Two
Some months later . . .
“Dreadfully warm in here, isn’t it?” Maud Ashton remarked. She fanned herself vigorously with one gloved hand and used the other to raise a glass of lemonade to her lips. “It’s a wonder that the ladies do not faint dead away on the dance floor.”
“Yes, it is quite warm,” Beatrice said. “But the dance floor has the French doors that open out onto the garden. The dancers have the benefit of the cool evening air. I expect that is why they are not collapsing from the heat.”
She and Maud, both hired companions, were ensconced on a banquette in a quiet alcove just off the ballroom. The bitterness embedded in Maud’s voice was unmistakable. Beatrice was not unsympathetic. She had spent only a short time in the other woman’s company tonight, but that was long enough to hear a great deal of Maud’s unhappy story. It was a sad tale but not an uncommon one among those who were condemned to careers as paid companions.
Maud had made it clear that she had suffered a fate worse than death—a catastrophic loss of social status due to her husband’s bankruptcy. Following his financial crisis, Mr. Ashton had sailed for America to make his fortune in the Wild West. He had never been heard from again. Maud had found herself—alone and middle-aged—saddled with her husband’s debts. There had been no choice but to become a professional companion.
Maud’s world had once been very different. Her marriage to a wealthy, upper-class gentleman had given her entrée into the fashionable crowd that she was now obliged to watch from afar. There was a time when she, too, had worn elegant gowns, sipped champagne and waltzed until dawn beneath glittering chandeliers. Now she was forced to content herself with a position on the fringes of Society. Professional companions accompanied their employers, who were often widows or spinsters, everywhere—soirées, country-house parties, lectures and the theater. But, like governesses, they were virtually invisible to those around them.
The world could be a harsh place for an impoverished woman who faced it alone. There were very few respectable options when it came to employment. Maud had every right to be resentful of her fate, Beatrice thought. But on the other hand, evidently no one had vowed to hunt her down for unknown reasons. No one had murdered an innocent man in the process of that hunt.
“I vow, this ball is interminable,” Maud grumbled. She checked the watch that dangled alongside a small bottle of smelling salts from her chatelaine. “Dear me, it’s only midnight. We’ll likely be here until three. And then it will be on to another ball until five. It’s enough to make you want to jump off a bridge. I believe I’ll just have another nip of gin to liven up this dreadful lemonade.”
She reached into her satchel and took out a flask. When she started to pour the gin into the lemonade, however, the glass slipped from her fingers. The contents splashed over the dull gray skirts of Beatrice’s gown.
“Oh, dear,” Maud said. “I am so sorry.”
Beatrice stood quickly and shook out the heavy folds of her gown. “Quite all right. No harm done. It was an old dress.”
She owned newer, more expensive and far more fashionable gowns, but she reserved the oldest dresses in her wardrobe for those times when she was on assignment from the Flint & Marsh Agency.
“How clumsy of me.” Maud whipped out a handkerchief and made a fuss, trying to blot the damp patch of the gown.
Disaster struck in the blink of an eye. The unnerving tingle on the back of Beatrice’s neck was the only warning she got that something had gone badly awry.
She whirled to survey the dance floor. Daphne Pennington had vanished.
In other, more normal circumstances, the situation would not have been unduly alarming. It certainly would not be the first time that a reckless young lady had slipped out into the gardens for a few stolen kisses.
But tonight the circumstances were anything but normal. What made the situation a thousand times more ominous was that the man with the cane and the scarred face had also disappeared.
She had become aware of him a few minutes before when she had sensed that she was being watched. She had immediately searched the crowded room to see who might be looking at her. No one ever looked twice at a paid companion.
She had locked eyes with the scarred man leaning on an ebony-and-steel cane. It was a nerve-shattering encounter because deep down she had experienced a strange, intense sense of recognition. But she was positive she had never met him in her life.
He was not the sort of man a woman could forget. It wasn’t the violent slash that had destroyed the left side of his fierce, sharply planed face or the fact that he used a walking stick that made him so memorable. Rather, it was the impression of power that emanated from him. She was quite certain that there was a steel core inside the stranger and implacable promise in his eyes. She could easily envision him with a fiery sword instead of the cane.
For a heartbeat or two, during which she could not breathe, he had regarded her with a steady, focused gaze. Then, as if he was satisfied by whatever he had seen, he appeared to lose interest. He had turned and moved off down an empty hall. It was clear from the hitch in his stride and the stiffness in his left leg that the cane was not a fashionable affectation. He depended on it.
She had started breathing again but her senses remained unsettled. Her intuition told her that she had not seen the last of the man with the cane. The realization was deeply disturbing but not nearly as unsettling as the knowledge that some part of her wanted to encounter him again. She told herself it was because she needed to know what it was about her disguise that had caught his eye. Her objective, after all, was to remain invisible.
But in that moment she had to stay focused on her assignment. Daphne and the scar-faced man were not the only ones who were now missing from the ballroom. Daphne’s dance partner, Richard Euston, a handsome young gentleman who had been introduced to Daphne by a friend of the Pennington family, was also gone.
The situation was deteriorating rapidly.
“Excuse me,” Beatrice said. “It appears Miss Pennington has taken herself off to a withdrawing room. Perhaps she tore her gown or wore a hole in her dancing slippers. I must go and see if she requires my assistance.”
“But your dress,” Maud exclaimed anxiously. “It will be ruined.”
Beatrice ignored her. She picked up her satchel and went swiftly along the hall.
A ruined dress would be a disaster for most paid companions whose wardrobes were extremely limited, but it was the least of her concerns tonight. It was time for her to earn the excellent salary that the Flint & Marsh Agency paid her. She prayed she was not too late.
Daphne and Euston had been dancing near the French doors when she had last seen them. It was likely that they had slipped out of the room via that route.
Daphne’s grandmother, Lady Pennington, was on the far side of the ballroom chatting with three other ladies. There was no way to get to her to tell her what had happened without wasting precious time forging a path through the crowd.
Beatrice had studied all of the exits from the ballroom an hour earlier when she and Lady Pennington and Daphne had arrived. At the time she had concluded that if someone was intent on compromising Daphne, as her grandmother feared, the villain would most likely lure his victim out into the night-shrouded gardens.
At the end of the dimly lit hallway Beatrice opened the door she had noted earlier. She stepped out into the summer night and paused briefly to orient herself.
A high wall surrounded the extensive gardens. Colorful lanterns illuminated a section around the terrace, but she stood in an unlit area near the gardener’s shed. The gate that opened onto the narrow lane behind the grounds was not far away. Anyone attempting to abduct a young lady would no doubt have a closed carriage waiting. The ballroom terrace was some distance away from her position. If she moved quickly she could get to the gate before Daphne and her abductor reached it.
If she moved quickly and if she was correct in her conclusions. So many ifs. It was quite possible that she was mistaken. Perhaps Daphne was at that very moment enjoying a light flirtation with the very attractive Mr. Euston, who intended no harm.
But that did not explain the disappearance of the scarred stranger. Her intuition told her that it was not a coincidence that he, too, had vanished.
She set her satchel beside the step, whisked up the hem of her gown and removed the small stocking gun from the dainty holster strapped just above her knee. She hurried toward the gate along an aisle formed by two rows of tall hedges. Her gray dress helped her blend into the shadows.
When she neared the gate she heard the muffled sound of a horse stamping a shod hoof in the lane on the other side of the wall.
She came to the end of the twin hedges and stopped. In the moonlight she could see that the gate was partially open. As she feared, a small, fast carriage stood waiting. There would be a second man with the vehicle.
At that moment she heard the soft thud of rapid footsteps coming toward her through the garden. Whoever had taken Daphne would arrive in a matter of seconds. She could not deal with two villains simultaneously. It occurred to her that if she managed to close and lock the gate, the man with the carriage would not be able to come to his associate’s assistance.
She rushed toward the gate and got it shut before the driver of the carriage realized what was happening. She slammed the lock into place and whirled around just as Richard Euston burst out of the shadows.
Euston did not see her at first because he was concentrating on keeping a grip on Daphne, who was struggling valiantly. Her hands were bound in front of her and there was a gag in her mouth.
Beatrice aimed the small gun at Euston. “Release Miss Pennington or I will shoot. At this range I cannot miss.”
“What the bloody hell?” Euston stopped abruptly. His astonishment turned to anger. “You’re just the companion. What the devil do you think you’re doing? Open the gate.”
“Let her go,” Beatrice said.
“The hell I will,” Euston said. “She’s worth a fortune. Drop that silly little gun. We both know you won’t pull that trigger. You’re a paid companion, not a bodyguard.”
“I never bluff,” Beatrice said.
She cocked the pistol and aimed the barrel at Euston’s midsection. He seemed stunned that she actually intended to shoot him, but he recovered quickly and yanked Daphne in front of himself to use as a shield.
A shadow emerged out of the darkness behind Euston, who never saw the black-gloved hand that wrapped around his throat and tightened briefly.
Unable to breathe, let alone speak, Euston released Daphne and struggled to free himself. But it was finished in seconds. He collapsed, unconscious, to the ground.
The crack of a whip sounded on the far side of the high wall. Hooves clattered and carriage wheels rattled on paving stones. The vehicle took off in a frantic rush, the driver evidently having realized that something had gone very wrong with the abduction plan.
Daphne rushed to Beatrice’s side. They both watched the man with the ebony-and-steel cane move into the moonlight. Beatrice kept the weapon aimed at him.
“Is it common for paid companions to go about armed?” he asked. His voice was dark and low and stunningly calm, as if he was accustomed to confronting pistols. As if he found her an interesting curiosity.
“Who are you?” Beatrice asked. “If you think to take over where Euston left off, you had better think again.”
“I assure you, I have no intention of abducting Miss Pennington. You are the one I wish to speak with.”
“Me?” Shocked, she could only stare at him, something akin to panic sleeting through her.
“Allow me to introduce myself,” he continued in that same calm, controlled tone. “Joshua Gage, at your service. We have mutual friends in Lantern Street.”
She experienced an almost overwhelming surge of relief. He was not referring to her days with Fleming’s Academy of the Occult. This was about Lantern Street. She forced herself to concentrate, trying to remember if she had encountered anyone named Gage in the course of her work for Flint & Marsh. She came up blank.
“Whom do you know in Lantern Street?” she asked warily.
“Your employers, Mrs. Flint and Mrs. Marsh, will vouch for me.”
“Unfortunately, neither is conveniently at hand to provide introductions,” she pointed out.
“Perhaps this will do.” He reached into the pocket of his coat and took out a card. “I realize you cannot make this out in the moonlight, but when you return to the ballroom you will be able to read it. If you take it around to Lantern Street in the morning, Mrs. Flint and Mrs. Marsh will recognize the seal. Tell them Mr. Smith’s Messenger sends his regards.”
“Who is Mr. Smith?”
“My former employer.”
A strange feeling whispered through her, stirring her senses. She suddenly got the disturbing premonition that taking the card would change her life forever in ways she could not begin to imagine. There would be no going back. Ridiculous, she thought.
She took a few cautious steps across the damp grass and plucked the card from his fingers. For an instant both of them were touching the crisp, white pasteboard. A tiny shiver of awareness arced across the back of her neck like an electrical spark. She told herself that it was her imagination, but she could not escape the intuitive certainty that her world had just turned upside down. She should be worried, perhaps frightened. Instead, she was unaccountably thrilled.
A thrilled idiot, she thought. After all, there was no doubt in her mind that Mr. Smith’s Messenger was a very dangerous man.
She glanced at the card. There was a name on it—presumably that of the mysterious Mr. Smith—but it was impossible to decipher in the moonlight. With her ungloved fingertips, however, she could feel the raised imprint of an embossed seal. She hesitated and then slipped the card into the pocket of her dress.
“Morning is a long time off and there are decisions to be made tonight,” she said, trying to sound authoritative.
She sensed that the balance of power was shifting between herself and Mr. Gage. That was not a good turn of events. One misstep and she knew that he would take full control of the situation, assuming he had not already done so. This was her case and Daphne was her responsibility. She had to stay in command.
“Very true, but detailed explanations will take a good deal more time than we have to spare,” Joshua said. “You must return Miss Pennington to the ballroom before there is any gossip.”
He was right. Daphne was her first priority. The mystery of Mr. Gage would have to wait. She had to make a decision and she had to make it immediately.
“I suppose your acquaintance with the proprietors of Flint and Marsh must serve as a character reference tonight,” she said.
“Thank you.” Joshua sounded amused.
She uncocked the pistol and turned away to discreetly whip up her petticoats. She returned the little gun to the stocking holster and lowered her gown.
When she straightened she saw that Daphne was staring at her, fascinated. Joshua was watching also, his hands stacked on the hilt of his cane. His expression was unreadable but she got the odd impression that he found the notion that she went about armed rather charming.
Most men would have been beyond shocked, she thought. They would have been appalled.
She concentrated on removing Daphne’s gag and untying her hands.
“Miss Lockwood,” Daphne gasped when she could speak. “I do not know how to thank you.” She turned to Joshua Gage. “And you, sir. I have never been so terrified in my life. To think that Grandmother was right all along, someone did, indeed, intend to compromise me. I never dreamed it might be Mr. Euston. He seemed like such a fine gentleman.”
“It’s over now,” Beatrice said gently. “Do you feel faint?”
“Good heavens, I’m not going to faint.” Daphne’s smile was shaky but determined. “I would not dare succumb to such weakness after watching you defend me with a gun. You are an inspiration, Miss Lockwood.”
“Thank you, but I fear Mr. Gage is correct,” Beatrice said. “We must return to the ballroom immediately or there will be talk. It takes so very little to shred a young lady’s reputation.”
“My gown is in good condition but I fear my dancing slippers have been ruined,” Daphne said. “They are soaked through and there are grass stains all over them. Everyone will know that I have just spent a great deal of time out in the gardens.”
“That is precisely why paid companions who accompany young ladies to balls make it a point to bring a spare pair of slippers,” Beatrice said. “They are in my satchel. Come, we must hurry.”
Daphne started forward and then paused to look down at Richard Euston’s unconscious figure. “What about him?”
Joshua moved slightly in the shadows. “Do not concern yourself, Miss Pennington. I will deal with him.”
Daphne stiffened in alarm.
“You must not have him arrested,” she said. “If you do there will be a great scandal. Mama and Papa will pack me off to the country and I shall be obliged to marry some fat widower old enough to be my grandfather. That truly would be a fate worse than death.”
“Euston will not be telling any tales to the police,” Joshua said. “He is going to disappear.”
“But how can that possibly happen?” Daphne asked. “He moves in Society.”
Joshua looked at Beatrice. “Don’t you think that you and Miss Pennington should be on your way?”
She did not care a fig if Euston disappeared forever, Beatrice thought, but the fact that Joshua was confident he could make that happen was more than a little unnerving. Nevertheless she had other problems at the moment. Saving Daphne Pennington’s reputation was currently at the top of the list.
“You are quite right, Mr. Gage,” she said. “Come along, Daphne.”
She urged her charge toward the side door of the house.
“Later, Miss Lockwood,” Joshua Gage said quietly behind her.
She could not decide if the words were a threat or a promise.
—
A SHORT TIME LATER she stood in an alcove with Lady Pennington, a small, elegant, gray-haired woman, and watched Daphne take the dance floor with another young gentleman. In her new dancing slippers, her eyes sparkling with mystery and excitement, she was ravishing.
“Look at her,” Lady Pennington said proudly. “One would never know that less than twenty minutes ago someone tried to abduct her in order to compromise her. She came within a hair’s breadth of being ruined.”
“Your granddaughter is a very brave young woman,” Beatrice said. “Not many gently bred young ladies could endure such a close brush with disaster and manage to go straight back out onto the dance floor as though nothing at all had happened.”
“Daphne takes after my side of the family,” Lady Pennington said with an air of cool satisfaction.
Beatrice smiled. “I do believe she does, madam.”
Lady Pennington peered at her through a gold-handled monocle. “You saved my granddaughter tonight, Miss Lockwood. I am forever in your debt. Your employers in Lantern Street assure me that you are well paid for your services, but I wish you to know that tomorrow I shall send around a small, personal gift that I trust you will accept as a token of my gratitude.”
“Thank you, but that is unnecessary.”
“Nonsense, I insist. There will be no more discussion of the matter.”
“You must give much of the credit to yourself, madam,” Beatrice said. “If you had not become suspicious and contacted Flint and Marsh, there would have been a very different ending to this affair.”
“It was just a feeling that I got a few days ago,” Lady Pennington said. “Nothing I could put my finger on, you understand.”
“I believe that sort of thing is called a woman’s intuition, madam.”
“Whatever the case, I knew Euston was not what he appeared to be, but he certainly managed to conceal his true nature and the state of his finances very well, indeed. Daphne’s parents were completely fooled by him. My granddaughter is a great heiress. If Euston had managed to compromise her there would have been a terrible uproar.”
“But you control the purse strings in the family,” Beatrice said. “From what little I have seen of you in recent days, I do not believe that you would have insisted that Daphne marry Richard Euston, even if he had succeeded in his plan.”
“No, of course not.” Lady Pennington shuddered. “Euston was clearly only after her money. I was married for similar reasons, and I assure you, I would never put my granddaughter through such a hellish experience. I can only be thankful that my husband had the decency to get himself killed in a racing accident some years ago. Nevertheless, Daphne’s reputation would have been in ruins if Euston had been successful tonight. She would have been obliged to drop out of Society.”
“She did appear to be alarmed by the possibility of being sent back to the countryside. She was worried about the prospect of having to marry someone she described as an overweight widower who was old enough to be her grandfather.”
“Lord Bradley.” Lady Pennington chuckled. “Yes, I have done my best to terrify her with that threat in an effort to get her to be careful here in town. She is a very spirited young lady.”
“Obviously she takes after you in that regard, as well, madam.”
“Yes.” Lady Pennington stopped smiling. Her mouth pinched into a grim line. “But I will not see her life ruined because of her lively spirit. Are you quite certain that Euston will no longer be a problem?”
Beatrice took the calling card out of her pocket and examined it again. The name on the card was simply Mr. Smith. The raised seal was an elegantly embossed image of a heraldic lion.
She thought about the certainty in Joshua Gage’s voice when he had assured her that Euston would disappear.
“Something tells me that Richard Euston will not trouble you or your family ever again,” she said.