Jayne Krentz: Late For The Wedding

She paused. “What if… what if whoever left that ring blames me for Zachary’s death and seeks some sort of crazed revenge?”

“Zachary took his own life when he realized that I was about to have him brought up on charges of murder. You had nothing to do with his death.”

“Maybe whoever left that ring doesn’t know that.”

“Indeed.” But that conclusion did not feel right, he thought. He raised the little skull to the light again. The death’s-head stared back at him with its empty eye sockets, taunting him with its macabre grin. “We must also consider the possibility that this was intended as an announcement of some sort.”

“What do you mean?”

He weighed the ring in the palm of his hand. “You are one of the very small number of people who would comprehend the significance of this ring, because you are one of the few who knew that Zachary Elland styled himself the Memento-Mori Man and used such rings as his signature. I wonder if this is some new villain’s way of telling us that he plans to take up Zachary’s professional mantle.”

“You mean there might be another murderer out there who seeks to emulate the Memento-Mori Man? What a terrible thought.” She paused. “But if that were true, it would have been far more logical for him to leave his calling card with you, not me. You were the one who hunted Zachary down.”

“For all I know there will be a ring waiting for me when I return to Town,” he said quietly. “I set off very early this morning. Perhaps he delivered this ring to you first, and by the time he got to my house I was gone.”

She swung around and took a step toward him, anxiety clear in her eyes. “Tobias, whoever left that ring has something dreadful in mind. If you are right and this is a calling card, we are dealing with a new Memento-Mori Man. You must find him before someone is murdered.”

Lavinia heard a door open as she reached the bottom of the shaowed staircase. Midway along the stone corridor, a wedge of candlelight appeared. A gentleman moved stealthily out of the bed chamber and started toward her.

Yet more traffic. This was not the first time she had been obliged to pop into a closet or hurry around a corner in the past few minutes. The passageways of Beaumont Castle were as busy as a London street tonight. All the comings and goings between bed chambers would have been amusing if not for the fact that she herself was attempting to make her way to a clandestine rendezvous.

It was her own fault, she reminded herself. Tobias had suggested that he visit her in her bedchamber after the house quieted down for the night. It would have been an excellent plan, if she had been allowed to remain in the spacious, comfortable room that she had been given when she and Tobias arrived this afternoon. But earlier this evening, for reasons that remained quite unclear, she had been moved to a very small bedchamber.

She had taken one look at the cot in her new room and realized that it would be extremely uncomfortable for two people, especially when one of them was a man endowed with very fine shoulders. She had informed Tobias that she would come to his room instead, never imagining for a moment that the task would be so difficult to carry out without drawing attention to herself.

She was well aware that most of the guests were not unduly concerned with the prospect of being spotted navigating between bed chambers. It was understood that these sorts of goings-on were to be ignored by passersby. Such was the way of the world when one moved in elevated social circles, she reminded herself.

But she had a feeling that it would not be good for business for a lady who made her living conducting discreet, private inquiries to be seen behaving in a very indiscreet manner. One had to consider the possibility that some of the elegant people who had been invited to the Beaumont estate this week might prove to be future clients.

She was suddenly very glad that she’d had the foresight to bring along the silver half-mask, sword, and shield that she’d worn to the costume ball in her guise as Minerva.

Raising the mask to conceal her features, she stepped into the deep pool of darkness behind the stairs.

The gentleman with the candle never noticed her. He was too intent on reaching his destination. When he started up the stairs, she heard a solid thump followed by a muffled groan.

“God’s blood.”

The gentleman paused and bent down to feel gingerly about in the vicinity of his toes. Then, with a few more muttered oaths, he limped up the stairs.

She waited until she was certain he had disappeared, and then she made to move cautiously out from her hiding place.

At that moment another door opened a short distance down the hall.

“Damnation,” she whispered under her breath. At this rate she would never get to Tobias’s bed chamber.

In the dim glow cast by a wall sconce, she saw two figures emerge from the chamber. The woman gave a deep, throaty chuckle.

“Come along with me, sir; ye won’t be sorry, that I promise.”

One of the maids, Lavinia realized. Obviously the guests were not the only ones who took part in the late-night revelries of a country-house party. Suppressing her irritation with an effort, she raised the mask again and slipped back into the shadows behind the stairs.

“Don’t see why we cannot have our sport in my bedchamber,” the man said. His words were slurred with drink. “I’ve got a nicely warmed bed.”

“I’ll soon have ye warmed good and proper, sir. No need to fret yerself about that.”

The man chuckled hoarsely. “Let’s get to it, then. Where’s your bedchamber?”

“Oh, we cannot use my bedchamber, sir. There’s three other maids sharing it with me tonight on account of the house is so full. We’ll go out on the roof. It’s a little cool, but I’ve got some cozy quilts up there waiting for us.”

“Hell’s teeth, you mean to tell me I’ve got to climb all the way to the top of this bloody castle just to enjoy a romp?”

“It’ll be worth it, sir. I’ve got some very special apparatus that is sure to amuse a man of the world such as yerself.”

“Apparatus, eh?” The gentleman’s anticipation and excitement were clear even through the fog of drunkenness. “What sort of equipment do you use, my girl? I’m partial to the whip, myself.”

The maid whispered something that Lavinia could not hear.

“Well, now.” The man’s voice thickened even more with lust. “That sounds interesting, indeed. I’ll look forward to a demonstration.”

“Soon, sir.” The maid hurried him toward the staircase. “Just as soon as we get to the roof.

The pair continued toward the foot of the stairs. Lavinia caught a glimpse of a portly gentleman who appeared to be in his early sixties. He was garbed in a plum-colored velvet coat and old-fashioned breeches. He wore an elaborately tied cravat. His balding head gleamed in the light of the wall sconce.

The maid was dressed in the manner of the rest of the staff at Beaumont Castle. She wore a plain, dark gown and an apron. Her face was almost entirely hidden beneath the shadows of a large, floppy cap.

The gentleman put one foot on the bottom stair and stumbled awkwardly. The misstep made him chortle. “A tribute to Beaumont’s excellent brandy, eh? Let me try that again.”

“No, not this staircase, m’lord.” The maid tugged on his arm. “We’ll use the back stairs. It would cost me my post if the butler or the housekeeper saw me with you.”

“Oh, very well.” The bald man obligingly allowed himself to be led on down the hall.

The maid picked up her skirts, revealing sturdy, sensible shoes and stockings. She hurried her companion past the small pool of light cast by another wall sconce. Several thick golden-blond corkscrew curls bobbed beneath the edge of the large cap.