Page 83 of The Paid Companion

“I see,” Arthur said.

“They thought themselves so clever, you know.” Mrs. Glentworth clasped her hands very tightly in her lap. Some of her anger returned to her face. “They were sure that they would all change the world with their experiments and their elevated conversations about science. But what good did their study of natural philosophy do, I ask you? None at all. And now they’re all gone, aren’t they?”

“So it seems,” Elenora said quietly.

Arthur put down his unfinished tea. “You have been very helpful, Mrs. Glentworth. If you will excuse us, we must be on our way. I will have my man-of-affairs call upon you at once to settle the business of the house and your creditors.”

“Except forher,of course,” Mrs. Glentworth concluded harshly. “She’sstill alive. Outlived them all, didn’t she?”

Elenora was very careful not to look at Arthur. She was aware that he was standing just as still as she was.

“She?” Arthur repeated without inflection.

“I always thought of her as some sort of sorceress.” Mrs. Glentworth’s voice was low and grim. “Perhaps she really did place a curse on them. Wouldn’t have put it past her.”

“I don’t understand,” Elenora said. “Was there a lady among your husband’s circle of close acquaintances all those years ago?”

Another wave of anger flashed across Mrs. Glentworth’s face. “They called her their Goddess of Inspiration. My husband and his friends never missed her Wednesday afternoon salons in the old days. When she summoned them, they rushed to her townhouse. Sat about drinking port and brandy and talking of natural philosophy as though they were all great, learned men. Trying to impress her, I suspect.”

“Who was she?” Arthur asked.

Mrs. Glentworth was so lost in her unpleasant memories that she seemed confused by the question. “Why, Lady Wilmington, of course. They were all her devoted slaves. Now they are all dead, and she is the only one left. A rather odd twist of fate, is it not?”

Ashort time later Arthur handed Elenora up into the carriage. His mind was occupied with the information that Mrs. Glentworth had just given them. That did not stop him from appreciating the elegant curve of Elenora’s attractive backside when she leaned over slightly and tightened her skirts to step into the cab.

“You managed to make that visit cost me a pretty penny,” he said mildly, closing the door and sitting down across from her.

“Come now, sir, you know very well that even had I not been present, you would have offered to assist Mrs. Glentworth. Admit it.”

“I admit nothing.” He settled back into the seat and turned his attention to the conversation that had just been concluded in the shabby little parlor. “The fact that Glentworth died in a laboratory accident only a few weeks after my great-uncle was murdered indicates that the killer may have struck not twice but three times.”

“Glentworth, your great-uncle, and Ibbitts.” She folded her arms beneath her breasts as though she had felt a sudden chill. “Perhaps this mysterious Lady Wilmington will be able to tell us something of value. Are you acquainted with her, sir?”

“No, but I intend to remedy that state of affairs this very afternoon, if possible.”

“Ah, yes, just as you did with Mrs. Glentworth.”

“Indeed.”

“Your title and wealth certainly have one or two useful advantages.”

“They open doors so that I may ask questions.” He shrugged. “But unfortunately they do not guarantee that I will get honest answers.”

Nor were they enough to win a lady who was determined to go into trade, maintain her independence and live her life on her own terms, he thought.

27

Oh, my, yes, I remember those Wednesday afternoon salons as though I had held the last one only this past week.” A distant, almost melancholic expression veiled Lady Wilmington’s blue eyes. “We were all so young, so very passionate in those days. Science was our new alchemy, and those of us who were engaged in exploring its secrets saw ourselves as the inventors of the modern age.”

Elenora sipped tea from the paper-thin china cup and surreptitiously surveyed the elegant drawing room while she listened to Clare, Lady Wilmington talk about the past. The situation here was quite opposite the one that existed across town in Mrs. Glentworth’s small, poorly furnished parlor, she thought. Lady Wilmington was clearly not suffering from any financial difficulties.

The drawing room was decorated in a version of the Chinoiserie style that had first come into fashion several years earlier. It had been well-maintained in all its original lush, sensual glory. The dark, exotic atmosphere produced by the midnight blue and gold flower-patterned wallpaper, the intricately designed carpet and the ornate, japanned furnishings was brightened here and there by beautifully framed mirrors. It was a room designed to appeal to the senses.

Elenora could well imagine their wealthy hostess holding court in such surroundings. Lady Wilmington had to be fast approaching seventy years of age, but she was expensively dressed in the current mode. Her dark gold, high-waisted gown looked as if it had been designed to be worn in this richly hued room. The fine bones of her face and shoulders testified to the fact that she had once been a great beauty. Her hair was silver now, and some of it was surely false, but it was styled in an extremely elaborate chignon.

In Elenora’s experience, the older a woman got, the more jewelry she tended to wear. Lady Wilmington was no exception to that rule. Pearls dangled from her ears. Her wrists and fingers glittered with an assortment of diamonds, rubies and emeralds.

It was the gold locket around Lady Wilmington’s throat that caught Elenora’s eye, however. Unlike the rings it was surprisingly plain in style. It appeared to be a very personal keepsake. Perhaps it held a miniature of one of her children or her deceased husband.

---