What an Earl Wants (19 page)

“A journal? He was told to keep a journal?”

Jessica nodded, not meeting his eyes. “Or a diary, I suppose.
In any event, he called it a journal, yes. But weren’t you listening?
Adam’s...keeping a
tally.
As if the whole thing were
some sort of twisted game. Even worse, if that’s possible, our father had been
giving him lessons in assassination. You have to talk to him, Gideon. I
certainly can’t. As it is, I can barely look at you, just telling you about
it.”

“I need to see this journal.”

Jessica put the lie to her last statement as her eyelids flew
up, and she stared at him. “Must you? I’d like to see it burnt. The point is, my
father was training Adam to be just like him.”

“No, Jessica. The point is, we now know without a doubt the
Society remains active. You confirmed it existed five years ago. Adam’s journal
tells us it’s still going on. You see, we know they all kept journals, all the
way back to the beginning, with my grandfather. Trixie told me about him, about
the journals, just yesterday.”

Jessica put a fist to her mouth, closed her eyes. “I thought it
was just something my father thought of, rather like keeping score of his kills
at the hunt. They...they
all
wrote down what they
did?”

“In great detail,” Gideon said, and then told her what Trixie
had seen in his grandfather’s journals.

“Drawings? Charts? Are they all insane?”

Gideon pushed away his plate, his appetite gone. “One would
think so. Either that, or terminally naive, considering the members all turned
their yearly journals over to my grandfather for this business of verification,
so their exalted leader or whatever they called him could verify the information
and make the additions to their blasphemous bible. Once they’d done it, turned
over a single journal, they were bound to him for life. There was no choice but
to continue the practice, year after year.”

“Didn’t they realize what they were doing?”

“You mean, turning over their lives to their leader, their
futures? They had to, surely. With those journals, the leader held them hostage
to whatever demands he might make on them. And don’t forget, Jessica, there were
guests
at these so-called ceremonies. One
person’s word might not inflict too much damage, but to be able to produce a
dozen different journals, all naming the guest, all cataloguing the same
depravities? If knowledge translates to power, and it always has, my
grandfather, and my father after him, held the reputations of perhaps dozens of
important men and, at least in my grandfather’s time, even some women in his
hands.”

“And after them, whoever carries on with the Society even now.
You think the journals are the reason the members are being killed?”

“I’m not certain if it’s the journals themselves, although I’d
certainly want them destroyed if I had written any of them, or had I attended
one of their ceremonies and then found out they existed. To have some stupidity
I’d engaged in at twenty—”

“Or eighteen,” Jessica interrupted, sighing.

Gideon pushed back his chair and got to his feet. “Or at
eighteen, yes. To have that act of idiocy brought back years later, when I was
about to marry, or enter Parliament or some other government service? If I were
to put my sights on becoming Prime Minister, or take the floor in the House of
Lords to argue a position someone else might not care to have brought to a vote.
On and on, Jessica. My life wouldn’t be my own. I could be forced to support
causes that disgust me, vote against laws I felt proper. I could be forced to
hand over copious amounts of money—even kill someone on command. The list of
trouble those journals could cause a man is limitless.”

“But what about the leader? Your grandfather, your father,
whoever else has served as the leader? The members could just as easily have
controlled him, couldn’t they?”

“Try to control the one man who held all the evidence, on all
of them? To threaten him, to expose him, would destroy them all. Who threatens
the man who holds so many lives in his hand? But we have to consider the other
side of this coin, as well. To belong to the Society, to be one of the chosen
few—perhaps that prize was worth the rest.”

“And the...ceremonies. They may not want to give those up,
either.”

“Your every vice indulged, your every perversion encouraged.
Wine, women, opium. A new world order perhaps, with the Society in charge. All
powerful persuasions. We’ll talk more about this when we know more.”

“Yes, but where are you going? It’s only eleven o’clock,
Gideon. Adam’s still asleep.”

“Then it’s more than time he was awake.” He came around the
breakfast table and put his hand on her shoulder. “We’re in this together,
aren’t we?”

She looked up at him quizzically. “We are,” she said carefully.
“Now why do I feel as if I’m not going to care for whatever you say next?”

He smiled and dropped a kiss on her hair. “Probably because, as
I’m going to confront Adam, that leaves you to tell Kate what’s going on. I
don’t think of myself as a coward, but the idea of Kate’s possible questions
bids fair to make me consider a lengthy sojourn on the other side of the
world.”

“I understand. I’d rather have a tooth drawn than have to
listen to Adam say anything else on the subject. And then we’ll go to Cavendish
Square, to hear what Trixie has to tell us?”

“Yes. But just the two of us. Adam stays under the guard of his
keeper, but I want Kate back at Redgrave Manor, preferably on her way yet this
afternoon.”

“Oh, and I’m supposed to accomplish that particular part of the
miracle, am I? Do you have any suggestions as to how I’m to do that?”

“Put her to searching the estate for journals and this supposed
bible,” Gideon suggested, having already given the matter some thought during
his morning bath. “Trixie burned the journals she found after my grandfather
died, and searched for the volumes my father had without any success. Kate won’t
find anything if Trixie didn’t, but it will keep her busy, or at least too busy
to come riding back to town.”

“But what if she does find something? You know she won’t just
send them to us. She’ll bring them. After reading them.”

Gideon grimaced. Yes, he could imagine Kate paging through the
journals. “I’ll send Max and Val to help her, as soon as either one or both of
them show up again. That keeps all three of them out of the way, and if any
journals are found, at least my brothers will have the sense to keep them from
her. And before you say there’s any number of flaws in this plan, remember, I
should by rights be sending you to Redgrave Manor along with Kate. I am looking
for a murderer.”

She covered his hand with her own as she looked up at him. “And
that’s still all you’re looking for, Gideon?”

“No,” he admitted, “it’s not. Trixie called my father a monster
and, before him, my grandfather. Now, all these years later, it’s up to this
generation of Redgraves to learn what those monsters may have spawned. The
scandalous Redgraves, Jessica. We all rather enjoy that reputation at times.
Reckless, daring, impulsive, laughing in the face of society’s rules. That was
the reputation we foolishly enjoyed. We had no idea how deep the scandal might
run, where and why it had its beginnings. If the Redgraves started all of this,
it’s up to the Redgraves to finish it.”

“Thank you, Gideon. Thank you for including me, for not sending
me away.”

He leaned in and kissed her on the mouth as he ran his hand
down over her breast. “No, don’t thank me. I could tell you any number of lies
about why it would be best all around for you to be here. I could say you
deserve a chance at some revenge for what happened to you. I could weave any
number of tales meant to ease my conscience. But the truth is, I’m being
entirely selfish. I’m not ready to let you go.”

The moment he said those last words, he knew he had made a
mistake.

“And when you are? Ready to let me go, that is. What then,
Gideon?”

He stood back, looked down at her, her question repeating
itself inside his head. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far. I’ve never
had to...”

Her smile came as a surprise to him, just as had her question.
“No, I didn’t think you had. You’re one of those reckless, impulsive Redgraves,
you admit it out of your own mouth. You see what you want, and you go after it
with everything that’s in you until it’s yours, and the devil take the hindmost.
But when the chase is over, once you’ve won? Once you’ve solved all the
mysteries of the Society, perhaps even found your father’s remains and returned
them to the mausoleum? Once you and I have nothing more in common than a need to
explore each other’s bodies, a need I see no reason to deny? What then? What of
this ring I wear? What of a future beyond tomorrow?”

He didn’t answer her. He couldn’t answer her. He’d done what
he’d done because it was the right thing to do. The Redgraves owed her for all
the heartache she’d suffered in her life. That he desired her had been some
fortuitous coincidence. But beyond that? Beyond tomorrow? Physical intimacy
aside, clearly it was still too early for her to believe they might find love
together, something deeper than the passion.

“I thought as much. Are all men little boys, Gideon? Even you?
Not thinking beyond the end of your noses—although I’m sure your grandmother
would say that differently? Oh, dear. What to do about Jessica, once you’ve
found what you’re looking for, once you’ve tired of her, as you’ve tired of
every one of the women you’ve bedded, hmm? This could prove interesting in the
end, couldn’t it?”

“We’re married,” he said at last, knowing his answer wasn’t an
answer at all, not to the real question Jessica had put before him. “That
is
the end of it.”

“Of course,” she said, turning her attention back to her plate.
She picked up her fork. “I’ll see to Kate. You go rouse Adam, as you said, and
tell him some home truths. As it is, he’s too eager to slip his leash. Let’s
hope you can make him understand why that isn’t a good idea. My worry is he’s
had a myriad of strange ideas drummed into his head, so he may think
otherwise.”

“Jessica, I—” Gideon shut his mouth, because he’d nearly said
something they’d both regret. Him, because he wasn’t sure if he knew what the
word meant, and Jessica, because she’d know it would be too pat to be
believable. He doubted he believed it himself. They enjoyed each other; they
both admitted that; they even liked each other. But as to more? “I do care for
you, Jessica. Beyond what we shared last night.”

“Thank you,” she said, and then took a bite of what had to be
cold eggs.

Thank you?
He’d said he cared for
her, and she’d said
thank you?
What sort of answer
was that? She may as well have thrown a bucket of cold pump water in his
face.

“You’re... Yes. I leave Kate in your capable hands, hoping I
can do even half so well with the journal-keeping nodcock. I should like to
leave for Cavendish Square by one o’clock.” He quit the room then, knowing he
should have said more, or less, or anything other than the words he’d
chosen.

And then, halfway up the stairs, he realized he was angry, and
not just with himself. They were adults, he and Jessica. They knew what they
wanted, and they’d wanted each other. They still wanted each other, unless she
had been attempting to tell him that last night—at least the parts before
Trixie’s note had arrived—had been enough for her; she hadn’t needed the ring,
the vows.

But
he
had, damn it!

It was just understanding
why
he’d
felt he needed them, that was the question, because paying a debt seemed a
pitifully lame explanation, even to him....

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

T
HE
DOWAGER
COUNTESS
turned another
page in Turner Collier’s journal and looked at Gideon over the top of a pair of
simple half-spectacles. Collier’s name and the year 1809, and beneath that,
The Society,
were all embossed on the leather
cover in gold script. She handled each page with only the tips of her slightly
trembling fingers, as if the contact could prove poisonous. “Does the fool even
know what this is?” she asked at last.

Jessica also looked to Gideon, who had been standing at the
fireplace, his face an expressionless mask. It was two o’clock, Adam was safely
in Portman Square with Seth, his new keeper, and Lady Katherine was already on
her way to Redgrave Manor, a young woman on a mission. Jessica could only wish
her new sister-in-law hadn’t seemed so eager to begin the hunt.

“He tells me he never paid all that much attention to it, as he
couldn’t understand most of what’s there. He’s only interested in his own
conquests, of which I believe half exist purely in his imagination. He only
handed over his father’s journal as some sort of afterthought. He’d had it in
his room at school, with orders to study it, when word came about his parents’
fatal
accident.
When he was packed up to come to me
in London, it came along with him. Otherwise, we’d never have known it
existed.”

“All these years gone by since I’ve seen one of these, and yet
still not enough time to lessen the pain. I believe I’ve succeeded in banishing
the memory of those days, gotten past the shame, the horror of it, and
then...this. But I suppose it has to be said.” Trixie turned another page and
sighed.

“What is it?” Jessica asked nervously, wondering if she really
wanted an answer. The dowager countess’s cheeks were so pale, she feared for
her. “Did you recognize a name?”

“I’ve recognized several. Have you shown this to your wife,
Gideon?”

“No,” he answered and took another sip from his wineglass. “I
thought we’d let you tell us what you see.”

Trixie slipped off the half-spectacles and laid them in her
lap. “I see history repeating itself,” she said sadly. “The codes remain the
same. For instance, V, of course, stands for virgin, although they saw damn few
of them. Playacting, most of it, with willing, highly paid prostitutes. Naughty
little boys, drinking, whoring, one trying to outdo the next in manufactured,
carefully orchestrated depravities. That’s all most of the hellfire clubs were,
back then, Dashwood’s included, from all I’ve heard of the thing. There was a
surfeit of deviltry, but little actual devil worship.”

“Yes, I’d assumed that,” Gideon said tightly, joining Jessica
on the couch facing Trixie’s one-armed reclining couch. “And the double V?”

“You do need to know, unfortunately. This is where your
grandfather’s Society differed, pet, and first grew ugly. The letters refer to
vestal virgins, the true virgin sacrifices. Jessica, dear, I would rather you
left the room until we call you back.”

“No. If Gideon needs to know, then so do I.”

Trixie’s mouth worked for a moment, as if she was searching for
the least offensive words concerning a subject that had few to offer. “Very
well. Vestal virgins. They’re reserved for the highest rite, when a new member
is welcomed into the thirteen which, thankfully, isn’t often. The Society takes
everything and stands it on its head. Evil for good, wanton for chaste. In
ancient Rome, vestal virgins were kept safe from the priests. In the Society,
they are for the empowerment of the priests, and become the living altar for the
induction rite. The more elevated the vestal virgin, by way of birth and social
status, the more power flows to her initiator, who is first, but definitely not
last, to approach the
altar.
I won’t say more than
that.”

Jessica laced her fingers together in her lap, her knuckles
white with strain. Gideon covered her hands with his own and murmured something
he must have supposed to be comforting. She couldn’t make out the words for the
buzzing in her ears. Her father had turned her over for such a
rite?

“Jessica, I’m sorry, but we need to know all of this,” Gideon
apologized. “What you’re saying, Trixie, is that five years ago, a new member
was to be installed?”

“And Jessica was chosen for the honor of gifting him with her
virginal power. One thing has bothered me since first you told me about what
nearly happened to you, Jessica. Turner Collier was an ass, but I find it
difficult to believe he
volunteered
his own
daughter.”

“I find everything in that journal difficult to believe,”
Gideon said, his tone bitter. “Explain the other code letters, if you please.
There’s nearly an entire alphabet of them listed inside the rear cover.”

Trixie slipped her spectacles on again and reopened the book to
the page she’d marked with her finger. “Must we? R stands for
restrained.
F-W for
free will.
The rest denote the acts themselves. I believe you can figure out those
without my help. Find a coded name and then read the strings of letters that
follow, one set per line for each encounter, all neatly dated as to time, place
and other participants. Monsters all, but quite orderly, and with steadfast
attention to detail. Your grandfather was always quite particular about
detail.”

“And these names denote guests?”

“Yes. And wives, of course, to be schooled in the arts of
submission and arousal. That also was your grandfather’s idea, as it neatly
circumvented the tiresome necessity of constantly hunting up enough prostitutes
and training them as to their roles, you understand. No damp caves or sneaking
about, not for the Society. Simply gather the members and their wives together
at one of their estates, slip into their masks and hooded cloaks, feast, drink,
partake of their indulgences and then go out shooting or fishing the next day as
the wives went back to their embroidery and water colors. Very neat, very
orderly, remarkably civilized. We are speaking of men who enjoyed their
comforts. Some of the women took to it quite well, even enthusiastically.” Her
voice went very faint. “Most didn’t. But there was no choice. What else could we
do...?”

“All right, Trixie,” Gideon said gently, forced to think about
his grandmother and mother living with such monsters, which he did not wish to
do. “I think we’ve had enough of that, and I can only apologize for the
necessity of any of this.”

“Apologize? Why?” Trixie lifted her chin in a way Jessica had
begun to admire very much. “I haven’t been a faint-at-heart miss for a
half-century and certainly lay no claims to innocence. Or did you think this
journal would be as innocuous as a book of fairy tales? Ah, and now you’re
frowning. Don’t ever worry about me, pet, I’m a practical woman, or haven’t you
noticed?”

“I’m still sorry, Grandmother,” Gideon said. “I know that
doesn’t help.”

“Actually, pet, it does. I’m sorry, as well, for so many
things. But what’s done is done, and sad to say, I would do it again. Now, back
to business. The journals are divided into parts. The first is the diary, kept
in as much detail as the member chooses. Turner was crude, but blessedly brief.
His wife, you’ll note if you care to check, is notated as F-W. As I said, some
took to it with remarkable enthusiasm. The second section is the real meat of
the volume, denoting what I’ve already told you. I can see by the dates listed
that, blessedly, they don’t meet for ceremonies nearly as often as in your
grandfather’s or father’s time—only four meetings in the entire year—although
there could be other gatherings, for other purposes.”

“Such as planning sedition,” Gideon grumbled. “For my father
the Society, the rites, were the means to an end. Isn’t that what you said?”

“One problem at a time, pet. But, yes, these rutting fools are
also powerful fools. Remember, my late houseguest occupied quite a high office
in the Royal War Office until only a few months ago when his health began to
fail, and if that doesn’t give you pause, also bear in mind Jessica’s father had
the Prince of Wales’s ear concerning more than fashion. What confuses me is I
see no high rites at all last year, even though several members died. It hardly
seems possible, but they may have made some alteration into the usual way of
inducting members?”

“No more vestal virgins?” Jessica asked, praying it was
true.

“Even sex can become tiresome, difficult as that may be to
believe. Then there’s the problem of abducting suitably high-born virgins. Six
in the space of a year? That would have to raise an alarm,” Trixie said, her
forehead wrinkling as she considered her own words. “There could be a wholesale
shifting of purpose we’re seeing here, Gideon.”

“Again, sedition.”

“I wish you’d stop saying that. With Bonaparte still running
amok through the world, the thought is unnerving. He has too many admirers, even
here in England. Worse, your search for members now borders on the impossible.
Remember, pet, that body you carried out of here last night belonged to the last
of the members from your father’s time, the last name I know for certain. Who
knows, he may have been the next one to suffer a fatal accident. He should be
grateful to me, if I saved him from that.”

“Yes,” Gideon said flatly, “a lucky man.”

Trixie laughed softly. “I know you’re being facetious, but he
did seem happy...at least up until the end. Now, stop scowling at me and listen
carefully. This last section is the most valuable, the list of member names.
Once a code name is assigned, it becomes permanent, whether it be the original
member, or handed down to the next generation, which is why family names are
used, as titles can change. The
bible
would have all
the details, everything spelled out. Find the bible, Gideon, and you’ve solved
it all, as that’s the single volume that traces the history all the way to your
grandfather’s time. Names, events, purposes, triumphs. All of it dutifully
recorded every year. It’s quite the magnificently fashioned tome, huge,
ridiculously ornate, wrapped all about with gold chains, the lock in the shape
of a devil’s head. Highly melodramatic.”

“That...” Jessica had to clear her throat, finding it difficult
to speak. “That journal is for last year. Wouldn’t my... Shouldn’t it have been
turned over to somebody, to have the information recorded in the bible?”

“Yes, that is puzzling,” Trixie said, turning the journal over
to look at its cover. “Gideon? Do you suppose the Keeper of the bible has died,
or was one of the
accidents?
Could the society be in
the midst of choosing a new leader, so that all the members still hold their
journals from last year? Could this be what all the deaths are about—a weeding
out of competition, bringing in a whole new order?”

“Or Cotsworth didn’t much care for the new leader, and had
decided to leave the Society,” Gideon suggested.

“Pet, no member ever
leaves
the
Society. Not alive. The accidents you’ve uncovered fairly well prove that point.
But what an interesting theory, killing off the competition within the Society.
Death certainly has made quite a run at the devil’s thirteen.” The dowager
duchess opened the journal once again and adjusted her spectacles, that had
slipped down her nose. “Let’s have a good look at the list as it was last year,
shall we? All right, here’s the first.
Either.
That’s Ranald
Or
ford.”

“The first death I know of,” Gideon said. “Hunting
accident.”

“Yes, I remember. And then this one.
Less.
That could only be George Dun
more,
eldest son of Walter, who was one of your grandfather’s original devil’s
thirteen. He’s the one who drowned? And, if you’re beginning to understand this
silliness, Gideon,
Soft
would be...?”

“Baron
Hard
en, who died in that
fall down the stairs. My God, it’s that simple?”

“The journals were only for the members. They aren’t all so
simple as mere opposites, but they’re not all that difficult.
Either, less, soft.
If you didn’t already know the
names, you would have no idea what this list of words refers to, now would
you?”

“And my father?” Jessica asked, leaning forward on the
couch.

Trixie ran a fingertip down the list of names. “Ah, here we
are.
Miner.
Because colliers are miners, correct?
Now let me see...” She squinted at the page. “Yes, here are the two I can add to
our list of deceased members. The Right Honorable Noddy Sel
kirk,
another second generation member, has to be
Church.
He fell afoul of a rock slide while hiking in
the Lake District this past autumn, and Cecil Appleby would have to be
Pear.
Lord knows he was shaped like one. He supposedly
succumbed to some sudden stomach ailment a few months past, although I now have
it on the highest authority his tongue had turned black.”

“Who is this highest authority?” Gideon asked.

Trixie rolled her eyes. “You’re questioning me? Cecil’s valet
is brother to my glover’s assistant, if you must know. It can take positively
hours
to fit a new glove properly, and there’s
plenty of time for gossip. It took an entire afternoon last Thursday, and an
order for six new pairs of gloves, but I’m assured my information is correct. I
had the bill sent to you.”

“I suppose I can’t quibble with that,” he said, smiling.

“As well you shouldn’t. And now poor Guy has cocked up his
toes. Here he is.
Cot,
which of course stands for
Bedworth.” She ran her finger down the list of names. “Strange. I don’t
recognize any of these. If they were still passing father to eldest son, I
should know these names. Perhaps one of you should be writing them down?”