The River Knows

9

Shortly before two o’clock that afternoon brass clanged on brass with precision and absolute authority. Someone was on the doorstep, demanding and expecting admittance.

Louisa felt her pulse leap. She tried in vain to suppress the quickening of her senses and the tingle of excitement that made her stomach flutter. Concentrate on the business at hand. Do not allow yourself to be distracted.

Mrs. Galt hurried past the open door of the study, wiping her hands on her apron.

Emma appeared in the doorway. She was dressed in the old gown she used when she worked in the conservatory. Anticipation lit her eyes.

“I expect that will be your Mr. Stalbridge,” she said.

“He is not my Mr. Stalbridge.” Louisa put down her pen in a very deliberate way, trying to appear cool and composed. “But, yes, I imagine that will be him. He did say he would call this afternoon to collect his fee.”

Emma gave a small ladylike snort of amusement. “As if a Stalbridge needs your money. I doubt very much that is why he is here.”

The front door opened. A low, masculine voice emanated from the front hall. Louisa felt a shivery little thrill stir the fine hairs on the nape of her neck. Calm yourself. This is a business arrangement, not a love affair.

A moment later Mrs. Galt appeared, looking suitably impressed and not a little curious.

“There’s a Mr. Stalbridge here to see you, Mrs. Bryce,” she said. “Says he’s expected.”

Mrs. Galt had every reason to be interested, Louisa thought. Until now the only regular gentleman caller at Number Twelve Arden Square was Mr. Rossmarten, Emma’s sixty-five-year-old admirer from the Garden Society. The two shared a mutual passion for orchids. Having learned a great deal about Emma’s adventurous past, Louisa was fairly certain the pair shared another sort of passion, as well. Discreetly, of course.

“Please show him in, Mrs. Galt,” Louisa said, maintaining her composure with an act of will. “And then we will need a fresh tray of tea, if you don’t mind.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Mrs. Galt disappeared back toward the front hall. Masculine footsteps echoed.

Mrs. Galt reappeared in the doorway. “Mr. Stalbridge.”

Something deep inside Louisa tightened at the sight of Anthony. Until now she had only seen him illuminated by the glittering lights of a ballroom or enveloped by the shadows of a darkened carriage. A part of her had wondered if the disturbing sensations she experienced in his presence would vanish in the light of day. But Anthony was as coolly elegant and just as excitingly dangerous in an expensively cut coat of dark gray wool and matching trousers as he was in his black-and-white evening attire. He wore a stylish striped four-in-hand tie, and his shirt featured the latest winged collar. His dark hair was brushed straight back from his high forehead. She liked the fact that he was clean shaven. Whiskers were currently quite fashionable for men, but she was not fond of the style.

He inclined his head with masculine grace.

“Ladies,” he said politely.

Mrs. Galt vanished in the direction of the kitchen. There was a short silence. Anthony waited, looking amused.

Louisa finally became aware of the fact that Emma was making a small, urgent motion with one hand. It dawned on her that she was just sitting there, staring at Anthony. Embarrassed, she pulled herself together to make the introductions.

“Good morning, Mr. Stalbridge,” she said hastily. “Please come in. I believe you are acquainted with Lady Ashton?”

“Of course.” Anthony came forward and bent over Emma’s hand. “A pleasure to see you again, madam.”

“Mr. Stalbridge,” Emma said in her customary crisp manner. “Do sit down, sir.”

“Thank you.”

He crossed the small space to take the remaining armchair. He looked at Louisa, eyebrows slightly raised in silent inquiry.

“It is quite all right, sir,” she said. “I have explained the unusual circumstances of our association to Emma. You may speak freely in front of her.”

Anthony regarded Emma with grave interest.

“You are involved in this business of proving that Hastings has a financial investment in a brothel?”

Emma smiled. “No. It is Louisa’s project, but I am happy to assist her in any way I can.”

“By obtaining invitations for her so that she may search the households of persons of interest?”

Emma was impressed. “How very clever of you, sir. That is, indeed, one of the ways I try to be of use.”

Louisa cleared her throat delicately. “What did you conclude concerning the extortion evidence, Mr. Stalbridge?”

“I read the journals and letters. It appears that there are five people being blackmailed. As I suspected last night, it is not the young ladies who are paying the extortion money. In each case it is a wealthy, elderly female relative who also happens to be in rather frail health.”

“Why are they paying blackmail?”

“Each of them is paying it to protect the reputation of a young female relative who was compromised.”

“How dreadful.” Louisa paused, frowning. “Was it Hastings who compromised them? I suppose, objectively speaking, he is not unhandsome, but I should have thought him a bit too old to appeal to very young ladies.”

“That is one of the interesting aspects of the situation,” Anthony said. “Each of the young women was compromised by a man who is variously described in their letters and journals as a Greek God with golden hair, the most beautiful man on the face of the earth, and a knight in shining armor. All agree he is in his late twenties.”

“Hastings has dark hair going gray and is in his forties,” Emma pointed out.

“So there is another man involved in the blackmail scheme,” Louisa mused.

“Yes,” Anthony said. “I will make arrangements immediately to return all of the items to their rightful owners anonymously and assure the victims that the blackmail is at an end. However, that avenue of inquiry is obviously closed to us.”

“Of course,” Louisa said. “We cannot risk exposing the identities of the victims.”

“No.” Anthony met her eyes. “Nor would they be likely to assist us in any event. Mrs. Bryce, I think it is time we discussed my fee for last night’s services.”

Louisa straightened. “Yes, of course. How much would you say that sort of thing is worth?”

“I do not want your money. What I want is information.”

She tensed. “I beg your pardon?”

“I have come here today to lay my cards on the table. As payment for last night, I hope that you will see fit to do the same.”

“What do you mean?”

“I explained that, thanks to the necklace I discovered in the safe, I have concluded beyond a shadow of a doubt that Elwin Hastings murdered Fiona Risby.”

“Yes, you did say that,” she agreed politely.

His smile was very cold. “I see you have some doubts.”

“Forgive me for interrupting,” Emma said evenly, “but it did occur to me to suggest to Louisa that perhaps you might have a motive for pointing the finger of blame at Elwin Hastings. That is not quite the same thing as proving that he killed her.”

Anthony nodded once, comprehending immediately. “Yes, of course. You wonder if I am concerned that the old rumors will prevent me from shopping for a bride in certain circles. You concluded that perhaps I have set out to implicate another in the crime in order to clear my own name.”

Louisa winced at the phrase shopping for a bride.

Emma’s brows rose. “You will admit that it is a possibility that cannot be entirely dismissed.”

Anthony met her eyes in a very direct fashion. “At this moment I can only offer you my word that is not the case. Last night I found the proof I needed to convince myself of what I have believed for some time.”

“The necklace,” Louisa said.

“Yes.” He turned back to her. “To my mind it is all the evidence I require to be convinced that Elwin Hastings murdered Fiona, but I am left with another question, one for which I intend to get an answer.”

“What is that?” Louisa asked.

“I’m very sure he killed her, but I have no notion why. There is simply nothing to connect Fiona Risby with Elwin Hastings other than the fact that they were both at the same ball on the night she disappeared.”

“There must have been a large crowd at that ball,” she pointed out. “How did you narrow the suspects down to Hastings?”

“There were several aspects of the situation that made me curious about him. The first was the death of his wife a few days later. I found the suicides of two women in Society, carried out in precisely the same manner less than a week apart, extremely coincidental, to say the least.”

Louisa tapped her pen lightly against the blotter. “One may have inspired the other. A woman overwhelmed by melancholia who happened to read of another woman’s suicide might decide to take the same path.”

Emma frowned. “I admit that I did not know her well, but I must tell you that I was quite shocked to hear of Victoria’s death last year. At the time I remember thinking that she did not seem at all the sort to take her own life.”

“That was my impression of her, too,” Anthony said. “I am even more convinced that Fiona would never have done such a thing.”

The door opened again. Mrs. Galt set the tea tray on the table in front of Emma.

“I’ll pour, Mrs. Galt,” Emma said. “Thank you.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

No one spoke until Mrs. Galt was gone and the door was once again closed.

Louisa looked at Anthony. “You were saying that the coincidence of the two suicides caught your attention.”

He lounged deeper into his chair and regarded her over steepled fingers. “There were actually three suicides that same month. The third was Joanna Barclay, the woman who killed Lord Gavin. You may recall the name. The murder created a great sensation in the press.”

Louisa froze. Icy tendrils of fear uncoiled inside her. She was very careful not to look at Emma.

“Yes,” she managed. “I believe I did hear something about that suicide.”

It was all she could do to keep breathing normally. The old terror began to creep out of the deep shadows, where it was always lurking. He could not possibly know who she was. As far as the world was concerned Joanna Barclay was dead. Society had long since forgotten the sensation Lord Gavin’s death had created.

But Lord Gavin had relatives. He had been married. There was a widow. Lady Gavin did not currently move in Society, of course, because she was still in mourning. Nevertheless, she was out there, somewhere. Perhaps Anthony was acquainted with her. Perhaps he had concluded there was some connection to the deaths of Fiona and Victoria. Perhaps he would feel it necessary to investigate the suicide of Joanna Barclay…

“Mrs. Bryce?”

She jumped at the sound of Anthony’s voice. He was watching her with an unsettling, enigmatic expression.

“Sorry,” she said quickly. “I was just thinking about what you said, sir.”

Emma gave her a worried look. “Do you feel faint, dear?”

“No, not at all.” Louisa forced her chaotic fears back into the shadows. Get hold of yourself. You’re allowing your imagination to run wild. You must deal with this situation one step at a time.

“Please continue with your explanation, sir,” she said coolly. “What of the third suicide?”

He continued to regard her in silence for a few heartbeats. She did not like the calculating expression in his eyes. Eventually he inclined his head slightly, as though accepting her explanations.

“I made some inquiries into Miss Barclay’s suicide,” he said, “but I was forced to conclude that there was no connection to the deaths of Fiona or Victoria Hastings. Miss Barclay was a bookseller. She had nothing to do with the Polite World, and there was no indication that Hastings knew her in any capacity. She specialized in rare and expensive volumes. Her clientele consisted primarily of collectors. Hastings is not interested in books.”

He had gone so far as to make inquiries. Cold perspiration dampened Louisa’s chemise. In an effort to settle her nerves, she removed her spectacles and began to polish the lenses with a handkerchief.

“Hmm,” she said, trying to appear thoughtful again.

“As I recall,” Emma said, composed, as always, in a crisis, “the sensation press made it plain that there was no mystery whatsoever about Miss Barclay’s death. She had a very strong motive for taking her own life. She must have known that she would be arrested for the murder of Lord Gavin. Obviously she could not bear the thought of the ordeal that was to come.”

“Indeed.” Anthony tapped his fingertips together once. “I was convinced to abandon that line of inquiry.” He did not take his attention off Louisa. “But the suicides of both Fiona and Mrs. Hastings continued to make me uneasy. I made some more inquiries, this time into Elwin Hastings’s business affairs.”

Louisa abruptly stopped polishing her spectacles. Curiosity surfaced above her fear. She popped the spectacles back on her nose and peered at him. “Did you find anything that aroused your suspicions?”

“Unfortunately, no. Hastings was involved in one of his investment consortiums at the time of the deaths, but I could not see any possible link between Fiona and his financial affairs.”

Louisa cleared her throat. “Forgive me for mentioning this, sir, but I must. Is there any possibility that Fiona and Mr. Hastings were intimately involved?”

“None whatsoever.”

The denial was flat and unequivocal. It allowed for no argument.

“I see,” she said. “Very well, then.”

“I spoke with several people who saw Fiona and the Hastingses at the ball that night. Evidently Mr. and Mrs. Hastings had gone out into the gardens to take some fresh air. Fiona was also seen leaving the ballroom. She was alone, and she, too, went into the gardens.”

Emma handed him a cup of tea. “There would have been a number of people out in the gardens that night.”

“True.” Anthony took the cup and saucer and set them on the table beside his chair. “In any event, the Hastingses were seen returning from the gardens some time later. They called for their carriage and left almost immediately.”

“What of Miss Risby?” Louisa asked.

Anthony’s jaw hardened. “She was never seen alive again.”

“I don’t understand. Are you saying no one noticed her come back into the ballroom?”

“Yes, Mrs. Bryce, that is what I am saying. She went out into the gardens alone and never returned. When she was pulled out of the water at dawn she was still in the gown that she had worn to the ball. The necklace was gone. It was assumed that it had fallen to the bottom of the river.”

Emma stirred her tea with an absent air. “I hadn’t heard those details.”

“For obvious reasons, the Risbys were anxious to maintain as much privacy as possible,” Anthony said.

“Go on,” Louisa urged, fascinated now. “Were there any other clues that led you to link the deaths of the two women?”

“In the course of the autopsy it was discovered that Fiona had suffered a blow of some kind to her head. The authorities concluded that she had hit a rock or some other underwater obstacle when she jumped, but there are other possibilities.”

Louisa stifled a small shiver. There were indeed other ways one could sustain a blow to the head. A poker, for example, could create a most grievous wound, a killing wound.

She touched her tongue to her suddenly dry lips. “Is that all you found in the way of clues?”

“Yes,” he admitted. “In the end, I was forced to abandon my inquiries.”

“I don’t understand,” Louisa said. “If that is the case, what led you to take the risk of opening Hastings’s safe last night?”

“The supposed suicide two weeks ago of a man named Phillip Grantley,” Anthony said.

Louisa looked at Emma for clarification. Emma shook her head, indicating she was equally mystified. That meant that Grantley had not moved in Society.

Louisa turned back to Anthony. “Who was Phillip Grantley?”

“My informant told me that Grantley was well acquainted with Elwin Hastings. It appears that Grantley handled Hastings’s business affairs. Hastings happens to be in the midst of putting together another investment consortium, just as he was last year when Fiona and Mrs. Hastings died. I found the coincidences too intriguing to ignore.”

Comprehension struck Louisa. She sat forward, excitement pulsing through her. “That is why you attended the same balls and receptions that I attended this past week. We were both seeking information on the other members of Hastings’s investment consortium.”

“Yes.” He smiled faintly. “I noticed you when I found myself practically tripping over you in Lord Hammond’s library.”

She had just picked up her cup. Shocked, she set it down again with a loud clang of chine-on-china. “What are you talking about?”

“On the night of the Hammond ball you entered the library in what could only be described as a furtive manner about thirty seconds after I got there.”

She stared at him, appalled. “You were already inside the library that night?”

“I sought shelter behind the draperies,” he said. “It was a bit awkward. Can’t recall the last time I was obliged to conceal myself in that fashion.”

“Good heavens.” Chastened, Louisa slumped back in her chair. “You were actually there in the library when I searched it? I was so sure I had been unobserved.”

“As you can imagine, my curiosity was aroused,” Anthony said, watching her intently.

“Later that evening you requested an introduction,” Emma observed.

That was the night he had first danced with her, Louisa thought wistfully. The night when she had allowed herself to dream a little.

“When I noticed you slip away to search Wellsworth’s library a few evenings later,” Anthony continued, his attention still on Louisa, “it became clear that we might well share a mutual interest in Hastings. Last night you confirmed my theory. I think the time has come to pool our resources.”

“Hmm,” Louisa said.

“Before we proceed,” Anthony added deliberately, “I have a question of my own. Considering how much I have confided in you, I would appreciate an answer. In fact, I think it is fair to say that I deserve one.”

She sat back in her chair. “You want to know why I am investigating Hastings’s financial affairs.”

“It seems a reasonable question under the circumstances.”

Reasonable or not, she would have to answer it, she decided. If she did not, he would probably refuse to join forces. And it was clear to her now that that was the only way she would be able to pursue the investigation to its conclusion. The lure of reporting two murders in Society was irresistible.

“Very well, I will do so, sir, under one condition.”

Emma pursed her lips. “Louisa, I am not at all certain this is a good idea.”

“Forgive me,” Louisa said gently, “but I feel I have no choice.” She looked at Anthony. “Will you agree?”

“It depends on the condition,” he said evenly.

“If you wish my assistance in this matter, you must agree to a partnership.”

Anthony’s eyes tightened a little at the corners. “You wish to become involved in an affair of murder, Mrs. Bryce?”

“I wish to help you investigate Mr. Hastings,” she corrected evenly. “I am not yet convinced that you are right when you say that he is a murderer twice over. Nevertheless, you have made me sufficiently curious to want to inquire more deeply into the matter.”

“Why the devil would you want to help pursue a killer? It is dangerous work.”

“Yes,” Emma put in swiftly. “Very dangerous work. Louisa, I really don’t think you should go forward with this plan. You take enough risks as it is.”

There was a short silence. Anthony switched his attention to Emma.

He had picked up the scent, Louisa thought. There would be no distracting him now.

“Very well, sir.” She folded her hands together. “I will explain myself, but I must warn you that there really is no choice but to cooperate. If you do not, we will likely continue to find ourselves tripping over each other for the foreseeable future.”

Anthony studied her. “Mrs. Bryce, are you so bored with Society that you seek to take grave risks to your person merely to amuse yourself?”

“I am going to tell you something that very few people know. Emma is one of those people. Another is the editor and publisher of the Flying Intelligencer.”

“That rag? What in blazes can you possibly have to do with a disreputable paper that thrives on the most lurid sensations?”

She had expected that reaction, she reminded herself. Nevertheless, she was crushed and annoyed by his casual disdain.

“As it happens,” she said coolly, “I am a correspondent for that disreputable rag.”

Anthony went very still. It was, she reflected, the first time she had seen him stopped cold in his tracks. She tried to take some satisfaction from that turn of events. His opinion of her had no doubt plummeted to a very low point, but at least she had managed to startle him. She had the feeling that did not happen very often.

“You are a correspondent?” he repeated, his voice quite neutral.

“A secret correspondent,” she clarified. “I write under the name I. M. Phantom.”

“Well, it no doubt serves me right.” He shook his head and then his mouth twitched a little.

She glowered. “You find my career amusing, sir?”

“Astonishing would be a better word.” He paused. “My sister would be thrilled to meet you.”

Louisa brightened. “She reads my work?”

“Of course. But that is not the only reason why she would enjoy making your acquaintance. As it happens the two of you have a great deal in common.”

“I don’t understand. Is your sister also a correspondent?”

“No, but she is in a similar profession, one that, like yours, compels her to conceal her identity.”

“What does she do?” Louisa asked eagerly. She had never encountered another woman who had also assumed a false identity.

“She writes plays under the name E. G. Harris.”

“I know her work.” Louisa was barely able to contain her excitement. “Her plays are staged at the Olympia Theater. The current one is Night on Sutton Lane. I went to see it last week. There are several thrilling sensations including the most astonishing scene of a ship sinking at sea.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“One believes the heroine must surely drown because she was involved in an illicit love affair, and everyone knows that illicit love affairs always come to bad ends in sensation dramas. Nevertheless, at the last minute a gentleman appears out of nowhere and saves her.” Louisa sighed. “Unfortunately, he is not Nigel, the man whom she loved.”

“As I recall, Nigel was already married,” Anthony said.

“Yes, but he didn’t know it, you see. He thought his wife was dead when she had actually been locked up in an asylum by her scheming brother.”

“I assure you I have seen the play, Mrs. Bryce. There is no need to describe it.”

She blushed, embarrassed. “Yes, of course.”

Emma chuckled. “Louisa is a great fan of your sister’s plays, sir.”

“So I see.” Anthony raised his brows. “It so happens that I have read some of your news reports, Mrs. Bryce.”

“I’m surprised to hear you admit that you have read anything printed in the Flying Intelligencer.” But a little thrill of pleasure went through her. He had read her work.

“The Intelligencer has two categories of readers,” he said dryly. “Those who will admit to reading it and those who will not admit to reading it. That is especially true since I. M. Phantom’s pieces began appearing. I offer you my sincere congratulations, Mrs. Bryce. You have managed to astound Society on a number of occasions with your revelations of scandal in high places.”

She felt a sudden need to defend herself. “I am not interested in scandal solely because of the sensation it will cause. It is a desire to see justice prevail that motivates me, sir.”

He cocked a quizzical brow. “Justice?”

“Too often people who move in elevated social circles abuse their positions of privilege and power. They take advantage of those who are weaker than themselves knowing full well that it is unlikely that they will pay for their crimes.”

“I see. You feel called upon to mete out justice by exposing such people?”

“There is little else that can be done.” She widened her hands. “Everyone knows that it is virtually impossible for Scotland Yard to conduct an investigation in the Polite World. All the doors are closed, and there is no way to open them. You said yourself, there was no chance that the police would ever be able to search Hastings’s house.”

“True. Nevertheless—”

“Thanks to Emma I find myself in a unique position,” she continued. “I am able to circulate in some of the best social circles without calling attention to myself.”

He glanced at Emma.

Emma poured more tea. “It has been interesting, I must say.”

“I wish to make it plain that I pride myself on accuracy,” Louisa said firmly. “I always investigate quite thoroughly before I write my reports. The last thing I want to do is cause pain or humiliation to an innocent person.”

“Enough.” Anthony raised a hand, palm out. “I do not doubt your zeal or your intentions, Mrs. Bryce.”

She dared to relax slightly.

“I have been wondering how you came by your information,” he continued. “Can I assume that, as a member of the press, you have informants?”

“Yes,” she said, cautious again.

“I would like to know the name of the person who put you onto Hastings’s trail.”

She pondered that for a moment. Miranda Fawcett enjoyed her role as a behind-the-scenes source of secrets for a newspaper correspondent. She could no doubt be persuaded to aid Anthony in his investigation, provided she could be convinced to trust him.

“My informant might agree to assist you,” she said, “but I make no guarantees.”

Veiled anticipation leaped in Anthony’s eyes. “I understand.”

Louisa clasped her hands. “Let me make myself very clear, sir,” she said coolly. “This conversation will end here and now if you do not agree to make me a full partner in this affair.”

His eyes tightened dangerously at the corners. “I do not think that would be wise, Mrs. Bryce.”

“I do not think that you have any choice, Mr. Stalbridge.”