Читать книгу The Regency Redgraves: What an Earl Wants / What a Lady Needs / What a Gentleman Desires / What a Hero Dares - Kasey Michaels, Кейси Майклс, Kasey Michaels - Страница 24

GIDEON WATCHED JESSICA as she kept her head bent slightly, as if she needed to keep all her concentration on the luncheon plate in front of her. Perhaps she was remembering how their evening had ended and wondered if she believed she’d reneged on some sort of marital agreement they’d made. My protection in exchange for your body. That was a lowering thought and didn’t make him feel particularly proud.

Then again, was what they had really a marriage, except in the legal sense of the word? He had a quick, fleeting thought of Jessica and him lounging on the grass at Yearlings, one of his smaller estates, located in prime horse country. Just the two of them, alone—talking, laughing, getting to know each other far from London and any thoughts about a possible lethal legacy of his father’s damn Society.

It seemed so unfair that they couldn’t have that. Or could they?

He hadn’t seen her since he’d pressed a kiss against her hair that morning and left her to snuggle deeper beneath the covers. He’d rather prided himself on the fact he hadn’t attempted to kiss her awake, hadn’t attempted a lot more. Perhaps he was learning restraint. It was a new experience for a man who had never really questioned his belief that he could take what he wanted because…No, he had no ending for that thought. At least none that wouldn’t make him uncomfortable.

In any event, he’d hurried his valet through the chores of bathing and dressing, and ordered his mount brought around front before the clock had struck nine, an ungodly hour for any gentleman of the ton to be out and about in Mayfair unless he was finding his way home after a long night.

A discreet enquiry at one of his clubs—meaning, a gold coin slipped into the gloved hand of the majordomo—had given him the direction of one Marquis of Singleton, for all the good that had done him. It was hours too early to leave his card, but at least now he knew where the man lived, in case he decided to pay him a visit.

From there, he had gone to Cavendish Square, brushing past a disapproving Soames and heading straight for his grandmother’s bedchamber. After all, thanks to the recently deceased Marquis of Mellis, he now knew the way.

He learned three things during that very brief visit.

One, Trixie had no recollection of a Ravenbill ever being mentioned as a member of the society.

Secondly, there was a reason no one saw his grandmother before two in the afternoon. Gideon’s conclusion was nobody would want to, not if they’d sleep nights! He’d found Trixie still abed, lying on her back in the very center of the large mattress as if she’d been laid out for a viewing, her hands and arms wrapped in thick, greasy-looking cotton gauze, her hair dark with some sort of pomade, and her face, neck and chest slathered with a lavishly applied cream the color of spring leaves. The room was hot, and smelled of at least six different scents; some medicinal, some flowery, none of them particularly appealing.

And, lastly, he’d learned that, petite as she was, old as she was, Beatrix Redgrave could launch a silver candlestick more than twenty-five feet with deadly accuracy.

Absently rubbing at his left shoulder—he’d been too shocked to duck quite fast enough—he finally broke the not completely companionable silence of the luncheon table. “I saw Trixie this morning. She sees no connection between the Marquis of Singleton and the society.”

Jessica laid down her fork. “But Ravenbill? Bird?”

He shrugged. “Coincidence? Or it proves we were right to conclude they’re no longer confining membership to eldest sons, which seems eminently logical. In other words, I don’t think we can dismiss Simon Ravenbill as yet. I’m much more concerned with your belief you saw him several years ago.”

“Wearing a French uniform,” Jessica pointed out, and now she was turning the fork over and over on the tabletop. “I know it was him. I just don’t know what it means.”

Gideon felt the impulse to go around the table and take her in his arms, swear to her that no one would ever hurt her, not while he lived. He wouldn’t allow it. But fear was fear, and he wasn’t immune to the feeling; he had to protect her.

“It could mean two things,” he told her. “If the Society is somehow aligned with the enemy, he could have been there to help further their cause with Bonaparte. Either that, or he’s working for our government. The former worries me, the latter possibly more so, as we wouldn’t want to do anything that might jeopardize whatever role he’s playing and put him in danger.”

Jessica blinked at him. “I hadn’t thought of that possibility. It would make what he said to Lady Caro and Mrs. Urban last night take on an entire new meaning. It would have been a threat, or even a dare, wouldn’t it?”

“It would, yes. The man may be playing his own game. No matter which scenario we could choose, I believe we need to stay out of Singleton’s way until we know more. Hell, Jessica, at the moment, seeing you with those women, he may believe I’m a part of the Society.”

“If he’s even aware of the Society,” Jessica pointed out correctly. “Perhaps he’s been watching them because of what they’re doing, perhaps he has suspicions of his own or the government has suspicions for some reason. But perhaps only Lord Charles and Mr. Urban are suspects. They may have no idea of the scope of the conspiracy, that there’s a devil’s dozen of them plus anyone they might be blackmailing into cooperating with them. There are so many possibilities, far too many of them. We were chasing murderers, that’s how this began for you, and I was attempting to protect Adam. We’re out of our depth now, Gideon.”

And now they’d come to the heart of the matter.

“I agree. We’ll soon have a different theory for every day of the week, won’t we? It’s the deaths of the more longtime members that started it all, just as you said. That, and a tree branch poking a hole in the Redgrave mausoleum. I certainly didn’t go into this with any thoughts of stumbling into anything quite so dangerous. My father has a lot to answer for, doesn’t he, even twenty years dead?”

“Your father, and mine. But there’s something else to consider. If my father hadn’t died, you and I would never have met, would we? I wouldn’t have approached you about Adam, you wouldn’t have learned what happened five years ago, you wouldn’t have confronted Trixie—none of it. Those murders may have been the worst mistake the Society could make. Gideon, we know so much, but clearly not enough.”

That wasn’t precisely true, but Gideon knew this wasn’t the moment to tell her he did know one thing, one very important thing: it was time for Jessica to be as far from London as possible. He’d have to ease his way into the subject, however; he’d already ducked one candlestick today.

“For the moment, let’s concentrate on the marquis. I won’t ask you again if you’re positive you recognized him, but I will ask you to once more consider if he may have recognized you.”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. I had the hood of my cloak raised, and I stayed behind Richard for the most part. But I suppose it’s possible he might recognize Richard, and then remember me.”

“Yes. Richard. We’ll have to do something about that, won’t we?”

Jessica lowered her head into her hands. “Yes, I know. Poor Richard, he loves London so. You’ll send him off?”

“Only as far as Redgrave Manor.” He took his chance. “And you with him.”

Her head shot up, her eyes gone wide. “What? But why?”

“Because, either way, Jessica, patriot or traitor, if Singleton recognized you last night or his memory is jogged when next he sees you, you are now a problem to the man.”

He could tell she hadn’t considered that possibility. “I was thinking only of how he could be a problem to us. But I see your point. We could confront him, ask him if he’s working for the Crown and—No, that wouldn’t work, would it? If he is, he’d lie to us, and if he isn’t, he’d lie to us. And if he’s neither, and I’ve mistaken him for somebody else, well, that would be even worse, wouldn’t it?”

Gideon smiled. He enjoyed listening to Jessica think out loud. “Immensely, yes. So we’re agreed?”

“Agreed to what? What are you agreeing to, Gideon? I’ve agreed to nothing.”

“I noticed that. Are we about to have our first argument? Yes, what is it, Thorndyke?”

The butler bowed and held out a small silver salver with a folded note on it. “Excuse me, my lord. This just arrived by messenger. I was informed it’s imperative her ladyship reads it immediately.”

“Then why are you handing it to his lordship, or have I been somehow rendered invisible?” Jessica asked, snatching the missive from the tray even as Gideon reached for it.

“And now we’ve both been put in our place, haven’t we, Thorny?” Gideon remarked, laughing.

“Firmly, my lord,” Thorndyke agreed and quickly bowed himself out of the room.

“I’m sorry. I’ll apologize later.”

“To Thorny or to me?”

“Not you, certainly. Thorndyke hasn’t gotten used to having me about as yet, but you should know better,” she explained absently, eyeing the missive as if it could possibly turn into a writhing snake at any moment. She slid her fingernail beneath the wax seal and unfolded the sheet, her eyes going immediately to the bottom of the page. “It’s from Felicity Urban.”

“Our invitation?” Gideon asked, rising from his chair, in order to stand behind her as she read. “Hmm, obviously not the invitation we were told to expect.”

Jessica read the note aloud. “‘I know what you and the earl are about. Help me and I’ll help you. Four o’clock today, Le Bon Modiste, Bond Street. Ask for Fontine. I will need five thousand pounds, and safe transport.’” She tilted her head back to look up at Gideon. “So much for my belief I was subtle last evening, I suppose. I told you she was looking at me curiously, as if measuring me or some such thing. She says she can help us? Honestly, I thought I’d be much better at this than I am.”

“You got results, and that’s what’s most important. But if it’s any comfort to you, I didn’t do much better at subtlety. She knows what I’m about? It has to be that damn rose. I only wore it for a few days, but obviously Felicity Urban took notice.”

Jessica was looking at the note again. “But didn’t mention it to her husband?”

“Yes, I’ll have to ask her about that when I meet with her, won’t I?”

Gideon Redgrave—and Thorndyke, for that matter—had a lot to learn about what it meant to be married to Jessica, but there wasn’t much he didn’t know about women in general. Or at least he prided himself on learning quickly.

“When we meet with her,” he corrected almost before Jessica could take in a breath in order to disabuse him of his former statement.

After all, Trixie may have thrown a candlestick, but there were knives on the dining table, for God’s sake… .

LE BON MODISTE WAS A small shop in a tall, narrow building. Gideon had insisted they make a business of visiting several shops as they strolled along the block and even convinced Jessica to purchase a new bonnet in one of them. They walked arm-in-arm, stopping to peer into store windows. They nodded to passersby, even stopped so that Gideon could chat with a rather florid-faced matron who begged permission to be introduced to the new countess and invited them both to a delightful musical evening the following Thursday.

Gideon had promised he would do his best, but it was possible they would be adjourning to the country prior to that date.

“I never said I’d go,” Jessica had pointed out once the lady had taken her leave and they were walking on once more.

“You never mentioned a burning desire to submit to a session with the thumbscrews, either, but that would be an almost enjoyable experience when compared to listening to Hetty Frampton’s offspring—and there are an even half dozen of them—as they attack your ears with song and defile every musical instrument known to man.”

“Oh,” Jessica said quietly. “I mistook your motive. I’m sorry.”

His smile melted her knees, which he had to know. “I’m sure you’ll be able to find some way to make it up to me. Now, are you ready? I believe, rank amateurs that we are, we’ve been suitably clandestine about our approach to Le Bon Modiste.”

“In case anyone is following us? Who would be following us?”

“Other than Richard, who is prudently keeping out of sight as he watches for the Marquis of Singleton, you mean? I believe that would be Max, who returned to London late last evening.”

“Your brother? Really?” Jessica made to turn around, but a short, sharp tug on her arm reminded her that spies, or whatever it was they were playing at, didn’t stop dead on the flagway and turn about to peer into the distance, now did they?

“I begin to see the logic in banishing me to the country,” she admitted on a sigh as they turned in to the narrow shop.

“That argument sounds familiar. However, I believe it was my brother saying something of that nature concerning me. I would have taken umbrage, but he’s probably correct.”

“He actually said you’re not up to the task? That wasn’t very nice of him.”

Gideon’s smile took her by surprise. “But probably true. He reminded me I am a newly married man, and my concentration perhaps isn’t as focused as it might otherwise be.”

“Oh? So he’s blaming not you, but me?”

“He blames the marital state in general, actually. According to Max, a man who goes into battle with a woman on his mind is a danger to himself and everyone around him.”

Jessica fought a sudden urge to preen. “And you’ve a woman on your mind?”

“And plans for that woman and myself for later tonight, yes, which probably proves Max’s point. Now why don’t you go admire the pretty ribbons on that table to your left, please, while I seek out this Fontine person, all right? Discreetly, of course, and I assign that description to us both.”

Jessica looked at the displayed ribbons without really seeing them while Gideon spoke to a young blond clerk behind the counter. Her heart was pounding in a most disconcerting way as she wondered if they had just walked into some sort of trap. Villains laid traps, didn’t they? It was basically their stock in trade.

She kept her back turned, said back feeling quite vulnerable, while the blond-haired clerk came out from behind the counter and crossed to the door, lowering the shade and then turning a key in the lock.

Which, Jessica realized with a start, effectively put Richard and Gideon’s brother Max firmly on the other side of that door.

“This way, madame,” the woman said as she walked back to where Gideon was now holding wide a beaded curtain that led to the rear of the shop.

Jessica slid her hand into Gideon’s, and they followed the clerk up a narrow flight of stairs that opened into a small sitting room, the shades of both front windows pulled down, the only light coming through the dirty panes of a window to the rear.

Felicity Urban was seated on a shabby couch, a bandbox at her feet. She was so nervous her knees were visibly shaking. Gone was the hard woman from last night. In her place, a clearly terrified creature. She did not rise to greet her invited guests.

“Mrs. Urban,” Gideon said, bowing.

“My Lord Saltwood,” she replied tightly. “You have the money? And the transport? I say nothing until I’ve seen both.”

Gideon turned to Jessica. “So much for any offer of refreshments, hmm?” He directed her to a straightbacked chair and then walked over to the couch and pulled a thick envelope from a pocket inside his coat. He slid the packet back inside his coat. “Five thousand pounds. You may count it later, as to insist on doing it now would quite injure my sensibilities,” he said affably. “If you would care to look out that window behind us, you would see a plain black traveling coach and a coachman awaiting orders. Fair enough?”

“Fair enough,” the woman said as she extracted a small dark brown bottle from her reticule, uncorked it with trembling fingers and lifted it to her lips. She then recorked the bottle but did not replace it in her reticule. “Opiates, the true refuge of cowards. Yet all that keeps me sane, you understand. Ah, yes, that’s better. It was Archie’s idea. He keeps me generously supplied, but that won’t be for much longer. I’m very careful, you see. I drink half, and hide the rest away, watering what is left. He wants me insensible, but I’ve fooled him there. I don’t need this,” she said, holding up the bottle. “But I know I’m needing it more. I heard him speak of Ringmer last week, with his valet. You know of the place?”

Jessica looked to Gideon.

“A discreet asylum for those of weak minds, yes.”

“You’re too kind, my lord. A discreet dumping ground for those with enough money to rid themselves of their problems,” Felicity countered, seeming to gain courage. “Problems such as wives who no longer suit their needs. I suppose I should be grateful he didn’t follow his good friend Lord Charles’s lead. But, then, there are no soggy cliffs on our property to break away whilst I’m out for a solitary stroll.”

Again, Jessica snapped her head round to look to Gideon, who merely shook his slightly, as if warning her to remain silent.

Felicity shrugged and slipped the bottle back into her reticule. “You were wearing the rose. Was I wrong to believe it was because you wanted to make contact with the Society?”

“No, you were correct.”

She nodded. “I thought as much. I wasn’t the only one who noticed. You’ve been discussed, my lord, and let that be a warning to you. They’re watching. And then you sent your wife to us last night. You really should be more careful, my lord. You and your bride both, her being who she is. What did you think to gain? You wanted, perhaps, to learn more about Your father? I can tell you all you need to know, for I’ve heard the stories. Your father was a terrible man, a monster. Your mother was right to shoot him, put him down for the animal he was.” She shook her head. “But he wasn’t a patch on what’s happening now. Oh, no. Not a patch. None of them were.”

“Is that why they’re dead? The members who date from my father’s time, or soon after? In order to make room for members more in agreement with whatever in hell they’re doing now?”

The woman looked up at Gideon, her mouth gone hard. “That’s not why they’re dead, and you somehow know it, or else your wife here wouldn’t have come to us last night, asking such obvious questions, and we wouldn’t be here now, talking. But, yes, that is what happened. I’m afraid we began something without considering the possibility we were aiding the Society, giving them a chance to finish building a thirteen more suited to their purpose. We thought we were so clever, just as your mother was so smart, so wise to see there was only the one answer for her, and damn anything else.”

Only the one answer for her. Jessica felt a shiver climbing her spine. How often had she sat at night, watching James Linden sleep, and thought there’s only one way I can be truly free of him. What was this woman saying, really saying? Could it be…?

Gideon sat down on the edge of the low table in front of the couch. “I’m sorry. I’m don’t understand. What does my mother have to do with any of this?”

“You understand. You just want me to keep talking, don’t you? But I’ve seen the packet, I believe the coach, so you might as well hear it all, the both of you.”

Felicity sat back against the thin cushions. “They use only prostitutes now for the most part. None of the newer members include their wives, save for Lord Charles, who finds it amusing. For their games, you understand. Wives were more convenient over the years, less prone to carry tales. But wives grow long in the tooth, or they cry, or they kill themselves. The thirteen never cared. They have their games, just as I have my little brown bottle. But they can’t give them up, they don’t want to give them up. Devil worship. Ha! It’s all a hum, you know, an excuse.”

“Go on,” Gideon urged, when the woman seemed to get lost inside her own mind.

“They’re filthy, dirty bastards, every one of them, and they like it. They feel powerful, and important, and show off in front of each other like little boys. Look at me, look at what I can do, listen to her beg for more. No, not that one. I had her last time, and it’s like falling cock first into a hole. By Beelzebub, pass me one who’s still tight. One by one, we were pushed to the side, barred from the ceremonies. We were only whisked to the ceremonies and then banished back to our homes, never to see anyone not wearing a mask. After that, one by one, we were gone. Oh, yes, I know. It’s Ringmer for me, and very soon.”

The brown bottle appeared once more.

Jessica realized she had laced her hands together, squeezing so hard her knuckles had gone white.

“Ha! Look at your bride, Saltwood. I’ve put her to the blush. Now that’s a talent I lost long ago. Should I tell you about their toys? The spanking horse, the stocks? Oh, and the whips, the paddles. Sometimes for us, sometimes for them, or else they couldn’t—”

Gideon repositioned himself slightly, blocking Jessica from the woman’s sight. “I believe we understand, Mrs. Urban, and you have our complete sympathy. But your husband, all of the members, also used these so-called ceremonies of devil worship as a way to lure guests who could be used to further their true purpose.”

The bottle was recorked once more. “Their true purpose, my lord? They had no true purpose beyond their filthy desires. Not since your father was killed, him and his supposed plan for England to rise in its own revolution the way the Froggies did. I heard it said he’d already ordered a guillotine built, but that may be only rumor. No, there was just the opiates, the costumes and chanting, the rutting. Not until he showed up. Oh, he’s sly, he is. Playing one against the other, bringing up all this nonsense about the rights of the most gifted and the freedom of man. How the French had it right as far as it went, but Napoleon has it better, and will reward those who help him gain the greatest prize, wretched England itself. He has promises from the French, he has a plan, and we’ll all share in the glory. The thirteen, the deserving. Who needs an invading army if England can be rotted from the inside?”

Jessica listened carefully as the woman explained in more detail.

The few surviving members since Barry Redgrave’s time and several of those who had been “invested” soon after had objected, saying treason was a dangerous game to play and would lead to exposure and disaster. But they’d been overruled by Orford and the others. The Society began to change. Proofs of loyalty were demanded.

“Like you,” Felicity Urban said, leaning to her side so that she could look past Gideon to Jessica. “That was certainly a debacle, wasn’t it? Your father barely escaped with his life over that one. But he’d made the gesture, hadn’t he? He’d agreed to turn you over to the new Leader the night the man was to be formally invested in his role. Of course, your father couldn’t have known the man’s true plan.”

“Him,” Gideon said, snapping his fingers twice to draw the woman’s attention back to himself and to the moment. “I’m assuming you mean the current leader of the devil’s thirteen?”

Felicity sighed. “Yes, yes, who else would I mean? And now you’re going to ask me his name, and I have no answer for you. The Society is the Society, and the Leader is the Leader. Orford introduced him, first brought him as a guest, and none of us women ever saw him in anything but a full-face mask and a hooded cloak. I can tell you his eyes are dark, like the depths of hell, but that’s all I can tell you, except to say he never did more than sit on his throne and watch. He never participated…except the once, when he sacrificed the vestal virgin. Nobody dared cross him after that. Nobody.”

Jessica got to her feet, trying not to notice that her knees had gone rather wobbly. “Are you saying…?”

The bottle appeared yet again, and this time Felicity took much more than a sip of the watered laudanum. “Now we were held together by murder, yes, even if we didn’t hold the knife. He knew us, but we didn’t know him. Only Orford knew him. We probably should have thought of that before we…” She frowned at the bottle. It was empty. She reached into her reticule and pulled out another, but Gideon snatched it from her hand.

“Before you what, Mrs. Urban? Before you all agreed to become traitors to our country?”

“We’re not traitors.” She eyed the bottle. “Give it back.”

Gideon pulled out the cork and tipped the bottle slightly, so that a few drops hit the floor. “Before you did what, Mrs. Urban?”

“Don’t spill that! For the love of God, be careful!” she shouted, making a wild grab for the bottle. “Stop! You already know! Before we killed them!”

And then she put her head in her hands and sobbed.

Jessica sat down again with a thump, the realization of what the woman had just admitted hitting her like a physical blow. They’d done it. Dear God, they’d actually done it! And she understood. She understood… .

Gideon was still pressing the woman. “Here, take it back. But don’t drink any more, not until we’re finished here. You said, before we killed them. I need you to be more clear. Who is we, Mrs. Urban, and whom did you kill?”

“The ones who were left, of course.” She grabbed the bottle, replacing the cork with shaking fingers. “I told you. One by one, they put us out to pasture. Barring some of us from participating in the ceremonies, that was the start. Keeping the rest of us from speaking to each other, whisking us away after the ceremonies. We knew what could come next, once we’d outlived our usefulness.”

“And perhaps because you knew the identities of the other members, those you’d seen without their masks,” Gideon suggested quietly.

“Yes, we knew that was also true. Lady Dunmore was the first, poor old thing. They said her horse threw her. But we knew better. She’d told us she didn’t ride anymore, so what was she doing on a horse, hmm? Baron Harden’s wife? He shipped her off to Ringmer, just as Archie is planning to do with me.”

“So you killed them. Their own wives killed them.” Gideon seemed to be trying to keep the incredulity out of his voice, but Jessica could hear his shock. But no man could fully understand the sort of helplessness and desperation those women must have endured for so long.

Felicity nodded her head. “Lady Orford wrote to us, since we were now barred from the parties. She suggested the answer for us had been there all along. We would take a page from your mother’s book, that’s what she said, and we agreed. We should have done it years earlier, but that only would have meant the eldest son replaced the father. Once that rule was put aside with the advent of the new Leader, we were free to act. Our letters to each other are carried by trusted servants, but we live daily with the threat of discovery. It took us some time to consider plans before we settled on accidents. Of course, then we had to find the money to engage individuals who would actually do the deeds.”

“So my brother is safe?” Jessica asked. “We thought so, but we couldn’t be sure.”

“He’s safe. So is my son, and several others. And several refused, to the point where the Leader’s suggestion made perfect sense. the best and the brightest only, with no longer a birthright to gain anyone entry.”

“The best and the brightest. And the most strategically placed and influential, I would imagine,” Gideon commented. “Please, go on.”

“I should think it would be obvious what happened after we’d decided what we had to do. We drew up a list. Noddy Selkirk was the first, and then Cecil Appleby—they seemed the safest to use as our tests before we could chance anything more bold. When no one suspected, we moved on. Orford, Sir George Dunmore, Baron Harden. Dead because they’d begun killing us, dead before they could rid themselves of the rest of us. We took revenge for those who had been destroyed, and vengeance on the rest.”

“And the Marquis of Mellis?” Gideon asked, and Jessica realized he was testing the woman with that question.

“No, not him. The marquis died before we could reach him. He would have been right after Archie and poor Caro’s Lord Charles, although she swears she still loves him and won’t yet agree. But he and Archie would have been the last for us. All the members now wear full masks, just like the Leader, added one by one over the last five years. It was like being spitted by a thing, and not a person at all. It’s horrible.”

She looked up at Gideon, her complexion gone deadly pale, her pupils suddenly two small dots in a sea of watery blue. “You…you didn’t know it was us who killed them? I thought—But you sent your wife to us. I was so sure—Oh, God, what have I done? Isn’t this what this is all about? You figured it out somehow? You wanted to know what I know about the Society or else you’d turn all of us over to the Crown to be hanged? But we have an agreement, my lord. Please. I beg you.”

Jessica heard herself springing to the women’s defense. “Gideon, they really had no other choice.” She was terrified he wouldn’t understand that the true victims were the wives. He had to see that. He had to!

“It’s all right, Jessica,” he said quickly. “And, yes, of course we knew, Mrs. Urban, we simply needed to hear you say the words. I’ll help you, just as I said I would. But there are a few more questions, if you can manage them.”

“Yes! Yes, anything I can tell you. Anything at all. Because we had no choice. You see that, my lady, don’t you? You said that. We had no choice.”

Jessica got up, went to sit beside Felicity Urban on the couch. She took the woman’s shaking hands in her own. She’d had Richard. These women had no one but themselves and with their children to consider. “No choice, and every reason. We understand, truly we do. But I must ask about my father and his wife. Why them?”

Felicity looked from Jessica to Gideon, and then back again. “We didn’t…No! We had nothing to do with that. It was a coaching accident. A true accident, a horrible accident. Wasn’t it? Clarissa was different from the rest of us. She…she liked it. We would never have approached her with our plans. Turner could never say no to his young wife and her…appetites. But he hadn’t been the same since the murder. The vestal virgin sacrifice, you understand. He hated the new Leader, the new members, all of them, even as he was terrified of them, the way all of us were terrified of them. But you don’t leave the Society, especially when your wife has been named the High Priestess of Hymen. Oh, how she gloried in that role! She would have learned, in time, when her body began to sag, when even her talents weren’t enough.”

The woman smiled weakly at Jessica. “We women, we always thought your father hired Jamie Linden to spirit you away that night. Clarissa was so angry with him, you understand, when word came you and Linden couldn’t be found. And here you are, landed on your feet.”

Could it have been possible? Could her father have paid James to take her away that night, hide her somewhere? Had everything James told her been a lie? Had he been paid to escort her somewhere safe and then realized he’d been foolish to cross the new Leader, and it would be best if he disappeared, as well? Had her frantic offer of her stepmother’s jewelry given him the idea? Had he always been looking over his shoulder for the pursuing Society or for Turner Collier, a man searching for his daughter? Oh, how Jessica wanted to believe that. But she would never know… .

“All right,” Gideon said reassuringly. “We believe you. You had no reason to kill Collier and his wife, just as you say. But who did?”

The brown bottle was uncorked yet again. “Nobody. It had to have been an accident. Turner was the Keeper. That’s a very high honor.”

Jessica closed her hand over the bottle. Felicity Urban’s words had begun to slur, and her breathing had become rapid and shallow, as if she might soon pass out. It was important to keep her talking. “No more laudanum, Mrs. Urban, and only a few more questions, please. You said my father was the Keeper. Did that mean he kept the journals? The bible?”

Felicity nodded. “Yes. That’s what the Keeper does. In the tabernacle.” She looked up at Gideon. “We don’t go there. We never go there. It’s the most unholy of unholies, you see. Unholy ground, as they call it in their twisted way. Only Turner knew its location, and he wouldn’t tell anyone. Since the days of his lordship’s father, Turner was the Entrusted One. Those are the rules.”

Gideon leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Are you saying even the leader of the Society doesn’t know where the journals and bible are kept?”

Again Felicity nodded her head. “Turner told him that was the rule. Wasn’t it?”

“Yes, of course. I simply supposed incorrectly. But what about the rites, the ceremonies? Weren’t they held in this tabernacle?”

“With the women, you mean? No, never. The tabernacle was where they conducted their meetings. Only the men were allowed, but not since your father died, when it was ceremonially unblessed and then sealed by the Keeper. Archie and I weren’t as yet married, so I was never at Redgrave Manor. Lady Orford told us, when we were still allowed to meet. Nobody ever went back there, not since your father died. Only the Keeper, and only then to store the journals and add to the bible. But even that stopped on orders from the Leader, although some of the members still kept to their journals because they liked to write down their exploits.” She shivered. “Pigs. Animals.”

“Meaning the journals are no longer mandatory?” Gideon asked.

“I mean they are no longer allowed. But the Keeper still secretly updated the bible. Lady Orford told me that, as well. She said he wasn’t supposed to do that, the Leader had commanded it stop, but he continued. Turner Collier, she said, had an orderly mind and believed in the old ways.” Mrs. Urban blinked a single time and then said, “Oh. Do…do you suppose that’s why he’s dead?”

Jessica and Gideon exchanged glances. She knew what he was thinking because she was thinking the same thing. Whether because of a love of rules or as a result of the leader’s demand Turner Collier hand over his daughter to be sacrificed, thanks to her father, the bible still existed. All the old names were there, all the newer names were there. Wherever there was…

“What else do you want to know? We meet…the Society meets at designated spots located on the country estates of the members. I was there with the others, waiting, the night Jamie Linden ran off with you, my lady. There had to be a new ceremony, the next full moon. We all suffered for that, we women. But we were glad for you.”

“Yes…um…thank you.” Jessica had nearly said I’m sorry, nearly apologized. There was also the fact that someone eventually had died in her place. Been sacrificed in her place. She longed to scream but knew it would serve no purpose. “Gideon? Are we done now?”

“I’m sorry but not quite, no. Mrs. Urban…Felicity…I know we can never truly understand the horrors that brought you and the others to do what you did. But are you certain you know no other names?”

“We don’t. Really, we don’t. I told you. The guests didn’t bring wives anymore, and they always wore masks, even before the new Leader arrived and took charge. We only knew the ones we…we only knew each other. We only had each other. These last few years have been terrible, the worst of any of them. We couldn’t concern ourselves with their wild plans. It was our husbands we needed dead, so that we’d finally be free, out of it. You can understand that. You were so lucky, my lady, that Jamie Linden died. Our husbands seemed to go on forever.”

Jessica could only nod her head, unable to meet the woman’s eyes. Too many memories, all rushing back at once. Memories she’d pushed to the back of her mind, as Richard had told her to do, as she’d needed to do.

Gideon got to his feet. “Very well, Felicity. You’ve been a tremendous help to us. Now allow me to keep my end of the bargain.”

“There is the one other thing,” she said as she leaned over, picked up the bandbox and handed it to him. “Archie had a locked cabinet in his study. I was able to locate the key and open it and bring you its contents, in the chance I needed to bargain. But now you can simply have it all.”

Gideon took the bandbox and set it down on the table. “Thank you. this may be helpful. But we’d better get you moving now, clear of the city before your husband realizes you’ve taken this and mounts a pursuit.”

Felicity Urban replaced the brown bottle in her reticule and rose unsteadily to her feet. She attempted a wobbly smile. “That’s very kind of you, my lord, but don’t worry. That’s already been taken care of. With the Marquis of Mellis so conveniently dying without it costing us a penny, it was Alfie’s turn, you understand. His turn…”