Page 25 of The Paid Companion

At the rear of the crypt, water lapped at the secret underground dock. He got into one of the small, shallow-bottomed boats he kept there. Balancing carefully, he set the lantern on the bow and picked up the pole.

A firm shove sent the little boat into the current of the long-lost river. The vessel floated gently in the dark, foul-smelling water. The killer was obliged to crouch now and again to avoid the ancient stone footbridges that arched overhead.

It was an eerie, unsettling journey. Although he had made the trip many times now, he did not think that he would ever become accustomed to the oppressive darkness and the foul odor. But he took a thrilling comfort in the knowledge that his predecessor had come and gone to the secret laboratory countless times along this strange route. It was all a part of his great destiny, he thought.

One of the ancient relics that littered the riverbanks came into view. The lantern light danced across a marble relief partially submerged in the mud. It depicted the scene of a strange god wearing an odd cap. The figure was shown in the act of slaying a great bull.Mithras,according to the remarks in his predecessor’s journal, the mysterious lord of a Roman cult that had once flourished in these parts.

The killer averted his gaze the way he had learned to do whenever he came upon one of the old statues. The accusing stares in those sightless eyes always made him uneasy. It was as if the old gods could see that place inside him where the strange energy that fueled his genius seethed and simmered; as if they understood that it was not entirely under his control.

11

The following day, shortly after ten o’clock in the evening, Elenora stood with Margaret and Bennett Fleming in the shelter of a cluster of potted palms.

“The first dance is critical,” Bennett explained, assessing the crowd with the wise air. “We must make sure that it is with the right gentleman.”

Elenora peered through the palm fronds. The chamber was ablaze with lights from the pendulous chandeliers. Mirrors lined one entire wall, reflecting the glow of the dazzling scene.

Brilliantly gowned ladies and gentlemen dressed in the height of fashion laughed and gossiped. Elegant couples floated across the dance floor. Music poured down from the balcony where the musicians were ensconced. A small army of servants in blue livery made their way through the throng carrying trays of champagne and lemonade.

“I do not see why I cannot dance with you first,” Elenora said to Bennett.

She had decided immediately upon meeting Bennett Fleming that she liked him very much. One look at his sturdy frame and earnest eyes and she had understood why Arthur trusted him. Bennett Fleming gave the impression of being one of those rare, good-hearted, steadfast people that one knew one could rely upon in a crisis.

“No, no, no, that will never do,” Bennett assured her. “Whoever goes first will set a certain standard, you see. Whoever he is, he has the power to make you instantly fashionable.”

Margaret regarded him with open admiration. “How do you know such things, sir?”

Bennett turned a dull red. “My late wife was a lady who enjoyed the pleasures of the Polite World. One learns things when one is married to an expert.”

“Yes, of course,” Margaret murmured. She reached into her reticule and took out a small pad of paper and a tiny pencil.

Bennett frowned. “What are you doing?”

“Making notes,” Margaret said airily.

“Whatever for?”

“My journal.”

Elenora swallowed a laugh. She wondered what Bennett would say if he knew that Margaret was doing research for her new novel.

“I see.” Bennett’s brows came together in a narrow-eyed expression. He took a swallow of champagne and assumed the air of a man preparing to go into battle. “As I was saying, the question of which gentleman should be allowed the privilege of being the first is extremely important.”

“Hmm,” Elenora mumured. “The process of selection sounds very similar to that of choosing one’s first lover.”

Bennett coughed on his champagne.

“Like the process of choosing a lover,” Margaret repeated to herself, scribbling furiously on her notepad. “Yes, I like that turn of phrase. Makes it all sound quite intriguing, does it not?”

Bennett stared at her. “I cannot believe you wrote that down for your journal.”

“It will make for interesting reading later, don’t you think?” Margaret gave him a bright smile and dropped the notepad into her reticule.

Bennett evidently decided not to respond to that question. Instead he turned his attention back to the dance floor. Quite suddenly he brightened with obvious relief.

“There he is,” he announced in low tones.

“Who?” Elenora asked.

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