Slightly Shady by Amanda Quick

nineteen

  “Rage and pain,” Mrs. Vaughn said very quietly. “Pain and rage. Astonishing.”

  The words were spoken so softly that Lavinia could barely hear them. She glanced at Tobias, standing beside her at the far end of the ill-lit gallery. He said nothing, his attention fixed intently on Mrs. Vaughn.

  Huggett hovered anxiously near the door, a skeleton prepared to rattle back into the shadows at the first opportunity.

  “Most improper,” Huggett mumbled. “Never meant these statues to be viewed by respectable ladies. This gallery was intended only for gentlemen, I tell you.”

  They all ignored him. Mrs. Vaughn moved slowly to the next waxwork tableau and paused to study the features.

  “I do not recognize the faces of these women, but I can tell you they are taken from life.” Mrs. Vaughn hesitated. “Or, perhaps, death.”

  “Death masks, do you mean?” Tobias asked.

  “I cannot say. There are three ways to achieve a likeness in wax. The first, the one I employ, is to sculpt the features, just as one would sculpt stone or clay. The second involves taking a wax impression of a living person’s face and using it as a model for the sculpture. The third, of course, is to fashion a death mask.”

  Lavinia studied the face of the woman writhing in pain or ecstasy in the nearest exhibit. “Wouldn’t the features of a death mask be less, uh, animated? A corpse would surely not be so lively looking.”

  “An expert modeler in wax could, perhaps, take the frozen features of a death mask and use the impression to re-create the image of a still-living face.”

  “Not at all proper.” Huggett wrung his bony hands. “Ladies shouldn’t be here.”

  No one glanced at him.

  Tobias moved closer to one of the waxworks and examined the face of one of the male figures. “What of the men in these displays? Would you say that they are modeled from life or death?”

  Mrs. Vaughn glanced at him with raised brows. “The features of the male figures are all taken from the same model, hadn’t you noticed?”

  “No.” Tobias looked at one of the masculine figures more closely. “I hadn’t observed that.”

  Startled, Lavinia peered up into the violently contorted features of one of the male figures. “I do believe you’re right, Mrs. Vaughn.”

  “I doubt if most of the men who come into this chamber bother to spend much time examining the faces of the masculine statues,” Mrs. Vaughn said dryly. “Their attention is no doubt on other aspects of the tableaux.”

  “But the faces of the women are distinctive.” Lavinia walked to another display. “They are individuals. All five of them.”

  “Yes,” Mrs. Vaughn said. “I would say so.”

  Lavinia looked at Tobias.

  He raised a brow. “The answer is no. I do not recognize any of them.”

  She flushed and cleared her throat. “What of the male figure?”

  Tobias shook his head once, decisively. “I am not acquainted with him,” he said. He turned abruptly to confront Huggett. “Who sold these waxworks to you?”

  Huggett flinched. His eyes widened in their sockets. He slithered back until he came up sharply against the door.

  “No one sold them to me,” he said, sounding both terrified and aggrieved. “I swear it.”

  “You got them from someone.” Tobias took a step toward him. “Unless, of course, you are the sculptor?”

  “No.” Huggett swallowed and made a stab at regaining control of his nerves. “I am no artist. I certainly did not model these figures.”

  “What is the name of the modeler who created them?”

  “I do not know, sir, and that is the plain truth,” Huggett whined.

  Tobias closed the distance between himself and Huggett. “How did you come by them?”

  “There is an arrangement.” Huggett started to babble. “When one is ready, I receive a message to go to a certain address and fetch it.”

  “What is the address?”

  “It is never the same,” Huggett said. “Usually a warehouse somewhere near the river but never the same warehouse.”

  “How do you pay for them?” Tobias asked.

  “That is what I am trying to explain to you, sir.” Huggett cringed. “I do not pay for them. The arrangement is that I may have them free of charge provided I display them publicly.”

  Tobias gestured toward the collection. “Which of these was the last to be delivered to you?”

  “That one.” Huggett pointed a quivering finger at a nearby tableau. “Got a message about four months ago telling me that it was ready.”

  Lavinia glanced at the figure of the woman frozen in some dark ecstatic horror and shuddered.

  “There have been no new messages from the artist?” Tobias asked.

  “No,” Huggett said. “None.”

  Tobias pinned him with a cold look. “If you receive any further communication from the modeler, you will send word to me immediately. Do you comprehend?”

  “Yes, yes,” Huggett squeaked. “Immediately.”

  “I warn you, there is murder involved in this affair.”

  “I want no part of murder,” Huggett assured him. “I am merely an innocent business proprietor attempting to make a living.”

  Lavinia exchanged a glance with Mrs. Vaughn. “You said that an artist of this caliber would want his work exhibited to the public.”

  Mrs. Vaughn nodded. “It is only natural. Apparently this modeler is not obliged to make a profit on his creations, however.”

  “We are looking for a person of some financial means then,” Tobias said.

  “I would say so.” Mrs. Vaughn looked thoughtful. “Only someone with another source of income could afford to create and give away such large and well-modeled works.”

  “One last question, if you would be so kind,” Lavinia said.

  “Of course, my dear.” Mrs. Vaughn beamed. “I do not mind in the least. Indeed, this has been a most interesting experience.”

  “Do you think the modeler who created these waxworks might be the same one who sculpted the death threat I showed you?”

  Mrs. Vaughn looked at the anguished face of the nearest figure. A shadow passed across her own face.

  “Oh, yes,” she whispered. “Yes, indeed. I think it is quite possible that the artist is one and the same.” Tobias leaned against one of the stone pillars supporting the roof of the artfully designed Gothic ruin and gazed out at the overgrown garden.

  The ruin had been constructed several years earlier. The architect had no doubt intended it to be a graceful addition to this remote region of the large park. A place for peaceful contemplation of nature’s soothing essence.

  But this portion of the extensive grounds had never proved popular with the public. As a result the ruin and the surrounding hedge and gardens had been allowed to fall into a decline. The unchecked greenery had grown wild, creating a natural veil that shielded the ruin from the sight of anyone who might happen to wander into this isolated section of the park.

  Tobias had stumbled onto the shrouded ruin a long time ago. He came here sometimes when he wanted to think without any distractions. This was the first time he had brought anyone else to the place he had come to think of as his private retreat.

  It had stopped raining for a time, but the trees still dripped. The hackney he had managed to flag down after leaving Huggett’s Museum waited on a path elsewhere in the park.

  At least he hoped it waited there. He did not relish the notion of walking all the way back to Lavinia’s house. His leg ached today.

  “We’ve got several seemingly unrelated things going on here,” he said. “The deaths or disappearance of some of Neville’s mistresses, the waxworks, and the rumors of war being waged for control of what is left of the Blue Chamber. They must be linked.”

  “I agree.” Lavinia stood near one of the other pillars, her arms folded. “I think the links are obvious.”

  “Our clients.”

  “Both of them have l
ied to us from the start of this affair.”

  Tobias nodded. “Yes.”

  “Both of them are attempting to use us for secret ends.”

  “Evidently.”

  She glanced at him. “The time has come, I believe, to confront them.”

  “I suggest we start with yours.”

  “I was afraid you would say that.” She sighed. “I do not think Mrs. Dove will be pleased. She will very likely dismiss me.”

  Tobias straightened and took her arm. “If it is any comfort to you, I do not expect to collect any money from Neville.”

  “I suppose I can always sell another statue to pay the rent and Mrs. Chilton’s quarterly wages,” Lavinia said.

  “One of the things I admire about you, Lavinia, is that you are never without resources.”

  Joan Dove sat so still on the striped sofa that Lavinia decided she could have been easily mistaken for one of Mrs. Vaughn’s elegantly modeled waxworks.

  “I beg your pardon,” Joan said in the icy tones of a woman not accustomed to being questioned. “What are you implying?”

  Tobias said nothing. He looked at Lavinia, letting her know that he trusted her to deal with the unpleasant scene. This was her client.

  Lavinia met his gaze and then rose from her chair. She went to stand at one of the drawing-room windows. Her red hair was a vivid contrast to the dark green velvet drapes.

  “I thought the question quite straightforward,” she said quietly. “I asked you if you were once involved in an affair with Lord Neville. Is he the one who seduced you and cast you aside twenty years ago?”

  Joan did not respond. The frozen silence emanating from her threatened to chill the entire room.

  “Bloody hell, Joan.” Lavinia spun around, anger flaring in her eyes. “Do you not comprehend what is at stake here? We have good reason to believe that Neville has murdered at least two of his former mistresses. Perhaps many more. The latest one may be alive, but if so, it is only due to luck.”

  Joan said nothing.

  Lavinia began to pace. “We know that Sally Johnson visited Huggett’s Museum shortly before her disappearance. There is a special gallery there devoted to the display of some brilliantly executed waxworks. The threat you received was crafted by an expert modeler in wax. We believe the artist who created them all is one and the same. Now, just what in the name of heaven is going on here?”

  “That is quite enough.” Joan’s mouth thinned. “You do not need to rage at me, Lavinia. I am your client, remember?”

  “Answer my question.” Lavinia stopped in the middle of the carpet. “Did you have a liaison with Neville?”

  Joan hesitated. “Yes. You are correct. He was the man who seduced me all those years ago and then abandoned me.”

  For a moment no one in the room moved or spoke.

  Then Lavinia exhaled deeply. “I knew it.” She collapsed into the nearest chair. “I knew there had to be a connection.”

  “I fail to see how that very old indiscretion can possibly have any bearing on this matter of murder,” Joan said.

  Tobias looked at her. “Neville appears to be in the process of getting rid of his former mistresses. At least two women he had been intimate with in the past two years are dead. Three more are rumored to be dead, and one has gone missing.”

  Joan frowned. “Why on earth would he kill them?”

  “We cannot be certain,” Tobias said. “But we believe it’s possible he fears they know too much about him.”

  “What could they possibly know that would make him believe he had to murder them?”

  “I will be blunt, Mrs. Dove,” he said. “I am almost certain that Neville was a member of a criminal organization known as the Blue Chamber. The gang was very secretive and very powerful for many years. It was controlled by a man who called himself Azure and his two lieutenants.”

  “I see.” Joan watched him without expression. “How very odd.”

  “The Blue Chamber began to fall apart after Azure’s death several months ago. One of two lieutenants, Carlisle, died three months ago in Italy.”

  Joan frowned. “You know this for a fact?”

  Tobias smiled coldly. He did not take his eyes off her face. “Yes. I am absolutely certain of his death.”

  Joan glanced fleetingly at Lavinia. “So now there is only one member of the Blue Chamber left, and you think that man is Lord Neville.”

  “Yes,” Lavinia said. “Tobias hoped the valet’s diary would provide him with proof.”

  “But the diary was conveniently destroyed before anyone could read it,” Tobias said.

  Lavinia studied her fingertips. “It’s possible that Neville killed Holton Felix, destroyed the diary, and arranged for Tobias to find it. But it’s equally possible that someone else committed those acts.”

  “Who?” Joan asked.

  Lavinia met her eyes. “You.”

  There was a moment of shocked silence.

  “I don’t understand,” Joan whispered. “Why would I do those things?”

  “Because you were desperate to conceal one particular secret hidden in the diary,” Lavinia said.

  “The fact that I had an affair with Neville?” Joan’s eyes glinted with scornful amusement. “I’ll admit I want very much to keep the liaison secret, but I assure you, I would not risk committing murder to do so.”

  “It is not gossip about the liaison with Neville that concerns you,” Lavinia said. “It is the fact that your husband was Azure.”

  Joan stared at her. “You’re mad.”

  “You loved him very much, didn’t you?” Lavinia continued almost gently. “You must have been stunned when you got the first blackmail note from Holton Felix telling you that Fielding Dove had been the leader of a secret criminal organization. You would do anything to keep the information buried, would you not? Your husband’s honor and good name are at stake.”

  All of the color drained from Joan’s face for a few seconds. Then it returned in an angry rush.

  “How dare you imply my husband was involved with this . . . this Blue Chamber? Who do you think you are to even hint at such an accusation?”

  “You told me that when your husband died, you were suddenly plunged into an exceedingly complicated financial tangle. You mentioned that you are still sorting out the various threads,” Lavinia said.

  “I explained that he was a brilliant investor.”

  “A host of complex business investments could well have masked his criminal activities,” Tobias said quietly.

  Joan closed her eyes. “You’re right. Holton Felix did send me a note threatening to expose Fielding’s role as the head of a vast criminal empire.” She raised her lashes to reveal the bleak certainty. “But the threat was based on a lie.”

  “Are you sure of that?” Lavinia asked softly.

  “It’s not possible.” Tears glistened in Joan’s eyes. “Fielding and I were together for twenty years. I would have known if he was a criminal. He could not have hidden such a thing from me for that length of time.”

  “Many wives remain ignorant of their husbands’ financial activities for the entire duration of their marriages,” Lavinia said. “I cannot tell you how many widows I have known who found themselves at a complete loss after the funeral because they had no understanding of their own finances.”

  “I refuse to believe that Fielding was this Azure you speak of,” Joan said evenly. “Do you have any proof?”

  “None at all,” Tobias agreed easily. “And as both Azure and your husband are dead, I have no interest whatsoever in pursuing the matter. But I would very much like to bring down Neville.”

  “I see,” Joan whispered.

  “Preferably before he murders you too,” Lavinia said.

  Joan’s eyes widened. “You really think he sent the death threat?”

  “It’s a distinct possibility,” Tobias said. “He is no artist, but he may have commissioned a worker in wax to create that little picture you received.”

  “Bu
t why would he give me warning of his intentions?”

  “The man appears to be a murderer,” Lavinia said. “Who can say how his mind works? Perhaps he wishes to torment you or punish you in some manner.”

  Tobias turned away from the window. “More likely he is seeking to draw you into a more vulnerable situation. You have a small army around you, Mrs. Dove. Your footmen are obviously trained to do more than carry glasses of champagne on silver platters.”

  She sighed. “My husband was very wealthy, Mr. March. He took care to employ men who could protect us and our possessions.”

  “It’s possible Neville sent the death threat in an attempt to rattle your nerves,” Lavinia said. “He may hope that you will become anxious and careless and do something foolish that will put you in his power.”

  “But he has no reason to want to murder me,” Joan insisted. “Even if he is a criminal, I had no knowledge of his activities twenty years ago. He must know that.”

  Tobias looked at her. “If we are correct, if you were indeed married to Azure, then Neville has every reason to fear that you know far too many dangerous secrets.”

  Joan’s hands clenched in her lap. “My husband was not Azure, I tell you.”

  The denial was spoken more hesitantly this time, Lavinia thought.

  “We suspect he was,” she said. “And if we’re right, you are in great danger.”

  Much of the pain and outrage faded from Joan’s eyes. She unclenched her hands. “Do you really believe Neville murdered those women?”

  “It certainly seems that way,” Tobias said. “I’m beginning to think he commissioned those waxworks in Huggett’s gallery as some sort of macabre souvenir of the killings.”

  Joan shuddered. “What artist would create such works?”

  “One who was paid a sufficiently large commission might not ask too many questions,” Lavinia said. “Or one who feared for his or her life. Remember, Madame Tussaud was forced to make those death masks while she was imprisoned in France.”

  There was a short silence.

  “I plan to search Neville’s house tonight,” Tobias said after a while. “This affair must come to an end and quickly. I need proof of his involvement in criminal activities, and I can think of no other way to get it. Until this matter is finished, you must take no chances. I suggest you remain here in the safety of your home.”