Sixteen

“While you spoke with Tiles, Norris confided to me that he can recall nothing connected directly to the duel.” Hamilton turned to pace back across the library. “He doesn’t remember the instructions he received when the magician put him into a trance. He does not even recollect the experiment.”

“Did he give you any reason for calling Tiles out?”

“No. None. He does not remember the act. He claims that it was not until he fired his pistol that he suddenly realized that he was confronting the most dangerous duelist in all of London. And he did not even know why.”

“Does he recall that you and the other club members attempted to dissuade him from going forward with the duel?”

“No.” Hamilton came to a halt in front of a wall of books. He grasped the rail of the library steps. “As you saw, he was obviously badly shaken by the whole incident.”

One glance at Norris’s bewildered, utterly exhausted expression had convinced Baxter that a serious interrogation of the young man would be useless. He had reluctantly instructed the coachman to set Norris down in front of the large Lennox mansion. Hamilton had seen his friend indoors and then returned to the carriage to accompany Baxter home. Neither had said a word until they walked into the library.

“When Norris recovers, he will discover that he has acquired himself an enviable reputation,” Baxter said. “He is, after all, one of very few men who has had the audacity to call out Anthony Tiles and survive unharmed.”

“True.” Hamilton’s mouth quirked in spite of his obviously somber mood. “It’s rather ironic, is it not? Norris is the most even-tempered, good-natured man I have ever met and now he will be known as a bold and dashing man of the world, a reckless, neck-or-nothing out-and-outer.”

“Should do wonders for his social life. I trust his new image will not go to his head.”

“Unlikely.” Hamilton’s smile faded. “He is grateful to be alive. The last thing he wants to do is risk his neck anytime soon.”

“As he appears to have no memory of the affair, I must rely upon you for information. Will you help me discover the identity of this quack you call a magician?”

Hamilton turned to face him. His eyes were bleak, his mouth grim. He looked a good deal older than he had yesterday, Baxter thought.

“Yes, I’ll do whatever I can,” Hamilton said. “I’m well aware that I’m in your debt, Baxter.”

“You owe me nothing.”

“What the devil do you mean by that? You saved my friend’s life. I cannot begin to repay you. Neither can Norris.”

“You were the one who took steps to save Norris’s neck. You put aside your personal feelings and came to me for assistance. That took courage, will, and resourcefulness.”

Hamilton flushed. For a moment he looked as confused as Norris had after the duel. “I did not know where else to turn. I had tried logic and reason on Norris. He did not respond to my pleas or my arguments. We could not find the magician. I was desperate.”

“I know. You did what you believed necessary to save a friend’s life, even though it meant asking my help. I know how difficult that must have been. If Norris is grateful to anyone, he should be grateful to you.”

“I was not the one who knew how to alter the chemicals in the gunpowder.”

Baxter shrugged. “If it’s any consolation, I don’t believe that Tiles would have shot Norris in cold blood.”

“Everyone knows Tiles is utterly ruthless.”

“That is certainly his reputation. But he had nothing against Norris.”

“The lack of a reason would not have stopped a man of Tiles’s nature.” Hamilton frowned. “Do you think he suspects that something was wrong with the gunpowder?”

“He’s not stupid.”

Alarm flashed in Hamilton’s eyes. “You mean he knows what happened today?”

“He has a fairly accurate notion of what went wrong with his pistol, yes. And he is well aware that I am a chemist. It did not require a great deal of reasoning for him to put the facts together and come up with a theory.”

“Hell’s teeth, Baxter. If he knows about the gunpowder, he may well blame you. He might call you out. You could be his next victim.”

“Don’t tell me that you’re worried about my neck?”

“It would not be right if Tiles tried to take revenge against you because you helped me save Norris.”

“Rest assured, there will be no duel between Tiles and me. We were friends once at Oxford. Although we have gone our separate ways, there is an old bond between us that cannot be easily broken.”

Hamilton stared at him. “What bond is that?”

“We are both bastards.”

“I don’t understand. What has that to do with anything?”

“The circumstances of one’s birth have an amazing influence on one’s circle of friends in later years. Consider your acquaintance with Norris. The basic element that you have in common is that you’re both heirs to old titles and old fortunes. That factor will provide a link between the two of you that will last the whole of your lives. You will likely have sons who may well marry his daughters and so on. It’s the way of the world.”

“I see what you mean.” Hamilton shifted uncomfortably. “Nevertheless, in spite of your opinions, I am very glad that Norris’s safety this morning did not depend upon Tiles’s whim.”

“Tiles can be somewhat unpredictable, I’ll grant you that much. But I think enough has been said on the subject of the duel.” Baxter sat forward and folded his hands on top of the desk. “Let’s get down to more pressing matters. We must find that damnable magician before he puts anyone else at risk with one of his mesmerism experiments.”

“I have agreed to help you, but I still cannot bring myself to believe that he intended Norris to die.” Hamilton rubbed the back of his neck. “The experiment went awry, that’s all.”

“I’m not so certain that it was a failure.”

Hamilton looked up quickly. “What do you mean?”

“I suspect that the results of the affair may have been entirely satisfactory so far as the magician was concerned.”

“What are you talking about? Why would the magician have wanted to get Norris killed?”

“That’s one of the many questions I wish to ask him. Now tell me everything you can.”

Hamilton sighed. “That won’t be easy. I have never actually seen his face. He always wore his costume when he appeared among us. It was part of the game, you see.”

“I take it that he performed his act several times in front of you and your friends. There must have been some distinguishing characteristic that you can recall.”

“Well, he does possess a rather strange voice,” Hamilton said.

Charlotte lifted the heavy brass knocker on Juliana Post’s front door and banged it loudly for the third time. Still, no housekeeper arrived in response to the summons.

The sense of anxious dread grew stronger. Something was wrong. Charlotte knew it in the same way that she sometimes knew other things, such as the fact that Baxter was not the dull, bland man that the rest of the world believed him to be and that the harsh-voiced figure in the black domino was deadly.

She slammed the knocker once more. Perhaps she was too late. The man with the broken voice might have already paid a visit to Juliana.

Calm yourself, she thought. Juliana might simply be away from home for a few hours. Perhaps she had gone shopping.

But where was the housekeeper?

There was no point pounding again on the front door. It was obvious now that no one would respond. Charlotte glanced down into the front area below the street. There was no sign of anyone about in the kitchens.

She had to get inside the house. She would not be able to rest if she simply left this place and returned home.

With a quick glance at the street to make certain that no one was watching, she opened the small gate and hurried down the steps into the front area of the house. Down here she was safely out of sight of anyone who chanced to pass by on the street.

All was quiet in the small, paved space that served the kitchens. Charlotte peered through the windows. There was no one about down there, either. She tapped sharply on a pane.

When there was no response, she tried the door.

Locked.

The decision to break one of the windowpanes was difficult but she could not come up with any other way to get into the house. It was too bad that Baxter was not with her, she thought. He was good at this sort of thing.

She took off her bonnet, held the brim so that it covered one of the small windowpanes, and then waited until a large carriage rumbled past. When the clatter of hooves and wheels was at its height, she swung her heavy reticule at the bonnet-covered glass.

The small pane shattered. The shards dropped to the kitchen floor. Charlotte waited a moment but no one came running to investigate.

She eased her arm through the broken windowpane and groped for the door lock.

She was inside in a matter of seconds. Housebreaking was a surprisingly uncomplicated business.

She went through the kitchens to the stairs that led to the ground floor.

“Is anyone home?” she called loudly. “Miss Post?”

An eerie silence was the only answer.

Her sense of foreboding increased as she slowly climbed the stairs. An unwholesome scent greeted her in the front hall.

“Juliana? It’s Charlotte Arkendale.”

No response.

She sniffed cautiously. The smoky smell was familiar. She recalled that Juliana used an exotic blend of incense to provide atmosphere for her fortune-telling sessions.

This is different, Charlotte thought. Not the same fragrance as last time. But I know it. From where?

And then it struck her. This odor was very similar to the unwholesome incense that Hamilton and his friends had used in their private chamber at The Green Table. But there was a subtle difference. This time the vapor seemed darker, more acrid.

“Juliana?”

The door to the small parlor that Juliana used for her fortune-telling sessions was closed. Charlotte could see tendrils of scented smoke wafting out from beneath it.

A terrible sense of urgency washed through her. She rushed down the hall to the door, grabbed the knob, and twisted frantically.

The door was locked.

Shocked, she glanced down at the unyielding lock and saw the key. Someone had deliberately locked the room from this side.

“Juliana.”

Frantic now, Charlotte unlocked the door and yanked it open.

Great billowing clouds of incense curled out into the hall and swirled around her. It stung her eyes and made her head swim.

She stepped back quickly and grabbed her handkerchief from her reticule. Taking a deep breath, she folded the cloth once and held it over her nose and mouth.

She dashed into the exotic black and crimson room. The incense was so heavy in there that it appeared as though a fog had settled inside the parlor. Her eyes watered. She could take only a moment to search for Juliana. She knew that she would not be able to stay in this room any longer than she could hold her breath.

She almost stumbled over the low fortune-telling table. She looked down and saw several cards lying faceup. One of them had fallen to the floor. It depicted a shrouded figure holding a scythe. An unmistakable image of death.

She stepped around the table and looked toward the hearth. A bundle of crimson satin robes was tumbled on the floor next to the scarlet sofa.

Juliana.

Lungs burning, Charlotte rushed toward the prone figure on the carpet. She could not tell if Juliana was dead or alive. There was no time to check.

Holding the handkerchief with one hand, she grabbed one of Juliana’s ankles and started to drag her toward the door. Fortunately, Juliana’s satin robes slid easily along the carpet.

But the door was very far away. She knew she would not make it if she did not take a breath. She was already dizzy.

She inhaled cautiously through the handkerchief.

The linen reduced the intensity of the incense but it could not filter out all of it. At first Charlotte thought that it had had no effect. Then she watched in horror as the black and scarlet room began to melt and dissolve before her eyes.

The incense, she thought. It was doing this to her. She must keep moving toward the door.

The weight of Juliana grew heavier. The parlor was a sea of blood. The door was the entrance to hell. A monster waited on the other side of the threshold.

It’s the incense. The incense. I must keep going forward.

One more step. Just one more little step, she promised herself. Then she could take a breath.

She pulled Juliana through the doorway to Hades …

 … and found herself on a cool tile floor.

She tore the handkerchief away from her face and sucked in the less tainted air of the hall. A violent fit of coughing overcame her.

“Bloody hell. Charlotte.”

“Baxter. Baxter, I’m here.”

The sound of his voice was more invigorating than any tonic. She took another gasping breath and wiped her tearing eyes. She blinked several times and saw Baxter striding toward her through the light haze. He had entered the house via the kitchens, just as she had.

“What has happened here?” he demanded in a soft and terrible voice.

“Thank God, you came. I am so glad to see you. It’s Juliana. I do not know if she is still alive.”

She could not focus properly on Baxter. As he came toward her he appeared to shift and re-form in some subtle fashion. It was as if he were transmuting back and forth between two different states of being, one human and one … something else. Something dangerous. His alchemist’s eyes burned too brightly in the incense-tainted haze.

Baxter searched her face. “Get out of here. Quickly. I shall attend to Miss Post.”

“There is so much of this strange vapor.” Charlotte frowned. The hall did not look quite right. The staircase had slid several feet to one side. “I fear there is a fire in the parlor.”

“I’ll check after I get you and Miss Post into the carriage. Move, woman. No, not the kitchen stairs. For God’s sake, use the front door. It’s closer.”

“Yes, of course.” She could not think clearly. Everything was wavering, turning different colors, changing shape. She felt as though she were moving through a dream, a nightmare.

She swung around and lunged for the doorknob, which was floating in the fog. She barely managed to grab hold of it before it took flight. She struggled with it.

“Open it,” Baxter ordered in a voice that cut through the crimson haze.

Summoning all of the willpower she possessed, she wrenched at the doorknob. To her infinite relief, it turned in her fingers. The door opened.

Fresh, crisp air rushed into the incense-laced hall. She breathed deeply as she staggered down the steps. The world steadied a little. She saw Baxter’s carriage on the street in front of the house.

She tried to move toward the cab door but it seemed to shift position and size when she reached for the handle.

“Here, now, Miss Arkendale, I’ll handle that for ye.” The coachman jumped down from his box and grabbed the door from her fumbling fingers. “There ye go.”

He put a firm hand under her elbow and propelled her into the carriage. Charlotte fell onto the seat. She glanced through the window and saw that Baxter was right behind her. He had tossed Juliana over one shoulder.

“What’s happenin’ in there?” the coachman asked. “House fire? Shall I summon aid, sir?”

“I don’t think there’s a fire.” Baxter dropped Juliana onto the floor of the carriage. “Hold a moment. I’ll go back and take a closer look.”

Charlotte’s head was beginning to clear. She leaned out of the carriage window. “Baxter, be careful. That incense is most unwholesome.”

He did not respond. She saw him jerk a handkerchief out of his pocket as he went back through the front door of the house. She waited anxiously until he reappeared a moment later.

“No fire. Just a brazier heaped with incense. Nasty stuff. It will soon burn itself out.” Baxter glanced at the coachman as he vaulted into the carriage. “Miss Arkendale’s house. Kindly do not waste any time. I don’t want to loiter about in this neighborhood.”

“Aye, sir.” The coachman slammed the cab door and leaped up onto the box.

The vehicle set off down the street at a brisk clip.

Baxter settled himself on the seat across from Charlotte. His eyes were very fierce behind the lenses of his spectacles. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.” She looked down at Juliana sprawled on the floor of the carriage. “And Miss Post is alive, thank heavens.”

Baxter leaned down to touch the side of Juliana’s throat. “So she is.”

“She must have been overcome by the incense. I’m almost certain that it was not the same mixture of herbs she used the last time I visited her. This vapor reminded me of the noxious smoke Hamilton and his friends used the other night. But this was stronger.”

“Yes.” Baxter studied Juliana. His face was set in hard, bleak lines. “I do not believe that Miss Post was accidentally overcome by that incense.”

Charlotte met Baxter’s eyes across Juliana’s motionless form. “The magician tried to murder her.”

“Yes.”

His name is Malcolm Janner. I loved him and he tried to kill me.” Juliana, freshly bathed and garbed in one of Ariel’s wrappers, huddled on the sofa in front of the parlor fire. Her voice was still hoarse from the smoky incense. Her eyes were reddened and damp with tears. “I thought he loved me.”

Charlotte paused in the act of pouring another cup of tea. She touched Juliana’s hand. “He is a monster. Monsters do not respond to love.”

Baxter stirred slightly near the mantel. Charlotte felt his gaze on her. When she glanced at him, she saw that he was watching her closely. But he made no comment.

She turned back to Juliana. “What happened today?”

“He asked me to read the cards for him. He does that quite often. It was one of the things I never comprehended about him.”

“What do you mean?”

“Malcolm is a man of keen intellect but he is obsessed with metaphysical and occult science. He believes that I really can tell fortunes. Indeed, I think that was the reason why he pretended to love me. I never dared to let him know that my fortune-telling skills were nothing more than an act I had created in order to make my living.”

“Why the incense?” Baxter asked.

Juliana glanced at him. “He is forever experimenting with it. He has created a special mixture that he says heightens the faculties and elevates one’s sense of awareness. He feels it helps him contact the forces of the metaphysical plane.”

“Was that what was burning in the brazier?” Charlotte asked.

“Yes. But the incense is very potent. It must be used carefully. A small amount of it has the effect of altering the way one perceives things. But too much can kill.”

“There was certainly far too much of it in your parlor today,” Charlotte said.

“After I read the cards for him this morning, he put more incense on the brazier.” Juliana closed her eyes in mute anguish. “When I told him that it frightened me, he said that he would make certain that I was safe. He put on his mask, the one he dons whenever he wishes to remain unaffected by the incense. I grew very dazed and disoriented.”

“Go on,” Charlotte said gently.

Juliana opened her eyes. Tears streamed down her face. “He picked me up. Placed me on the sofa. I thought he was going to make love to me as he often does after I read the cards for him. I could no longer see him clearly but I shall never forget his voice when he told me that he did not need me anymore. That I had become a problem. He promised that I would feel no pain. I would simply go to sleep and never awaken.”

“Dear God,” Charlotte whispered. “You were on the floor when I found you. You must have fallen from the sofa.”

Baxter frowned. “That is no doubt what allowed you to live long enough for Charlotte to discover you and pull you to safety, Miss Post.”

Juliana glanced at him in wan surprise. “What do you mean?”

“In the course of my experiments I have frequently observed that smoky vapors tend to be lighter than other airs. In a sense, they seek to rise and float above them. The air that was closest to the floor in your parlor therefore remained less tainted with the incense.”

Charlotte was impressed. “A very clever analysis of the situation, Baxter.”

He gave her a wry look. “Thank you. I like to think that not all of my time in my laboratory is wasted.”

Juliana shuddered. “Whatever the case, I owe my life to you, Miss Arkendale. If you had not come to see me when you did, I would have expired from the effects of that ghastly incense. What stroke of fortune made you decide to visit me today?”

“It was not fortune,” Charlotte said briskly. “It was logic. And, well, perhaps a bit of luck. Let us say that I had obtained some information that caused me to conclude that the voice of this man of mystery was the key to the whole affair. You were the one person I knew who could quite possibly put a face to that voice.”

Juliana gripped the lapels of her wrapper. She stared into the flames. “Malcolm hated his voice. He said it was an outrage that he had been stricken in that manner.”

Baxter watched Juliana for a moment. “I spoke with my brother today. He confirmed that the so-called magician who amuses the members of The Green Table club possesses a voice that is unusually harsh.”

Charlotte looked at him. “According to the person I interviewed this morning, so did the man who killed Drusilla Heskett. And the man in the black domino who spoke to me last night at the masquerade ball also had a strange, rough voice.”

“Bloody hell,” Baxter muttered. “Why did you not tell me all this?”

“There has been no opportunity.”

“It must be Malcolm,” Juliana whispered. “He established The Green Table club and lured young men of important families into it. It was all part of his plan.”

“What is this grand scheme?” Baxter asked. “Is he out to destroy the gentlemen of the club?”

“Destroy them?” Juliana appeared genuinely startled. “Of course not. Why on earth would he do such a thing?”

Light glinted on the lenses of Baxter’s spectacles. “Some people will go to great lengths to gain revenge. If this magician harbors some grudge against the young men he enticed into the club, he might have thought to arrange their deaths through the use of mesmerism. This morning I witnessed how such a murder could take place.”

“You are correct on one count,” Juliana admitted. “Malcolm has no love for high-ranking gentlemen of the ton. He scorns the lot. But I do not believe he intended to kill any of them. If I had thought that murder was his goal, I would never have agreed to help him.”

“What, precisely, is his goal?” Charlotte asked gently.

“He seeks wealth and power. He claims that by rights he should have possessed both at birth. The fact that he was denied his heritage is a source of great anguish and rage to him.” Juliana hesitated. “Because of my own circumstances, I understood the depth of his feelings on the subject.”

“Yes, of course.” Baxter’s hand clamped around the mantelpiece. “It all becomes clear now. He thought to control the new generation of young, powerful lords through the use of mesmerism and the drugging incense.”

Juliana nodded and dabbed at her eyes with the edge of her wrapper. “He has studied Dr. Mesmer’s work and that of many others who have experimented with animal magnetism. He has perfected the techniques of inducing a trance. He uses the incense to facilitate the operation.”

Charlotte’s palms were suddenly damp. “Baxter, what happened at dawn this morning was indeed a test, was it not?”

“Yes, the ultimate test of the magician’s control over his subjects.” Baxter removed his eyeglasses and shook out his handkerchief. “No wonder Hamilton and the others could not locate him when they sought to make him break the trance. He had no intention of calling off his experiment before he got the results.”

Charlotte was awed by the implications. “If he proved that he could use his techniques to send a young man to his death, he would know that he had achieved the degree of power he sought.”

“I do not know what you witnessed this morning,” Juliana said with an air of desperation. “But I am certain that Malcolm does not intend to murder all the young bloods of the ton.”

“I believe you.” Baxter methodically polished his eyeglasses. “This morning’s work was simply an experiment, as I said. I suspect that his ultimate goal is to control the gentlemen of The Green Table after they come into their titles and estates. He was obviously willing to sacrifice one of his subjects in order to prove that he had accomplished his objectives.”

“Just think of what he might be able to do if he could put a number of wealthy, powerful gentlemen into such strong trances,” Charlotte said. “He could use his skills to make them do anything he wished. He could control their investments, their political opinions, their very lives.”

“Indeed.” Baxter slipped his spectacles back into place. The gold flames in his eyes flared. “And in so doing, his own power would be almost unlimited.”

Juliana’s mouth trembled. “Malcolm was born a bastard. He could not abide the whims of a cruel fate that had left a man of his intellect and strength of will forever barred from his fortune and society’s most powerful inner circles.”

“So he sought to shape his own destiny,” Charlotte said slowly.

Baxter frowned. “What is this about destiny?”

“On the night of the masquerade ball Malcolm Janner asked me if I believed in destiny.” In spite of the fire, Charlotte found the parlor cold. “I recall his words quite clearly because someone else once said something very similar to me.”

Juliana dried her eyes. “Malcolm often spoke of destiny. He felt he had a great one, you see. That was one of the things he wished to have verified whenever I read the cards. I was always careful to make certain that he got the fortune he wanted. I feared the effect on his spirits if the cards predicted an ill outcome.”

“Bloody hell.” Baxter’s voice was so soft that Charlotte barely heard him. “It’s not possible. The man is dead.”

“Who is dead?” Charlotte asked quickly.

Baxter closed one hand into a fist on top of the cold marble mantel. “I will explain later.”

Charlotte hesitated, wanting to pursue the matter. But she could tell from the shuttered look in Baxter’s eyes that he did not intend to say anything more in front of Juliana.

“When I entered the parlor today,” Charlotte said to Juliana, “I noticed that one of the cards lying faceup on the floor was an image of death.”

Juliana shook her head. “I gave him the same reading that I always do. I made certain that all the signs indicated a positive outcome for his plans. He seemed very satisfied.”

Charlotte summoned up the scene in her mind. “Perhaps when he picked you up to carry you to the sofa the hem of your robes brushed against that particular card and knocked it to the carpet.”

“I suppose so,” Juliana said listlessly.

“Odd that the card fell faceup and that it was the one card in the deck that the magician would not have wished to see,” Charlotte said very quietly.

Baxter pinned Juliana with his intent gaze. “Where does this man who calls himself Malcolm Janner reside?”

Juliana flushed. “I know you will not credit this, but the truth is, I do not have his direction. He said it was best that way. He claimed he wished to protect me in the event that his plans failed. All I can tell you is that he spent a great deal of time at The Green Table. I believe he kept a sort of office there.”

Charlotte glanced at Baxter. “We did not investigate the top floor of the establishment.”

“I doubt that he lives there,” Baxter said. “Too obvious. But he would require access to the upper floor in order to stage his magical act. Perhaps it would be worthwhile to have another look around the premises.”

“Excellent notion,” Charlotte said.

Baxter glanced at her. The full force of his implacable will gleamed in his eyes. “This time, I shall go alone.”

“But I can be of assistance.”

“Don’t even consider the notion.”

Charlotte raised her brows at his coldly decisive tone. “We shall discuss the matter later, sir.”

“No,” he said in the very even, very neutral voice that he used whenever he was at his most inflexible. “We will not.”

Charlotte abandoned the argument for the moment. She had a more pressing concern. “We must make arrangements to protect Miss Post. If Malcolm Janner discovers that she is not dead, he may well make another attempt on her life.”

Baxter’s mouth curved slightly in a humorless smile. “Then we shall make certain that he is convinced that she is no longer among the living.”

“How will you manage that?” Juliana asked.

“We shall do what everyone in Town does when it is deemed necessary to make an important announcement to Society,” Baxter said. “We shall send a notice to the newspapers.”