Mischief (40 page)

Felix’s eyes creased at the corners. “An excellent question.”

“Yes, it is,” Matthias said. “Should have thought of it myself.”

“Indeed.” Felix steepled his fingers. “You have married a very clever lady, Colchester. My congratulations. I am delighted to see that you have found yourself someone who can bring you up to scratch on occasion.”

“I most certainly will not be bored,” Matthias murmured.

Imogen gave Matthias a warm smile. “Colchester and I have a great deal in common.”

“I can see that you do.” Felix settled more comfortably into the depths of his chair. “Well, then, it should not be difficult to learn the answers to your questions. I shall look into the matter immediately.”

Imogen’s eyes lit with gratitude and excitement. “That would be wonderful, Mr. Glaston. How can we ever thank you?”

Felix eyed her thoughtfully. “By staying for a cup of tea, Lady Colchester. I have never taken tea with a countess.”

“I’m certain that it will not prove nearly so entertaining as tea with the owner of a gaming hell,” Imogen said. “Indeed, when Colchester informed me that we were to call upon you, I confess I rather hoped that we would be paying a visit to your place of business. I have never seen a hell.”

Felix stared at her in amazement. Then he looked at Matthias.

Matthias shrugged.

Felix turned back to Imogen. “Perhaps some other time, Lady Colchester,” he began smoothly.

Imogen brightened. “That would be lovely. Would tomorrow be convenient?”

“Don’t even think about it,” Matthias said grimly.

Imogen smiled at Felix. “Pay no attention to him, Mr. Glaston. My husband suffers from an overanxious temperament. Delicate sensibilities, you know.”

Felix gave her his most cherubic grin. “I suspect that you will have a bracing effect upon his nerves, madam.”

T
he message from Bow Street was waiting when Imogen and Matthias returned home. Ufton delivered the news as he ushered them into the hall.

“The runner you seek was killed nearly three years ago, m’lord. Shot dead by a highwayman whom he was attempting to arrest.”

Matthias glanced at Imogen. “More likely murdered by Alastair Drake.”

A chill went through Imogen. “Yes. After Lucy died, the runner would have been the only other person who knew his secret. He would have had to get rid of him.”

H
oratia glanced across her cozy parlor and smiled at the sight of Patricia and Hugo. The pair were seated at a small table, absorbed in a game of cards.

“I must say, they make a handsome couple,” Horatia murmured to Imogen. “But I find it amazing that Colchester has given Mr. Bagshaw permission to pay his addresses to Patricia. The whole world was certain that Hugo and Colchester were fated to engage in a duel before the end of the Season.”

“It only goes to show how often Society misjudges a situation,” Imogen said.

Hugo had taken his new responsibilities very seriously. For the past few days he had made himself available to escort Patricia and, on those occasions when Matthias was otherwise occupied, Imogen, wherever they wished to go. He had endured hours of shopping, afternoon drives in the park, and endless evenings spent in stuffy ballrooms.

Patricia had confided that her gallant defender had taken to carrying a small pistol on his person. “Just in case,” she explained to Imogen. The information had made Imogen somewhat uneasy, but she supposed it was wise for Hugo to go about armed. She wondered if Matthias did the same.

It should have all been quite exciting, Imogen reflected, but, in fact, life had quickly become exceedingly tedious and confining. Patricia seemed happy enough to have Hugo escort her everywhere, but Imogen was beginning to chafe beneath the restrictions Matthias had imposed. She had never been obliged to wait upon a gentleman’s convenience before she made plans. She did not care for the experience.

Unfortunately, in spite of Felix’s predictions, it had proven considerably more difficult to obtain information on Alastair Drake and Selena than anyone had suspected. It was as though the pair had simply materialized upon the London scene three years earlier. They had the money to keep up appearances and the social polish to ensure
themselves a welcome in the best drawing rooms. No one had questioned their pasts.

Four days had passed with no firm word of the pair. Rumors abounded, however, and Felix Glaston had sent several messages imparting tidbits of information. None of it could be confirmed. The strain was beginning to affect the entire household.

Matthias had become increasingly restless and irritable. He prowled his library and growled at the servants. At night he spent hours at the bedchamber window, gazing out into the darkness. It was only in the moments immediately after he had made love to Imogen that he seemed to find some peace. And that contentment was short-lived.

For her part, Imogen had begun to dread falling asleep. Her dreams of blood and sarcophagi had grown more frequent and more disturbing. She awoke, shivering, two or three times a night to find herself wrapped tightly in Matthias’s arms.

The entire affair had become quite maddening, even for someone with strong nerves.

That morning Matthias had announced at breakfast that he intended to meet with Felix at The Lost Soul. When Imogen had mentioned that she would like to accompany him, he had adamantly refused to even consider the notion.

Trapped at home, Imogen and Patricia immediately made plans to escape the house for a few hours. Imogen suggested that they both go to the museum at the Zamarian Institution. She longed to lose herself in her researches for a time. Patricia had complained that she would collapse from boredom if she was forced to spend an entire afternoon among the dusty relics of ancient Zamar.

After a spirited discussion of the alternatives, they had agreed to pay a visit to Horatia. Patricia had sent a message to Hugo informing him that his services as an escort were required. He had dutifully appeared at the
appointed time and had whisked them off to Horatia’s town house.

“What will you do if Colchester is unable to locate Lady Lyndhurst and Mr. Drake?” Horatia asked with a troubled frown.

“The situation cannot go on forever,” Imogen said. “I certainly do not intend to endure much more of this imprisonment.”

“Imprisonment?” Horatia’s brows rose above her spectacles. “That rather overstates the case, don’t you think?”

“It would be different if Matthias would allow Patricia and me the same freedom to come and go that he has accorded himself,” Imogen complained. “But that is not the case.”

“Ah, well, I’m certain that it will all be over soon.”

“I trust so. Colchester has promised to escort me to the Zamarian museum on two different occasions during the past four days and both times he has broken the engagement because his friend Mr. Glaston sent him a message. It is very irritating.”

Horatia hesitated and then lowered her voice. “The current situation aside, are you happy in your marriage, my dear?”

“I beg your pardon?” Imogen pulled her thoughts away from Matthias. “What an odd question. Why do you ask?”

“You are an unusual woman, Imogen. And Colchester is hardly a typical gentleman of the ton. I had some understandable concerns.”

“I am well content with my marriage. The only thing that warrants concern is finding Alastair and Selena. Until that is done, no one in our household will sleep well.”

“It is rather unsettling to think that there is a murderer running about,” Horatia said.

“Knew a murderer once,” Mrs. Vine announced matter-of-factly as she came through the doorway with a tray of tea. “Rented this house five, maybe six years ago. Right
proper gentleman, he was. Very clean in his habits compared to some of the tenants I’ve had here.”

Everyone in the parlor turned to stare at Mrs. Vine.

Imogen found her voice first. “You kept house for a murderer, Mrs. Vine?”

“I did indeed. Didn’t know it at first, of course.” She set the tray down on a table and began to arrange the cups. “Always paid his rent on time, he did. I was sorry to lose him as a tenant.”

“How did you learn that he was a murderer?” Hugo demanded, fascinated.

“Unfortunate confrontation in the hall one night,” Mrs. Vine said with a sigh of sincere regret. “It was me night off and I’d been to visit me sister that evening. But instead of stayin’ with her until mornin’ as I generally did, I decided to come back here. Ran into Mr. Leversedge in the hall, I did. Unexpected like, y’see. He had just returned home a few minutes afore me. He was draggin’ a body down into the basement.”

“Good Lord,” Horatia breathed, transfixed. “He hid the bodies in the basement?”

“Did his work on the nights I was off visitin’ me sister. Took the bodies down into the basement to cut ’em up so’s they’d fit nice and neat into boxes. Then he hauled the boxes out of the city and got rid of ’em.”

“My God.” Patricia covered her mouth with one hand. Her eyes widened in horror. “What did you do when you found him in the hall with his victim, Mrs. Vine?”

“Weren’t nothin’ for it, what with the body there and all.” Mrs. Vine shook her head sadly. “Couldn’t ignore it, even if he had been the best tenant I’d ever had. Had to trot right back down the steps and summon the watch. I’ll never forget Mr. Leversedge’s last words to me though.”

“What were they?” Imogen asked.

“He said, ‘Don’t worry about the blood in the hall, Mrs. Vine. I’ll clean it up.’ As I said, a very tidy gentleman.”

T
he following morning Matthias stood with Imogen in the center of the Zamarian museum and surveyed the dusty antiquities heaped before them. Imogen’s smile of satisfaction hid a goodly measure of triumph. Matthias knew it was because she had won the small skirmish that had taken place at the breakfast table.

He had been opposed to wasting the morning there in the museum, but he had not been able to come up with a suitable excuse for avoiding it. Felix had sent no word of any new rumors. Furthermore, as fond as she appeared to be of the pair, it was obvious that Imogen was not about to tolerate another day of shopping or visiting in the company of Patricia and Hugo. In the end, Matthias had surrendered. It occurred to him to wonder if he would ever be able to deny Imogen anything once she had set her heart upon it.

“We shall start on the far side of the room, Matthias.” Imogen tied a white apron around her waist. “Would you care to take notes, or shall I?”

“I’ll take the notes while you examine the items,” Matthias said as he removed his greatcoat. “You may as well be the one to get your hands dirty. I’m already convinced that there is nothing of great importance buried in this rubble that Rutledge sent back.”

“Now, Matthias, you cannot be certain of that until it is all properly catalogued.” She made her way through the broken statuary and stone coffins toward the heavy wooden crates stacked against the wall. “Who knows? Perhaps we shall find the Queen’s Seal in one of those boxes.”

“Not bloody likely,” Matthias said softly. He hung his greatcoat on a hook. There was a soft clank as the pocket brushed against the wall.

“What was that noise?” Imogen asked.

“I put a pistol in the pocket of my coat,” Matthias explained as he rolled up the sleeves of his white linen shirt.

Imogen frowned. “You’ve taken to carrying a pistol too?”

“It seems a reasonable precaution under the circumstances.”

“Matthias, you don’t really believe that Alastair will return to London, do you? Surely he and Selena will stay as far away from us as possible. I’ll wager that they have fled to the Continent.”

“I don’t know what they will do, and neither do you.” Matthias met her eyes. “It would appear that they have murdered three times already. We cannot be certain that they will not attempt to kill again.”

“But what would be the point of killing us?”

“If we are dead, there is no one to link them to the murder of Lord and Lady Vanneck, let alone to that runner. They would be free to resume their life here in Town. And I have told you before that Drake and his sister are creatures of the ton. They will not willingly give up the style of life to which they have become accustomed.”