“I have an idea,” Livy said. “We can use the custard method.”
Fi furrowed her brow. “Custard method?”
“Like tempering custard, you warm Hawksmoor up to the idea a bit at a time. That way, he doesn’t curdle.” Glory’s grin was impish. “Livy did that with Hadleigh, remember?”
“And how, exactly, do I accomplish this with my husband?” Fi wanted to know. “I cannot just drop a hint here and there. ‘Please pass the salt, Hawksmoor—and by the by, I retrieved my client’s stolen letters from a blackmailer.’Or‘My day was splendid, darling, thanks for asking. The Angels and I were tracking a missing woman down at a bawdy house.’”
“I say just tell Hawksmoor the truth and be done with it,” Pippa cut in.
“But Fi is afraid that he won’t take the shock well,” Glory said.
“He definitely won’t.” Fi chewed on her lip. “After losing his first wife, he is afraid of something happening to me.”
“I have it,” Livy announced. “Youdon’t need to drop the hints, Fi. We’ll have Hadleigh and Mr. Cullen do it.”
Pippa lifted her brows. “We will?”
“Men are influenced by their peers,” Livy said airily. “When Hawksmoor learns that our husbands support us, he’ll fall in line. We shall coach Hadleigh and Mr. Cullen to emphasize our competence and ability to handle ourselves in any situation. By the time Fi is ready to tell Hawksmoor about our detection work, he’ll already be convinced that she is a talented lady capable of taking on anything.”
Pippa looked skeptical. “I don’t know about this…”
“It will work,” Livy said with enviable confidence. “We’ll gather our husbands for a supper party at my place. On a night of Fi’s choosing.”
“But I don’t have a husband.” Glory’s face fell. “Am I still invited?”
“Of course, silly,” Livy said. “Hadleigh and I will be your chaperones, and I will invite Hadleigh’s friend, Master Chen, to be your supper partner.”
Glory’s eyes lit up. “Jolly good. I can practice my Chinese.”
“Well, Fi?” Livy asked.
Fi shrugged. “Might as well give it a go. It is not as if I have better options.”
Hawker arrived, bearing a newly arrived note for Fi. Seeing the shape of a swan on the seal, she felt her heart speed up. She broke the wax and read the elegant copperplate.
Meet me at my shop in an hour. Come alone.
“Thank you for meeting with me, Mrs. Swann,” Fi said.
They were back in the sitting room where they’d first met. Daylight shone through the drapes, softening the contrast between the proprietress’s dark hair and light golden complexion. She wore another richly-hued dress, this one without the high neckline. Shock percolated through Fi as she saw the thin red line encircling the lady’s throat, beads of scarred skin strung along it like a grotesque necklace.
Who did that to her?Fi felt a surge of helpless rage.
Knowing instinctively that this proud, self-made woman would not tolerate pity, she met Mrs. Swann’s gaze squarely. She did not ignore the scar or allow herself to be distracted by it.
The businesswoman’s mouth approximated a smile.
“As you were honest with me,” she said calmly, “I will return the favor. The woman you seek was in my club on several occasions. The last time was three months ago. She went by the name Sarah Mallery.”
“Lillian aspired to be as celebrated an actress as the great Sarah Siddons,” Fi said quietly.
Mrs. Swann inclined her head. “Lillian, then, was brought here by her lover, a man who called himself Martin Wheatley. He wanted to play out his fantasies with her, and I was led to believe that she shared his predilections.”
“Predilections?”
“He enjoyed pain. Specifically, inflicting it. It is not an uncommon fantasy, and at my club, patrons are not judged for their preferences. They have a right to pursue pleasure in whatever form it takes. With one caveat: what happensmustbe consensual. I make that very clear.” Mrs. Swann’s eyes were harder than blued steel. “Martin claimed that it was, and Lillian did too. They played in one of the dungeon rooms. I thought all was well until the time I heard her screaming, begging him to stop.” The scar rippled on Mrs. Swann’s throat. “My men broke down the door. He’d whipped her…badly. Not pain designed to pleasure but to indulge his cowardly and despicable need to feel powerful.”
The bruise that Vera Engle saw on Lillian’s face was no anomaly. The bounder hurt Lillian repeatedly. Enjoyed doing it.
