Amanda Quick - Mistress

She sat down behind her desk, opened a drawer, and removed several sheets of foolscap. She closed the drawer and reached for her pen.

Inspiration did not strike. She took up a penknife and fiddled with the nib of her quill for a while. Then she put down the pen and contemplated several pieces of the statuary she had brought back with her from Italy.

It was no use. All she could think about was how her life was about to he irrevocably changed by a special license.

Teach me to break that rule, too, Iphiginia. Marcus had as much as asked her to teach him how to love again. She had been so certain that she could do it.

But what if she was wrong? Iphiginia got to her feet and started around her desk with no particular goal. She just felt the need to move.

The copy of Illustrations of Classical Antiquities caught her eye. Having nothing better to do, she picked it up to place it back in its proper place on a library shelf.

Idly she thumbed through it, seeking favorite scenes. The tiny blob of black wax was stuck to page two hundred and three. It had obviously been dropped onto the volume by accident. It had dried there and gone undiscovered.

Iphiginia stared at the small bit of wax for a long time. Someone who knows everything and everyone in Society.

Then, at last, inspiration finally did strike.

"You're certain of these facts, Barclay?" Marcus sat forward behind his desk and forced himself to be patient. Sound scientific investigation had to be done carefully and thoroughly. He must not allow emotion and enthusiasm to rush him into a false conclusion.

He had allowed Iphiginia. to persuade him to abandon a few of the rules which had governed his personal life until recently. That did not mean he had abandoned the sound, sensible rules of scientific experimentation.

Nevertheless, Marcus could feel the familiar thrill of discovery and satisfaction welling up inside. It all made perfect sense, he thought. It was logical. With this bit of information all the rest of the pieces began to fall into place.

He could not wait to tell Iphiginia. "Yes, yes, quite certain." Barclay shuffled his papers and peered at his notes through his spectacles. "The original Dr. Hardstaff, whose real name was William Burn, sold his premises to the same individual who built the sepulchral monument in Reeding Cemetery. That man's name is H. H. Eaton."

"And he is the son of the Elizabeth Eaton who is buried in that monument?"

"Yes." Barclay looked up. "He appears to have dropped his last name when he entered Society two years ago. That was why it took me so long, to discover his connection. indeed, if you had not suggested that I look into the ownership of the museum, I would never have gotten to the bottom of the thing."

A knock on the library door got Marcus's attention. He glanced toward it with an impatient frown. "Enter."

Lovelace opened the door. Iphiginia, dressed in a white morning gown and a flower-trimmed chip straw bonnet, bobbed up and down behind him.,

"Mrs. Bright to see you, sir," Lovelace said, just as though Iphiginia were not waving madly to get Marcus's attention.

Marcus grinned. "Send her in, Lovelace."

Lovelace stepped aside. Iphiginia rushed past him into the library. She was carrying a massive leather-bound volume.

"Marcus, you will never believe what has happened. I think I know the identity of the blackmailer. I found a bit of black wax on this book that I lent to-"

"Herbert Hoyt?" Marcus asked politely.

"Good Lord." Iphiginia came to a halt and gazed at him in astonishment. "How did you guess?"

"I never guess, my dear. I form scientific hypotheses."

It was quite dark in the narrow alley. There was barely enough moonlight to see the rear window of Number Two Thurley Street. Marcus hefted the length of iron in his hand and fitted it cautiously between the window and the sill.

"Be careful," Iphiginia whispered. She glanced back down the length of the alley to be certain they were still alone.

"I am being careful." "Marcus, are you annoyed?" "Oddly enough, I had not planned to spend my wedding night breaking into Hoyt's lodgings." Marcus pried the window open with a judicious jerk of the iron bar. The frame gave with gratifying case. "I had envisioned more interesting entertainment."

"Hurry." Iphiginia pushed back the hood of her cloak. The unlit brass lantern she carried gleamed in the moonlight. "I am certain that we shall find the black sealing wax and the phoenix seal somewhere in his rooms.

"his is a complete waste of time." Marcus swung one leg over the sill. "We already know that he's the blackmailer."

"But we need proof. The wax and seal give us solid evidence."

Marcus swung his other leg over the ill and dropped into the shadowed room. "We are not doing this to obtain evidence. We are doing it solely because you want to prove to me that your hypothesis was as sound as mine."

"It is sound. I know that I would eventually have found the blackmailer on my own." Iphiginia caught up the hem of her cloak and her skirts in one hand and put a stocking-clad leg over the edge of the sill.

Marcus wistfully contemplated the graceful limb and thought about how it would look tangled in the white sheets of his massive bed.

Later, he promised himself Iphiginia was his, that was the important thing. He could relax. She had belonged to him since they had exchanged vows earlier that day in front of a preacher.

She was his wife. Satisfaction surged deep inside as he caught her by the waist and lifted her through the window. Offhand he could not think of any other female who would have demanded to spend her wedding night rummaging through a blackmailer's desk, but Iphiginia was nothing if not an Original.

Marcus had concluded that he could afford to indulge her now that he was certain of possessing her.

In truth, he had not been particularly keen on the scheme to search Hoyt's lodgings, but Marcus had convinced himself that the plan was not unduly risky. Hoyt, after all, was a creature of Society. He was out until dawn every night. His servant, Marcus had learned, had formed the habit of spending the evenings at a tavern.

"Close the curtains," Iphiginia ordered softly as she Et the lantern.

Marcus obligingly drew the curtains. He turned to survey the room by the light of Iphiginia's lantern. It was.a comfortable chamber, quite suited to a single gentleman of modest means. There was a desk in one corner and a row of bookcases along one wall. A wingback chair stood before the cold hearth. The table next to it held a half empty bottle of brandy and a glass.

"Hoyt does not appear to have invested his ill-gotten gains in his living quarters," Marcus observed.

"No, but he orders his coats from Weston and he recently purchased his own carriage. You know what that costs." Iphiginia explored the desk quickly. "And there is that budding he purchased from the original Dr. Hardstaff. That must have cost a great deal."

"And that monument he built in Reeding Cemetery." Marcus opened a drawer in a bureau and saw a stack of freshly laundered and starched cravats.

"It is difficult to credit that a man who is nasty enough to commit murder and blackmail would be the sort to build such a striking memorial to his mother." Iphiginia sucked in her breath. "Ah-bah."

"What does ah-bah mean?" "It means that the desk is unlocked." Iphiginia began rummaging around in the top drawer.

Marcus moved across the room. "I hate to intention the obvious, but if the desk is not locked, it is no doubt because there is nothing of any great import inside."

"Nonsense. One cannot conclude that. It simply means that Herbert does not consider the wax and seal dangerous.»

"Then he is not quite as intelligent as I had assumed." Marcus frowned as Iphiginia opened the wax jack.