Amanda Quick - Mistress

"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.

"Red wax," she said, disappointed. "But perhaps there is another wax jack about somewhere. And the seal must be here, too."

But after twenty minutes of diligent searching, neither black wax nor the phoenix seal came to light.

"I do not understand it." Iphiginia stood in the center of the room and tapped her toe in evident frustration. "They must he here."

"Not necessarily." Marcus was impatient to he gone. It was all very well to indulge one's bride, he thought, but enough was enough. "He may keep them on his person or in a safe that we have not discovered. There are any number of places where one could conceal items as small as a wax jack and seal."

"I know where he would keep such items." Iphiginia's eyes widened with excitement. "Dr, Hardstaff's Museum of the Goddesses of Manly Vigor."

Marcus groaned. "I really don't believe that there is much point searching the museum. What if one of Dr. Hardstaff's patients is receiving a treatment?"

"It is certainly worth a try." Iphiginia turned down the lantern and started toward the window. "Don't dawdle, Marcus. We do not have all night, you know."

"Thank God." Marcus glanced quickly around the shadowed room, making certain that they had not left any obvious sign of intrusion. "I would very much like to spend some portion of this night in bed."

Iphiginia scooped up her cloak and skirts and put one leg over the windowsill. "Must you grumble? We have the rest of our lives to spend in bed."

Marcus cheered at the notion. Ale rest of his life with Iphiginia.

The alley behind Number Nineteen Lamb Lane was as shadowed and empty that night as it had been the other evening. The stairs that led up to the back door squeaked and sighed beneath Marcus's weight. He climbed them ahead of Iphiginia, treading warily.

For some reason he felt now a sense of unease that he had not been aware of earlier in the alley behind the Thurcy Street lodgings.

Marcus reached the landing and tried the door. It opened easily, just as it had the other night. The fine hairs on the back of his neck stirred.

"Marcus?" Iphiginia paused on the step and looked "Is something wrong?"

"Stay here. I'll go in first." Marcus removed his coat and slung it over his shoulder. The night air came straight through the fine lawn of his shirt, but he paid no attention. He had a sudden wish to feel less encumbered. "Let me have the lantern."

"But Marcus."

"Wait here, Iphiginia. I mean it."

To his infinite relief, she obeyed. Marcus lit the lantern and moved into the darkened hall.

The corridor was eerily silent. Apparently none of the Goddesses of Manly Vigor was giving a performance this evening. Marcus went down the hall to the chamber that contained the bed and the stage.

He opened the door cautiously.

The interior lay in deep shadow. The light from the lantern revealed the torn transparency curtain in front of the stage. It had not been repaired since Sands had ripped it from the ceiling hooks.

"Do you see anything?" Iphiginia asked softly from the doorway.

Marcus spun around. "Damn it, Iphiginia, I told you to wait outside."

The scrape of a boot on the wooden floor of the hall sent a cold chill through him. I

"Iphiginia, move." Marcus put the lantern down and launched himself toward the door.

He was too late.

A man's arm came out of the shadows from behind Iphiginia and caught her by the throat. Iphiginia gave a soft shriek that was cut off almost immediately.

"Not another step, Masters." Herbert held Iphiginia in front of him as a shield as he moved into the chamber. The lantern light glinted on the barrel of the pistol in his hand. "Or I will shoot you."

"Let her go, Hoyt." Marcus came to a halt. He took a reluctant step back and stopped next to the lantern. "This has all gone far enough. It must end tonight."

"I agree." Herbert smiled bitterly. "But as I have written most of the other scenes of this play, I will write the ending. I fancy something melodramatic that will make an interesting tidbit for the ton. What do you think about having the notorious Lady Masters kill her husband when she discovers him at Dr. Hardstaff's Museum on their wedding night?"

"Not another step, Masters." Herbert held Iphiginia in front of him as a shield as he moved into the chair. The lantern light glinted on the barrel of the pistol in his hand. "Or I will shoot you."

"Let her go, Hoyt." Marcus came to a halt. He took reluctant step back and stopped next to the lantern.

"This has all gone far enough. It must end tonight."

"I agree." Herbert smiled bitterly. "But as I written most of the other scenes of this play, I will write the ending. I fancy something melodramatic that make an interesting tidbit for the ton. What do you about having the notorious Lady Masters kill her husband when she discovers him at Dr. Hardstaff's Museum their wedding night?"

WHAT HAPPENS TO IPHIGINIA IN YOUR LITTLE PLAY?" Marcus asked. "I regret that my good friend the former Mrs. Bright, — or should I say Miss Bright, of Deepford in Devon will suffer an unfortunate accident on the rear stairs. She will break her neck as she flees the scene of her crime of passion."

"You will never get away with this," Iphiginia vowed. She was clearly frightened, but still self-possessed. "You'll hang, Mr. Hoyt. If not for this, then surely for the murder of Mrs. Wycherly."

"You reasoned that out, did you?" Herbert smiled his jovial, ingratiating smile, but his eyes were as hard as glass. "Very clever, madam. I always did admire your intellect. So much so that I tried to keep you out of this, but you would not he warned off."

"It was you who locked me in the sepulchral monument in Reeding Cemetery, was it not?" Iphiginia demanded.

"I thought a good scare might persuade you to mind your own business, but I was wrong."

Marcus kept his coat hooked over his shoulder. "Why did you kill Mrs. Wycherley?"

"Ah, yes, Constance Wycherley," Herbert said — in a musing tone. "S was the one who began it all. Her little blackmail business operated quite innocuously for years. In exchange for a plump fee, she convinced any number of the governesses and companions she placed in certain households to give her interesting items of information concerning their employers."

"And then she blackmailed those people?" Iphiginia asked.

"Yes. It was a rather brilliant scheme, but I saw at once that Mrs. Wycherley lacked the vision to make it fulfill its true potential. She kept her demands very modest and stuck to blackmailing only the lesser members of the ton. She was afraid to pursue the more powerful names on her list."