Mischief (35 page)

“I see.” Imogen eyed the velvet-shrouded tablet as she accepted a cup of tea from the housekeeper.

Selena clapped her hands lightly and the small group fell into a respectful silence. She smiled coolly at Imogen.

“Lady Colchester, this is a pleasant surprise. I am delighted that you could join us today. May I ask what drew your attention to our little gathering?”

“Just curious,” Imogen said. “Lady Patricia has told me how much she has enjoyed your Zamarian salon.”

“We can hardly compete with your learned husband’s discoveries and writings,” Selena murmured. “As a matter of fact, I was under the impression that Colchester considered that only fashionable dilettantes and amateurs attended salons such as mine.”

“I will not stay long.” Imogen put down her teacup. “Lady Patricia tells me that you have been studying the Rutledge Curse.”

“That is true.” Selena’s gaze flickered to Patricia. Something that might have been anger flashed in her icy blue eyes. It vanished almost instantly behind a mask of cool charm. “But it was supposed to be a secret investigation.”

Patricia stiffened in her chair and cast an anxious glance at Imogen.

Imogen frowned at Selena. “You must not blame Patricia. I stumbled onto the truth this afternoon. As you know, I have a certain interest in things Zamarian.”

“You refer to the Queen’s Seal and the map your uncle left you in his will.” Selena’s smile was mocking.

“Indeed. But now that I am married to Colchester of Zamar, my interests extend well beyond the seal. I wish to examine the tablet that is inscribed with the so-called Rutledge Curse. I understand it is in that velvet case.”

A brittle silence settled on the drawing room. The elegant young members of the salon exchanged uneasy glances. They were obviously not accustomed to seeing Selena’s authority challenged.

Selena hesitated. Then she gave a small, graceful shrug. “As long as you are here, you are welcome to study it. But I must warn you that the curse is written in Zamarian. Only a handful of people in all of England can decipher it.”

“I am aware of that.” Imogen rose from her chair, took two long steps toward the table in front of Selena, and picked up the black velvet case before anyone realized what she intended.

There were several small, shocked gasps from the onlookers as Imogen unwrapped the tablet.

Selena’s eyes narrowed as she watched Imogen remove the ancient clay tablet. “The gossip concerning your rather eccentric manners is correct, I see.”

Imogen ignored her. She looked down at the heavy tablet. “How astonishing. This is a real Zamarian tablet.”

“What did you think it was?” Selena snapped.

“I was prepared to discover that it was a forgery. But it is definitely quite authentic.”

“Thank you for your opinion,” Selena said coldly. “Now, if you are quite finished—”

“But I’m not finished.” Imogen looked up from the tablet. “The tablet is definitely from ancient Zamar. Hardly surprising. I understand that it is fashionable to have one or two in one’s library. But the inscription on it is not a curse.”

“I beg your pardon,” Selena snapped.

“I fear that you have been sadly misinformed, Lady Lyndhurst.”

Selena flushed furiously. “How would you know what that inscription says?”

“I can read Zamarian script, both formal and informal.” Imogen smiled coolly. “This would be amusing if it were not for the fact that some people have taken the notion of a curse far too seriously.”

“Amusing?” Selena was incensed. “What do you mean by that?”

“The inscription on that tablet is nothing more than a bill of sale,” Imogen announced. “To be precise, it records the exchange of two measures of wheat for one ox.”

“That is a lie.” Selena shot to her feet. Her voice rose with her. “How could you possibly know anything of Zamarian script?”

There was a slight movement in the doorway. Everyone in the drawing room turned to see Matthias. His stance was deceptively casual.

“My wife reads ancient Zamarian script as well as I do,” Matthias said softly.

Imogen swung around so quickly that her reticule, which dangled from a satin cord, flew out in a wide arc. It struck a teacup and sent it crashing to the carpet. Several
young ladies seated in the path of the splashing tea leaped to their feet with cries of dismay.

“Colchester.” Imogen smiled. “I didn’t see you there. Perhaps you would care to give your opinion on this silly tablet?”

Matthias inclined his head in a graceful nod that conveyed both amusement and unmistakable respect. “Your translation is correct. That tablet is an ancient Zamarian business document. In short, a bill of sale.”

Matthias vaulted into the carriage and took the seat across from Imogen and Patricia. He glanced reflectively at the front door of Selena’s town house as the vehicle moved off into the street. This visit in search of Imogen and Patricia constituted the first time he had ever stepped foot inside the Angel’s residence. He felt as though he had just plucked Imogen and Patricia from a spider’s web.

“This is a surprise, my lord,” Imogen said cheerfully. “What made you come in search of us? Is something wrong?”

“No.” Matthias settled back against the cushion and turned to face her. He forced himself to examine her closely, searching for signs of melancholy, anger, or resentment.

He saw none. Much to his amazement, Imogen’s customary excellent spirits appeared to have revived. The shadows that had darkened her eyes for the past two days had miraculously evaporated. She had evidently recovered from the crushing blow he had delivered. He was not certain what to make of that fact.

Patricia looked at Imogen and then at Matthias. Her eyes brimmed with puzzlement and hope. “Was that inscription on the clay tablet truly nothing more than an ancient bill of sale?”

Imogen patted Patricia’s gloved hand. “Yes, indeed. Most of the Zamarian clay tablets that the fashionable use to decorate their studies and libraries are ancient records of business transactions, or other equally mundane matters.” She looked at Matthias. “Is that not right, Colchester?”

“Yes.” Matthias glanced at Patricia. “I assure you, Imogen is expert at reading Zamarian script. I saw the symbols for wheat and oxen on that tablet myself, from where I was standing. The message was definitely not a curse.”

“I don’t understand,” Patricia whispered. “So many dreadful things have occurred lately. The duel. Lord Vanneck’s death. And then, two nights ago, you were nearly killed, Matthias. I was certain that Lady Lyndhurst was right when she said that the Rutledge Curse had struck again.”

“The Rutledge Curse is rubbish,” Matthias said. “It was invented by a group of cork-brained dilettantes in the Zamarian Society shortly after word reached them that Rutledge had died in the labyrinth. One can only hope that the Polite World will soon grow bored with ancient Zamar and return to its interest in Egypt.”

“Not likely,” Imogen scoffed. “How could ancient Egypt possibly compete with lost Zamar? Besides, we already know everything there is to know about Egypt.”

Matthias was briefly distracted by that notion. “I’m not so certain. If someone ever succeeds in deciphering the inscriptions on that chunk of black basalt that they are calling the Rosetta Stone, there could well be a renewed interest in ancient Egypt.”

Imogen wrinkled her nose. “I shall always prefer the wonders of Zamar.”

“You are nothing if not loyal, my dear,” Matthias said softly.

Patricia looked down at her hands. “Lady Lyndhurst claimed that she could translate Zamarian script. She said she could read the inscription on that clay tablet. Why would she lie about such a thing?”

“Lady Lyndhurst enjoys playing games.” Matthias did not bother to conceal his disgust. “Henceforth, you will both keep your distance from her.”

Patricia shuddered. “I have no wish to attend any more of her salons.”

Imogen’s brows snapped together. “Patricia, there is something I want to ask you. It was your idea to take Lucy’s journal to the salon this afternoon, was it not?”

Matthias’s insides went cold. “What’s this about the journal?”

Patricia stiffened at his tone. “I am very sorry about the journal. I thought that what I was doing was for the best.”

Matthias opened his mouth to repeat his demand for an explanation but Imogen silenced him with a quick, tiny shake of her head. Reluctantly he subsided. It had occurred to him on one or two occasions lately that Imogen’s methods of dealing with Patricia were more effective than his own.

Imogen smiled at Patricia. “It’s quite all right. No harm was done. I merely wondered if you had mentioned the journal to anyone since it, uh, came into our possession.”

Matthias raised his brows at her tactful description of what some might term outright theft.

“Oh, no,” Patricia assured her. “I told no one about it.”

Imogen watched her intently. “No one suggested that you take the journal to Lady Lyndhurst’s salon this afternoon?”

Patricia shook her head with great certainty. “Of
course not. How could anyone else have known that Matthias had taken it from Lord Vanneck’s house?”

“Indeed,” Imogen said very casually. “Who could have known other than the three of us?”

Patricia visibly relaxed. “I concluded that I had to take the journal to Lady Lyndhurst after I got a message from one of my friends in the salon.”

That bit of news was too much for Matthias’s self-control. He pounced before Imogen could stop him. “Someone sent you a message about the journal? Who was it?”

Patricia’s eyes widened. “I’m not certain. The message I received this morning was not signed. But it carried the secret seal that the members of the salon use whenever they communicate with each other.”

“Secret seal?” Matthias winced. “What nonsense. Why the devil didn’t you show me that damned message? When did it arrive? Did you recognize the handwriting?”

Patricia retreated into the corner of the carriage seat. She looked at Imogen with a beseeching expression.

Imogen glared at Matthias. “I pray you will be silent, my lord. You are complicating matters.”

“Damnation.” Matthias wanted to shake the answers out of Patricia. As that approach was clearly not an option, he turned the brunt of his rapidly thinning patience on Imogen. “Make no mistake, madam, I intend to discover just what is going on here.”

“I know you do and you shall,” Imogen said in her apple-crisp tones. “But we will all get through this far more quickly if you allow me to discuss the matter with your sister in a calm, reasonable fashion.”

Matthias drummed his fingers on the side of the carriage frame. She was right and he knew it. “Very well. Get on with it, then.”

Imogen turned back to Patricia. “Pay no attention to him. Men are inclined to be impatient. Now then, this message that you said you received. Did it specifically mention the journal?”

“No, of course not.” Patricia was obviously perplexed. “How could anyone have known that we had it?”

“How indeed,” Matthias said dryly. “Perhaps you jotted a few notes to your friends in the salon? Properly sealed with the secret seal, of course.”

Patricia’s eyes glistened with tears. “I just told you that I did not tell a soul.”

Imogen gave Matthias another repressive glare. “My lord, if you possess half the intelligence I have always credited you with, you will cease interrupting.”

Matthias set his teeth but he kept silent.

Imogen smiled encouragingly at Patricia. “Now then, tell us about the note you received.”

Patricia eyed Matthias warily, no doubt fearful that he would renew his aggressive efforts to wring the information out of her. When he said nothing, she looked at Imogen. “The message claimed that we must all beware of the Rutledge Curse, lest it fall on the household of one of the members of the Zamarian salon. I realized at once that Matthias had been the latest victim.”

“Naturally. A perfectly logical conclusion,” Imogen said.

Matthias scowled at her, but he managed to hold his tongue.

“Did the note say anything else?” Imogen asked quickly.

“Only that anyone who possessed any object that might have once belonged to Vanneck was in the greatest danger.” Patricia hesitated. “The curse will have tainted everything that he owned, you see.”

“Hardly subtle,” Matthias said scornfully. “Hell’s teeth, someone knows about the journal.”

Imogen gave him another warning glance before resuming her gentle inquisition. “You realized that one of Vanneck’s possessions was indeed under our roof, did you not, Patricia? Namely the journal.”

“Yes.” Patricia looked bewildered. “I knew that neither you nor Matthias would believe me if I tried to explain
about the curse. You both dismiss it. I had to do something. Matthias had nearly been killed. Who knew how the curse would strike next? I thought that Lady Lyndhurst would have some notion of what to do with the journal, as she is an expert on ancient Zamar and she believed in the Rutledge Curse.”

“Damnation,” Matthias muttered. “Selena is no expert on anything except fashion.”

Imogen kept her attention fixed on Patricia. “I understand why you felt you had to take action, but your brother is quite right. The Rutledge Curse is nonsense. I fear that Lady Lyndhurst was playing a rather unpleasant little game with you and the other members of her salon.”

Patricia sighed. “But, Imogen, I don’t understand. If there is no curse, how can one explain all of the strange events of late?”

“Coincidence,” Imogen said easily. “They happen all the time.”

“C
oincidence be damned,” Matthias growled twenty minutes later as he stalked into the library behind Imogen. “There is far more than mere coincidence involved in this matter, and well you know it.”

“Yes, Matthias, but I do not see any reason to alarm Patricia.” Imogen glanced at the closed door of the library as she stripped off her bonnet and gloves. “She is anxious enough as it is. And given the family tendency toward lurid and dreadful imaginings, I think it best that we not frighten her.”

“It strikes me that there is bloody good cause for a few lurid and dreadful imaginings in this situation.” Matthias flung himself down into the chair behind his desk and watched with brooding eyes as Imogen began to pace the room. “What is this all about?”