Amanda McCabe - Mischief in Regency Society

“Oh, I hadn’t thought of him! That’s very good. Remember that krater he had that no one had ever seen before?” Calliope added the name to the others. Now Westwood was no longer at the bottom of the list.

“And Lord Early. Remember when he nearly fought a duel with Sir Nelson Bassington when that unfortunate man declared Early’s Old Kingdom stela was clearly Amarna Period?”

“What bacon-brains the two of them are. I think they should both be on this list.”

They sat there long into the night, debating the merits of each suspect. Names were added; others erased. The only one that stayed in place, black and solid, was Lord Westwood.

“I call this meeting of the Ladies Artistic Society to order,” Calliope announced. “Miss Clio Chase will take the minutes.”

The chatter and rustling among the members slowly ceased, as they put their teacups back on tabletops and faced Calliope once again. Their pretty faces were alight with curiosity.

“What is our subject today, Calliope?” Lady Emmeline Saunders asked. “It must be something very important, since this is not our regularly scheduled day to meet.”

“Oh, something truly dreadful must have happened!” moaned Lotty Price. “A murder. An illness. A poisoning!”

“Someone needs to take away that girl’s novels,” Clio muttered under her breath.

“Do let Calliope talk, Lotty,” said Emmeline.

“Indeed there hasn’t been a murder, by poisoning or any other method,” Calliope said. “And I hope that we may prevent one from ever happening.”

Emmeline gave her a sharp glance. “You suspect a murder is about to occur?”

“I knew it!” Lotty cried. “There is a dreadful plot afoot.”

Calliope sighed. “I fear Lotty is not far wrong this time.”

“Whatever do you mean?” asked Thalia. “Who is to be killed? Should we not arm ourselves?”

“No, no, I don’t mean it in that way,” Calliope said quickly, trying to stem the rising tide of panic she sensed among her friends. “I have no knowledge of any human murder being planned.” Yet. “The plot I refer to concerns the Alabaster Goddess.”

The ladies subsided back into their seats, yet there was still a distinctly unsettled feeling in the air. “So, you still think the Lily Thief intends to steal her?” Emmeline said.

“Yes, probably from the duke’s masquerade ball, as we discussed at our last meeting,” Calliope answered. “We must formulate a plan to prevent it.”

“I am ready to defend her at any moment!” Thalia cried. She leaped up from her chair, eyes aglow as she no doubt imagined herself wielding a sword against any would-be thief. “Only give me the signal and I shall do battle.”

“Thalia, dear, do sit down,” Clio said, shaking her head. “We don’t need Boadicea and the Iceni hordes to keep an eye on one little statue.”

“You never know,” Thalia said, plopping back into her seat. “What if the Lily Thief has a partner? An army?”

“Even if he had a battalion—which he does not, for how could a battalion sneak into Lady Tenbray’s library?—he could not get by us,” Calliope said.

“What is the plan?” asked Emmeline. “What are we to do?”

“I made up a list of anyone who might even remotely be suspected of being the Lily Thief,” Calliope said, holding up her list from last night’s sleepless hours. “Everyone in the ton received an invitation to the ball, so they are sure to be there. You will each be assigned one or two names. Your task will be to ascertain what each man’s costume is, and then keep an eye on them, make certain they do not try to slip away.”

“I hope you do not want me to trail Freddie Mountbank,” Emmeline said. “He’s already made himself a nuisance in my life!”

“Mr Mountbank is not even on the list,” Calliope answered, remembering the quarrel Mountbank got into with Lord Westwood right in view of these very windows. “And we must not be at all obvious about our observations. We wouldn’t want to give the wrong idea.”

“Perhaps we should work in pairs,” Lotty suggested. “That would make it easier for us to trail anyone who might try to slip away.”

“Oh, very good idea, Lotty,” Calliope said. She reached for Clio’s pen and quickly made the amendments to the list. “All right, then, ladies, here are your assignments.”

Thalia handed out the papers to the Society members. They bent over them eagerly, laughing and exclaiming.

“Mr Emerson!” Lotty said. “It would certainly be no hardship to watch him. He is so handsome.”

“Nor Lord Mallow,” said Emmeline. “But what of Mr Hanson? I wouldn’t have thought he could plot a stroll to the end of the street, let alone a theft.”

Calliope rapped her gavel against the table, bringing order back to the gathering. “Now that you have your assignments, this is how we shall proceed on the night of the ball…”

“Do you think it will work?” Emmeline asked quietly, coming up next to Calliope, who stood staring out the window.

Calliope glanced back at the others, gathered around the pianoforte as Thalia played them a Beethoven nocturne. “I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “The ball is sure to be a dreadful crush. How can we watch just a few people? People in disguise, no less. Yet I can’t just stand here and let that statue be stolen without at least trying to do something.”

“I know. We all care so very much, we want to save them all. Make sure they are all properly looked after and studied,” Emmeline said. “There are only five of us, though. But we will do our very best to save the Alabaster Goddess, Calliope, never fear. She never had more devoted acolytes, even in her temple in Greece.”

They were quiet for a moment, listening to Thalia’s beautiful music, watching the traffic on the street below. Emmeline leaned closer to murmur, “Did you assign yourself Lord Westwood to watch, Calliope?”

Calliope looked to her, startled. “I thought Clio could do that.”

“Oh, no, I really think it should be you. The two of you are always circling each other like wary hawks anyway.”

“We do not!” Calliope cried. The others glanced towards them, and she hastily lowered her voice. “I do not circle Lord Westwood, Emmeline. Whatever do you mean?”

“Oh, Calliope dear. Everyone sees it. Whenever you are in a room together smoke practically billows. My brother even tells me you are in the books at his club.”

“The books! People are wagering on me?” Calliope felt a sick, sour pang deep in her stomach, an ache of sinking embarrassment. “How dare they! What—what are they saying?”

“Are you sure you want to know?” Emmeline said, her eyes full of concern. “I should never have brought it up.”

“Of course you should. If people are talking about me, I want to know.”

“Well, half of them wager you will be married by the end of the Season. The other half wagers one of you will be in Newgate for murdering the other.”

Calliope pressed her hand against her stomach. “What does your brother wager?”

“Calliope! He would never do that to a friend.”

“Come now, Emmeline. He is a man. Wagering seems to be in their very veins. They cannot help themselves.”

“Well, if he does he doesn’t tell me about it. I was much too angry with him for not putting a stop to it.”

“People are always full of such tittle-tattle. They must be desperate for gossip indeed to make up Banbury tales about such a dullard as me! Where do they find that kind of nonsense?”

Emmeline eyed her closely. “It is not entirely made of whole cloth, you know. You and Lord Westwood snap and quarrel every time you meet, or if you don’t speak you glower at each other from across the room. What are people to think?”