Eight
Mr. Gage is here?” Beatrice looked up from the morning papers, a shivery thrill of excitement and dread spiking through her. “Are you quite certain, Mrs. Rambley?”
The housekeeper was a formidable woman of some forty years. She was constructed along the lines of a sturdy Greek statue. She made no secret that she was offended by the implication that she might have gotten the identity of the caller wrong.
“That was the name the gentleman gave me.” Mrs. Rambley drew herself up and peered down her imposing nose. “He said that you are expecting him.”
“Not at ten o’clock in the morning,” Beatrice said, exasperated.
She and Mrs. Rambley were alone in the house. Clarissa had left an hour earlier to receive the details of her new assignment for Flint & Marsh.
Mrs. Rambley’s irritation changed abruptly into anxiety. Beatrice immediately felt guilty. It was not the housekeeper’s fault that Joshua Gage had chosen to arrive at this hour. Mrs. Rambley was still adjusting to her unconventional employers and their unconventional careers. She was worried now that she had made a serious mistake by allowing a gentleman caller into the small household.
“I will tell Mr. Gage that you are not at home,” she said. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “He does look quite dangerous. There’s a fearful scar on his face and I would not want to know how he came by that limp. I’m sure the story would chill one’s blood.” She started to turn away.
“Don’t bother, Mrs. Rambley. I don’t think there’s much point suggesting that he leave. From what little I have seen of him, Mr. Gage is not easy to get rid of. Please show him into the parlor. And I do apologize for snapping at you.”
“No need,” Mrs. Rambley said gruffly. “It is certainly a bit early in the day to be receiving visitors.”
“Especially male visitors,” Beatrice said. “No need to be shy about it, Mrs. Rambley. I know what you are thinking and I agree with you. This is not proper. The real question here is, what in heaven’s name can Gage be thinking?”
Mrs. Rambley’s face tightened in concern. “Are you worried that he might be a problem, ma’am? Do you think he might attempt to impose himself on you in some way? I can send for a constable.”
“It would certainly be interesting to see how Gage might deal with a constable, but we will forgo the experiment. And yes, I anticipate that Mr. Gage will prove to be a problem, but I’m quite certain he is not a danger to my person.”
“If you’re sure, ma’am.”
Beatrice thought about what she had seen in Gage’s footsteps last night. There was good reason to be cautious around him. But she could not summon up any great fear of the man. Anticipation, yes, and curiosity, too. Both emotions made sense. But she could not explain the inexplicable thrill that came from knowing that he was right here, in her home, waiting for her.
“Quite certain,” she said.
“Very well, then.”
Mrs. Rambley left the doorway and went back down the hall.
Beatrice rose and moved to the door. She listened as Mrs. Rambley showed Joshua into the parlor. The sound of his voice, low and intensely masculine, stirred her senses, just as it had last night. So much for thinking that things would be different in the daylight.
Mrs. Rambley hurried back to the breakfast room. “I’ll bring in a tea tray, ma’am.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Beatrice began.
But Mrs. Rambley was already rushing off toward the kitchen.
Beatrice took a deep, steadying breath, drew herself up, straightened her shoulders and went along the hall to the parlor. She deliberately tried to make as little noise as possible in what she knew would no doubt be a futile attempt to catch Joshua off-guard. She wore a plain housedress. There was no street-sweeper ruffle at the bottom to rustle and swish against the floor. The soft leather soles of her slippers muffled her light footsteps.
She paused in the doorway and heightened her senses, opening them to glance at the floor. Dark energy burned in Joshua’s footsteps but she saw nothing that made her alter her first impressions of him. This was a man of ice and fire; a man capable of great passions but also of ironclad control.
If a woman were so unfortunate as to find herself trapped in hell, this was surely the man she would want to come for her.
He stood at the window, both hands locked around the hilt of his cane. He had his back to her and gave no indication that he had heard her. She smiled to herself. He knew she was there.
He was well dressed, she thought, but in a quiet, unobtrusive manner. His coat and trousers were of the darkest possible shade of charcoal gray. She suspected that he frequently wore somber colors. They certainly suited him.
“Good morning, Mr. Gage,” she said, keeping her tone polite but cool. “I wasn’t expecting you for breakfast.”
He turned politely toward her as though only now becoming aware of her presence. For the first time she got a close view of his hard, scarred face in the light of day. His raptor eyes were a fascinating mix of green and gold. The flicker of amusement that came and went in the depths told her that he had known precisely where she was at every step of the way when she had made the journey from the morning room to the parlor. She also knew that he was aware that she had tried to keep her approach silent.
Good grief, she thought, we are playing some sort of cat-and-mouse game with each other. It is as if we find each other a challenge.
Joshua had never so much as touched her. The closest they had come to a physical connection had been last night in the garden when he had given her his card. Yet there was an unsettling intimacy between them, at least there was on her side, she thought. The sensation stirred things deep inside her and caused her pulse to beat a little faster. All morning she had been trying to convince herself that the sensations she had experienced last night had been generated by the danger and excitement of events. This morning she was no longer so certain. There was something else between them, she thought. Something inexplicable. Something mysterious.
“My apologies for interrupting your breakfast, Miss Lockwood,” Joshua said. His tone was as coolly polite as hers. “I’m an early riser myself. I sometimes forget that others sleep late, especially after what must have been a very long night for you.”
From out of nowhere one of Roland Fleming’s rules came back to her. Do not take the stage unless you are prepared to take control of it and the audience.
“I am accustomed to long nights,” she said. She walked into the room. “In my profession, they tend to occur frequently.”
“That does not surprise me.”
“One of the many questions that kept me awake after I finally did go to bed concerned the fate of Mr. Richard Euston.”
“Euston will no longer be a problem for Miss Pennington.”
“He might be if his body is fished out of the river this morning. Everyone knows that he was spending a great deal of time in Miss Pennington’s company. It would be unfortunate if word got around that his suit was rejected and that he took his own life in despair. Some might be led to believe that Miss Daphne is a callous and cruel young lady.”
Joshua looked at her for a long, considering moment. She got the impression that he was not accustomed to having his decisions and actions questioned.
“I stopped by Euston’s lodgings on my way here,” he said eventually. “His landlord informed me that Euston had packed his things and departed for the Continent.”
“Fascinating. And how very convenient for all concerned.”
“I’m a great believer in convenient answers,” Joshua said.
She smiled and sank down onto the sofa. “Nevertheless, I would very much like to know what induced Mr. Euston to leave the country on such short notice?”
“Does it matter?”
“Given my own personal involvement in the situation, yes, Mr. Gage, it matters. Won’t you please be seated.”
He considered that briefly and then lowered himself into a chair. He propped the cane so that it was within easy reach.
“As we speak, there is considerable gossip going around to the effect that Euston was not what he seemed,” Joshua said. “His finances are in a disastrous state and it has come out that he is a fraud who is seeking an heiress to repair his fortunes. Fortunately for all concerned, Lord Pennington discovered the truth in time to protect his daughter from the attentions of a scoundrel.”
“Good heavens.” Beatrice stared at him in growing wonder. “I assume that gossip is your doing, sir?”
This time Joshua did not answer. He simply watched her. She was certain she detected a little heat in his eyes.
“Yes, of course, you are responsible for planting those rumors,” she said crisply. “I must say, I am very impressed.”
His brows rose. “Are you, indeed?”
“It is a brilliant solution to the problem. Euston will no longer be able to go about in Society and Daphne Pennington’s reputation is unharmed. Her father will get the credit for exposing Euston. As I said, brilliant.”
“Thank you,” he said drily. “It also has the advantage of being the truth.”
“Indeed. Well, then, on behalf of my client, I thank you for your services last night.”
Joshua inclined his head a polite fraction of an inch. “You are entirely welcome.”
The cat-and-mouse image floated through Beatrice’s head again. I am no mouse, Mr. Gage.
Tea things clinked and rattled in the hall. Mrs. Rambley was approaching the parlor. There was no help for it, Beatrice thought. She would have to invite Joshua to stay for tea.
“You will have tea, I assume,” she said, somewhat ungraciously. “I believe my housekeeper is bringing in a tray.”
His mouth kicked up at the corner in a genuine smile of amusement. “Thank you. I could use a strong cup of tea. Actually, I could use a cup of strong coffee. As you said, it was a long night.”
“Yes, it was, wasn’t it?” Beatrice said. “Oddly enough I was enjoying coffee when you arrived. I’ll ask Mrs. Rambley to bring in the pot. There is plenty left, I’m sure.”
“There is no need to remind me again that I interrupted your breakfast, Miss Lockwood. I am well aware that I am imposing on you.”
Mrs. Rambley appeared, her cheeks flushed with exertion, a heavy tray laden with the household’s best pot, cups and silver in her hands. She set the tray on the low table in front of the sofa.
“Shall I pour, ma’am?” she asked.
“It seems Mr. Gage would prefer coffee,” Beatrice said. “Would you mind bringing in the breakfast pot?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Mrs. Rambley shot a quick, curious look at Joshua and went out into the hall.
A heavy silence settled on the parlor. When it became clear that Joshua was not going to break it, Beatrice decided she would not speak, either. Two could play this game.
Mrs. Rambley reappeared and made room for the coffeepot on the tray.
“Thank you, Mrs. Rambley,” Joshua said.
“You’re welcome, sir.” Mrs. Rambley reddened and looked expectantly at Beatrice.
“That will be all, thank you,” Beatrice said.
“Yes, ma’am.”
The housekeeper left. Joshua listened to her footsteps in the hall for a moment. Then he pushed himself to his feet and made his way across the room, cane thudding heavily on the carpet. He closed the door, came back to the chair and sat down again.
Beatrice watched him, her wariness increasing by the second. It was obvious that he did not wish the housekeeper to overhear what he was about to say.
She poured coffee into both cups and handed one cup and saucer to Joshua. When his fingers touched the china she got another whispery tingle of sensation. She released the saucer so quickly it was a miracle that the coffee did not spill. But Joshua seemed unaware of the near-disaster.
“Who taught you how to use a stocking gun, Miss Lockwood?” he asked.
“A former employer,” she said.
“Would that former employer by any chance be the late Dr. Roland Fleming, proprietor of the Academy of the Occult?”
For one frozen moment she could not breathe. It was as if the room had suddenly tilted, throwing her off-balance. Her own cup of coffee trembled in her hand. Her pulse beat frantically and she knew a panic unlike any she had experienced since the night she fled the scene of Fleming’s murder.
She called on all of her acting skills to collect herself.
“I have no idea what you are talking about, Mr. Gage.” She summoned up her stage smile. “Or should I address you as the Messenger?”
“I see you talked to Mrs. Flint and Mrs. Marsh.”
“I roused them from their beds early this morning. They were, I must say, quite shocked by the sight of that card you gave me. Evidently you and your own former employer, Mr. Smith, left a memorable impression on them.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“I believe it has only been a year since they last dealt with you.”
“It has been a very long eleven months, two weeks and four days,” Joshua said.
She glanced at his scarred face and then at the cane. “You sound like a prisoner who keeps track of time by marking off the days on the walls of his cell.”
“That is not far from the truth.” Joshua drank some coffee.
“Mrs. Flint and Mrs. Marsh assumed you were dead, but I suppose you are aware of that,” Beatrice said.
“To tell you the truth, I had not considered the matter one way or another.”
“Is Mr. Smith still alive, as well?” Beatrice asked.
Joshua’s eyes went cold. “Our business together does not concern Mr. Smith.”
“So he is still alive.”
“Retired would be more accurate,” Joshua said.
She glanced pointedly at his cane. “Can I assume that you, also, have been in retirement for the past year?”
“Yes,” he said. He drank some more coffee.
She heightened her senses and looked at his footprints again. The seething iridescence in the psychical residue told her that retirement had not been a pleasant experience for Joshua. Not surprisingly, given the nature of his injuries, there was physical pain. But there was evidence of another kind of anguish, as well, the kind that cast a shadow on the heart and the senses.
“My employers informed me that you once investigated unusual cases that had a connection to the paranormal but that you, yourself, do not believe in the paranormal,” she ventured.
“I have never made any secret of the fact that I consider so-called psychical practitioners to be frauds at worst or deluded at best.”
He watched her, waiting for a response.
She smiled and sipped some coffee.
His eyes tightened at the corners. “Have I said something that amuses you, Miss Lockwood?”
“Sorry.” She set her cup back down on the saucer. “I’m afraid that the notion of the notorious Messenger—a supposedly brilliant investigator who can find anyone—employing Mrs. Flint and Mrs. Marsh as consultants but never realizing that they both have some paranormal talent is rather entertaining.”
“A supposedly brilliant investigator?”
“I didn’t mean to insult your skills. I’m sure you’re very good, sir.”
“I found you, didn’t I?”
She went cold. “Yes, you did. And if you went to all that effort merely to accuse me of having been a fraudulent practitioner, you have wasted your time. I have been out of that business for some months now.”
“I’m not concerned with your talents onstage during your association with Dr. Fleming’s Academy. I’m sure your performances were excellent. I always admire skill and competence of any sort.”
“I see.”
“And while we’re on the subject, I do not deny that Mrs. Flint and Mrs. Marsh both possess considerable powers of observation. Furthermore, I have always respected Mrs. Marsh’s scientific approach to investigations. But I see no reason to attribute their abilities to paranormal senses.”
There was no point arguing with him. As Mrs. Flint and Mrs. Marsh had often observed, those who did not believe in the paranormal could always find alternative explanations for psychical events.
“Where have you been for the past year, Mr. Gage?” she asked.
“I retired to the country and that is where I would have been content to remain had it not been for you, Miss Lockwood.”
She set down her cup and saucer with exquisite care. “If you have not tracked me down to level an accusation of fraud, what is it you want from me, sir?”
“The truth would be an excellent place to start. But in my experience that is usually the last place people wish to begin. For the sake of novelty, however, let’s try it. I will tell you what I know. You may confirm or deny the facts as I lay them out.”
“Why should I cooperate in your game, sir?”
He studied her with an assessing expression. “I believe you will want to assist me because I am looking for a blackmailer, and at the moment, Miss Lockwood, the evidence points to you as the extortionist.”