“Still doing all right?” she asked.
Charlie pulled a stack of books at random. “Indeed. I’ve found what I am looking for.”
After making her purchase, she departed the shop and met up with Devlin.
“I hope your luck was better than mine,” he said as the carriage rolled off.
Taking out a long, dark strand that she’d plucked from Xenia Loveday’s brush, Charlie held it up to the light. The root of the hair was bright, glinting red.
With a surge of triumph, she said, “I believe it was.”
Fourteen
On Wednesday evening, Charlie arrived at the Academy of Venus, a tall brick building tucked at the end of a cul-de-sac. Masked guests were ushered through the front gate by a pair of strapping footmen. As Charlie followed the flow, she looked up at the three rows of windows; a rosy glow slipped through the crack of the heavy curtains, but there was no other indication of what was happening within.
After her visit to Wallace’s Bookshop, she’d assigned Billie and Lindy to follow Miss Loveday. The girls had reported that, after finishing her shift at the bookshop, Miss Loveday had made a stop at the present house of ill repute. She hadn’t stayed long, but she’d left with a garment box, bidding farewell to one of the prostitutes with a cheery, “See you at the salon!”
Given the handbill Charlie had found in Miss Loveday’s bag, she’d deduced that Miss Loveday was referring to Scheherazade’s Salon. Her instincts also told her to surveil Miss Loveday this eve; the shopgirl had secrets, and one of them likely involved Gilbert Quinton. Accordingly, Charlie secured a ticket to the event. She was solo tonight as Devlin was monitoring Quinton. She wanted to keep an eye on both; if her hypothesis was correct, the pair’s paths would dovetail, and she could provide Amara with the answers she deserved.
Entering the Academy of Venus, Charlie saw that it was packed with patrons, male and female. Apparently, the club offered something for everyone, and after depositing her cloak, Charlie performed a quick reconnaissance. The brothel had three stories: the top floor contained private chambers, the second larger areas for group activities, and the first held a series of public rooms offering the opportunity to mingle and enjoy refreshments.
Charlie returned to the drawing room. Decorated in burgundy and gilt, the space could have belonged in any fashionable home. The night was about excess, and the well-heeled patrons were dressed in lavish costumes and jewels. With a frisson of unease, Charlie recognized Lord and Lady Kendall and Isadora and Ellsworth Rigby sipping wine together. The Kendalls appeared twitchy and titillated, the Rigbys rather bored. Charlie reassured herself that they would not recognize her with her auburn ringlets and purple mask, the padding beneath the violet taffeta altering her shape. Nonetheless, she would steer clear of them.
Mingling with the crowd were the “students” of the academy, male and female. Their attire was a carnal mockery of boarding school uniforms. The men were shirtless, their wide Etonian collars and schoolboy cravats bringing attention to their sinewy shoulders and chests. Their black trousers molded to their lower halves, showing off their bulging wares. Similarly, the women were dressed like depraved schoolmisses. They wore pinafores with no dress beneath. The apron-like garment, constructed of translucent linen, provided glimpses of rouged nipples and generous derrieres.
As one of the male prostitutes approached, Charlie pasted on a smile.
“Good evening, madam.” The fellow was sandy-haired and handsome. “My name is Thom. First time?”
Playing the part of a silly matron, Charlie said in breathy accents, “How can you tell?”
“You are as fresh as a garden rose,” Thom said with practiced gallantry.
Charlie giggled, patting her auburn wig. “I wager you say that to all the ladies, sir.”
“Only the ones with whom I’d like to get better acquainted.” He leaned toward her, his sandalwood cologne making her nose itch. “As a matter of fact, darling, I’ve a sandwich I think you would enjoy.”
“Thank you, but I am not hungry.”
“You’ll have an appetite for this, I assure you.”
Thom nodded toward a fellow whose back was to them. As if he sensed he was being discussed, the man turned and appeared to be identical to Thom. Down to the smirk he aimed at Charlie.
“That’s my twin brother. When we were young, we liked to do everything together.” Thom’s voice lowered suggestively. “We still do…for the right price.”
Cheeks flaming, Charlie realized the kind of sandwich he was referring to.
“Bidding starts at five hundred pounds for an experience you shan’t forget.” Thom took her hand, expertly grazing his lips over her skin. “Come find us after Scheherazade’s reading.”
As he strolled off, Charlie pondered his offer with wry amusement.
If a lover didn’t help me get over Sebastian, perhaps what I needed wastwo.
The thought of Sebastian sobered her, and she scanned the room. She’d seen no sign of him but wouldn’t put it past him to interfere. She had to stay on alert for him as well as Miss Loveday.
A bell rang, and it was announced that Scheherazade’s Salon was about to begin. Charlie followed the herd toward the library, a high-ceilinged room with emerald-green walls. Clusters of chairs faced a dais, upon which was a large silk screen. The seats filled quickly, but she managed to secure a chair at the back of the room.
Anticipation crackled through the crowd as the overhead lights dimmed. Lanterns had been placed behind the screen, illuminating a silhouette: Scheherazade, in all her exoticized glory. The shadowy woman had long, wavy hair cascading down her back and pooling on the ground beside her. She was provocatively reclined on a large floor pillow. Her outline suggested that she was nude with high, rounded breasts, a nipped-in waist, and curvy hips.
