And one had to ask, did Sir James possess any of those qualities? He presented himself as a hearty Scotsman, more concerned with the welfare of his sheep than anything of real import, but perhaps that was a useful bit of chicanery. After all, his estate was apparently profitable even in our challenging times when many of the old aristocratic families were experiencing difficulties. Once the source of limitless wealth, the land was no longer a dependable means of earning money. Real profits were made through technology and commerce while forestry, fields, and mines limped along, bringing in far less than they had once done. Sir James clearly possessed a good head for management if his sheep were earning well. Did those skills translate to murder? And if so, what had been his motive? Why seek vengeance on behalf of Lorenzo d’Ambrogio? Was there some connection between them as yet unexplored? They had spent time together as young men, but according to Tiberius, Lorenzo’s great passion had been his fossils, a passion shared by Kaspar von Hochstaden, not James MacIver. Had their passion been of another variety? Lorenzo had been, by all accounts, an extremely handsome young man, and he had travelled in James’ company for many months. James might have developed an unrequited affection for Lorenzo. Or perhaps an actual tendresse had sprung up, a love affair that James could not pursue, hampered as he was by his engagement to Augusta—an engagement arranged by their parents, I remembered. If he loved Lorenzo and had reason to believe his paramour had been murdered, seeking out the killer to exact vengeance was entirely reasonable.
I glanced around the suite. Elegant, like all the rooms at Cherboys, and giving absolutely nothing away. If there had been some attachment between James and Lorenzo, there was no proof of it. It was one of a few dozen reasonable hypotheses I could have offered as to who our villain might be and why. There were simply too many variables at present, and my little investigation had done nothing to eliminate any of them.
I made my way back to my room in a state of mild irritation. The scientific mind is never cast down by a lack of success. Failure is very often as instructive as victory, but in this case it meant a waste of time when I might have been comparing notes with J. J. I had high hopes she had learnt something of use belowstairs, but a quick glance at the clock revealed I would have no chance to ask her before the dinner bell. My musings had caused me to tarry longer than I had intended in the MacIvers’ suite, and it was the purest luck I had not been discovered.
Happily, no one was about as I hastened down the back stairs—explaining why I had been on the floor above my room would take considerable ingenuity. I reached my bedchamber undetected and was just congratulating myself when I heard the door of the suite next to mine shut. The Salviatis, I realised. If Beatrice or Pietro had just returned, they might well have seen me darting about, looking furtive.
I eased my door open and peered out through the crack. I could see only a sliver of the corridor, but I caught a flash of black skirt and white apron. I eased the door open a little wider and saw an enormous white mobcap with streaming ribbons trailing behind. It was a maid, heading in the opposite direction to mine, taking the back stairs.
“J. J.,” I muttered as I closed the door. That much was apparent by the colour of her dress, kitchen black instead of the smart blue of the chambermaids. She had clearly been sleuthing abovestairs in direct contravention of our agreement. No doubt she intended to steal amarch on me by discovering some bit of tittle-tattle she could flog in her despicable newspaper.
Very well, I decided. If that was the game she meant to play, we would no longer be partners. With Stoker ranged with Tiberius and J. J. acting in her own interests, I was clearly on my own. I felt a thrust of emotion I had not felt in a long while.Loneliness.I had grown accustomed to having friends, partners, compatriots. It was a testimony to how important they had become to my happiness that I felt so wretchedly adrift without them.
I stiffened my spine and my resolve. If they did not wish to stand with me, I would stand alone.
And I would beat them all.
CHAPTER
21
I made a swift but careful toilette for the evening, surveying my simple hairstyle and violet taffeta gown with satisfaction. I had little doubt the countess and Augusta would present themselves in the first order of fashion and dripping in jewels, but I did not mind. Let other women compete for compliments. I was content with a single gown of excellent material and superb cut, ornamented only with a small spray of hothouse violets pinned into my hair.
We assembled in the drawing room, where the Greshams joined the house party and Collins was pouring champagne with a decidedly reluctant air. I took the proffered coupe from him and edged towards Tiberius.
“Why does Collins look as if he has been sucking lemons?” I murmured.
“He does not approve of serving champagne before dinner,” Tiberius returned in a low voice. “He thinks it debauched.”
“How in the name of all that is holy has he endured in your service without a taste for debauchery?” I enquired.
“He has hopes of reforming me,” Tiberius replied with a smile. But it was nothing like his usual expression of amusement. There was awatchfulness about his eyes, a wariness that told me he was more concerned than he cared to admit. Whatever he intended for this night, it weighed upon him, I realised. I pressed his hand swiftly and he raised a brow into a perfect Gothic arch.
“I am not so unnerved as to require bolstering, although the effort is appreciated,” he said solemnly. I eyed his glass and he smiled again, this time in genuine amusement. “I watched Collins open it myself and my glass has not been unattended, I assure you. Do you mean to sample my food at dinner as well?”
“Mock me if you please, but you will think yourself well served if I do indeed save your life,” I informed him loftily.
He raised his glass in a silent toast as he moved away.
The others had assembled by then and he waited in silence until all were served. “My dear guests, I wish this evening to be a memorable one,” he said slowly, resting his gaze in turn upon each of them. “Come. I have prepared for you an experience you will not soon forget.”
•••
Tiberius led the way out the garden door. I surveyed the party, but Stoker was not to be found. I suspected he was awaiting us in the garden, as nervous as an expectant father as he prepared to unveil his masterpiece. Along the rose alley, long silken banners had been hung to waft in the breeze. The hard heat of the day had softened as the evening settled over the estate. The air was heavy with the fragrance of the roses, the petals trodden under our feet as we walked, chattering excitedly. At the end of the alley and through the gate, we came to the edge of the lake. The setting sun turned the water to golden fire, and floating on its shining surface were a miniature flotilla. To the rowboat had been added a Venetian gondola, a tiny Chinese junk hung with lanterns, and a Greek trireme scarcely larger than a rowboat.
Tiberius divided us into groups—I travelled with Sir James and thecount in the trireme—and we were rowed across to the island by masked youths. It made for a lovely picture, the little fleet moving slowly over the glassy lake, each carrying one lady and a male companion or two. Beatrice wore a gown of flame silk, cleverly cut to suggest the movement of a fire. Enormous opals nestled in her hair and at her ears, and she was a stunning contrast to Augusta’s ensemble, an elegant affair of heavy oyster duchesse satin embroidered with clever little motifs of stylised thistles. She wore her pearls again, but this time they were augmented with several extra ropes and a small coronet. Even Elspeth had made an effort, wearing black satin and a cluster of her pretty pink roses tucked in her décolletage. Music filled the air, something sprightly—Vivaldi, perhaps—and for a moment I forgot entirely the danger at hand, revelling instead in the brief magic Tiberius had conjured for us. Only one thing was missing, and I found myself sitting forward eagerly as the trireme touched the opposite shore. Stoker would be here.
We pushed through the banks of willows just as the last rays of the sun died, emerging into the clearing in the center of the island. The garden had been set with cressets, the flames flaring up in a breeze scented by the sea. Amidst the torches, entertainers strolled, jugglers and fire-eaters lending a carnival atmosphere. And in the circle of the torches sat the Megalosaurus, the back open, the eyes gleaming with fire. Stoker had created a masterpiece. The beast, once a great lumpen thing of papier-mâché, now crouched in the shadows, expectant, predatory, the great mouth gaping open to reveal a crimson maw, hungry and shining damply in the fitful light from Stoker’s deft applications of various varnishes. It was hideous and magnificent, and I heard the assembled gasps and exclamations as we beheld what Stoker had wrought. He waited at the foot of the small set of stairs leading up to the heart of the creature, extending a hand to assist as each of the guests climbed inside. He had trimmed his hair for theoccasion and he was freshly shaven, smelling deliciously of verbena soap and his own ineffable scent. The extensive work on the Megalosaurus must have taxed the strength of his eye, for he wore his patch, but the effect was not unattractive. In fact, the patch, coupled with the glint of the golden earrings in his lobes, put me in mind of a swaggering Elizabethan privateer.
“Well done,” I murmured to him as I passed into the belly of the beast. He gave me a grave nod. He might have been proud of his work, but he was not looking forward to the evening with any enthusiasm. Knowing Tiberius as I did, I could well imagine how he intended to confront his house party, and knowing Stoker as I did, I could anticipate his reaction.
But Stoker said nothing as we took our seats. Tiberius himself had arranged the table placement, fixing the elegantly penned place cards with his own hand. The table was narrow of necessity, for the Megalosaurus was not wide, but we squeezed into place with good-natured jostling and a bit of care. To Tiberius’ right was Pietro. Next to the count sat Stoker, and then came Augusta. Beatrice was at my right, next to Merry, with Elspeth on his other side, squeezed in beside James. Timothy rounded out the party, sitting to my left. It was an odd arrangement, owing much to imagination and nothing to etiquette. But I saw at once what Tiberius had done. He had placed the other Sinners in nearest proximity to himself for greater ease of observation when he launched whatever stratagems he meant to employ. Merry, Timothy, and Elspeth were innocent bystanders in the affair, but Stoker and I were well-placed for our own observations. Our eyes met across the table and I felt a shiver, a goose walking over my grave, as the countryfolk say. But something ominous hung in the air, a sense of foreboding, and I did not like it.
As soon as we had settled ourselves, Tiberius rang a tiny crystal bell that had been placed at his elbow. Instantly, staff appearedbearing delicate cups of consommé. Usually, only footmen served at table, but I looked up, shocked to see J. J. placing my consommé before me.
“Miss,” she murmured almost inaudibly, her cap pulled low for concealment.
“What are you doing here, Judas?” I hissed.
