The Paid Companion (28 page)

“When did you notice that the snuffbox was gone?” Elenora asked.

“Not until that evening when I found his body. That afternoon I had gone out to pay a call on a friend who was ill. When I returned, my husband had already come home and locked himself in his laboratory for the day, as was his custom. He did not even bother to emerge for dinner.”

“That was not unusual?” Arthur asked.

“Not at all. When he got involved in one of his experiments he could spend hours in his laboratory. But at bedtime I knocked on the door to remind him to turn down the lamps when he came upstairs. When there was no answer I grew concerned. The door was locked, as I said. I had to get a key to open it. That was when I… when I…” She broke off and blew her nose.

“When you found his body,” Elenora completed gently.

“Yes. It was some time before my nerves recovered to the point where I noticed that his snuffbox was gone. Then I realized that he must have sold it that very day. Heaven only knows what he did with the money. It was certainly not in his pockets. Perhaps he decided to pay off one of his more pressing creditors.”

There was a short silence. Elenora exchanged another knowing glance with Arthur. Neither of them spoke.

“I never thought he’d part with that snuffbox, though,” Mrs. Glentworth said after a while. “He was very attached to it.”

“Was your husband alone in the house while you were out that afternoon?” Arthur asked.

“Yes. We have a maid, but she was not here that day. In fact, she is rarely here anymore. She has not been paid in some time, you see. I suspect that she is searching for another post.”

“I see,” Arthur said.

Mrs. Glentworth gazed around with a resigned air. “I shall have to sell this house, I suppose. It is my one asset. I can only pray that I will get enough for it to pay off my husband’s creditors.”

“What will you do after you sell the house?” Elenora inquired.

“I shall be obliged to move in with my sister and her husband. I detest them both and they feel the same way about me. They have very little money to spare. It will be a miserable life, but what else can I do?”

“I shall tell you what else you can do,” Elenora said crisply. “You may sell this house to St. Merryn. He will give you more than you will obtain if you try to sell it to someone else. In addition, he will allow you the use of it for the remainder of your life.”

Mrs. Glentworth gaped at her. “I beg your pardon?” She shot a quick, disbelieving glance at Arthur. “Why would his lordship want to purchase this house for more than it is worth?”

“Because you have been extremely helpful today, and he is happy to show his gratitude.” Elenora looked at Arthur. “Is that not correct, sir?”

Arthur raised his brows, but all he said was, “Of course.”

Mrs. Glentworth looked uncertainly at Arthur. “You will do such a thing merely because I answered your questions today?”

He smiled faintly. “I actually am quite grateful, madam. Which reminds me, I have one last question that I wish to ask.”

“Yes, certainly.” Hope and relief began to lighten Mrs. Glentworth’s drawn expression.“

“Do you recall the name of your husband’s third friend?”

“Lord Treyford.” Mrs. Glentworth frowned slightly. “I never met him, but my husband mentioned him frequently enough in the old days. Treyford is dead, though. He was killed many years ago while still a young man.”

“Do you know anything else about him?” Arthur pressed. “Was he married? Is there a widow I might consult? Any children?”

Mrs. Glentworth thought about that and then shook her head. “I do not believe so. In the early days my husband made several references to the fact that Treyford was too devoted to his researches to be bothered with the demands of a wife and family.” She sighed. “Indeed, I believe he was quite envious of Treyford’s freedom from such obligations.”

“Did your husband make any other comments about Treyford?” Arthur asked.

“He used to say that Lord Treyford was far and away the most brilliant of their little group. He once told me that if Treyford had lived, England might have had its second Newton.”

“I see,” Arthur said.

“They thought themselves so clever, you know.” Mrs. Glentworth clasped her hands very tightly in her lap. Some of her anger returned to her face. “They were sure that they would all change the world with their experiments and their elevated conversations about science. But what good did their study of natural philosophy do, I ask you? None at all. And now they’re all gone, aren’t they?”

“So it seems,” Elenora said quietly.

Arthur put down his unfinished tea. “You have been very helpful, Mrs. Glentworth. If you will excuse us, we must be on our way. I will have my man-of-affairs call upon you at once to settle the business of the house and your creditors.”

“Except for
her,
of course,” Mrs. Glentworth concluded harshly.
“She’s
still alive. Outlived them all, didn’t she?”

Elenora was very careful not to look at Arthur. She was aware that he was standing just as still as she was.

“She?” Arthur repeated without inflection.

“I always thought of her as some sort of sorceress.” Mrs. Glentworth’s voice was low and grim. “Perhaps she really did place a curse on them. Wouldn’t have put it past her.”

“I don’t understand,” Elenora said. “Was there a lady among your husband’s circle of close acquaintances all those years ago?”

Another wave of anger flashed across Mrs. Glentworth’s face. “They called her their Goddess of Inspiration. My husband and his friends never missed her Wednesday afternoon salons in the old days. When she summoned them, they rushed to her townhouse. Sat about drinking port and brandy and talking of natural philosophy as though they were all great, learned men. Trying to impress her, I suspect.”

“Who was she?” Arthur asked.

Mrs. Glentworth was so lost in her unpleasant memories that she seemed confused by the question. “Why, Lady Wilmington, of course. They were all her devoted slaves. Now they are all dead, and she is the only one left. A rather odd twist of fate, is it not?”

***

A short time later Arthur handed Elenora up into the carriage. His mind was occupied with the information that Mrs. Glentworth had just given them. That did not stop him from appreciating the elegant curve of Elenora’s attractive backside when she leaned over slightly and tightened her skirts to step into the cab.

“You managed to make that visit cost me a pretty penny,” he said mildly, closing the door and sitting down across from her.

“Come now, sir, you know very well that even had I not been present, you would have offered to assist Mrs. Glentworth. Admit it.”

“I admit nothing.” He settled back into the seat and turned his attention to the conversation that had just been concluded in the shabby little parlor. “The fact that Glentworth died in a laboratory accident only a few weeks after my great-uncle was murdered indicates that the killer may have struck not twice but three times.”

“Glentworth, your great-uncle, and Ibbitts.” She folded her arms beneath her breasts as though she had felt a sudden chill. “Perhaps this mysterious Lady Wilmington will be able to tell us something of value. Are you acquainted with her, sir?”

“No, but I intend to remedy that state of affairs this very afternoon, if possible.”

‘Ah, yes, just as you did with Mrs. Glentworth.“

“Indeed.”

“Your title and wealth certainly have one or two useful advantages.”

“They open doors so that I may ask questions.” He shrugged. “But unfortunately they do not guarantee that I will get honest answers.”

Nor were they enough to win a lady who was determined to go into trade, maintain her independence and live her life on her own terms, he thought.

27

“Oh, my, yes, I remember those Wednesday afternoon salons as though I had held the last one only this past week.” A distant, almost melancholic expression veiled Lady Wilmington’s blue eyes. “We were all so young, so very passionate in those days. Science was our new alchemy, and those of us who were engaged in exploring its secrets saw ourselves as the inventors of the modern age.”

Elenora sipped tea from the paper-thin china cup and surreptitiously surveyed the elegant drawing room while she listened to Glare, Lady Wilmington talk about the past. The situation here was quite opposite the one that existed across town in Mrs. Glentworth’s small, poorly furnished parlor, she thought. Lady Wilmington was clearly not suffering from any financial difficulties.

The drawing room was decorated in a version of the Chinoiserie style that had first come into fashion several years earlier. It had been well-maintained in all its original lush, sensual glory. The dark, exotic atmosphere produced by the midnight blue and gold flower-patterned wallpaper, the intricately designed carpet and the ornate, japanned furnishings was brightened here and there by beautifully framed mirrors. It was a room designed to appeal to the senses.

Elenora could well imagine their wealthy hostess holding court in such surroundings. Lady Wilmington had to be fast approaching seventy years of age, but she was expensively dressed in the current mode. Her dark gold, high-waisted gown looked as if it had been designed to be worn in this richly hued room. The fine bones of her face and shoulders testified to the fact that she had once been a great beauty. Her hair was silver now, and some of it was surely false, but it was styled in an extremely elaborate chignon.

In Elenora’s experience, the older a woman got, the more jewelry she tended to wear. Lady Wilmington was no exception to that rule. Pearls dangled from her ears. Her wrists and fingers glittered with an assortment of diamonds, rubies and emeralds.

It was the gold locket around Lady Wilmington’s throat that caught Elenora’s eye, however. Unlike the rings it was surprisingly plain in style. It appeared to be a very personal keepsake. Perhaps it held a miniature of one of her children or her deceased husband.

Arthur wandered over to the nearest window and looked out into the perfectly manicured gardens as though whatever he saw out there fascinated him.

“Then you remember my great-uncle, Glentworth and Treyford?” he said.

“Very well, indeed.” Lady Wilmington raised the fingers of one hand to the gold locket at her throat. “They were all dedicated to science. They lived for their experiments the way painters and sculptors live for their art.” She lowered her hand, smiling sadly. “But they are all gone now. The last one to pass on was Glentworth. I understand your great-uncle was killed by a house burglar a few weeks ago, sir. My condolences.”

“I do not believe that he was murdered by an ordinary thief he chanced to encounter in the course of a burglary,” Arthur said evenly. “I am certain that he was killed by someone connected to the old days when the gentlemen of the Society of the Stones frequented your Wednesday salons.”

He still appeared to be fixed on some sight outside in the gardens, but Elenora was watching their hostess closely. She noticed the tiny tremor that went through Lady Wilmington’s shoulders as Arthur delivered his flat conclusion. Once again her fingers brushed against the locket.

“Impossible,” Lady Wilmington said. “How can that be?”

“I do not have the answer to that question yet, but I intend to find it.” Arthur turned slowly to face her. “My great-uncle is not the only victim of this villain. I believe that Glentworth’s death was no accident, either. I am convinced that the same man killed both of them, and my former butler as well.”

“Good heavens, sir.” Lady Wilmington’s voice quivered. Her teacup rattled when she put it down on the saucer. “I don’t know what to say. That is… that is unbelievable. Your butler, too, you say? But why would anyone kill him?”

“To silence him after gaining information from him.”

Lady Wilmington shook her head once as though to clear it. “About what, pray tell?”

“My inquiries into George Lancaster’s murder, of course. The killer is aware now that I am hunting him. He wished to discover what I had learned thus far.” Arthur’s jaw tightened. “Which is not much. Certainly not worth a man’s death.”

“Indeed not.” Lady Wilmington shuddered.

“But this villain is not thinking in a wholly rational manner,” Arthur told her. “I believe he killed my great-uncle and Glentworth to obtain the red stones set into their snuffboxes.”

Lady Wilmington frowned. “I recall those extraordinary gems very well. Quite fascinating. Treyford felt that they were unusually dark rubies, but Glentworth and Lancaster believed that they had been crafted in ancient times from some sort of unique glass.”

“Did you ever see my great-uncle’s lapidary?” Arthur asked. “The one he brought back from Italy along with the stones?”

“Yes, indeed.” She sighed wistfully. “What of it?”

“I believe the villain we are hunting is sufficiently mad as to believe that he can build the infernal device described in the
Book of Stones,”
Arthur said.

Lady Wilmington stared at him, momentarily openmouthed with astonishment.

“Surely not,” she finally said with great conviction. “That is absolute nonsense. I cannot believe that even a madman would take the instructions in that old book seriously.”

Arthur looked back at her over his shoulder. “Did the three men ever discuss the machine?”

“Yes, of course.” Lady Wilmington collected herself. Her voice steadied. “The lapidary named it Jove’s Thunderbolt. We discussed the device on several occasions. Treyford and the others actually tried to construct it. But in the end, they all concluded that it could never be made to function.”

“What caused them to be so certain of that?” Elenora asked.

Lady Wilmington massaged her temples with the fingers of one hand. “I do not recall all of the details. Something to do with the difficulty of applying the energy of an intense fire into the heart of the stones in order to excite the latent energy of the gems. They all agreed in the end that there was no way to accomplish that task.”

“I am aware that my great-uncle came to that conclusion,” Arthur said. “But are you sure that Glentworth and Treyford did also?”