Death and the Cyprian Society by Pamela Christie Read Free Book Online

the horses’ hooves, and the coachman’s directives to the horses. “Birdwood-Fizzer is a naughty boy. Is there anything else I should know about him?”
    “Well,” said Arabella thoughtfully, “he may want you to dress like his old wet nurse, and speak to him as though you have no teeth. But probably not. After all, he barely knows you.”
     
    Arrived at last at the Lustings front door, Glen deen wondered, idly . . . no, he did not, he wondered feverishly whether Arabella were at home. For his mother’s reference to his first love had caused an abrupt resurgence of manly energies, which badly wanted releasing now. He shifted from foot to foot and vigorously applied the rhinoceros-headed knocker, 6 but this only served to increase his agitation, for it made him think of pounding, and horns. In point of fact, his ship would be sailing soon, and it might be months before—
    Ah! Here was Fielding, come to the door at last! But after handing her his hat and preparing to enter the house, Glen deen heard with disagreeable surprise that Miss Beaumont and Miss Belinda had left not ten minutes earlier.
    “Your Grace may catch them up if you hurry,” said the maid.
    But he did not want to do that. Arabella, busy with family matters, would hardly be in a mood to oblige him just now. The duke whirled about and headed for his gig, savagely kicking a stone along the way that had deliberately placed itself in his path.
    “Sir!” cried Fielding, running after him. “Your hat!”
    He leaned down from his seat to take it from her. “What day is today?” he asked.
    “Friday, your grace.”
    “Is it?” said the duke, brightening. “Oh! Then I shall go to Green Park Farm!”
    For it was doxie day.

    I got yer love letters to that fart
catcher an I knows what I knows but
Pidjin Pollard don’t know do he?
Wat do yeu think he’ll do when he
findds out? drop yeu most like! If yeu
wish me to keep your secret, yeu will
have to pay me £150,000 an I want
£500 on account. I shall send
another letter advising you where to
leave it.
    A friend

    “There is nothing else for it,” said Arabella, raising her voice over the commotion of the carriage wheels as she folded the letter and re-inserted it into the envelope. “I shall have to track down Constance’s blackmailer myself, and turn him over to the police.”
    “Can you deduce anything from the letter?” Belinda asked.
    “Oh, yes. Any number of things.”
    Arabella had read it over a dozen times since Belinda had given it to her the previous evening, but now she studied it once again, using her traveling magnifier, in order to elicit the appropriate sense of awe from her sister.
    “The paper on which it was written is middling good; not the best but certainly not the cheapest available. As for the writer, I should say he was a ruthless man; intelligent, greedy, and dangerous.”
    “Naturally, one might assume as much,” said Belinda, “given the fact that he is engaging in blackmail.”
    “I am not assuming, Bunny—I know . I have established these things based upon the manner in which the fellow forms his letters. You see, a man’s handwriting reveals his character in unexpected ways. For instance,” said Arabella, pointing to the name “Worthington” on the envelope, “the rounded loop on this lowercase G resembles a money bag, which means the writer is greedy.”
    “That sounds like something you made up,” said Belinda, stroking the head of her little dog.
    “I have not made it up. It is a science. Mr. Leland has been giving me lessons.”
    “Who?”
    “The bookseller at Hatchard’s.”
    “Well, it is an interesting idea,” said Belinda. “But how accurate is it, really?”
    “Naturally, I tested the concept, before committing myself to lessons. Mr. Leland agreed to analyze a variety of script samples, which I presented to him, and spotted mine at once. He said I was witty, charming, quick-tempered, and resourceful. Then he evaluated the