CHAPTER 28
The pale Portland stone rose out of a sea of silvery mist. Two towers flanked the imposing façade of the grand villa, their crenellated battlements standing in stark silhouette against the black velvet sky.
Charlotte paused in the copse of oaks bordering the rear lawns, taking a moment to get her bearings. Justinian DeVere didn’t lack in imagination or money, she observed. Having received permission from the Prince Regent to build a personal enclave in the Marylebone Park, he had commissioned the renowned architect John Nash to design the main residence. The result was a fanciful blend of East and West.
A smile tugged at her lips. Indeed, she recalled having done a satirical drawing on its exotic excesses when the structure was first completed. But seen in the mizzled moonlight, it had an undeniable grandeur that made the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.
Repressing a shiver, Charlotte moved through the trees to the west side of the villa, looking for the grand conservatory attached to the main wing. A wink of starry light from the peaked glass caught her eye, and she hurried across the gardens. A glance up showed no lights in the villa windows. She had heard that DeVere was due to spend yet another night at Kew Palace, so the servants had likely retired early.
Cocking an ear, Charlotte listened for any sounds of life. Satisfied, she found the outer door used by the barrows and let herself in.
A moist warmth immediately enveloped her. The lush perfume of the blooms—floral sweetness mingling with an earthier spice—was a little overpowering. After a small shake to clear her head, she slowly made her way through the towering rows of potted trees, seeking the section of the conservatory that held the smaller specimens.
The glass roof allowed enough light to navigate the narrow walkways between the plantings. Shadows flitted over raised beds and terra-cotta urns, their leafy shapes strangely distorted by the ever-shifting darkness. A steady drip-drip punctuated the rustling of the nearby palm fronds. The sounds should have been soothing, but her nerves were too on edge.
Charlotte stopped and made herself look around. Was there a logic to the layout? Scientific nomenclature would be lost on her, but—
She let out a sigh of relief on spotting the neatly lettered signs—in plain English—framed in brass and attached to each of the raised beds. The arrangement appeared to be geographical, and she quickly found her way to the section marked India. It was divided into subsections of neat squares. One by one, Charlotte carefully examined the contents.
As she moved to the end of the bed, a telltale flicker of yellow and white caught her eye.
“Eureka,” she murmured. She leaned low over the specimen, just to be sure it was—
And suddenly felt the kiss of cold steel against the back of her neck.
“Don’t move.” A metallic click signaled the cock of a pistol’s hammer.
Charlotte cursed herself for being so careless. The water sounds had masked the scuff of approaching steps.
“Now, why, I wonder, would a street urchin break into a hothouse?”
“I wuz only lookin’ fer food,” she answered in the rough-cut slur of the slums, hoping her captor would take pity on a child and let her go.
“Oh, I think not.” The gun barrel dug in harder against her flesh. “You spoke just a moment ago in Greek. Which begs the question—who are you?”
Damnation.
“Turn around,” ordered Lady Julianna. “And do it very slowly. I assure you, I’m quite skilled with a pistol, and would have no compunction about pulling the trigger.”
Charlotte closed her eyes for an instant, aware that she had allowed her hard-won street skills to lose their edge. Her life was changing, and her concerns had become more complex—mere survival had given way to thoughts of a future for the boys, the demands of retaking her place in Society, her relationship with Wrexford . . .
But all that was moot if she didn’t quickly gather her wits and find a way to dodge disaster.
Keeping her head bowed, she did as she was told.
A dainty finger flicked out and tipped up the brim of her floppy hat.
Gritting her teeth, Charlotte rued her carelessness. She had skipped her usual ritual of blackening her face with dirt, as this was to have been a simple in-and-out. She buried her chin in the fold of her coat, hoping against hope—
But to no avail.
Julianna plucked off the cap and tossed it aside. Charlotte heard a sharp intake of breath. “Lady Charlotte?”
Silence stretched for the space of a heartbeat.
“I can explain,” she murmured, her mind racing to cobble together a credible story.
“Please do.” It was said pleasantly, but the pistol was still aimed at her heart.
“I was trying to puzzle out your riddle,” began Charlotte. “I didn’t wish to admit defeat, and so . . . and so I decided to try to sneak a surreptitious look at your family library, in hope of finding a clue.” She picked at a thread on her cuff. “The door to the conservatory seemed the best choice. However, it’s so magnificent in here, I fear I became distracted.”
“We are kindred souls, you and I,” replied Julianna. “You have imagination and daring. And you’re a very good liar.” A pause. “But not quite good enough.”
Charlotte remained silent.
“You wish me to believe you’re examining our Curcuma longa—one of the rarest specimens we possess—simply by chance?”
She shrugged. “Life is full of inexplicable coincidences.”
Julianna let out a peal of laughter. “Indeed. And then again, at times the cosmos aligns in exquisitely beautiful harmony.”
The odd comment left Charlotte a little off balance. “Oh?”
A gleam came to her captor’s eyes. “Here I was trying to figure out a way to coax you into visiting me. And then, as if by magic, you appear.”
“But why—” began Charlotte, only to be interrupted by the tattoo of footsteps on the flagged walkway.
“Julianna! We must pack our bags and flee.” A voice cut through the foliage, rough with urgency. “Things have gotten out of hand!”
DeVere’s ward shifted slightly, her free hand sliding into the folds of her skirts as a gentleman rounded the bend.
“I fear—” Hollister skidded to a stop on seeing she wasn’t alone. “W-What the devil is going on here?”
“Dear Cedric’s cousin has come to pay me a visit,” answered Julianna. “It seems she’s exceedingly clever and has somehow come to have an inkling of the truth.”
His face went ashen. “All the more reason to leave the country! Lord Wrexford is also on our trail.”
Charlotte heard the note of rising panic in his voice. No wonder the villain’s trail had been so devilishly difficult to untangle. The two of them had been working together.
But in what way?
“I’ll find some rope,” continued Hollister. “We can bind and gag her. By the time she’s discovered, we’ll be well on our way to the Continent.”
“Leave now? Just when we’re on the cusp of mankind’s greatest discovery?” replied Julianna. “Oh, I think not.”
“Surely, you must see reason,” he pleaded. “This madness must stop!”
“Madness?”
Hollister’s face was sheened in sweat. “W-What I meant was . . .” He wet his lips. “We can begin again, in a place where we’ll be under less scrutiny with our experiments. Perhaps India, where life is not held so dear, or . . .”
Shifting her stance, Charlotte darted a look around, gauging her chances of bolting. They were, she decided, grim. The raised beds and jumble of terra-cotta pots made the narrow walkway—blocked in both directions by the conspirators—the only avenue of escape.
A soft laugh from Julianna cut short Hollister’s stuttering. “You’re right, my love. It’s time to begin anew.”
His shoulders slumped in relief.
“Come, give me a kiss to celebrate a glittering future.”
Smiling, he started forward.
In the same instant, Charlotte caught the gleam of steel, moving quick as a cobra. “No!” she cried.
Too late.
The blade pierced his chest with lethal accuracy, thrusting up and in between his ribs.
Charlotte watched in horror as a look of mild surprise widened his eyes for a heartbeat, before he went limp and slumped into his murderer’s arms.
Julianna spun away and, with a graceful flick of her wrist, freed her knife as she pushed Hollister away, allowing his corpse to topple onto the walkway.
“A man of little imagination or courage.” The pistol in her other hand was once again aimed at Charlotte’s heart. “But he served his purpose.” In the gloom, her eyes seemed to spark with fire. “As will you.”
Ye gods—she is truly stark raving mad. Charlotte swallowed a spurt of panic and made herself concentrate on how to survive.
“And just what is my part in your grand plan?” she asked.
Julianna’s smile was chilling in its utter lack of emotion. It sent fear slithering down Charlotte’s spine. “You’ll see soon enough.” She gestured with her pistol. “This way.”
Charlotte slowly turned. Think, think! Her eye for detail allowed her to summon a picture of the way she had come. The collection of potted tree specimens afforded the best opportunity for escape, she decided. The tangle of trunks and fronds might cause even a crack shot to miss.
Clouds drifted in to cover the moon, deepening the gloom within the glass conservatory. Darkness is my friend, Charlotte told herself, seeking to steady her emotions. The thought of friendship—nay, the thought of love—crackled through her body like a jolt of electricity. Be damned with fear. She had too much to live for. The boys growing to manhood . . .
And Wrexford. Whatever confusions tangled their relationship, she was not ready to give it up.
The kiss of steel shoved up against her back. “Move.”
Charlotte took a step, only to see a spectral silhouette take shape from the shadows.
“Ju-Ju, my dear.” A mournful sigh followed as Justinian DeVere cast a look at Hollister’s crumpled body and shook his head. “This can’t go on.”
“I know, I know, and there will be no need,” she replied in a honeyed voice. “We’re almost there. Tonight it will happen, and then our momentous discovery will make the world deem all the sacrifices worthwhile.”
“Mr. DeVere,” murmured Charlotte. “Please, you must make her see reason.”
“Reason!” repeated Julianna. “What do you know of reason, limited as you are by conventional thinking? Like your cousin, your mind is incapable of understanding the divine workings of the cosmos.”
“Mr. DeVere.” Charlotte fixed him with a steady stare. “Surely, you don’t wish to see any more lives lost in this experiment.”
He drew in a deep breath. “Julianna—”
“The secret is now in our hands, I swear it!” declared his ward. “We’ve worked so hard for this, and now we’re so close. The new electrolyte has proved successful. And with this one last element . . .” She touched a hand to Charlotte’s coiled hair. “Imagine the accolades when we succeed at transcending to a new plane of knowledge and unleashing the power of eternal life.”
Her voice had a macabre note of persuasiveness to it. Madness could make hell sound like heaven. “You’ve agreed with me on this, Justinian—Western thinking is so very limited. In India, the idea of reincarnation has been understood for centuries. We’re simply discovering a different form of it. Think of it—bringing back corporeal life for the people we love.”
Charlotte suddenly understood how an unspeakable horror had kindled the obsession behind her twisted thinking . . . a young girl witnessing the murder of her parents . . . the sense of unbearable loss.
But that did not forgive—
“Just one more sacrifice, that’s all,” she crooned. “And then you’ll be one of the most famous men of science in history, immortal in the annals of great thinkers.”
“Just one more?” repeated DeVere.
Ye gods, he was as deranged as she was, realized Charlotte.
“One more,” promised Julianna.
“Mr. DeVere—”
But he had already turned his back to her and disappeared into the darkness.
The pistol’s snout dug in between Charlotte’s shoulder blades. “Move!”
* * *
“Danger!” exclaimed Sheffield. “Have you found something in the puzzle Lady Charlotte brought to you?”
Cordelia shook her head. “No, I can’t begin to make sense of all that mystical habble-gabble. It’s something far simpler—the bloody hat!”
She made a wry face. “I suddenly recalled that I’ve seen a Wellington hat in Lady Julianna’s private study. As you know, I’ve often attended the scientific soirees at the DeVere villa, and one evening I took a wrong turn on my way to the ladies’ withdrawing room and came upon her gathering some books to take back to the drawing room. She was quick to leave the room and close the door—locking it, I might add. But I did catch a glimpse of the hat and a dark overcoat.”
“Did the overcoat perchance have one shoulder cape trimmed in braid?”
“Why, yes. I believe it did. Is that important?”
Before Wrexford could respond, a hackney came careening into the square, shaking and shuddering like a bat flying out of hell.
He started to reach for his pistol as the door flung open.
Damnation. On seeing a small figure dart down from the cab, he pushed through the bushes. “Over here, lad.”
Hawk spun around, terror writ plain on his face. “Oiy, oiy—ye got te come quickly!”
The earl raced across the cobbles, Sheffield and Cordelia right on his heels.
“M’lady . . . m’lady,” gasped the boy.
“Steady, steady.” Wrexford seized him, only to realize his own hands were shaking. “What’s wrong?”
“M’lady’s in trouble!” Hawk managed to explain about following Charlotte to DeVere’s villa and what he had seen through the glass windows of the conservatory.
“Hoy, there,” called the driver. “The imp promised some fancy toff wud pay me double the fare fer making the trip quick-like.”
Wrexford dug out his purse and flung it at the man. “You’ll have a second one of these if you get us back to Marylebone Park even faster.” To Hawk, he added, “Fetch Raven and Tyler. Then go find Griffin and bring him to DeVere’s villa as quickly as you can.”
Sheffield was already climbing into the hackney.
“No need for you to come along,” said Wrexford as Cordelia placed a booted foot on the rung.
“The villa is a labyrinth,” she replied. “But I think I know where to look for Lady Julianna.”
“Then up you go. And let us pray you’re right.”
* * *
The soft swish-swish of the leaves indicated that the grove of potted trees lay just around the bend. Charlotte coiled her muscles, ready to—
Julianna fisted a hand in her collar and jammed the pistol up against her skull. “A clever thought. I, too, would have chosen this place to try an escape. However, as you see, your mind is no match for mine.”
They marched through the greenery in silence, and several more turns brought them to the door leading into the villa. The latch clicked open and then fell shut behind them.
Inside, the opulent furnishings and expensive artwork spoke loudly of wealth and taste. The whisper of madness could only be heard in the sound of their footsteps crossing the thick Axminster carpets.
Anger clenched in Charlotte’s chest. Let her captor think she would go meekly, like a lamb being led to slaughter. Hubris could be a two-edged sword.
Julianna paused just long enough to pick up one of the oil lamps from a side table, then shoved her forward. “Keep moving.”
At the end of a long teak-paneled corridor, Charlotte was ordered to shift a sixteenth-century tapestry wall hanging. Behind it was a matching door, barely perceptible amid the decorative flutings.
At Julianna’s touch, it swung open noiselessly. A finger of lamplight showed a spiral staircase made of pale stone, winding down, down . . .
Drawing a deep breath, Charlotte plunged into the gloom.