Don't Look Back by Amanda Quick
Another flood of pounding thudded through the heavy wooden panels.
“I’ve found her,” he called to Anthony.
He set the lantern down amid a cluster of broken pots on a cracked stone altar and examined the iron lock on the door.
“Let me out of here,” Lavinia shouted through the wood.
“Got any notion of what happened to the key?” he called back.
“No.”
Anthony crashed through a row of vases and stopped in front of the door. “Locked?”
“Of course.” Tobias reached into the pocket of his greatcoat and took out the selection of picks he always carried whenever he was pursuing a case. “She wouldn’t be trapped inside if it were unlocked, would she?”
Anthony raised his brows at the brusque words, but he kept his own tone even, almost mild. “Wonder how she came to be inside in the first place?”
“An excellent question.” Tobias went to work with one of the picks. The iron lock was imposing in size, but it was old-fashioned and uncomplicated in design. He prodded the tumblers very gently. “One I intend to ask at the earliest opportunity.”
The lock gave a moment later. The heavy door opened with a rusty groan that could have come from the depths of a tomb.
“Tobias.”
Lavinia exploded out of the darkness. He scooped her up into his arms and cradled her close and tight against his chest. She pressed her face into the fabric of his greatcoat. He felt her shudder in his arms.
“Are you all right? Lavinia, answer me. Are you all right?”
“Yes.” The word was muffled against his coat. “I knew you’d come. I knew it.”
Anthony gazed into the small chamber with a grim expression. “It must have been quite dreadful for you in there, Mrs. Lake.”
Lavinia said nothing. Tobias felt shiver after shiver sweep through her. He stroked the length of her spine with his palm and looked past her into the tiny room. It reminded him of an upright coffin. Anger knifed through him.
“What happened?” he asked. “Who imprisoned you in that place?”
“Someone was here when I arrived. Searching the rooms upstairs. I hid in there when he came down the steps. He saw me. Locked the door.” She suddenly stiffened, gasped, and pushed herself slightly away from him. “Dear God, Mr. Tredlow.”
“What about him?”
Clutching his shoulders, she turned partway around in his arms, searching the gloom with anxious eyes. “I found bloodstains on the floor over there. I think the intruder murdered him and hid the body in one of the sarcophagi. Poor Mr. Tredlow. And it is all my fault, Tobias. I should never have asked him to assist in the investigation. I cannot bear to contemplate—”
“Hush.” He eased her slowly to her feet. “Let us see precisely what we are dealing with here before we concern ourselves with responsibility and recriminations.” He picked up the lantern. “Show me the bloodstains.”
She walked to the figure of Perseus holding the Medusa head and pointed toward the floor. “There. See? They lead straight to that coffin.”
Tobias assessed the carved stone sarcophagus. “Fortunately, it is not one of the more ornate types decorated with a heavy stone carving. We should have no trouble with the lid. Clearly, whoever stuck Tredlow inside managed to move it easily enough.”
“I’ll help you,” Anthony said.
Together they leaned into the task. The heavy stone shifted readily enough under their combined weight. One man could, indeed, have managed the business, assuming that the lid had originally been sitting crosswise atop the box, Tobias thought.
Stone scraped on stone, a grinding protest that set his teeth on edge. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Lavinia flinch at the sound. But she did not retreat from whatever was about to be revealed. He had not expected that she would. In the entire time he had known her, he had never seen her back away from anything, no matter how unpleasant. Some would say that she lacked the sort of delicate sensibilities Society deemed appropriate to a lady. But he knew the truth. She was a lot like him when it came to dealing with problems and challenges. She faced them head-on.
The stone lid shrieked hollowly again and finally moved far enough across the top of the box to reveal a section of the dark interior.
The body of a man loomed in the opening. He lay facedown, crumpled in a horrifyingly careless manner. It looked as though someone had simply dumped him into the sarcophagus.
The lantern light flared on scraggly gray hair matted with blood. There was more blood on Tredlow’s coat. A small pool of the stuff had formed on the bottom of the coffin.
Tobias reached into the box to search for a pulse.
“Poor Mr. Tredlow.” Lavinia stepped closer. “Dear heaven. It is just as I feared. The intruder murdered him. And all because I asked him to keep me informed.”
Anthony watched Tobias feel for signs of life. He swallowed heavily. “Must have struck him on the back of his head and stuck him in here to hide the body.”
“The killer obviously wanted to conceal the crime, and he almost succeeded,” Lavinia whispered. “It could have been weeks or even months before the body was found. Indeed, if I hadn’t received Mr. Tredlow’s message this afternoon, I would never have thought to look for him back here in this storeroom. If only I had arrived earlier, I might have—”
“Enough.” Tobias took his fingers off the victim’s throat. “For better or worse, you did receive the message.” He gripped the edge of the sarcophagus lid again and shoved hard to angle it farther out of the way. “From Tredlow’s point of view, it is just as well that you got here when you did.”
“Why do you say that?” Anthony asked.
“Because he is still alive.”
Twenty-two
TOBIAS STRODE INTO THE PARLOR LATER THAT evening, bringing with him the essence of the fog and the night. He came to a halt at the foot of the sofa and surveyed Lavinia with an assessing expression.
She lay propped against a stack of fringed pillows, covered from head to toe by the pile of warm blankets that Emeline had arranged. The large pot of very hot, very strong tea that Mrs. Chilton had brewed sat on the table beside her.
She gave Tobias a wan smile.
He turned directly to Emeline.
“How is she?” he asked.
Emeline looked up from the cup of tea she had just poured. “Somewhat better, I think. Her nerves are still quite overwrought, of course. Lavinia has great difficulty with small, enclosed spaces, you know. They make her very anxious. And she was in that dreadful little room for a long while.”
“Yes, I know.” Tobias shifted his attention back to Lavinia. “But she will soon return to normal, will she not?”
“Oh, yes,” Emeline assured him. “What she needs now is peace and rest. She is certainly in no condition to withstand any more sharp shocks at the moment.”
“How is Mr. Tredlow?” Lavinia asked softly.
“Whitby is looking after him,” Tobias said. “He’ll stay with him tonight. Says that Tredlow will no doubt recover, but he warned me that blows to the head are unpredictable. Tredlow may not remember anything of what occurred in the moments prior to his encounter with the intruder.”
“I see.” Lavinia closed her eyes. “In other words, we may learn nothing useful from him when we do manage to interview him.”
“We can only hope that he will at least recall why he sent the message to you,” Tobias said.
“Yes.” She lifted her lashes very slowly. “Well, we must worry about that tomorrow. There is nothing more we can do tonight. I cannot thank you enough for rescuing me from that horrid chamber.”
“Are you certain that you’re all right, Lavinia?” he asked.
“Yes.” She closed her eyes again and reclined weakly against the stack of pillows. “But I must admit I am more weary and shaken than I had first realized. Perhaps I shall ask Mrs. Chilton to prepare a vinaigrette.”
“I shall call at breakfast to see how you are getting along,”
She nodded without opening her eyes.
He hesitated a moment longer at the foot of the sofa. She sensed him looming there and knew that he was reluctant to take his leave.
“See to it that she gets a good night’s sleep,” he said to Emeline.
“I will,” Emeline promised.
“Very well.” He still lingered at the foot of the sofa. “I will bid you both good night.”
“Good night, sir,” Emeline said.
“Good night,” Lavinia whispered, eyes still closed.
She heard him turn and walk away toward the parlor door. He stepped out into the hall and spoke to Mrs. Chilton in low, muffled tones. The front door opened and closed.
Lavinia breathed a sigh of relief. She snapped open her eyes, shoved aside the heavy blankets, sat up, and swung her feet to the floor.
“Really, I had begun to fear that he would never leave,” she said. “Where’s that sherry I was drinking before he arrived?”
“I’ve got it right here.”
Emeline went to the mantel and raised the top of the decorative urn that stood on the far end. She reached inside and removed the glass of sherry Lavinia had ordered her to conceal moments ago when she had spotted Tobias coming up the steps.
“Thank you.” Lavinia took the glass and swallowed a goodly portion of the contents. She waited for the warmth of the spirits to hit her and then she exhaled deeply. “I think I handled that rather well, don’t you?”
“Your acting was nothing short of professional,” Emeline said.
“Yes, I thought so. I must say, I am quite grateful to Mr. March. He is excellent in a crisis, and I was exceedingly happy to see him earlier when he opened the door of that dreadful little chamber.”
Emeline shuddered. “I do not doubt that.”
“Unfortunately he cannot resist the urge to deliver exceedingly tiresome lectures after the dramatic moment has passed.” Lavinia made a face. “I knew when I saw him coming up the steps that he had come back to see if I was in any condition to listen to one.”
“I suspect you are right. Luckily you managed to appear far too delicate to engage in one of your more spirited discussions with him.”
“I wouldn’t be the least surprised to discover that he has drawn up a new list of rules for me.”
“How did you guess, madam?” Tobias asked from the parlor doorway.
“Tobias.” She started, very nearly spilling the remaining sherry, and turned quickly about on the sofa.
He lounged in the opening, arms crossed, shoulder propped against the wooden jamb, and regarded her with cool consideration.
“As it happens, I have taken the trouble to make up just such a list,” he said. “I think you will find it very handy. I am delighted to see that you have made such a swift recovery. No need to wait until morning after all. We can go over the new rules this very evening.”
“Bloody hell.” She consoled herself with the last of the sherry.
Emeline went briskly toward the door. “If you will both excuse me, I believe I shall retire for the evening. I find I am really quite exhausted from all the excitement.”
“I understand,” Tobias said. “Delicate sensibilities do appear to run in your family.” He straightened, moved aside, and inclined his head gracefully as she swept past him into the hall. “Good night again, Miss Emeline.”
“Good night, Mr. March.”
Lavinia watched warily as Tobias closed the door very deliberately behind Emeline.
“What made you come back?” she asked.
“I believe it was the line about asking Mrs. Chilton to prepare a vinaigrette.”
“I thought it was a nice touch.”
“On the contrary,” he said. “It was a bit much.”
HE WAS STILL SIMMERING THE NEXT MORNING when he and Lavinia walked into Edmund Tredlow’s tiny upstairs parlor. But he was so relieved to see that his partner appeared none the worse for her ordeal that he decided to forgo further lectures.
He consoled himself with the thought that he’d succeeded in extracting the one vital concession he wanted most from her last night: She had reluctantly promised to keep her household informed of her whereabouts when she went out. That would do for now, he thought. With Lavinia, one had to be content with small victories.
Whitby looked up from the pot of porridge he was preparing. Even garbed in an apron with a dish towel draped over one shoulder, he somehow managed to look quite dapper, Tobias thought with just a touch of envy.
Whitby gave Lavinia a bow that would have made any dandy proud.
“Good morning, madam.” He straightened and nodded at Tobias. “Sir.”
“Whitby,” Tobias said. “How is your patient today?”
“I think you will find him well on the road to recovery, although he will no doubt suffer the headache for a while.” Whitby set aside the pot, wiped his hands on a drying cloth, and led the way toward the bedchamber. “But I warn you, he cannot recall much of what occurred. I fear that is only to be expected after such a blow to the head.”
They followed him into the invalid’s room and found Tredlow, dressed in an aging, badly yellowed nightshirt, propped up in bed. A large white bandage covered a good portion of his head. He put down the cup of chocolate he had been drinking and peered at Lavinia through his spectacles.
“I say, Mrs. Lake, are you all right? Whitby told me about your nasty experience at the hands of the intruder.”
“You suffered far worse than I did.” She went to the side of the bed. “How is your head?”
“Sore, but I am assured I shall recover.” Tredlow looked at Tobias. “Very kind of you to lend me your man, Whitby, for the night, sir.”
“You’re welcome,” Tobias said from the doorway. “He tells me that you cannot remember much about what happened, however. I suppose that means you cannot provide a description of the intruder?”
“I don’t believe I ever even saw him,” Tredlow said. “I do recall that after sending word to Mrs. Lake, I closed my shop and went out to get a bite to eat. I expected to return before she arrived, you see. I may have left the door unlocked.”
“The intruder must have thought you had left for the evening,” Tobias said. “He entered the shop while you were gone and was still there when you returned a short time later.”
“I think I heard some noise in the back room,” Tredlow said. “I must have gone to investigate. The next thing I knew, I was waking up here in my bed with you and Whitby standing over me.”
Lavinia’s mouth tightened. “Just as well you were unconscious while you were in that sarcophagus. I cannot imagine anything worse than waking up inside a coffin.”
“Not a pleasant notion,” Tredlow agreed somberly.
“Do you remember why you sent me a message saying that you wished to speak with me?” Lavinia asked.
Tredlow grimaced. “I intended to inform you that I had heard that two of my competitors had their shops broken into during the past two days. Rumor has it that someone is searching for the Blue Medusa.”
Lavinia exchanged a look with Tobias and then turned back to Tredlow. “Had anyone seen or heard anything that might help us identify the intruder?”
“Not that I’ve heard,” Tredlow said.
Twenty-three
THE MESMERIST OPENED THE DOOR HIMSELF. HE did not look pleased to see Tobias on the step.
“March. This is a surprise. What are you doing here?” Hudson searched his face warily. “Have you some news about the killer?”
“I want to talk to you.” Tobias moved forward, giving Hudson no choice but to fall back into the hall. “Do you mind if I come in?”
Hudson scowled. “You’re already inside, are you not? Come with me.”
He closed the door and turned to lead the way down a short corridor.
Tobias followed him toward a room at the end of the hall. He surveyed the interior of the house as he moved through it. The door of the parlor stood open. He noticed that
Hudson ushered Tobias into a spare study. “Sit, if it pleases you. I’d offer you tea, but my housekeeper has left for the day.”
Tobias ignored the invitation. He went to stand at the window instead, his back to the cloudy skies. He did a quick inventory of the room. There were only a handful of books on the shelves, one of which appeared to be very old. The leather binding was cracked and worn. No pictures or drawings adorned the walls. There were no personal effects on the desk.
“Can I assume that you planned a rather short stay in Town?” he asked.
If Hudson was startled by the question, he gave no indication. He went to stand behind his desk. By chance or by choice, he had chosen the one place in the room that the light from the window did not reach. He looked at Tobias from a pool of shadows, eyes deep wells of night.
“You refer to the lack of furniture in the house.” With a casual movement of his hand he removed his watch from his pocket. The gold fobs danced lightly. “The house is rented. Celeste and I never got a chance to unpack properly, let alone select sofas and tables and fabrics. And then she was murdered and naturally I lost all interest in such things.”
“Naturally.”
“May I ask what this is about, March?” Hudson’s voice took on a rich, sonorous quality. The gold watch seals swayed gently. “Surely you have not come here to discuss interior decoration.”
“You are quite correct. I came here to talk about Gunning and Northampton.”
The fobs jangled a little, but Hudson’s shadowed features gave no hint of any reaction other than polite confusion. His eyes never wavered.
“What about them?” he asked.