Late For The Wedding

Twenty-Three

The following evening, Lavinia sat with Joan in a colonnaded supper box and gazed with unabashed delight at the booths, rotundas, and fanciful pavilions that surrounded them.

Vauxhall was ablaze with lights tonight. Countless lamps and lanterns concealed in the trees illuminated the grounds, while the thrilling music of Handel drifted over the scene. Mysterious grottos, historical tableaux, and galleries hung with paintings drew large crowds. A short distance away, the pleasure garden’s notorious treelined walks, many of them dark and secluded, lured amorous couples into the shadows for a bit of mildly scandalous dalliance.

If it were not for the fact that she and Joan were here on very serious business, Lavinia thought, she would have enjoyed herself immensely.

“I have not been here in years,” Joan said, examining the selection of cold meats on her plate with dry amusement. “But I vow nothing has changed. The ham is still sliced so thinly that one could read a newspaper through it.”

“My parents and I visited Vauxhall on a few occasions when I was young,” Lavinia said. “They purchased ice cream for me. I remember a balloon ascent and some acrobats and, of course, the fireworks.”

Memories floated up from the past, bringing images of another time when she had lived sheltered and secure in the warm bosom of her small family. The world then had been a very different place, she thought. Or, more likely, she was the one who had been different. In those days she had still been innocent and naive.

But one had to grow up eventually. She had done just that a decade ago when, in the course of eighteen months, she had been married and widowed and lost her beloved parents at sea. In what had seemed a single, shattering moment, she found herself alone in the world, forced to survive on her wits and her skills at mesmerism.

Joan’s life had taken some equally difficult twists and turns, she reflected. Perhaps that was the basis of the bond of friendship that had grown between them.

“You appear to be lost in thought.” Joan forked up a dainty bite of the very thin ham. “Are you contemplating how to go about questioning Lady Huxford and Lady Ferring?”

“No.” Lavinia smiled slightly. You may find this odd, but I was pondering how you and I come to be sitting here tonight, eating this vastly overpriced meal and wearing gowns created by one of the most fashionable dressmakers in London.”

Joan was briefly startled. Then, without warning, she gave one of her rare chuckles. Her eyes danced with laughter and shared knowledge.

“When but for the hand of fate we could so easily have come to another, far less pleasant end? Quite right.” Joan picked up her glass of wine. “Let us drink to the fact that neither of us ended up as an impoverished governess or some man’s discarded mistress.”

“Indeed.” Lavinia touched her glass to Joan’s. “But I do not think that we should give fate all the credit for helping us avoid either of those dreadful professions.”

“I agree.” Joan took a sip of wine and put down her glass. “Neither of us was afraid to grasp our opportunities when they appeared, were we? We have both taken some risks along the way that I fear would cause others to shudder.”

“Perhaps.” Lavinia shrugged. “But we survived.”

Joan’s expression turned thoughtful. “I do not think that either of us could have contemplated doing anything else, at least not for long. Our temperaments are such that we must take command of the course of our own lives and fortunes. Fielding always said that one of the things he admired most in me was my willingness to turn a corner and go forth into the future.”

Lavinia smiled. “May I take that comment to mean that you have decided that your new connection to Lord Vale does not dishonor your old love for your husband?”

“You may.” Joan cut another slice of ham with a resolute motion of her hand. “I gave your comments on the subject a great deal of close thought and I am certain of my heart. I have told Maryanne as much. It may take her some time to accept the situation, but I hope that eventually she will come to understand that I cannot live shrouded in the past. Nor would Fielding have wanted me to do so.”

“She will come around in time. She is still very young.”

“Yes, I know.” Joan chewed delicately and swallowed. “Do you think that we were ever so young and innocent? I cannot remember She stopped, eyes narrowing faintly. “Ah, here they come at last. I was beginning to fear that they had changed their plans for the evening.”

“Lady Huxford and Lady Ferring?”

“Yes. This is perfect. They are being shown to the table directly behind you, just as I requested.”

The request had been honored, Lavinia thought, because Joan had tipped handsomely to ensure that outcome. She resisted the urge to turn around in her seat.

“Lady Huxford has noticed me,” Joan murmured. She smiled coolly at a point just past Lavinia’s right shoulder and raised her voice slightly. “Lady Huxford, Lady Ferring. How lovely to see you here this evening.”

“Mrs. Dove.” The first voice was brittle and sharp.

“Mrs. Dove.” The second voice was raspy and rather hoarse.

“Allow me to introduce my very good friend, Mrs. Lake,” Joan said.

Lavinia forced herself to take her time. She turned slowly in her seat and, following Joan’s lead, inclined her head ever so slightly.

Her first thought was that she had made a terrible mistake.

Remorse swept through her. Surely neither of these two women teetering on canes was capable of commissioning a cold-blooded murder.

Lady Huxford was frail and nearly as thin as the slice of ham on Joan’s plate. Lady Ferring appeared sturdier, but it was clear that in her younger days she had probably been several inches taller. Her shoulders were now bent and rounded.

Lavinia’s pang of guilt faded when she found herself meeting two pairs of eyes that glinted with the undimmed fires of strong, forceful personalities. The chilly arrogance in those gazes spoke of long lives spent manipulating events and people to obtain their own ends. Their bodies might have succumbed to the weight of the years, but there was nothing wrong with either Lady Huxford’s or Lady Ferring’s mental faculties, Lavinia thought.

Or with their sense of style either, she noticed. Lady Huxford’s bronze gown was trimmed with yellow ribbons. Lady Ferring was garbed in an expensively cut dress of heavy rose silk. Both wore high, stiffly pleated lace ruffs, no doubt designed to conceal wrinkles and loose skin at the throat.

“Each wore a fetching little hat too. The charming confections were perched jauntily atop great quantities of silver-gray hair piled and curled into elaborate coiffeurs. Wigs, Lavinia thought. The false hair was fashionably arranged with a great deal of frizzing on top to add height. She could not see the back of the ladies’ heads from this angle, but she had a hunch the chignons were equally elaborate.

“Lady Huxford,” Lavinia said very casually, “please allow me to extend my condolences on your recent loss.”

Lady Huxford raised her lorgnette and squinted at Lavinia.

“What loss? I haven’t lost anyone of note since his lordship died fourteen years ago.”

“I refer to the untimely death of your granddaughter’s fiance, Lord Fullerton,” Lavinia said. “I’m certain her parents must be devastated. Such an excellent match.”

“They will soon make another one that is far more advantageous.”

Lady Huxford lowered the eyeglass.

Lavinia turned to Lady Huxford’s companion. “Speaking of canceled engagements, I collect that your grandson no longer intends to make an offer for the hand of Lady Rowland’s eldest granddaughter. What a pity. It seemed like such a fine alliance.

“Everyone thought that your grandson’s title went quite nicely with the girl’s inheritance.”

Lady Ferring’s expression closed like a heavy door swinging shut.

“But I suppose the financial aspects of the situation changed when Lady Rowland died so unexpectedly,” Lavinia continued smoothly. The timing of her death was most unfortunate, was it not?

“The on dit is that she succumbed before she got around to changing her will to endow the eldest girl. Her papa controls the money now, and they say he intends to divide the inheritance among all seven of his daughters.”

“Fate works in mysterious ways,” Lady Ferring observed.

“Indeed, it does,” Lavinia said. She turned back to Lady Huxford.

“Why, as fate would have it, I was at Beaumont Castle the night Lord Fullerton fell to his death.”

She could have sworn that Lady Huxford flinched a little at that news. But the woman recovered quickly.

“Any number of people were there that night, according to what I heard,” she said in her shards-of-glass voice. “Beaumont’s country house parties are always absolute crushes.”

“Yes, there certainly were a great many people present,” Lavinia agreed. “But I was evidently one of the last to see Lord Fullerton alive. Can you believe it? He passed me in the hall shortly before his fall.”

Lady Huxford regarded her in stony silence.

“I’ve no doubt but that he was in his cups,” Lady Ferring rasped.

“The man drank like a fish.”

“He did, indeed, appear intoxicated.” Lavinia made a tut-tutting sound. “I regret to say that when I saw him, he was in the company of a young maid.”

“Men will be men.” Lady Huxford’s eyes glittered with disdain. “It is hardly a matter to be discussed in polite company.”

“Well, in this case, it is an important observation,” Lavinia said just as coldly. You see, my associate, Mr. March, and I have been asked to look into the matter of Lord Fullerton’s death. It is our opinion that he was murdered and that the maid was actually the killer in disguise.”

Lady Huxford’s jaw dropped quite visibly. “Murder. What are you talking about? There has been no hint of murder.”

“On the contrary,” Lavinia murmured. “There has been more than a hint of foul play. In fact, it is safe to say that the villain made some mistakes this time.”

“This time?” Lady Ferring bridled. “Are you implying that there have been other murders?”

“Oh, yes, indeed. We are quite suspicious about Lady Rowland’s demise, as a matter of fact.”

“Heard it was an overdose of sleeping tonic,” Lady Ferring gritted.

“No one said anything about murder.”

Lady Huxford’s face tightened with outrage. “I cannot understand why anyone would ask you to look into the matter.”

“Don’t you know?” Joan said with an air of surprise. “Mrs. Lake and her associate, Mr. March, are in the private-inquiry profession. They take commissions from persons who wish them to discover the true facts of certain suspicious matters such as these recent deaths.”

“Private inquiries?” Lady Ferring glowered at Lavinia. “What an absurd notion. Hardly a fitting career for a lady.”

Lady Huxford’s eyes glittered with near-feverish intensity. “Who gave you this ridiculous commission to investigate Fullerton’s death? Never heard that anyone in the family was concerned.”

“Oh, I could not possibly divulge the name of our client,” Lavinia said. I’m sure you can understand. Mr. March and I work only for the most exclusive sort of clientele, and persons of quality demand great discretion. But I can assure you that my associate and I are making excellent progress in our investigations. When we identify the killer, I’m sure we will also discover who employed him.”

“Outrageous,” Lady Huxford muttered. “Absolutely outrageous.

“Private-inquiry agents. Never heard of such a thing.”

“As it happens, you may be able to assist me in my investigation, madam,” Lavinia said. You were no doubt acquainted with Fullerton. He was approximately the same age as yourself. You must have known him since the days when you were first brought out. Can you think of anyone who might have had a reason to kill him?”

Lady Huxford stared at her in stunned shock.

“You are quite mad,” she whispered hoarsely.

Lavinia turned to Lady Ferring. “You know, madam, when one considers the matter, one sees a marked similarity in the deaths of both Fullerton and Lady Rowland, don’t you agree? I must make a note to discover what they had in common. I wonder if the motives for the murder were the same in both instances. Something to do with altering plans for a wedding, perhaps.”

Lady Ferring’s eyes widened. “I have no notion of what you are talking about. This is the most ridiculous chatter I have ever heard.

“Lady Huxford is right, you are, indeed, a candidate for Bedlam, Mrs. Lake.”

“I have had quite enough of this lunatic, Sally.” Lady Huxford was on her feet, crumpling her napkin with one gloved hand. She seized her cane with the other. “I do not intend to eat in such company. Let us be off.”

“I quite agree.” Lady Ferring gripped an ebony walking stick with both hands and levered herself to her feet. She glared about with a ferocious expression. “Daniels? Where are you? We’re leaving.”

“Aye, madam.” A harried-looking footman hurried forward to take her arm.

Another man in different livery followed quickly. He took hold of Lady Huxford’s elbow. “Sorry, madam. Didn’t realize that you wanted to leave so soon.”

“The quality of the company is not what it should be,” Lady Huxford declared. “Quite intolerable.”

The two footmen prepared to escort their employers back through the maze of supper boxes.

Joan watched the slow progress with a mix of amusement and dismay.

“I thought you intended to question them with great subtlety,” she murmured.

“Bah, I saw immediately that subtlety would achieve nothing with those two.” Lavinia looked at her across the table. “I decided to rattle their nerves instead. Tobias assures me that making suspects anxious sometimes results in them giving themselves away.”

Joan eyed the departing ladies. “I cannot say if they are rattled, but they do seem to be quite annoyed.”

“Either way, perhaps they will grow careless and make some move that will provide us with a clue.”

“Assuming they are guilty.”

“Now that I have met them, I am certain they are both quite capable of hiring a killer if they thought it would achieve their ends.”

“It is certainly true that it would be extremely unwise to get between those two and whatever they happened to covet,” Joan agreed.

“I do not doubt that for a moment.” Lavinia turned around to glance at Lady Huxford and Lady Ferring.

The progress of the two women was quite slow, almost stately.

They had not gone far.

Lavinia stared at the backs of the voluminous silver-gray wigs.

“Oh, my God,” she whispered.

“What is it?” Joan followed her gaze, frowning. “Is something amiss?”

“Their chignons.”

Joan peered at the two elegantly styled hairpieces. “They are certainly quite elaborate, are they not? What about them?”

“They’re identical in design. Do you see the little rows of curls at the top of the upper portion and the manner in which the lower section is twisted around a braided coil?”

“Yes, but what of it?”

At that moment the music swelled, the lights in the trees dimmed as though by magic, and a series of crackles and explosions announced the start of the fireworks display.

Sparkling showers of fire filled the night sky. The crowds oohed and aahed. A roar of applause went up.

“The hairdresser,” Lavinia said.

“What?” Joan raised her voice to be heard above the din. “I cannot hear you.”

“The same hairdresser did both wigs,” Lavinia shouted back.

“That is hardly a surprise. It is obvious that the same dressmaker designed both of their gowns. I told you, Lady Huxford and Lady Ferring have been close friends for years. Why would they not share a dressmaker and a hairdresser?”

“You don’t understand,” Lavinia yelled above the uproar. The hairdresser who did those two wigs was the same one who accompanied Mrs. Oakes to Beaumont Castle. He styled her false hair in precisely the same manner for the costume ball. He told me that the row of curls at the top of the chignon and the loop around the coil are his signature.”

“What are you implying?”

“Don’t you see? The hairdresser is the Memento-Mori Man.”

Tobias came down the steps of his town house in two long strides.

The great sweep of the high-collared coat he wore over his dark shirt and trousers gave him the appearance of a thoroughly menacing highwayman.

One of Joan’s liveried footmen hastened to open the door of the maroon carriage. In spite of his bad leg, Tobias did not wait for the step to be lowered. He grabbed the handhold on the side of the opening and hauled himself up into the softly lit interior of the cab. He sat down beside Lavinia and looked first at her and then at Joan.

“What the devil is this about?” he asked. “I was just about to leave to visit Jack at the Gryphon. He thinks he may have found someone who knows something about Zachary Elland.”

“Lavinia is convinced that she has just identified the Memento

“Mori Man,” Joan said.

“Tobias turned his highwayman’s gaze on Lavinia. You mean to say that you actually learned something useful at Vauxhall tonight?”

“You need not sound so astounded, sir.” She drew herself up in the seat. “I told you that it would pay for me to question Lady Huxford and Lady Ferring, and I was right. I believe that the hairdresser who traveled to Beaumont Castle with Lady Oakes may be the murderer-for-hire whom we are seeking.”

To his credit, Tobias did not immediately reject the possibility.

Then again, she reflected, he was desperate for clues.

“Are you referring to that fool who told you red hair was unfashionable?” he asked warily.

“He is one of many who have pointed that out to me recently, but, yes, I am talking about Mr. Pierce. You will recall that he dressed Lady Oakes’s wig with an extremely elaborate chignon.” Lavinia touched the back of her head. “Lots of little curls and a braided coil?”

She used her finger to trace the design in the air. “It was a very unusual creation.”

“I have no recollection whatsoever of Lady Oakes’s headdress.”

“The thing is, Tobias, I got a close look at Lady Huxford’s and Lady Ferring’s chignons this evening when they left the supper box.

“Both were wearing wigs and both of their headdresses were identical to the one Lady Oakes wore at Beaumont Castle.”

“What of it?”

“Really, sir, were you not paying attention when we interviewed the wig-maker, Mr. Cork, and his associate, Mr. Todd? They made it quite clear that a fashionable hairdresser takes great pride in creating his own unique designs. Mr. Todd emphasized that he considered his chignons his signature.”

Tobias looked at Joan as though seeking assistance. She moved one shoulder in an elegant little shrug.

“I tried to tell her that it could, indeed, be a coincidence,” Joan said. “But the more I consider the matter, the less I am inclined to believe that myself. It is, indeed, quite odd that the hairdresser who created coiffeurs for the two women we believe hired the killer was also at Beaumont Castle the night of Fullerton’s death.”

Lavinia watched Tobias’s face closely. She could see that he was not entirely convinced but he was considering the possibilities closely. “It would explain a great deal about this case,” she said persuasively.

“He frowned. You refer to the blond wig?”

“Yes. A hairdresser would be well aware of just how memorable such a shade would be in the event that he was spotted in the course of his crime. If Mr. Pierce is the killer, it would also explain the unusual height of the maid. The hairdresser’s stature was not particularly remarkable for a man, indeed, he was slightly on the short side, but dressed in women’s attire, he would have appeared rather tall.”

Joan adjusted her glove. “It would also explain how three high-ranking ladies of the ton came to meet a professional murderer. A

“hairdresser, after all, is invited directly into the house. Indeed, he often practices his art in a lady’s dressing room or her bed chamber.”

Tobias narrowed his eyes. “If you are correct, it would imply that all three of these wealthy ladies discussed the most personal and confidential matters with their hairdresser.”

“Well, yes,” Lavinia said. “What of it?”

“Do you really expect me to believe that a lady would confide secrets to her hairdresser that she would not discuss with anyone other than her closest friends?”

Lavinia exchanged a glance with Joan.

“You had best tell the poor man the truth,” Joan murmured.

“What truth is that?” Tobias demanded.

“I know this will likely come as a shock to your nerves,” Lavinia said gently, Tbut I must tell you that ladies routinely confide secrets to their hairdressers that they would not think of telling anyone else. There is a certain intimacy about the process of having one’s hair dressed, you see. There you are, alone in your bed chamber with a man who is concerned only with combing and curling your hair. It is really quite pleasant.”

“Pleasant?

“Alone with a man who is only too happy to discuss matters of fashion and style,” Joan added. “A man who brings with him the latest gossip. A man who listens to every word you say. Yes, I think it is entirely possible that a woman might plot murder with just such a man.”

“Hell’s teeth,” Tobias muttered. What an unnerving thought.”

Lavinia met Joan’s eyes again in silent, mutual understanding.

How did one explain the intimacy between hairdresser and client to a man?

“Who in her right mind would trust a hairdresser to know how to carry out a murder without getting caught?” Tobias asked. What if he betrayed her and accused her of commissioning the crime?”

“I very much doubt that anyone in a position of authority would take a hairdresser’s word over that of a high-ranking member of the ton,” Lavinia said. “Also, as you have so frequently pointed out, who would believe that an elderly lady of the ton who has spent her entire life in the most exclusive drawing rooms would know how to go about finding and hiring a professional killer?”

“The clients probably did not realize that they were hiring the hairdresser,” Joan said, sounding thoughtful. “I suspect that they believed he was simply a sort of go-between. I’m sure it was all done with a wink and a nod. Mr. Pierce may have told them that he knew someone who knew someone who could arrange for this sort of thing to be done, as it were. I doubt very much that he billed himself as a murderer-for-hire.”

“What of his fees?” Tobias asked.

Joan moved one hand slightly. “Anonymous payments are easy enough to arrange.”

Lavinia looked at Tobias and knew that he was thinking the same thing she was. As the widow of a man who had run a vast criminal organization, Joan undoubtedly knew a great deal about how such matters were handled.

“Very well,” Tobias said eventually. “I cannot deny that there is a coincidence here, and you know how I feel about coincidences. So let us say for the sake of argument that Mr. Pierce is involved in this affair. I wonder how he persuaded Lady Oakes to take him to Beaumont Castle. Do you think she might have known what he was about that night?”

“Personally, I’m inclined to believe that Lady Oakes had nothing to do with the plot to kill Fullerton,” Joan said firmly. “She is very sweet-natured but she is not known for her sharp intellect, to put it kindly. I do not think it would have been at all difficult for Pierce to convince her that she needed her hairdresser with her the night of the costume ball.”

Silence welled up in the interior of the carriage.

“Tobias sat back in the seat and studied the front door of his house. Absently, he massaged his left thigh. As astonishing as it is, I cannot deny that the hairdresser is a link between the suspects and the death of at least one of the victims. Tomorrow I will see if I can discover some connections between him and the other two murders.”

Lavinia felt both relieved and vindicated. “I knew you would see reason eventually, sir. It was just a matter of time.”

“Your faith in my powers of logic is deeply gratifying,” he said grimly.

“What happens next?” Joan asked with great interest.

Tobias glanced at Lavinia. “Do you still have Pierce’s card? The one he gave you that night at the castle?”

“Yes. His lodgings are in Piper Street.”

“I am not entirely convinced that the hairdresser is the Memento

“Mori Man,” Tobias said. “But until we can sort through the chaos of this affair, I think it would be wise to keep an eye on him.”