Don't Look Back by Amanda Quick
She went along a narrow alley formed by several impressive gravestones. Halfway to her objective, she glanced back over her shoulder and saw the glow of candlelight dancing on the ceiling near the staircase. Despair tore through her. The intruder was already in this room. If she could see his candle flame, he could almost certainly detect hers.
She would never be able to make it to the back entrance in time.
Her only hope was the strong room. If she could get inside and bolt the heavy door behind her, she would be safe.
She rushed toward the small chamber, not bothering to mask the sound of her movements. She halted on the threshold of the stone room, her courage nearly failing her when she realized just how small the space was.
She did not like close, confined places. In point of fact, she hated them.
The sound of booted footsteps coming relentlessly toward her was incentive enough to stiffen her resolve. She glanced back one last time. The figure of her pursuer was concealed by the stacks of statues and crates, but the glow of his candle was all too visible. It bounced and flared off the faces of monsters and gods as he came nearer.
She took a deep breath, stepped inside the cramped strong room, grasped the iron handle of the door, and pulled with all her strength.
It seemed to take forever for the heavy wooden panel to close. For a dreadful moment she thought that it must be stuck and that all was lost.
Then, with a ghostly whine, the door slammed closed. The candle flame jerked wildly one last time, glinting briefly on rows of ancient metal and glass objects, and then winked out of existence.
She was instantly plunged into a darkness as thick and heavy as that of a tomb. With trembling hands she managed to fumble the ancient iron bolt home by sense of touch. It seated itself with an ominous clang.
She shut her eyes and pressed her ear to the thick wooden door panel, straining to listen. The best she could hope for was that the intruder would soon realize that he could not get at her and would elect to leave the premises as quickly as possible. Then she could let herself out of this dreadful little chamber.
She heard the muffled scrape of iron on iron.
It took her a few seconds to understand the full horror of what had just occurred. With a terrible sinking sensation, she comprehended that the intruder had just turned Tredlow’s key in the lock.
He was not even going to try to wrest her from her hiding place, she thought. Instead, he had effectively sealed her into this small, dark space that was not much larger than an ancient Roman sarcophagus.
THE TWO MEN CAME TOWARD HIM OUT OF THE fog, long black greatcoats unfastened so that the folds of the heavy garments swept the tops of their gleaming boots. Their faces were obscured by the brims of their hats and the rapidly deepening shadows.
“We’ve been waiting for you, Mr. Fitch,” the older one said softly. He moved with a slight catch to his stride, but for some reason the evidence of past injury only made him appear all the more menacing.
The other man did not speak. He stayed a few steps back and to the side, watching events unfold, waiting for instructions. Fitch was reminded of a young leopard taking lessons from a more experienced hunter.
The older man was the one to fear.
The valet was stricken with a wave of deep dread. He stopped suddenly and glanced wildly around, seeking an escape route. None presented itself. The lights of the coffeehouse he had left a few minutes ago were at the end of the lane, too far away to afford any refuge. There were naught but empty, darkened doorways lining both sides of the pavement.
“What d’ya want with me?” He tried to sound firm and forceful. He’d had some experience in that line, he reminded himself. A good valet was expected to develop an air of grave authority.
Mayhap grave was not quite the appropriate word here.
“We wish to speak with you,” the more dangerous man said.
Fitch swallowed. They were too well dressed to be footpads, he told himself. But somehow that deduction did nothing to reassure him. The expression in the older man’s eyes made him want to take to his heels. But he knew that he would not get far. Even if he managed to outrun this hunter, he would never escape the young leopard-in-training.
“Who are you?” he asked. He heard the anxiousness in his own voice and cringed.
“My name is March. That is all you need to know. As I said, my companion and I wish to ask you a few questions.”
“What sort of questions?” Fitch whispered.
“You were employed as valet to Lord Banks until quite recently. According to our information, you were turned off with no notice.”
Real fear struck him then. They knew what he had done. The Creature had discovered the theft and sent these two after him.
Fitch’s mouth went dry. He had been so certain that no one would ever miss the damned thing, but he had been found out. Visions of calamity sent shudder after shudder through him. He could be transported or even sent to the gallows for this.
“We would like to know if you helped yourself to a certain valuable on your way out the door,” March said.
He was lost, Fitch thought. There was no hope for him. No point trying to deny his guilt. March was the sort who would hound a man to the ends of the earth. The promise was there in the bastard’s eyes.
His only hope was to throw himself on the leopard’s mercy and hope that he might be able to buy his way out of the disaster.
“She let me go without even paying me my quarterly wages. And she gave me no references.” Fitch slumped against an iron railing. “After all my hard work. I did my best, I tell you, but it wasn’t easy servicing the Creature.”
“You refer to Mrs. Rushton?” March asked.
“Indeed. Twice a week it was, sometimes more often if she happened to be feeling particularly spirited. For nearly three long months.” Fitch straightened a little at the memory of his heroic efforts. “The Creature was the most demanding employer I’ve ever had. And then she turns me off with no notice, no references, and no bloody pension. Where’s the justice in that, I ask you?”
The younger man spoke for the first time. “Why did Mrs. Rushton let you go?”
“She started taking regular therapeutic treatments with a bloody mesmerist.” Fitch grimaced. “Claimed he did more for her nerves than I did. She came back from an appointment one day and casually announced that she wouldn’t be requiring my services anymore.”
“So she let you go and you decided you were owed a little something by way of compensation, is that it?” March asked.
Fitch opened one hand, palm up, silently beseeching the hunter’s understanding. “It wasn’t fair, I tell you. That’s why I took the damned snuffbox. Never thought it would be missed, to tell you the truth. Banks hasn’t taken snuff for nearly a year and not bloody likely to ever use the stuff again.”
March’s eyes narrowed. “You took a snuffbox?”
“The thing had been sitting there at the back of a drawer in his lordship’s dressing room for longer than anyone can remember. Who’d have thought she’d even know about it, let alone care if it went missing?”
March closed the distance between them. “You took a snuffbox?”
“Thought everyone in the household had forgotten about it long ago.” Fitch gazed dolefully down at the pavement, wondering at the unkindness of fate. “Can’t see how the Creature ever came to discover that it was gone.”
“What of the bracelet?” March said.
“Bracelet?” Fitch raised his head, bewildered now. “What bracelet are you talking about?”
“The ancient gold bracelet that Banks kept in his locked safe,” March said. “The one set with an unusual cameo.”
“That old thing?” Fitch grunted in disgust. “Why the devil would I take it? One would have to deal with someone in the antiquities market in order to make a profit on a relic like that. I’d learned enough working for Banks all those years to know that I did not want to get involved with that lot. They’re a strange bre
March exchanged an unreadable look with his companion and then turned back to Fitch. “What did you do with the snuffbox?”
Fitch shrugged morosely. “Sold it to a fence in Field Lane. I suppose he might be persuaded to tell you who bought it, but—”
March reached out and gripped the lapels of Fitch’s coat. “Do you know what happened to the Medusa bracelet?”
“No.” A glimmer of hope rose in Fitch. The hunter did not appear the least concerned with the snuffbox. All he cared about was the antiquity. “The bloody thing’s gone missing, then, has it?”
“Yes.” March did not release him. “I and my friend here are looking for it.”
Fitch cleared his throat. “Can I assume that if I tell you what little I know about the matter, you’ll have no further interest in me?”
“That would be a reasonable assumption on your part, yes.”
“I don’t know where it is, but I’ll tell you this much. I very much doubt that anyone in the household stole it, for the same reasons that I did not bother with it.”
“Too difficult to sell?”
“Precisely. None of the staff would have any notion of how to make a profit on such a relic.”
“Do you have any idea of who might have taken it?”
“No—”
March gave him a slight shake.
“But I’ll tell you this much,” Fitch said quickly. “The day the Creature moved into the mansion, she took charge of all the keys, including the one to his lordship’s safe. Unless an intruder broke into the house, made his way unseen upstairs to Banks’s bedchamber, found the dressing room, located the hidden safe, picked the lock, and then managed to sneak out undetected, all of which seems a bit unlikely, I’d say there’s only one person in the whole world who might have helped herself to the artifact.”
“Mrs. Rushton? Why would she steal a valuable that she was due to inherit shortly? Indeed, one that she could have taken at any time, unquestioned, had she wished to do so?”
“I have no clue, Mr. March. But I’ll give you some advice. Don’t underestimate the Creature or be so foolish as to presume that her actions conform to your logic.”
The hunter held him in his clutches for a moment longer, as if thinking over the matter of what to do with his captive. Fitch realized he was holding his breath.
Then quite suddenly March released him. Fitch lost his balance, stumbled back, and came up hard against the railing.
March inclined his head with mocking formality. “My companion and I are obliged to you for your assistance, sir.”
He turned and walked away into the fog without a backward glance. The young leopard gave Fitch an icy smile and then fell into step beside his mentor.
Fitch held himself very still until the pair disappeared into the swirling mist. When he was certain that he was once again alone in the street, he risked a deep breath.
He had escaped the hunter’s teeth by the merest shred of good fortune. He did not envy March’s real quarry.
Twenty-one
SHE WOULD NOT GIVE IN TO THE MADNESS THAT nibbled at the edge of her sanity. She fought it with all of her will, calling on every scrap of mesmeric training that her parents had bequeathed to her in order to do battle with the darkness that threatened to overwhelm her senses.
She wondered if this was the true meaning of female hysteria.
Time passed. She had no way to measure it. Perhaps it was just as well. Counting the seconds, the minutes, and the hours would only make it so much worse.
She sat on the cold stone floor of the coffinlike chamber, clutching the silver pendant in both hands and focusing her concentration. With painstaking effort she built a fragile fortress of calm in the deepest reaches of her mind, a place of peace and tranquillity. When it was prepared, she stepped inside, pulling her besieged nerves in with her.
And then she shut the metaphysical door against the weight of the crushing, breath-stealing night that surrounded her.
She clung to the single certainty that was the foundation upon which she had constructed her inner refuge. That one sure fact was the knowledge that sooner or later Tobias would come to free her.
“BLOODY HELL, WHERE DID SHE GO?” TOBIAS strode down the hallway to Lavinia’s cozy study, threw open the door, and swept the room with a raking glance. “She has no business disappearing like this.”
Anthony came to a halt beside him. “Perhaps she is merely late returning from some shopping.”
Tobias looked at Mrs. Chilton, who hovered in the hallway. “Did Mrs. Lake go shopping this afternoon?”
“I don’t know, sir.” Mrs. Chilton sighed. “All I can tell ye is that when I got back from the fishmonger’s, she was gone.”
Tobias went to the desk and surveyed the cluttered surface. “From now on there are going to be some new rules around here. When we are in the middle of a case, Mrs. Lake will not go anywhere without first informing someone of her destination and the precise time she expects to return home.”
“Oh, dear.” Mrs. Chilton watched unhappily as Tobias methodically sifted through the items and papers scattered atop the desk. “I really don’t think Mrs. Lake will take well to the notion of more rules, if you’ll pardon me saying so, sir. She’s already a trifle put out by all the instructions and orders that seem to be floating about these days.”
“A trifle put out is nothing compared to my own mood at the moment.” Tobias glanced at the notes on one of the sheets of foolscap. “What’s this? Complete discretion is assured for those clients concerned with matters of privacy and secrecy.”
“I believe Mrs. Lake is still working on the wording of the notice she intends to put into the newspapers,” Mrs. Chilton said.
“She plans to advertise her services in the newspapers?” Anthony’s expression lit with interest. “I say, that is an excellent notion. Should have thought of it ourselves, Tobias. A very modern approach to the business, eh?”
“I told her to abandon the entire idea. She is too stubborn to listen to sound advice.” With a flick of his hand, Tobias sent the sheet of paper sailing into the small wooden trash bin behind the desk. “I warned her of the sort of clients she would attract with that method. She would do better to—” He broke off at the sight of a wadded-up bit of paper in the basket. “Hmm.”
He reached down, scooped up the crumpled note, and smoothed it out carefully on top of the desk.
“What is it?” Anthony asked, moving toward the desk.
“What we in the profession like to call a clue,” Tobias muttered.
Mrs. Chilton was suitably impressed. “Ye know where Mrs. Lake went this afternoon?”
“I suspect that she went out in response to this note from Edmund Tredlow. Obviously she lacked the common courtesy to leave a message telling anyone where she was going.” He crumpled the note in his hand. She was all right. Nothing was wrong. Just his damned nerves playing up. “Of all the thoughtless, graceless, careless things to do. I shall have a word with her about such behavior.”
Mrs. Chilton gave him an uneasy look. “Sir, I feel I ought to point out that Mrs. Lake has been in the habit of coming and going as she pleases for some time now. Indeed, she is the mistress around here and she makes her own rules for this household. I don’t recommend that ye continue to issue commands and orders about all manner of things the way ye’ve been doing of late.”
“I disagree, Mrs. Chilton.” He went toward the door. “Strict new rules are precisely what is needed around here. It is high time that someone took charge of this household.”
Mrs. Chilton fell back out of his path. “Where are ye going, sir?”
“To find Mrs. Lake and inform her of the new rules.”
BUT WHEN HE OPENED THE DOOR OF TREDLOW’S shop a short time later, he put aside all thoughts of the stern lecture he intended to deliver. The faint dread that had been chewing up his innards for the past hour or so had not been merely an attack of weak nerves, after all.
“La
There was no response from the deep shadows.
Anthony stopped in the middle of the crowded showroom and looked around with a baffled frown. “Tredlow must have closed for the night. Surprised he forgot to lock his door, though. Cannot imagine a shopkeeper overlooking such a simple precaution.”
“Neither can I,” Tobias said grimly.
“Perhaps she left before we arrived,” Anthony said. “We may have gone straight past her without knowing it on our way here. She is no doubt home having a cup of tea as we speak.”
“No.”
Tobias did not know how he could be so certain of that, but he was very sure of it. The sense of wrongness here at Tredlow’s was palpable now.
He went behind the counter, intending to take the stairs to the rooms overhead. But he paused when he noticed the heavy curtain that divided the front and rear portions of the shop.
He shoved aside the thick drapery and held the lantern aloft to illuminate a maze of crates, boxes, chests, and statuary.
“Lavinia.”
There was a terrible hush. And then a muffled pounding sounded from somewhere at the back of the cluttered room. The noise echoed in the chamber in such a manner that it was difficult to tell where it was coming from.
“Hell’s teeth.” Tobias started forward, seeking a path through the looming antiquities. “She’s in here somewhere. There are some candles on that table. Take one and search the far side of the room. I’ll take this side.”
Anthony scooped up a taper, lit it, and forged a path through the nearest aisle of crates.
The heavy thuds reverberated again through the storage room.
“I’m here, Lavinia.” Tobias wove a trail through a herd of centaurs. “Keep pounding, damn it.”
He went past a hideous statue of Perseus holding the severed head of Medusa and saw an ancient iron-and-oak door. Some sort of small storeroom, he thought.