Josephine
“Oh, my, yes, I remember those Wednesday afternoon salons as though I had held the last one only this past week.” A distant, almost melancholic expression veiled Lady Wilmington’s blue eyes. “We were all so young, so very passionate in those days. Science was our new alchemy, and those of us who were engaged in exploring its secrets saw ourselves as the inventors of the modern age.”
Josephine sipped tea from the paper-thin china cup and surreptitiously surveyed the elegant drawing-room while she listened to Clare, Lady Wilmington talk about the past. The situation here was quite opposite the one that existed across town in Mrs. Glentworth’s small, poorly furnished parlour, she thought. Lady Wilmington was clearly not suffering from any financial difficulties.
The drawing-room was decorated in a version of the Chinoiserie style that had first come into fashion several years earlier. It had been well maintained in all its original lush, sensual glory. The dark, exotic atmosphere produced by the midnight blue and gold flower-patterned wallpaper, the intricately designed carpet and the ornate, japanned furnishings were brightened here and there by beautifully framed mirrors. It was a room designed to appeal to the senses.
Josephine could well imagine their wealthy hostess holding court in such surroundings. Lady Wilmington had to be fast approaching seventy years of age, but she was expensively dressed in the current model. Her dark gold, high waisted gown looked as if it had been designed to be worn in this richly hued room. The fine bones of her face and shoulders testified to the fact that she had once been a great beauty. Her hair was silver now, and some of it was surely false, but it was styled in an extremely elaborate chignon.
In Josephine’s experience, the older a woman got, the more jewellery she tended to wear. Lady Wilmington was no exception to that rule. Pearls dangled from her ears. Her wrists and fingers glittered with an assortment of diamonds, rubies and emeralds.
It was the gold locket around Lady Wilmington’s throat that caught Josephine's eye, however. Unlike the rings, it was surprisingly plain in style. It appeared to be a very personal keepsake. Perhaps it held a miniature of one of her children or her deceased husband.
Hero wandered over to the nearest window and looked out into the perfectly manicured gardens as though whatever he saw out there fascinated him.
“Then you remember my great-uncle, Glentworth and Treyford?” he said.
“Very well, indeed.” Lady Wilmington raised the fingers of one hand to the gold locket at her throat. “They were all dedicated to science. They lived for their experiments the way painters and sculptors live for their art.” She lowered her hand, smiling sadly. “But they are all gone now. The last one to pass on was Glentworth. I understand your great-uncle was killed by a house burglar a few weeks ago, sir. My condolences.”
“I do not believe that he was murdered by an ordinary thief he chanced to encounter in the course of a burglary,” Hero said evenly. “I am certain that he was killed by someone connected to the old days when the gentlemen of the Society of the Stones frequented your Wednesday salons.”
He still appeared to be fixed on some sight outside in the gardens, but Josephine was watching their hostess closely. She noticed the tiny tremor that went through Lady Wilmington’s shoulders as Hero delivered his flat conclusion. Once again her fingers brushed against the locket.
“Impossible,” Lady Wilmington said. “How can that be?”
“I do not have the answer to that question yet, but | intend to find it.” Hero turned slowly to face her. “My great-uncle is not the only victim of this villain. I believe that Glentworth’s death was no accident, either. I am convinced that the same man killed both of them, and my former butler as well.”
“Good heavens, sir.” Lady Wilmington’s voice quivered. Her teacup rattled when she put it down on the saucer. “I don’t know what to say. That is ... that is unbelievable. Your butler, too, you say? But why would anyone kill him?”
“To silence him after gaining information from him.”
Lady Wilmington shook her head once as though to clear it. “About what, pray to tell?”
“My inquiries into George Tiffin’s murder, of course. The killer is aware now that I am hunting him. He wished to discover what I had learned thus far.” Hero's jaw tightened.
“Which is not much. Certainly not worth a man’s death.”
“Indeed not.” Lady Wilmington shuddered.
“But this villain is not thinking in a wholly rational manner,” Hero told her. “I believe he killed my great-uncle and Glentworth to obtain the red stones set into their snuffboxes.”
Lady Wilmington frowned. “I recall those extraordinary gems very well. Quite fascinating. Treyford felt that they were unusually dark rubies, but Glentworth and Tiffin believed that they had been crafted in ancient times from some sort of unique glass.”
“Did you ever see my great-uncle’s lapidary?” Hero asked. “The one he brought back from Italy along with the stones?”
“Yes, indeed.” She sighed wistfully. “What of it?”
“I believe the villain we are hunting is sufficiently mad as to believe that he can build the infernal device described in the Book of Stones,” Hero said.
Lady Wilmington stared at him, momentarily openmouthed with astonishment.
“Surely not,” she finally said with great conviction. “That is absolute nonsense. I cannot believe that even a madman would take the instructions in that old book seriously.”
Hero looked back at her over his shoulder. “Did the three men ever discuss the machine?”
“Yes, of course.” Lady Wilmington collected herself. Her voice steadied. “The lapidary named it Jove’s Thunderbolt. We discussed the device on several occasions. Treyford and the others actually tried to construct it. But in the end, they all concluded that it could never be made to function.”
“What caused them to be so certain of that?” Josephine asked.
Lady Wilmington massaged her temples with the fingers of one hand. “I do not recall all of the details. Something to do with the difficulty of applying the energy of an intense fire into the heart of the stones to excite the latent energy of the gems. They all agreed in the end that there was no way to accomplish that task.”
“I am aware that my great-uncle came to that conclusion,” Hero said. “But are you sure that Glentworth and Treyford did also?”
“Yes.” A faraway expression flickered in Lady Wilmington’s eyes. Once again she touched her locket in a fleeting gesture as though seeking comfort while she looked into the past. “Mind you, it was fashionable in those days for some who were consumed by the study of science and mathematics to flirt with the occult. In some circles, the dark arts continue to fascinate even the most well-educated minds today. No doubt that will prove to be true in the future as well.”
Josephine watched her closely. “It is said that the great Newton himself was fascinated with the occult and devoted many years to the serious study of alchemy.”
“Indeed,” Lady Wilmington stated firmly. “And if a mind that brilliant can be seduced by the dark arts, who can blame a lesser mortal for falling prey to such intriguing mysteries?”
“Do you think that Glentworth or Treyford might have continued to secretly pursue such researches after they had all agreed to abandon alchemy?” Hero asked.
Lady Wilmington blinked and straightened her shoulders. When she turned to Hero she was back in the present.
“I cannot imagine that for a moment, sir. They were, after all, highly intelligent, educated men of the modern age. They were not real alchemists, for heaven’s sake.”
“I have one more question, if you will be kind enough to indulge me,” Hero said.
“What is it?”
“Are you certain that Lord Treyford died in that explosion in his laboratory all those years ago?”
Lady Wilmington closed her eyes. Her fingers went to the locket. “Yes,” she whispered. “Treyford is most certainly dead. I saw the body myself. So did your great-uncle, for that matter. Surely you do not believe the killer you seek is an old man?”
“Not at all,” Josephine said. “We are well aware that we are searching for a young man in his prime.”
“Why do you say that?” Lady Wilmington asked.
“Because the villain had the nerve to dance with me after he murdered Zach,” Josephine said.
Lady Wilmington looked stunned. “You danced with the killer? How do you know it was him? Can you describe him?”
“No, unfortunately,” Josephine admitted. “The occasion was a masked ball. I never saw his face. But there was a tear in his domino which we believe may have been created during a struggle with the butler.”
"I see.” Lady Wilmington’s expression was troubled. “I must say, this is all quite odd.”
“Yes,” Hero said, “it is.” He glanced at the clock. “We must be off. Thank you for seeing us, madam.”
“Certainly.” She inclined her head in a regal nod. “You must keep me informed of your progress in this matter.”
“Yes.” Hero took a card from his pocket and set it on a table. “If you think of anything that might assist me in this investigation, I would very much appreciate it if you would send word immediately, no matter what the time, day or night, madam.”
Lady Wilmington picked up the card. “Of course.”
Hero said nothing to Josephine until they were both inside the carriage. He settled into the seat, resting one arm on the back of the cushions.
“Well?” he said. “What do you make of Lady Wilmington?”
She thought about how the woman had touched her gold locket time and again throughout the conversation.
“I think that she was very much in love with one of the members of Society of the Stones,” she said.
Hero’s face tightened with surprise. “That is not quite what I had expected to hear, but it is certainly interesting. Which of the three, do you think, caught her fancy?”
“Lord Treyford. The one who died in the prime of life. The one she and the others considered the most brilliant of the three. I suspect it is his picture that she carries inside that gold locket.”
Hero rubbed his chin. “I had not noticed the locket, but I was certainly aware of the fact that her ladyship was concealing some information. I have done business with enough cunning people to know when someone is lying to me.”
Josephine hesitated. “If she did lie to us, I suspect it was because she was convinced that it was necessary.”
“Perhaps she is trying to protect someone,” Hero said. “Whatever the case, I am convinced now that we must learn more about Treyford.”
Lady Wilmington
The killer had dared to dance with Miss Langford. He must have been mad to have taken such a daring liberty.
Mad.
Lady Wilmington shivered at the thought. She sat alone for a long time, staring at the earl’s card and fingering the locket. Old memories rushed in upon her, clouding her vision. Dear heaven, this was so much worse than she had allowed herself to believe.
After an eternity, she straightened her shoulders and dried her eyes. Her heart was breaking but she no longer had any choice. Deep down inside she had known that eventually, this time would come and that she would have to do what must be done.
Reluctantly she opened a drawer in the writing desk and took out a sheet of foolscap. She would send the message immediately. If she planned well, everything would soon be under control.
By the time she finished the brief note, some of the words had been smudged by her tears.