just that to the lady in the past.
Now, I approached some matters with caution. Ashmore would be proud. “Regardless of the efficacy of such things, it seems to me that it does not matter what I believe as what the thief believes.”
“Delightful,” Lady Rutledge said, a near-boom of approval. “You have grown iron for a spine, girl, and pleased I am to see it.”
That inferred I lacked one to begin with.
She turned, removing from me the opportunity to expound upon my blossoming irritation, and included the entire area in an expansive gesture. “You see as well as I the obstacles to simple thievery. That indicates we are dealing with something greater than a mere robber.”
“My lady,” I said, tucking the information handed me against my breast. “While I am grateful to find myself on the welcoming side of your personage, why do you ask this of me?”
Her skirts swayed about her feet as she stilled her turn. She studied me thoughtfully, hands clasped simply at her wide waist. “Oh, dear. And here I was so pleased with your intellectual progress.”
I frowned.
“Stop that,” she added tartly. “Your eyebrows beetle and you look like your father.” Not as much a slap as it might have been, for I had more or less come to terms with my mad father’s antics. That she thought me similar in look to him instead of my vaunted mother was something of a welcome relief. I had too often been compared to her, Society’s darling in her day, and found lacking.
With care, I smoothed my complexion and asked instead, “Does this request mean that you will be openly welcoming my presence in time?”
“Confident, aren’t you?”
Sometimes. I inclined my head. “Is there anything else I should know?”
“All you need to know is in your hands.” With the air of one forging dismissal, Lady Rutledge turned away from me. “Now be gone before dawn breaks. Your presence is something of a wart at the moment and I can’t be fussed to explain it to prying eyes.”
That earned a pang I thought already softened.
Among those I had lost, few bit as deeply as the loss of the Honorable Theodore Helmsley—the man I’d thought my dearest of friends. As it had come to pass, he, too, presented a different face than that which he’d shown to Society.
As the collector who’d styled himself my rival, meant to challenge me at every turn—as the man who’d claimed to have been made for me, my perfect complement—it was Teddy who had helped my father in his mad schemes, murdered my husband, and in the end, perished by my hand.
He had always claimed me a curious boil on the face of Society.
Unlike the lady, Teddy had done so affectionately.
The reminder caused my chest to ache.
Clutching the items I’d been given, armed with only that minimal knowledge Lady Rutledge had allowed and burdened by demand of the Crown, I retreated from Lady Rutledge’s presence.
Zylphia followed, eerily silent but always watchful.
We were met outside the door, and once more blinded by black cloth. This time, I was certain that they navigated us in deliberate circles, for the reverse journey did not match that what I’d committed to memory.
Once the door had shut behind us and the gondola shivered into motion, I stripped the blindfold from my head. “We’ve work to do, Zylla. Are you game for a chase?”
“And then some,” she promised, peeling away the black cloth that banded her eyes. Her lovely jaw set. “How big’s the prize, then?”
I hadn’t asked, but I wasn’t certain I’d have received an answer.
Collector or not, regardless of the fact that we always demanded pay, the Crown’s orders were inviolable.
I shook my head. “What happens after the closing of the case will remain to be seen. Her Majesty is not known to be miserly with her gratitude, yet I am not convinced she is aware of this matter.”
“What of the lady?”
What of her, indeed? Lady Rutledge was as much a curious ally as an uncertain mystery.
“I
John B. Garvey, Mary Lou Widmer