Dangerous

Chapter Seventeen

Prudence had difficulty concealing her astonishment the next morning when she and Sebastian were ushered into the hall of Lord Bloomfield's town house.

There was barely room to move. Crates and boxes were stacked everywhere. Old newspapers were piled high in the corners. A strange mix of items cluttered the hall. Books, globes, small statues, walking sticks, and hats filled all the available space.

The chaos continued up the staircase. Only half of each step was visible. The other half was taken up with a trunk, a crate, or a pile of old clothes.

There was a dank, airless feeling in the town house, Prudence thought, as if no one ever opened the windows. It was also quite dark. An oppressive sense of gloom pervaded the atmosphere of the dank hall.

She slanted a sidelong glance at Sebastian from beneath the large, sweeping brim of her new violet straw bonnet. She had to hold the trailing ends of a huge purple bow out of the way in order to see him clearly. He was examining the surroundings with carefully veiled curi­osity.

"His lordship never throws nothin‘ away," the slatternly house­keeper announced with a touch of pride.

"I can see that," Sebastian said. "How long has Bloomfield lived here?"

"Oh, some time now. But he only started accumulatin‘ stuff about three years ago." The housekeeper chuckled hoarsely. "His old house­keeper quit about that time and I took the job. Far as I'm concerned the master can store anything he pleases so long as he pays me my wages."

The door to what once must have been the drawing room stood open. Prudence took a quick look inside and saw that the room was filled to overflowing with more crates, papers, and other assorted items. She noticed the drapes were pulled.

"Watch yer step." The housekeeper led the way along a narrow path through the hall. "We don't get many visitors here. His lordship likes his privacy." She chortled again. Her broad back heaved with the force of her mirth.

Prudence glanced again at Sebastian. She was uncertain of his mood today. He had talked of little else except this visit to Bloomfield since he had gotten up this morning. He had not said one word about last night.

For the life of her, Prudence still could not tell if her small confes­sion of love had had any effect on him.

He had taken her by surprise last night. She had been half asleep when he had asked his startling question. She had been caught off guard, warm and relaxed from his lovemaking. She had responded without thinking.

Why did you marry me?

Because I love you.

Her first conscious thought upon awakening this morning was that she had made a serious error. All along she had been uneasy about how Sebastian would react to a declaration of love from her. His failure to mention it today had only made her all the more anxious.

She would have given a fortune to know what he was thinking. She could not tell if he was irritated or merely bored with the notion that his wife was in love with him.

It occurred to Prudence that she might not have said the words aloud. Relief went through her at the thought. Perhaps she had only dreamed that she had told Sebastian she loved him.

But surely if she had been dreaming, she would have also dreamed his answer. The sad reality was that either way, aloud or in her dreams, there had been no response from Sebastian. If he knew now that she loved him, he had apparently decided to politely overlook the fact.

Perhaps it did not amuse him.

"The master'll see ye in here." The housekeeper paused beside a flowerpot that contained the remains of a long-dead plant. She opened a door.

Prudence felt Sebastian's hand tighten briefly on her arm as if he instinctively wanted to draw her back. She peered into Bloomfield's library, wondering why it was filled with the gloom of night at this hour of the day.

Prudence glanced around and realized that all the drapes had been drawn. Only one lamp burned on the desk in the corner.

Behind the desk sat a massively obese man with bulging eyes, wild, unkempt hair, and a beard that reached halfway down his chest. There was enough gray in the beard to indicate that he was probably in his late forties. He was clasping his hands very tightly together on the desk. He did not rise.

"So you were good enough to come, Lady Angelstone. Wasn't sure if you would. Not many people come here anymore. Not like the old days."

"You're Bloomfield, I assume?" Sebastian asked.

"Aye, I'm Bloomfield." Shaggy brows snapped together above Bloomfield's pale eyes. "Expect you're Angelstone."

"Yes."

"Humph. I wanted to consult Lady Angelstone alone. Professional matter, y'know." Bloomfield appeared to be shivering although the room was very warm.

"I do not allow my wife to have private consultations with her male clients. I'm certain you understand my position. If you wish to speak to her, you must do so in my presence."

"Bah. As if I'd try to take advantage of her," Bloomfield rasped. "I've no interest in women."

"What was it you wished to consult with me about, Lord Bloom­field?" Prudence picked her way around a pile of aging copies of the Morning Post and the Gazette. She found a chair in front of the desk and sat down. There was no point waiting to be asked, she thought. Bloomfield obviously did not concern himself with social niceties.

This morning she and Sebastian had discussed their strategy over breakfast. They had agreed that she would keep Bloomfield's atten­tion focused on her as much as possible so that Sebastian would be free to observe the man and his surroundings. Now that she had seen the monumental clutter that filled the room, however, Prudence did not think Sebastian would be able to observe very much at all.

Bloomfield turned his staring eyes toward Prudence. "I hear you are an authority on spectral phenomena, Lady Angelstone."

"I have studied the subject at some length," she allowed modestly.

Bloomfield's expression turned crafty. "Have you ever actually en­countered a ghost?"

For some reason the memory of the presence she thought she had detected in the black chamber at Curling Castle flashed into Pru­dence's mind. "There was one instance where I believed I might have discovered a genuine example of spectral phenomena," she said slowly. "But I was unable to find any evidence to support my conclu­sion."

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Sebastian glance at her in surprise.

"At least you're honest about it, not like some of the charlatans I've talked to. Claim to talk to ghosts regularly, they do. Tell me what they think I want to hear, just to get their fee."

"I do not charge a fee for my services," Prudence said.

"I heard. It's one of the reasons I sent you that message." A soft rustling noise interrupted Bloomfield. Instead of glancing about casu­ally to see what had caused it, he jerked wildly around in his chair.

"What was that?" he demanded shrilly. "What made that sound?"

"A pile of papers slid to the floor." Sebastian smiled his cold smile and walked across the room to where several copies of the Morning Post were scattered on the carpet. "I'll restack them for you."

Bloomfield stared at the papers as if he had never seen them be­fore. He shuddered. "Leave them."

"I don't mind putting them back." Sebastian bent down to scoop up the papers.

Bloomfield turned urgently to Prudence. "I shall make no bones about it, madam. I have reason to believe I am being pursued by a ghost. I demand to know if you can rid me of this thing before it murders me the way it has the others."

Prudence looked into Bloomfield's strange eyes and knew that he believed every word he was saying. She pushed the trailing end of the purple bow out the way again. "Do you know the identity of this ghost?"

"Oh, yes. Yes, I know her." Bloomfield removed a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his sweating brow. "She said she would have her vengeance. Thus far she has killed two of us. Sooner or later she will come for me."

"What is the name of this ghost?" Prudence asked.

"Lillian." Bloomfield stared at the handkerchief in his hand. "She was a pretty little thing. But she wouldn't stop screaming. They finally had to close her mouth with a gag."

Prudence felt her palms dampen inside her gloves. She exchanged a brief look with Sebastian. He had finished restacking the newspapers and was standing quietly in the shadows. She was suddenly very glad that he had insisted upon accompanying her today.

She braced herself and turned back to Bloomfield.

"What did they do to Lillian?" Prudence asked. She did not really want to hear the answer, but she knew she had to lead Bloomfield through the tale step by step if anything was to be accomplished.

Bloomfield gazed into the flaring lamp, lost in his own private world. "Just wanted to have some sport with the wench. She was nothing but a tavern girl. It wasn't as if we hadn't paid for our fun. But she made such a fuss. Wouldn't stop screaming."

Prudence closed her gloved fingers into small fists. "Why did she scream?"

"Don't know. None of the other girls ever did." Bloomfield's hands were shaking. "You'd have thought she was gently bred, the way she carried on. I suggested we get another, more cooperative little cyprian. But Curling wanted this one. We finally got her into the car­riage. Finally got the gag on her." Bloomfield's face relaxed. "That stopped the screams."

Prudence set her teeth against the rage that poured through her. "Where did you take her?"

"To Curling Castle. Curling has a room for that sort of sport. Created it especially for The Princes of Virtue." Bloomfield glanced at her as if he'd momentarily forgotten she was there. He scowled. "That was the name of our club. We liked the irony of it, you see."

"I see." Prudence wanted to go for his throat.

Sebastian must have sensed the fury that was boiling like a sickness in her stomach. He moved to stand directly behind her. She felt his hand settle on her shoulder.

"Do The Princes of Virtue still use that room for their private entertainment?" Sebastian asked matter-of-factly, as if such lechery were the norm for high-ranking gentlemen.

"What?" Bloomfield appeared briefly confused. "No, no. That's all over now. We never met again after that night. She ruined everything. Everything, damn her soul."

"How did she ruin things?" Prudence managed to ask in a rela­tively calm tone.

"Killed herself." Bloomfield shuddered. Then he went back to staring into the heart of the lamp.

Prudence fought for her self-control. Her task was to pry the an­swers from Bloomfield, not tell him what she thought of him. "Did she kill herself because of what you did to her?"

"Curling had her first." Bloomfield spoke very softly. "There was blood. Didn't expect that, you know. Curling was pleased. Said he'd gotten his money's worth. Then Ringcross and Oxenham got on top of her."

"What about you?" Prudence asked.

"By the time it was my turn, the ropes had loosened. She got free of them and ran to the window. Curling tried to grab her, but he slipped and fell. The robes, you see. We all wore black robes. The others were too drunk to catch her in time."

Prudence remembered a vague dream of black drapes blowing in front of a window that opened onto darkness. "Lillian jumped out the window?"

"She stood on the sill for a second. Then she tore the gag out of her mouth and looked back at us. I will never forget her eyes as she cursed us. Never, as long as I live." Bloomfield slammed his fist onto the desk. "Her eyes have haunted me for three damned years."

Prudence choked on her rage. For a few seconds she literally could not speak. It was Sebastian who quietly took over the questioning.

"What did she say when she cursed you?" he asked without any sign of emotion in his tone. "What were Lillian's exact words, Bloom­field?"

‘You will pay. As God is my witness, I swear you will pay. There will be justice." Bloomfield looked down at his shaking hands. "Then she leaped to the stones below. Broke her neck."

"What did you do then?" Sebastian asked.

"Curling said we had to get rid of the body. Make it appear that she had drowned. He had us wrap her up in a blanket and take her to a stream." Bloomfield frowned. "She was so light. Didn't weigh much at all."

Prudence straightened her shoulders and told herself that she had to hold up her end of the investigation no matter how unpleasant it was. "And now you believe that Lillian has come back to claim her vengeance."

Bloomfield's eyes burned with a barely controlled terror. "It's not fair. She was just a tavern wench. We just wanted a bit of sport."

"Tavern wenches have feelings just like other women," Prudence said tightly. "What right did you have to force her into that carriage and carry her away like that?" She broke off with a small gasp as Sebastian's fingers bit into her shoulder.

But she saw at once that there was no need to worry about having interrupted Bloomfield's story. He was staring into the lamp again, pondering some vision that only he could see.

"It's all so unfair," he muttered. "The wench has already had her vengeance on me. Why does she want to kill me? Hasn't she done enough?"

Prudence leaned forward. "What do you mean? What vengeance has Lillian taken against you?"

"I have not had a woman since that night," Bloomfield howled. Despair was carved on his face. He did not appear to see Prudence at all now. He was still looking into the vision that he saw in the lamp­light. "I can no longer even have a woman. She destroyed my manhood that night."

Prudence started to tell him it served him right if he had indeed been impotent for the past three years. But Sebastian's hand tightened again on her shoulder, silencing her.

"And now you think she is going to kill you?" Sebastian prodded quietly.

"She has already killed Oxenham and Ringcross." Bloomfield clasped his shaking hands together. "I know they say that Ringcross's death was an accident and that Oxenham committed suicide, but it's not true. I got this note, you see."

He picked up a small piece of foolscap and handed it to Prudence. She read the brief message.

Lillian will be avenged.

"Where did you get this?" Prudence asked.

"I found it lying on my desk yesterday. She must have put it there. I want you to make her go away and leave me alone," Bloomfield said.

"How, precisely, do you expect me to do that?" Prudence asked.

"Contact her. Tell her I have paid for my part in what happened."

Prudence looked at him. "It might be difficult to convince her that she should be satisfied. After all, you are still alive and she is dead."

"It's not fair," Bloomfield said again. "I have paid for what hap­pened. I never even took the girl."

"But you watched while the others did," Prudence said. "And you would have taken your turn if Lillian had not leaped to her death."

"I do not deserve to be hounded to my death by her ghost. I have paid, I tell you."

"I think," Sebastian said very coolly, "that you would be wise to leave Town for a while."

"What good would that do?" Bloomfield swung his frightened eyes toward Sebastian. "She is a ghost. She has already found Ringcross and Oxenham. She will find me regardless of where I go."

Prudence glanced at Sebastian. Apparently he wanted Bloomfield to leave London. She pursed her lips in a considering manner. "It is my professional opinion that there is an excellent chance you will escape her notice for a while if you leave Town today."

"Tell no one where you are going," Sebastian said. "Absolutely no one. Not even your housekeeper."

Bloomfield shook his head in a helpless gesture. "You don't under­stand. I want Lady Angelstone to deal with Lillian's ghost. Tell her she has already had her vengeance."

"I shall need time to reflect upon the proper way to contact her," Prudence said. "These things require investigation and planning. Angelstone is right. It would be best if you left Town for a while."

"But I don't care to travel," Bloomfield whined. "I rarely leave the house. It makes me very uneasy. I suffer from the nervous sickness, you know."

"I have the distinct impression that if you do not leave this house as soon as possible," Sebastian said, "you will find yourself suffering from something far more debilitating than the nervous sickness."

Bloomfield's eyes widened. "She will come for me next, won't she?"

"Very likely," Sebastian said easily.

"I believe that Angelstone is probably quite right," Prudence said briskly. "I cannot positively guarantee your safety anywhere, of course. After all, we're talking about a ghost. But I am persuaded that if you leave Town at once and tell absolutely no one where you're going, I may be able to accomplish something useful."

"At the very least we shall purchase a little time for you, Bloom­field," Sebastian said. "And I have the impression that time is of the essence."

Bloomfield looked at Prudence. "You'll find a way to contact Lil­lian's ghost while I'm gone? You'll talk to her?"

"If I encounter her, I shall definitely talk to her about the matter," Prudence said.

"Very well." Bloomfield heaved himself wearily to his feet. "I shall make arrangements to leave at once. I am grateful to you, Lady Angelstone. I did not know where else to turn. I began to worry after Ringcross fell from the tower room. But when I learned that Ox-enham had died, too, I truly began to fear for my life."

"It was very wise of you to call upon my wife for advice," Sebastian said. "She is quite expert at this sort of thing."

"Nothing has been the same since that terrible night," Bloomfield whispered. "Nothing at all."

Sebastian took Prudence's arm. "I think we had best be off, my dear. You have work to do and I'm certain Bloomfield wants to be on his way as quickly as possible."

Prudence did not say a word as Sebastian led her through the maze of clutter that filled the shadowed library. She glanced back once when they reached the door.

Bloomfield was standing behind his desk, his inner terrors easily visible in his staring eyes. He was gazing down into the lamp.

Sebastian and Prudence went swiftly along the hall to the door. Neither was inclined to wait for the housekeeper. Sebastian opened the door and swept Prudence out into the cold sunshine.

"Tell me, my dear," Sebastian asked softly as he handed her up into the waiting carriage, "just what will you say to Lillian's ghost if you do manage to speak with her?"

Prudence gripped her reticule fiercely in her lap. "I shall tell her that I think she has every right to wreak vengeance on The Princes of Virtue. I shall wish her luck in the endeavor. And I shall tell her that Jeremy loved her very much and that he, too, intends that she be avenged."

"Yes." Sebastian smiled his most chilling smile as he sat down across from her. "I think that would be a very suitable message to give her. But somehow I do not think that Lillian's ghost is behind the deaths of Ringcross and Oxenham."

Prudence took a deep, calming breath. "I gathered that when you suggested Bloomfield leave Town. Was that for his own protection, Sebastian? Did you want him to disappear for a time so that he will not fall prey to the person who killed Ringcross and Oxenham? Why do you not warn Curling, also?"

"I do not particularly care if either Bloomfield or Curling gets himself killed. From the sound of things, all The Princes of Virtue deserve to die under Lillian's curse. But I wanted Bloomfield out of the way so that I could search that mausoleum of his at my leisure."

That statement wrenched Prudence's attention away from her an­ger and focused it back on the investigation. "You're going to search his house?"

"The library, at any rate." Sebastian lounged back against the cushions. "Bloomfield has apparently thrown almost nothing away for the past three years since Lillian's death. It should prove interesting to go through the contents of his desk."

"I shall accompany you."

"Now, Prue—"

"In my professional capacity, of course." She pushed the dangling purple ribbon aside and gave him a determined look. "I must insist, Sebastian. After all, I have given my word to Lord Bloomfield that I will attempt to contact Lillian's ghost."

"I don't think it wise."

"It will be perfectly safe, my lord. If we are caught I shall merely explain that I am carrying out an investigation of spectral phenomena for my client."

Sebastian's eyes gleamed. "Very well, my dear. If we are appre­hended, I shall let you handle all the explanations. But bear in mind that the last time you did so, you wound up engaged to me."

"I am hardly likely to forget that, my lord."

Prudence wished very badly that she knew whether or not he had heard her confession of love last night.

At one o'clock that morning Sebastian lit the lamp on Bloom-field's desk, removed the length of wire he had tucked into his sleeve, and inserted it into the lock.

"Do you always carry that with you?" Prudence asked.

"Always."

Getting into the house had proved relatively simple. Bloomfield's locks were large and forbidding in appearance but not particularly complicated. Sebastian had opened them effortlessly and Prudence had been suitably admiring of his talents.

"This place is even worse at night than it is during the day," Pru-dence whispered. She stood nearby, peering over Sebastian's shoulder as he worked on the desk lock. "I don't know how Bloomfield can stand to live in such a dark, cluttered house. It would drive me mad."

Sebastian did not look up from his work. "He already is mad, in case you failed to notice."

"Hardly. He is a very strange man."

"At least we have the house to ourselves. Bloomfield certainly did not delay leaving Town today. He actually is afraid of Lillian's ghost." Sebastian felt something give inside the lock. Satisfaction coursed through him. "Ah, yes, love. That's it. Open for me. Easy, now. Let me inside. Beautiful."

Prudence gave a soft, annoyed exclamation. "Are you aware that you tend to talk to locks the same way you talk to me when we are making love?"

"Naturally. You and a fine, clever lock have much in common. You are both endlessly amusing."

"Sebastian, sometimes you are impossible."

"Thank you. I do try." Sebastian opened the first drawer and sur­veyed the crammed interior. "Damnation. This is going to take some time."

Prudence's new purple cloak drifted against Sebastian's boots as she leaned closer. "Bloomfield appears to have filed his business pa­pers in a somewhat haphazard fashion."

"Only to be expected, I suppose. Here, you take this batch." Se­bastian handed her a fistful of papers. "I'll go through these." He removed three journals from the drawer.

"What am I to look for?"

"I'm not certain. Anything that makes reference to Ringcross, Ox-enham, or Curling would definitely be of interest. Also anything that mentions a large sum of money. Preferably both."

Prudence glanced up curiously. "I don't understand."

"It is very simple, my dear. There are only a handful of motives for murder. Revenge, greed, and madness. I do not believe we are dealing with a madman."

"We have already decided revenge is a definite possibility."

"Yes, but the only one around who appears to have a reason for vengeance, aside from our ghost, is Jeremy. If you are right in thinking that he knew nothing about the deaths of Ringcross and Oxenham, then we must examine the third possible motive."

Lamplight glittered on the lenses of Prudence's spectacles "Greed?"

"Precisely."

"What if we find nothing to indicate that there is such a motive?"

Sebastian opened the first journal. "Then we must reconsider the possibilities of revenge or madness."

Prudence chewed gently on her lower lip. "What are you going to do if you discover that Jeremy is behind the murders?"

Sebastian ran his finger down a list of figures. "I shall take him aside and give him a very stern lecture."

Prudence blinked in astonishment. "A lecture on the evils of com­mitting murder?"

"No. A lecture on the evils of leaving behind evidence that can identify him as the killer. If Jeremy is bent on vengeance, he will need to become a bit more efficient and a little less melodramatic about the business."

Prudence smiled warmly. "Does this mean you have decided you do not wish to see him arrested?"

"I have concluded that it would not be particularly amusing."

It was after two before Sebastian finally discovered what he had begun to suspect he might find. The familiar surge of satisfaction flashed through his veins. His instincts told him that he had found the key to the puzzle.

"Ah, yes," he said. "This must be it."

"What is it?" Prudence put down the pile of old receipts she had been perusing.

Sebastian smiled as he scanned the business agreement he had turned up in the back of the bottom drawer. "A motive that accounts quite nicely for the deaths of Ringcross and Oxenham. It would also account for Bloomfield's demise, should that occur."

"Not madness or revenge?"

"No, the simplest of all." Sebastian refolded the document. "Greed."