Late for the Wedding (15 page)

“Mmm.”

“Lavinia, I can see that you are disturbed. Did you and Mrs. Dove discuss some other matter that you have not yet mentioned?”

“Joan asked me if I thought that she was betraying her husband’s memory by forming a liaison with Lord Vale. Evidently her daughter is quite distraught about the relationship.”

“I see.” Whatever it was he had been expecting to hear, this was not it. “What did you tell her?”

“I reminded her that her husband had loved her very deeply. I told her that I was certain he would have wanted her to be happy again, just as she would have wanted him to find happiness if she had been taken first.”

“Indeed,” he said, for lack of anything more inspired. What the devil was this about? “Well, I’m certain that you reassured her. Now, then, Mrs. Chilton mentioned that she is going out to shop for some items that she needs for dinner. What do you say we—”

“Tobias?”

“What is it?” he asked, deeply cautious now.

“If anything were to happen to me and you were left alone, I would want you to find happiness.”

Of their own accord, his hands clamped fiercely around her elegantly curved shoulders. He felt himself turn to stone at the thought of her being snatched from him by death. A crimson haze filled his head. It occurred to him that he would likely go mad if he ever lost her.

“I would want you to find happiness,” she reiterated softly, apparently unaware of the impact her words were having on him.
“But not with Aspasia Gray.”

For some reason those last words freed him from the terrible spell. He discovered that he could breathe again. He used his hands to turn her around to face him.

“I cannot imagine wanting any other woman the way I want you,” he said. His voice sounded raw and harsh, even to his own ears.

“Oh, Tobias.” She put her arms around him and pressed her head against his shoulder. “I do love you so.”

“I am delighted to hear that.” He kissed her hair. Her scent filled his head, driving out the last remnants of the red haze. “But, please, if you have any regard for me at all, never, ever talk about being taken from me. I cannot bear the thought.”

Her arms tightened around him. “Just as I cannot bear the thought of losing you.”

He folded her close, letting the sunlight warm them both. After a while, he drew her out of the parlor and up the stairs.

Later he raised himself up on his elbow and glanced at his watch on the bedside table. A quarter past four. Time to get dressed. It was becoming harder and harder to leave her bed, he thought. Reluctantly, he sat up and swung his feet to the floor.

“Tobias?”

He turned to look at her. She was lying back against the pillows, her eyes very green in the afternoon light.

“I must go, my love. Emeline will be home in less than forty-five minutes. I am to meet with Anthony at five. With luck he will have some news of the rings.”

“I know.” She folded her arms behind her head. The movement caused one neatly shaped breast to escape the sheet. “Tobias, I gave Joan the right advice, did I not? Don’t you think that Dove would have wanted her to find happiness with someone else after he was gone?”

He did not reply. Instead, he leaned down and kissed her bare breast. Her skin was soft and warm from his lovemaking. He caught a trace of his own scent on her and knew a rush of fierce, unbridled possessiveness. His woman.

She frowned. “You do agree with me, don’t you? About how Fielding Dove would have felt in this situation?”

He looked at her for a long time and then very deliberately he leaned over her, caging her between his arms. He bent his head and brushed his mouth across hers.

“I cannot speak for Fielding Dove,” he said. “But I can promise you this, Lavinia. If you should ever find with another man what we have found together, I would come back from the grave to haunt you.”

Chapter 13

At half past five that afternoon, Tobias was back in his study, feet propped on the corner of his desk. The hour in Lavinia’s bedchamber had relieved some of the tension that had plagued him since the events at Beaumont Castle, but he could feel the sense of urgency returning as he listened to Anthony’s report.

“There were no recent sales or thefts of memento-mori rings at any of the antiquities shops we’ve checked thus far.” Anthony examined his notes. “We have several more dealers left to question, however. Do you want us to continue our interviews tomorrow?”

“Yes.” Tobias studied the list of dealers they had compiled. “Those damned rings are among the few real leads we’ve got. The killer had to obtain them somewhere. What about the blond wigs?”

“Emeline and I had enough time to talk to only two wig-makers yesterday afternoon. One of them did take a commission for a blond wig in recent months.”

Tobias looked up swiftly. “Did you get the name of the client?”

“Yes, but it won’t do you any good. The wig-maker has known her for years. He described her as very elderly and quite eccentric. She lives in the country and only comes to Town twice a year to shop. I doubt that she’s your professional murderer, Tobias.”

“Damnation.” Tobias went back to contemplating the list for a moment longer and then he deliberately tore off a section at the bottom. “You and Miss Emeline will finish questioning the antiquities dealers. Mrs. Lake and I will take the remainder of the wig-makers. With all four of us working on the project, we should be able to speak with every establishment on this list within the next two or three days.”

“Very well.” Anthony sat back in his chair. “Whitby said you are planning to meet with Smiling Jack at the Gryphon tonight. Do you want me to accompany you? That is not the safest of neighborhoods at night.”

“No, that won’t be necessary. I’ll take a hackney and pay the driver to wait.”

Anthony gave him a curious look. “Why seek Smiling Jack’s assistance on this case? From what you’ve told me, the previous Memento-Mori Man had nothing to do with the sort of common criminal who comes out of the stews. Do you think this new killer is different?”

“No. But it struck me last night that we actually knew very little about Zachary Elland. He had no family, apparently. After his death, no one came forward to collect his personal effects. There was, in fact, no trace of him in Society. After he was gone it was as though he had never existed. I wondered if perhaps I was overlooking some aspect of his past that might give us a clue.”

“I see.” Anthony uncoiled from his chair and started across the room. “Good luck to you.” He paused at the door and glanced back with a small frown. “Tobias, I have a question to ask. It is of a, uh, somewhat personal nature.”

“What is it?”

“I realize that Fullerton’s murder upset your plans, but before he fell off that roof, did you and Mrs. Lake have an opportunity to discuss your private affairs?”

Tobias slowly lowered the severed sheet of paper. “Our what?”

Anthony reddened a little, but he made no move to slip out the door. “Emeline and I both naturally assumed that you invited Mrs. Lake to accompany you to the country-house party because you wanted to take advantage of the opportunity to bring up the subject of your intentions.”

“What intentions would those be?” Tobias asked evenly.

Disapproval coalesced in Anthony’s eyes. “Never say that you did not even mention the matter.”

“What the devil are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about whether or not you asked Mrs. Lake to marry you, of course.”

“Bloody hell,” Tobias said softly.

“What happened?” Anthony’s frown turned to alarm. “Good lord, man, never say that you lost your nerve?”

“The status of my intentions toward Mrs. Lake is none of your affair.”

“The two of you have been seeing a great deal of each other privately for some months now.”

“What of it? We are partners.”

“Partners? What about the business of sending Mrs. Chilton out for currants?”

Tobias could feel himself turning surly. “Mrs. Chilton’s currant tarts are far and away the best I have ever tasted.”

“This has nothing to do with Mrs. Chilton’s currant tarts and well you know it.” Anthony planted his booted feet a little apart on the carpet. “Mrs. Lake is a respectable lady. It’s obvious that the two of you have formed a great attachment for each other. Don’t you think it’s time you did the gentlemanly thing?”

“You know damned well that I am not yet in a position to ask Mrs. Lake to marry me. I invested everything I’ve got in those shares in Crackenburne’s shipping venture. Until that bloody vessel returns to port, I have nothing to offer her.”

Anthony assumed a sympathetic air. “I know you’re concerned about your finances. I am equally concerned about my own. But as it happens, I have been thinking about our situation and I believe I have come up with a solution that will solve all our problems.”

“What do you suggest we do?” Tobias tossed the list of wig-makers onto the desk. “Find ourselves an alchemist who can transmute lead into gold?”

Anthony swept his arm out, vaguely indicating the study. “The way I see it, the answer is this house.”

“There is nothing wrong with this house. I own it. It is, in point of fact, my most substantial asset.”

“Yes, I know,” Anthony said smoothly. “While I, on the other hand, can barely manage the rent on my rooms in Jasper Street.”

“You cannot place the blame for your inadequate lodgings on me. It was your decision to move out. I believe you said something about wanting your own rooms. As I recall, there was a good deal of talk about needing private quarters where you could entertain your friends at all hours of the day or night.”

“The thing is, while my lodgings are adequate for a single gentleman, I could not possibly ask Emeline to set up housekeeping in such a small space. She is accustomed to that very nice little house in Claremont Lane.”

“On that we agree.”

“The way I see it, Tobias, there is one residence too many here.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I have worked it out and it is really very simple. If you were to do the honorable thing and marry Mrs. Lake, the pair of you could move into Number Seven Claremont Lane together. I could give up my lodgings on Jasper Street, marry Miss Emeline, and move into this house with her. You see how neat and tidy it would be for all of us?”

Tobias suddenly understood.

“My
house
.” He took his heels down off the desk and got to his feet very deliberately. “You’re trying to get your hands on my house so that you can ask Miss Emeline to marry you. That’s what this is all about, isn’t it?”

Anthony took a step back toward the door, palm up in a placating manner. “Now, Tobias, there is no call to lose your temper. I thought it was a very sensible plan, one that would benefit all of us. In addition, it would enable me to stop paying rent. Also, we would not need a third housekeeper. You could take Whitby with you, and Mrs. Chilton could come to live with Emeline and me.”

“If you think for one moment,” Tobias said very softly, “that I am going to allow you to take possession of my only major asset, you are out of your mind. Now, I suggest that you get back to the business for which I am paying you a good deal more than you deserve before I decide to hire another assistant.”

“Tobias, please listen for a moment.”

“Go.” Tobias aimed a finger at the door. “Find out who sold those damned memento-mori rings to a professional murderer. Do I make myself clear?”

“Perfectly.”

Anthony whipped open the door and went swiftly out into the hall.

Tobias waited until he heard the muffled sound of the front door closing before he slowly sat down.

Morosely, he contemplated the study. It was filled with the things he had acquired over the years—his books, globe, telescope, and brandy decanter.

This house was not only his greatest financial asset, it was his home. He had purchased it with the help of a loan from Crackenburne shortly before he met Ann and her younger brother, Anthony.

He and Ann had had five happy years in this house before he lost her and his stillborn son to childbed. He and Anthony had endured their shared grief together under this roof.

Anthony had been thirteen at the time of his beloved sister’s death. Her passing left him bereft. He felt himself to be utterly alone in the world. His mother had expired when he was eight, not long after his wastrel father had been killed in a quarrel over a disputed hand of cards.

Anthony and Ann had gone to live with their only remaining relatives, a ghastly aunt and uncle. They had lived in that grim household for only a few months before the aunt arranged to rid herself of her unwanted burden by forcing Ann into a compromising position with Tobias. Her goal had been to marry off her niece and then place her nephew in an orphanage.

Tobias had taken one look at the desperate plight of Ann and her small brother and determined to rescue them both. He had not intended to marry Ann that day when he took her and Anthony away from their aunt’s house, but he had soon changed his mind. Ann was not only very beautiful, she was gentle and kind, the sort of woman the poets described as ethereal.

The feelings that she had aroused in him had been tender and protective. He had always been careful to treat her with the care he would have given a delicate blossom. Looking back, he knew that he had kept his passions in check with her, ever conscious of the need for restraint. He recalled no quarrels between them. He had never lost his temper with her.

But in the end he had been unable to protect her. Perhaps, as Anthony had often observed, Ann had, indeed, been too good for this world.

She may well have gone to a better place, but Tobias and Anthony had been left to deal with the harsh realities of this world. Anthony initially fought his fears the only way he knew how: with anger. He had assumed the defiant air that only a thirteen-year-old boy could manage and demanded to know when he should pack his bags and leave.

You’ll not be wanting me hanging around now that she’s gone. It was Ann you loved. You only took me in because she would not be parted from me. I understand. I’m not your responsibility anymore. I can look after myself.

Tobias had worked hard to reassure the desperate, frightened boy, even as he himself dealt with what he now recognized as a form of melancholia. After Ann was buried he had been consumed with his feelings of guilt. He was all too aware that it was his passion—controlled and restrained as it had been—that had got her with child and in the end had brought about her death. There were days when he told himself that he should never have wed her. He’d had no right to expose her to the perils and risks of the marriage bed. She had never been intended for such earthy pursuits.

He and Anthony had blundered around for a long time in this house, two wounded creatures swimming together through a sunless sea of emotions. But life made its inexorable demands. Dragging Anthony with him, Tobias had set about meeting those demands. Together they had found a curious solace in daily routine.

Eventually, in a process that was so gradual that neither noticed it was taking place, he and Anthony had made their way into more tranquil waters. This house had seen them both through the long struggle.

But today, sitting here in his study, surrounded with his books, globe, telescope, and brandy decanter, he found himself thinking about how much he had come to look forward to stretching out his legs in front of Lavinia’s cozy hearth.

At ten-thirty that evening, dressed as a rough-looking laborer, he sat in Smiling Jack’s office, drinking his host’s excellent smuggled brandy. The noise from the adjoining tavern was muffled by the heavy wall.

Jack had opened the Gryphon two years ago when he retired from his career as a smuggler. During the war, he had imported information on French shipping and military movements as well as illegal brandy. Tobias, in his role as a spy, had been a steady customer.

They came from very different worlds, but somehow a strong bond had been forged between them. It was based on mutual respect as well as mutual profit.

Their association had continued after each of them had gone on to new careers. Jack’s tavern had proved to be an excellent collecting point for the streams of rumors and gossip that swirled out of London’s criminal underworld. And, in his new line as a private-inquiry agent, Tobias frequently found himself in the market for information from that world.

“The Memento-Mori Man.” Smiling Jack lounged his great bulk in his massive chair. He absently scratched the grisly scar that curved from the corner of his mouth to a point just below his ear. “Would that be the first one or the second one you’re talking about?”

“I came here to talk about the second man, Zachary Elland, but I’ll take any information I can get on the subject of either Memento-Mori Man.”

“I’m not sure I can help you.” Jack cradled his brandy glass in his big hands. “There were rumors about a gentleman murderer when Elland was active but, as you well know, he operated in a better part of town and mingled with a more exclusive sort. As far as I know he never dipped into the stews for his clients, his victims, or his pleasures. In that way, at least, I reckon you could say that he was like the one who came before him.”

Tobias paused in the act of swallowing some of the brandy. Slowly he lowered the glass. “You’d have been a small boy when the tales about the first Memento-Mori Man began to circulate. What do you remember?”

“They used to talk about him in hushed whispers. It was said he was so skillful that no one ever knew how many commissions he’d taken in the course of his career. The murders all looked like accidents or suicides or heart attacks. He was a legend.”

“Because he got away with murder?”

“No, because it was said that in his own way, he was a man of honor. He only took commissions for those he thought deserved to die. According to the tales we heard, he preferred to hunt the vicious and the vile in Society—the wealthy, powerful sort who would have otherwise got away with their crimes. He would kill for you, for a price, but only if he decided that it was a matter of rough justice.”