CHAPTER 21 #2
A mizzling rain had begun to fall. As Wrexford and Sheffield crossed Piccadilly Street, their steps stirred serpentine swirls of fog.
The earl led the way up Albemarle Street and around to the rear of the Royal Institution, where a special patron’s portal allowed entrance at all hours to those select few who possessed a key.
Being a generous benefactor, he was one of them. The lock clicked open. Ignoring the candlesticks on the side table, he touched Sheffield’s arm and made a gesture for him to head to the side stairwell.
“We’ll strike a light once we’re inside Thornton’s laboratory,” he whispered as he started to feel his way up the treads.
They climbed in silence, the gloom adding an air of foreboding to the darkness.
On reaching the next landing, Wrexford eased the door open a crack.
The corridor was wreathed in shadows, the only light a faint glimmer coming from a distant wall sconce at the other end of the building.
He was just about to proceed when the furtive scuff of steps caused him to freeze.
Someone was coming.
He waited. A pinprick of fire—a candle flame—appeared from the adjoining corridor, casting wildly dancing flickers of light and dark across the wall.
Closer, closer. Through the slivered opening, Wrexford could make a figure wearing a caped coat . . .
And a Wellington hat.
* * *
Thump-thump. The dowager edged around the weathered fragment of a classical Doric column topped with a potted fern.
“Ah, there you are, Lady Julianna.” The fronds rustled.
“I wish for you to meet my great-niece, who has recently taken up residence in London. The two of you share some common interests.”
“Oh?” Julianna responded with a polite smile. “And what might those be, Lady Peake?”
Alison tipped the silver knob of her cane at the elaborate-colored pasteboard cards arrayed on the low table.
“Art, for one thing. As for the others . . .” She gave a vague wave.
“I shall leave you to discover that for yourselves. I’m growing fatigued and wish to sit with the other old fossils and catch up on all the latest on dits. ”
“Your great-aunt is quite an Original,” murmured Julianna as the dowager stomped away.
“She most certainly doesn’t conform to convention,” replied Charlotte.
“I daresay none of us who attend these salons do, Miss . . .”
“Lady Charlotte Sloane.” Charlotte leaned in for a closer look at the cards. “These are quite remarkable. The line work is exquisitely drawn, and the coloring is quite unusual. It’s rare to see nuances that are so subtle, yet so sophisticated.”
Julianna cocked her head. “Most people don’t appreciate nuance or subtlety.”
“Perhaps because it’s harder to understand.”
The heiress’s laugh was softly musical. “Indeed, things that are out of the ordinary require extra effort to comprehend.” Without looking down, Julianna gathered the cards and reshuffled them, her fingers moving with quicksilver grace. “But in my experience, it proves worthwhile.”
An interesting observation.
“Pray, have we other common interests, aside from art, Lady Charlotte?” went on the heiress.
“The late Lord Chittenden,” replied Charlotte.
The flesh seemed to tighten over Julianna’s face, making her cheekbones look sharp as knife blades. “You knew His Lordship?”
“Intimately.” The word was deliberately chosen to see what reaction it would draw. The spasm of emotion was gone in an instant, but it told Charlotte what she wanted to know. Julianna wasn’t quite so cynical as she wished to appear.
“We were cousins, and the very best of friends during our childhood,” she explained, taking a seat in the chinoise-style chair facing the heiress. “Though the connection grew more tenuous after my late husband and I moved to Italy. He was a very talented painter, and I, too, dabbled in art.”
Nuances and subtlety. With a tiny alteration here, a small omission there, Alison had cobbled together a story that didn’t stray far from the truth. And yet it painted a far different picture of Charlotte’s marriage to Anthony Sloane.
“My parents didn’t approve of the fact that I had married a mere mister,” she added. “They thought I could have looked higher.”
A flicker of understanding stirred in Julianna’s gaze. “But that would have demanded that you sacrifice your passions.” A card turned faceup, then another. “I believe there will come a day when those of our sex shall have control over their own destiny.”
Charlotte regarded the pair of numbers. Each one was intertwined with a series of arcane geometric symbols. “Let us hope such things are written in the cards.”
“You would be surprised at what the Maya-Moksha can tell us.”
“Indeed?” It was Charlotte’s turn to toss out a challenge. “Is that what the game is called? Tell me more about it.”
“It’s not a game, it’s a philosophy,” replied Julianna.
“And it would take far longer than an evening to convey even a rudimentary understanding of its systems. You see, along with learning the traditional English skills deemed acceptable for a lady, I studied Indian philosophy with a savant for a number of years. I like expanding my understanding of the worlds outside of our own. We learn by challenging our preconceptions.”
Charlotte could understand how Cedric would have found Julianna bewitchingly seductive. Beneath the demure facade of a beau monde belle was a spark of rare fire.
“I have a very enlightened guardian and am quite fortunate that he’s always had an open mind on what is, and is not, proper for a lady.”
“So it would seem.” Charlotte touched a fingertip to the numeral 6. “Are these cards related to the Tarocchi?”
“No, no.” The heiress gave an enigmatic smile. “It’s not about fortune-telling. The system is based on numbers . . . a way the natural order of the universe can predict certain . . . relationships.”
“How?” pressed Charlotte.
“As I said, that’s not so simple to explain. One must grasp the conceptual framework.” Julianna drew in a slow breath. “Cedric was making great headway. It grieves me to think about . . .” She looked away, not before Charlotte saw the glimmer of tears in her eyes.
“Cedric and I shared many secrets during our childhood,” pressed Charlotte. “I should like very much to understand this . . . in homage to his memory.”
Julianna bowed her head and appeared to lapse into deep thought. After several moments, she looked up. “Do you like challenges, Lady Charlotte?”
“I wouldn’t have seen the splendors of Rome . . .”
Or have caused the Prince Regent to take to his bed for a week because of my scathing caricature of him in a corset.
“. . . if I was afraid of embracing them,” answered Charlotte.
In response, Julianna took up a small notebook and pencil from the table. For a short interval, there was no sound between them, save for the soft scratch-scratch of the graphite. The heiress then tore out two pages and passed them over.
“Very well, then. Here’s a momentous event I’ve discerned from the physical and metaphysical elements of the system. It will happen in the near future. But to work out what it is won’t be easy. You’ll have to study the science of the cards.”
Charlotte had a feeling that Wrexford would use a far less complimentary word than science. Nonetheless, she carefully folded the papers.
“And here is a book on the subject.” The heiress pulled a slim leather-bound volume from the reticule sitting beside her chair, then gathered her cards and placed them in a pasteboard box. “Along with a deck of Maya-Moksha numbers.”
“Surely, you don’t wish to give away your magnificent cards,” protested Charlotte. “They must be irreplaceable.”
“I have many other decks of equal beauty,” replied the heiress. “It would give me great pleasure to know that Cedric’s childhood friend—someone bound to him by both sentiment and blood—will enjoy learning their secrets.”
“Thank you. That’s quite gracious of you.” As Charlotte shifted slightly to settle the gift in her lap, she saw a stirring within the shadows of the foyer connecting the side salons.
A flutter of smoky amethyst silk.
How long had Cordelia Mansfield been eavesdropping? And why?
“Cedric was very special to me,” murmured Julianna. “It’s hard to believe that his brother could have murdered him in such a horrible fashion. They seemed . . . very close.” A heartbeat of silence. “But then, who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of those we think we know best?”
“I don’t believe Nicholas killed Cedric,” replied Charlotte.
“But the newspapers say the evidence . . .” The heiress’s eyes widened. “Who else could it be?”
“I don’t know. But . . .” Charlotte’s hands tightened on the book and box of cards. “But I hope that the truth will come out and justice will prevail.”
Seeing the lady in the dragon robe approaching with an armful of books, Charlotte quickly rose and added, “I mustn’t keep you from your friends, so I’ll take my leave now. However, I look forward to furthering our acquaintance.”
“As do I.”
Their gazes met and held for a moment before Charlotte turned and moved off in search of her great-aunt, suddenly feeling a pressing need to return to the solitude of her own house and parse over all that she had heard.
“I see you met the Enchantress of Numbers,” murmured Cordelia as Charlotte moved into the foyer connecting the side salon and the grand parlor.
“Yes.” Charlotte pretended not to notice the edge of sarcasm in her voice. “You two seem to share a keen interest in mathematics.”
“Actually, I would say her interest in numbers is metaphysical, not mathematical.”
“And yet earlier you told me that mathematics could reveal the mysteries of the universe,” replied Charlotte.
“When applied rationally and its formulas proved through logic and empirical observation, mathematics can indeed be revelatory.”
“You don’t believe that numbers can tell us anything about the future?” she pressed.
Cordelia’s brows gave a mocking twitch. “On the contrary—I can predict a number of future events with absolute certainty. For example, I can calculate the arc of the moon through the night sky and tell you where it will be an hour from now. Or create an equation based on weight, trajectory, and force that will pinpoint when and where a cannonball will land.”
She made a face. “But will numbers tell me the fate of nations or in what year the Day of Judgment shall fall?” Her gaze darted to the book and box. “Let’s just say I’m skeptical.”
“Skepticism is important in scientific inquiry,” replied Charlotte. “Or so Lord Wrexford says.”
“You’re acquainted with Wrexford?”
“I am,” said Charlotte, but chose not to elaborate.
Cordelia opened her mouth to speak, then seemed to think better of it and made a show of patting back a tiny yawn. “If you’ll excuse, I’m feeling a trifle fatigued, so I think I shall seek out our hostess and take my leave.”
From somewhere in the room came the sharp cawk-cawk of Lady Thirkell’s pet parrot.
“Enjoy your parlor games,” added Cordelia, spearing another look at Julianna’s gifts. “Who knows? Perhaps you’ll discover something interesting.”