have trustworthy associates who could do the job, and you’ll need more help to look after Miss Bannister.”

“Aye, these bones are too old and tired to keep watch round the clock. But I do have another nephew on the force, and my son’s wife’s brother. There’s Aldershott’s stepbrother, what married my middle girl’s sister-in-law.” Dimm chomped on the pipe stem some more. “Get expensive, it will.”

“But you’ll do it? You’ll watch over Miss Bannister and make sure nothing happens to her when she is out of the house? When she is not with me, of course.”

“Didn’t s’pose you’d want me or the lads trailing you to your parties and such. A’course, were you the perpetrator, you’d be giving yourself a good alibi, wouldn’t you? Diverting suspicion and all.”

“Dash it, I am trying to protect the lady, not impede your investigation. You can still have men watch the house, and the other place, too. I’ll pay their wages, whatever it takes. I want the women found and my name cleared more than you do!”

Dimm did some figuring in his notebook. “It’ll be expensive, like I said.”

“You can give the bill to my secretary, Warberry
.
”

“For the lads’ hours, aye. And extra for night work. They might have to hire hackneys to follow, right?”

“I’ll pay what it takes, by Jupiter!”

Dimm closed his notebook and put it in his pocket. He smiled at the duke then, the lines around his eyes crinkling till he looked like an old cherub, a canny, conniving cherub. “My wages is a little higher, Your Grace. I’ll watch your little lady, all right. And I’ll have me a look at the Lonsdale Street house in exchange.”

Chapter Twenty-two

“Your price is high.” Lud, Kasey was not prepared to visit the place, much less show anyone his work. He’d thought that when Lilyanne came, they might go together, to see what she made of the mind-skewing magic. Then again, if there was any danger in the picture, Dimm ought to be alerted. Not that Kasey intended to mention any canvas that conversed. “Very well, you and no one else.”

“Me and m’nevvy, in case either of us needs a witness.”

“Like seconds in a duel?”

“Dueling’s illegal, sir. I’ve seen cases where the Runner was accused of placing evidence instead of finding it. Not that I don’t trust Your Grace, a’course, but who’d believe an old thief-taker instead of a duke? Not that the unlicked cub’ll be much good at testifying, but the boy’s got to learn his trade, you ken.”

“You’ll both have to swear that not a word of what you see will ever become public, no, not a whisper.”

“Lessen it appertains to the matter at hand. Then I couldn’t keep my dubbers mum. Wouldn’t be ethical.”

Kasey nodded. Dimm held out his hand, they shook on the deal, and the duke hailed a hackney carriage. On the way through Mayfair, Inspector Dimm admitted to being more and more curious about what they were going to see. “Like them stories my wife, rest her soul, used to read, the ones what come in parts so you can’t wait for the next chapter, wondering what’ll happen.”

Kasey wondered, too. He could not relax against the scuffed leather squabs of the carriage, and he had to stuff his fingers in his greatcoat pocket lest they drum on the door panel beside him, revealing his anxiety. Anxiety, hell. He was in a near panic at the thought of showing his paintings to anyone, even the men from Bow Street, who could not remotely be considered knowledgeable critics. That was without considering the other matter. What if the painted lady chose to talk to Dimm? The thought of what the sharp-tongued woman might say was enough to have Kasey contemplating throwing himself out of the coach and under the wheels of the next carriage. Instead, he asked Dimm just what he thought they might find at the Lonsdale Street house.

“Like I told you, I ain’t paid to think, Your Grace. I collect evidence, is all. Still, was I to speculate?”

“Yes, you must have some theories or ideas.”

“Well, you did swear there was no torture chamber there. Nothing of an unnatural sexual nature.”

“Not so much as a silk manacle.”

“A silk manacle, eh? Never mind.” Inspector Dimm studied the man across from him in the carriage, noting that the duke was as restless as the pigeons in the park, looking like he’d take flight in a blink of an eye. “I’ve seen odder things’n that in my time. It’s a fine figure of a man you are, Your Grace, but we had a criminal once who had a pied-a-terre, too. Filled it with ladies’ dresses, he did.”

Kasey frowned. “My guests might have left a gown or two behind. I know I keep a couple of robes for the girls to use.”

“No, this gallows bird didn’t have any women. The wardrobe was for him.”

The duke laughed, looking down at the close fit of his pantaloons, the perfect cut of his coat. “Sorry, my tastes do not run to flounces and furbelows. What other possibilities have you considered?”

“Well, there was one gent, a respected swell, he was, who kept a printing press in his cellar. He was turning out pound notes while his wife and children were asleep. Then we had a case where a baronet hired a house, then filled it with smugglers’ goods waiting to be sold in London. A’course there’s the occasional opium den.”

“How delightful to be in such excellent company, counterfeiters, contrabanders, and the drug-crazed.”

“No, I don’t figure setting Your Grace in any of those crime scenes.”

“I suppose I must thank you for that, at least. But why can my place not be simple bachelor digs? Beds everywhere, bathing tubs large enough for two ... ?”

“For two, eh? Um, that is, iffen that’s all it is, why wouldn’t you let us look at the house when we asked?”

“Because I am a duke, of course.”

“Begging your pardon, but you ain’t that high in the instep, Your Grace.” Dimm waved one swollen-knuckled hand at the inside of the hired coach. “You wouldn’t be traveling like this with me, now, would you, was you one what stood on his uppers? No, with nothing to hide, you’d of shown us around, just to see the last of Bow Street.”

Kasey had to admit that his actions were suspicious. “But there are pillows and fur rugs on the floor, you know,” he said, in case the officer could be content with inspecting the main floors.

“Aye, we know that, Your Grace. But the maids what come in to clean have never been in the attics. The door is locked whenever they come, they say. Makes a body curious, like I said.” He lit his pipe so a blue haze hung over the inside of the carriage, masking the smells of the previous occupants. “Maybe you’ve got one of your barmy old relatives stowed up there, out of the public’s eye. The good Lord knows I’ve a few kinfolks of my own I’d like to see locked up.”

Staring out the window, Kasey did not answer.

Dimm puffed on his pipe, making smoke rings rise to the roof of the coach. “No? Well, I’ll leave the what-ifs to the poet chaps, then, them with imagination. The governor wants his facts, he does, not theories.”

When they arrived at the duke’s love nest, Mr. Dimm’s nephew was waiting in the street. The house was locked and no smoke came from the chimneys.

“Your man Ayers don’t seem to be around,” Dimm noted while Kasey started a fire in the front parlor.

“No, I told him to take a holiday. I did not think I’d be using the house again anytime soon.”

Dimm nodded his approval as he walked about, noting the tasteful furnishings, the unstained carpets, and fresh wall hangings. “Right. Fellow contemplating becoming a tenant for life ought to start off on the right foot.”

Kasey almost blurted out that he was no longer considering Lady Phillida for his bride, before he recalled that Dimm thought he was courting Miss Bannister. He nodded. “That was my thinking.”

The officer gave a cursory glance to the small dining parlor, with a sofa along the wall; the billiards room, with a sofa to the side; the library, with two sofas. He went right past the door to Ayers’s apartment, to the stairs. The nephew followed behind, making a diagram of the house, with rough measurements. In case there were any hidden passageways, Kasey supposed, trailing along.

Dimm hurried his nephew through the bedchambers, and filled the door to the bathing room so young Thomas could not look in. Then he let the duke lead the way up the narrow, uncarpeted stairs to the attic level.

Kasey unlocked the door and stepped aside, debating whether he should wait outside, stand in front of the problem portrait, or simply leap out the window. He chose to busy himself lighting candles and oil lamps.

Dimm stood in the center of the room, his mouth hanging open. Kasey thought it was a good thing the pipe was tucked away or it would have fallen to the floor. His Grace also got a measure of satisfaction in knowing that he’d surprised the old war horse after all.

The officer slowly turned in a circle. Women were everywhere. Hanging up, propped against the walls, on easels, stacked in bins and piled on shelves, framed, unframed, rolled up. Plump women, thin women, short, tall, redheads, blondes, brunettes. Sitting, standing, lying down, dancing. Facing the watcher, looking away, laughing, smiling, frowning, sleeping.

Naked, all of them. Oh, there was a feather boa draped here and there, a rose held between scarlet lips, a black lace fan not quite covering a patch of reddish curls.

“Thomas, wait downstairs.”

While the boy dragged his feet down the stairs, Dimm raised his eyes to heaven. ‘‘It’s only in the call of duty, my love. I swear I wouldn’t so much as peek, elsewise.”

He did more than peek. He put his spectacles on and studied the paintings while Caswell gave him a tour of London’s demimonde.

“Uh, this one’s Veronica, or Veronique. Here’s Jean-Marie. Sally. That’s Mrs. Vance.”

“From Drury Lane? Aye, I recognize her. Not that I’ve ever seen her like this, a’course.”

“Here’s Dolly.” Kasey handed the officer a small painting of a Titian-haired woman in her bath.

“Not exactly what you’d give to her mum to remember the gal by, in case she never turns up.”

Kasey shuffled through a stack of unframed pieces. “I thought there was one in here of her in the fur-lined mantle I bought her. She didn’t have anything under it, but her mother wouldn’t have to know. Ayers must have moved it, but I can find the piece later, if you think Dolly’s mother would want it.”

“I think she’d treasure it to the end of her days. I know I’d give my pipe and my pension both to have such a likeness of my own Cora, may she forgive me for admiring these women.” He made another circle of the room, then shook his head. “I can’t believe it. I see it, but I can’t believe it, I swear.”

Kasey looked behind him, to the painting that was facing the wall. If the officer couldn’t believe a few naked ladies
...
“What can’t you believe, that I enjoy painting women?”

“No, I can’t believe a member of the nobility could turn out a blooming masterpiece, much less an attic full of them. Even more, I can’t believe no one knows it. How did you manage to keep your secret all these years, Your Grace, and with so many women, a breed not known for their buttoned lips? I know you didn’t draw all their corks to keep them quiet, ‘cause I spoke to some of these very females this week.”

“Oh, the women never knew about the paintings. I did them after they left.”

“You painted these from memory asides?” Dimm moved a palette from the stool and sat down. “Pardon, Your Grace. M’feet, don’t you know. But why?”

Kasey knew Dimm wasn’t asking about the models. “Some things are private,” he said, all duke now. “Are you done? Are you satisfied I have not committed any criminal act?”

“If hiding these pictures away isn’t criminal,” the officer muttered, “then I don’t know what is.” But he did get to his feet, to leave. He stopped, though, in front of the huge canvas with the coach scene. “Not your usual style.”

“No, I was experimenting with a new technique.” Exorcism.

“I don’t recognize the woman. A rare beauty, that one. Miss Bannister?”

“Lud, no. That is, no. She is not a real woman, simply someone I made up.”

“A shame. She looks so happy to be coming here. That her, too, behind you?”

Kasey turned the painting around, holding his breath. He watched Dimm’s face, but he saw only admiration, not astonishment.

“You say she isn’t real?” Dimm asked.

“Uh, what do you think?”

“I think every man jack in London would know if such a creature walked these streets. Imagination, ha. It’s damned genius, is what it is, and you, Your Grace, are forty times a fool. But yes, I have seen enough.”

“I’ll be a moment more, putting out the candles and such. Why don’t you wait below? There is a decanter and glasses in the library. Help yourself “

“Don’t mind if I do. Lud knows I need a drink after this.”

Chapter Twenty-three

“I like him.”

“Yes, surprisingly enough, so do I.” Sighing, Kasey exchanged the carriage picture on the easel for the portrait on the floor, then placed the stool in front of it. He might be growing used to having his painting prose on—a sure sign of his growing insanity—but having her eyes follow him about the room as he paced was still too disconcerting.

“I’d wager the poor man is lonely now that his wife has passed on. They had a real marriage, not like the tonnish business arrangements.”

“I understand his family keeps Dimm busy. He also has a wealth of widows cooking for him, if nothing else.”

“Lucky man,” she said, and Kasey thought he detected a plaintive note to her usually strident voice.

“Are you lonely? Would you be happy”—he meant would she go away—”if I painted a companion in the picture for you?”

“I don’t like it when you don’t visit. Now Ayers has gone away, too.”

“So should I—”

“I’m glad that Miss Bannister is coming to visit. Maybe she can knock some sense into that thick head of yours.”

“At least she wouldn’t use a cricket bat to do it.”

“What was that?”