With This Ring by Amanda Quick
“You really should pay it a visit.” Saltmarsh glowed with enthusiasm. “The collection consists of the most amazing artifacts. All of them are directly related to supernatural and metaphysical matters. The very sight of them heightens one’s powers of imagination.”
“It sounds fascinating.” Beatrice suddenly recalled where it was that she had seen a reference to Trull’s Museum. She started to ask more questions, but at that moment the bookshop door opened. A tiny frisson of awareness touched the nape of her neck.
She glanced across the room and saw Leo enter. He was not looking at her, however. The full chill of his icy attention was centered on Graham Saltmarsh.
“Thank you for telling me about Mr. Trull’s museum, Mr. Saltmarsh.” Out of the corner of her eye she saw Leo bearing down on them. “I shall make it a point to plan a visit very soon.”
“An authoress possessed of your exquisite sensibilities would no doubt find it very inspiring.” Graham was oblivious of the approaching storm. “Perhaps you would allow me to escort you. I could point out the most fascinating exhibits. Trull even has a mummy in his museum.”
“She will not require your escort.” Leo came to a halt beside Beatrice. His voice was dangerously even. “A lady of Mrs. Poole’s intelligence would be highly unlikely to have any interest whatsoever in Trull’s ridiculous museum.”
“Really, Monkcrest.” Beatrice glared at him. “There is no call for rudeness. Allow me to present Mr. Saltmarsh. Mr. Saltmarsh, the Earl of Monkcrest.”
Saltmarsh looked as if he had just been confronted by a large beast of prey. “Sir.”
“Saltmarsh.” Leo said the name as if sampling it to see if it would make a tasty meal.
“As it happens, I am quite intrigued by the notion of a visit to Mr. Trull’s museum,” Beatrice said smoothly.
Saltmarsh threw her a grateful look.
“It would be a complete waste of time.” Leo eyed the younger man for a moment longer and then, apparently satisfied that Saltmarsh had been successfully intimidated, he switched his attention to Beatrice. “I paid the place a visit a couple of years ago. It is filled with frauds and fakes designed to thrill those who are inclined toward such nonsense.”
“As it happens, I am inclined toward such nonsense.” Beatrice said. “I quite enjoy a good thrill now and again.”
Leo frowned. “I cannot imagine why. I assure you, the few artifacts in Trull’s Museum that are genuine have no great significance.”
“Nevertheless,” Beatrice said coolly, “I am much indebted to Mr. Saltmarsh for telling me about the establishment.”
Saltmarsh cleared his throat. “Thank you, Mrs. Poole. I cannot tell you how much it means to me to know that I have been of some small service.”
“Indeed, sir.” Beatrice saw Leo’s hard mouth curve in a smile that would have chilled the blood of many a strong man. She positioned the point of her parasol over the tip of his booted toe and leaned heavily on it. “You have been most helpful, Mr. Saltmarsh.”
Leo uttered a low grunt and quickly removed his foot from beneath the point of the parasol.
Saltmarsh glanced uneasily at him. “I must be on my way. Got an appointment at my tailor’s. If you will excuse me, Mrs. Poole?”
“Of course.” Beatrice gave him her warmest smile.
Saltmarsh bowed his way out of the shop.
Leo contained himself until the man was gone. Then he turned on Beatrice. “Hell’s teeth. What were you trying to do with that parasol? Amputate my toe?”
“You were being extremely unkind to a very polite gentleman.”
“How do you come to be acquainted with him?”
“We met in passing,” she said airily. “A mutual interest in horrid novels.”
“I see. Not a proper introduction, then.”
She was amused. “I did not think you the sort to be overly concerned about social niceties, my lord.”
“What was all that chatter about Trull’s Museum? You cannot be serious about wanting to visit the place.”
Beatrice looked thoughtfully toward the door where Saltmarsh had just disappeared. “On the contrary.”
“Why? I told you, it is filled with fakes and frauds.”
“I want to view Trull’s collection because Uncle Reggie went there two or three times before his death.”
That gave Leo pause. His gaze sharpened. “Are you certain?”
“Yes. He noted his visits in his appointment diary. I had not thought them important until Mr. Saltmarsh described the type of artifacts that are in Mr. Trull’s collection.”
“It makes no sense. There are no important relics whatsoever in Trull’s establishment, let alone anything so valuable as the Forbidden Rings.”
“Something drew him to the place more than once.”
“Perhaps he wanted to get an opinion on the Rings,” Leo said slowly. “If so, he wasted his time. At one time Trull was considered something of an authority on antiquities. But several years ago he was exposed as a creator of fraudulent artifacts. His reputation was destroyed. No serious-minded collector has paid any attention to him since the scandal.”
“Nevertheless, I believe I shall have a look at his collection.”
“If you wish to waste your time, that is your business.” Leo’s eyes gleamed. “But if you are serious about pursuing more worthwhile clues, I have one that may interest you.”
That got her attention. “What clues, sir?”
“I have the location for the shop of the elusive Dr. Cox. I thought you might like to accompany me when I pay him a visit this afternoon.”
“Wonderful.” Excitement hummed through her. “How very clever of you, my lord.”
“Thank you.” Leo grimaced. “I can only hope that I did not start any unfortunate rumors about myself in the process.”
“What do you mean?”
He took her arm to escort her out of the shop. “Let’s just say that when a man asks for the direction of a quack who is noted for treating impotence, he invites a certain amount of speculation.”
Beatrice struggled to quash her laughter as they stepped out onto the walk. “I can hear the gossip now. Everyone will be wondering if the Mad Monk of Monkcrest has come to Town to find a cure for his failing manhood.”
“I am glad that you find the prospect of such gossip so amusing.” Leo gave her a thoroughly menacing smile. “Because you will no doubt play a role in the rumors.”
“In what way, my lord?”
“As I am spending a great deal of time in your company these days, the Polite World may assume that you are the reason I am so eager to cure my affliction.”
Beatrice stopped laughing.
A CHILL GRAY mist had gathered in the streets by the time Leo handed Beatrice up into an anonymous hackney for the trip to Moss Lane. The fog promised to grow thicker before nightfall.
In spite of what he had told her that morning, the truth was, it was not his own reputation that concerned him. Beatrice apparently had no qualms about playing ducks and drakes with her good name, but he was not so sanguine.
It was true that a widow enjoyed a great deal of freedom that was not accorded to unmarried ladies under the age of thirty, but there were limits to everything.
The journey into the maze of narrow streets and dark alleys that contained Moss Lane took nearly half an hour. In the end the coachman halted the vehicle and announced that he could go no farther.
“Ye’ll ‘ave to walk from ’ere, m’lord. Moss Lane is too narrow for the coach. No room to turn the ’orse around. I’ll wait right ’ere for ye and the lady.”
“We shall be back within the hour.” Leo tossed the coachman several coins to ensure that he would wait. “I shall expect to find you here.”
The coachman caught the money with a practiced move. He gave Leo a toothless grin. “Don’t ye worry none, m’lord. I won’t be goin’ anywhere.”
Leo took Beatrice’s arm and started into Moss Lane. The looming buildings that lined the street c
“Are you certain Dr. Cox’s shop is near here?” Beatrice frowned at the dark doorways. “It does not appear to be a good location for a business.”
“I am told that Dr. Cox does not have to pay high rent in a more prosperous section of town in order to attract business. The gentlemen who seek his services prefer to come to a less public spot.”
“One can understand that, I suppose.”
Leo kept an eye on the doorways. At this hour of the day the neighborhood appeared to be reasonably safe, but it was not the kind of place one brought a lady after dark.
“What did your aunt say when you told her that I wished to escort all of you to the theater tonight?” he asked.
“Winifred was ecstatic. She cannot wait to display Arabella in a private theater box. She even contrived to send word to Mr. Burnby in a roundabout way in hopes that he would also attend. It was very kind of you, sir. I cannot thank you enough for the invitation.”
Leo wanted to ask her if she, too, was excited about the prospect of attending the theater in his company or if she was merely grateful to him because of the social opportunity he had created for her aunt and cousin.
It did not appear to have occurred to Beatrice that the only reason he had suggested the evening at the theater was that he wanted to spend the time with her.
Until then his relationship with her had been anything but normal. He had proposed the theater because he had been seized with a strange desire to entertain her in a more conventional fashion. He wanted to see if he could please her. He wished to have her smile at him and thank him for a pleasant evening. He wanted to catch another glimpse of womanly desire in her eyes.
Hell’s teeth, he thought. I want to seduce her.
Beatrice glanced up at a small wooden sign overhead that bore an image of a mortar and pestle. “Here is Dr. Cox’s shop. This promises to be most interesting.”
Leo glanced at her as he opened the door. He would have felt a good deal more cheerful if he could have convinced himself that some of the sparkle in her eyes was due to his presence. Unfortunately, he was fairly certain that her enthusiasm had everything to do with the prospect of interviewing Cox and nothing at all to do with himself.
“It does, indeed,” Leo said.
Chapter 9
She went deeper into the dark passageway, seeking the secrets of the Ruin’s strange master. All around her the shadows roiled and seethed.
FROM CHAPTER NINE OF The Ruin BY MRS. AMELIA YORK
The fog that had coalesced outside the shopwindows shrouded the panes of glass and created an artificial twilight inside Dr. Cox’s Apothecary.
Beatrice blinked a few times until her eyes adjusted to the gloomy interior of the shop. A single lamp burned at the rear of the establishment. The weak light glinted on rows of grimy glass jars filled with herbs and other, not so easily identified materials.
A balance for weighing small amounts of various substances sat on the counter. The bookshelf near the lamp held a number of volumes. Most appeared to have been consulted on a frequent basis. The leather bindings were cracked and worn.
A soft rustling sound at the rear of the apothecary made Beatrice flinch. Leo noticed her startled reaction and gave her a condescending smile. Annoyed with her all-too-vivid imagination, she glowered at him.
The slithering noise grew louder. Beatrice steeled herself and turned to watch as a strange apparition emerged from the shadows. The figure that shuffled slowly into the dim light could have emerged from one of the haunted crypt scenes in The Castle of Shadows.
The troll-like man had hunched shoulders, a large head thrust aggressively forward from a thick neck, and a heavy body. One gloved hand gripped the handle of a cane.
He was garbed in an ill-cut coat and aged breeches that had been stained to an indeterminate hue with the residue of a thousand herbal concoctions. He had a woolen scarf wrapped around his neck. Shafts of dull gray hair stuck out from beneath a floppy cap.
Stiff, curling whiskers that had not been trimmed in a very long while concealed his ears and most of his mouth. A pair of tiny wire-rim spectacles perched on a bulbous nose. In the dim light it was impossible to make out the color of his eyes.
“What’s this?” The rasping voice bristled with indignation. “I had no appointments this afternoon.”
“I am Monkcrest,” Leo said.
Beatrice raised her eyes silently to the ceiling. She doubted that Leo had any notion of the chilling arrogance he could infuse into a simple introduction. Then again, perhaps he did. Madman or sorcerer, there could be no doubt about the generations of pride that had been bred into his bones.
“Monkcrest.” Rheumy eyes squinted over the rims of the spectacles. “I’ve heard of ye. Yer the one they call the Mad Monk. What do you want with me, sir?”
“My friend Mrs. Poole and I wish to have a word with you on a private matter.”
“Private matter, eh?” A knowing cackle erupted from the whiskers. Yellow teeth gleamed. “So that’s it. Got a little problem of the private sort, have ye? Well, m’lord, ye’ve come to the right place. I’ll get ye straightened out and standing tall in short order, I will.”
Beatrice saw Leo’s jaw tighten. She stepped forward quickly. “You misunderstand, Dr. Cox. We are not here to discuss his lordship’s, er, health. We wish to inquire about the concoction you sold to my uncle Lord Glassonby. Do you remember him?”
“Glassonby. Glassonby.” Cox’s thick brows bobbed violently. “See here, the man’s dead, ain’t he? Heard he’d cocked up his toes in a bawdy house.”
“Yes. I shall come straight to the point, Dr. Cox. I wish to know if there was anything unusual in the tonic you prepared for him.”
“Unusual? What’s this?” With a crablike movement Cox retreated into denser shadow. “What are ye saying, Mrs. Poole? I had nothing to do with Glassonby’s death. Man died in a brothel. A heart seizure, they said. Ye can’t lay that at my door, madam.”
“Calm yourself, Cox.” Leo moved closer.
Beatrice watched him start to lean one arm negligently against the counter. He glanced at the thick layer of grime and apparently thought better of the move.
“Mrs. Poole wishes to reassure herself and the rest of her family that Glassonby died of natural causes.”
“I warned him not to allow himself to become overstimulated,” Cox whined. “I instruct all my clients in the dangers of too much excitement. Men who haven’t been able to enjoy their full manly vigor in years sometimes overdo things when they regain their strength overnight. Not my fault if they don’t listen to my advice.”
Beatrice took a step forward. “Dr. Cox, the only thing I want to know is if there was any ingredient in that last dose of my uncle’s tonic that was different from what you had mixed in on previous occasions.”
“No, there certainly was not.” Cox trembled with indignation. “The Elixir of Manly Vigor is my own special formula. I’ve supplied it to many gentlemen and there have never been any accidents.”
“Would you give me a list of the ingredients?” Beatrice asked.
“See here, ye cannot ask a man to give up his trade secrets.” Cox waved her back with a flapping hand. “Go on. There’s no more to be said.”
“But, Dr. Cox—”
“Mrs. Poole, yer uncle obviously allowed himself to become overstimulated and his heart gave out. ‘Tis a pity, but there ye have it. These things happen, especially with elderly gentlemen who are not in robust physical condition. Now I’ll thank ye both to take yerselves off. I’m a busy man.”
Leo glanced at Beatrice and raised a brow in silent inquiry. Frustrated, she racked her brain for some other, more useful question.
“Dr. Cox, I appreciate your telling me that there was nothing out of the ordinary in my uncle’s tonic. The information will provide some peace of mind to my family.”
“Should think so.” Cox huffed a bit. “I’m a man of science, Mrs
“No, of course not.”
Leo looked at Cox. “Do you recall your last meeting with Glassonby?”
“Certainly. He came to pick up his bottle of elixir at the first of the week, as usual.”
“You provided him with a week’s supply at a time?”
“That’s right.” Cox glared at her over his spectacles. “What of it?”
“Did Glassonby happen to mention that he might be experimenting with other treatments for his problem?”
“Other treatments?” Cox’s gnomelike face worked furiously. “Do ye mean to say that he was going to another doctor?”
“I do not know. I merely wondered if he might have been using anything other than the Elixir of Manly Vigor to treat his problem,” Beatrice said. “Something that could have caused his heart seizure.”
“Hah.” Cox’s trollish features cleared at that notion. “Another treatment. There’s yer answer, then, Mrs. Poole. Yer uncle was combining remedies without proper medical supervision. I cannot be held accountable for the effects of some other doctor’s therapies.”
“No, of course not,” Beatrice murmured. “Thank you very much for your time, Dr. Cox. My uncle’s family will be reassured to know that your tonic had nothing to do with his death.”
“See to it that fact is made very clear, Mrs. Poole.” Cox’s colorless eyes glittered in the gloom. “Got my reputation to consider, ye know. Can’t have the fancy goin’ around sayin’ untrue things about my special tonic. That sort of talk will ruin my trade, it will.”
“I’ll make sure everyone understands,” Beatrice assured him. She looked at Leo. “I am quite satisfied. Let us be on our way, sir.”
“As you wish, Mrs. Poole.”
He took her arm and escorted her out of the shop. In silence they started back toward the waiting hackney. The fog had thickened considerably in the narrow lane, Beatrice noticed. Voices rose and fell in the mist. The hooves of invisible horses clattered eerily.
Moss Lane had appeared cramped and dismal a short while earlier, but it had not offered any great threat. Now the heavy mist had transformed the atmosphere with remarkable effect.