Page 43

THIRTY-FOUR

M rs. Wyatt is dead?” Evangeline glanced at Ursula’s veiled face and then turned back to Slater. “Are you certain?”

“Trust me, there is no mistake,” Slater said.

“We had an appointment to meet with her a short time ago. When we arrived at the location we found her body. The police will soon be making inquiries. My associate and I would like to conduct a brief investigation of our own before the authorities descend on this house and trample over every possible clue.”

“Your associate?”

Evangeline looked at Ursula with a politely neutral expression. But her eyes said it all. Respectable women did not have dealings with the women in Evangeline’s world.

Ursula raised the net veil and crumpled the delicate web up onto the brim of her hat, revealing her face. She smiled.

“I’m Mrs. Kern,” she said. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Evangeline. Thank you for assisting us tonight.”

Evangeline hesitated and then she inclined her head. Some of her wariness faded.

Slater gave no indication that he had noticed the moment of social tension.

“Evangeline was the lady who was kind enough to answer a few questions for me the other evening when I toured the grounds of the Olympus Club,” he said.

“I did not see your face clearly that night,” Evangeline said. “But I remember your voice. You were... quite helpful to me. Indeed, I am in your debt.”

They were standing in the hallway outside the kitchen.

The Pavilion of Pleasure was not busy yet.

The customers would no doubt show up much later in the evening.

Ursula occasionally heard footsteps on the stairs and muffled voices but Evangeline had explained that most of the women were in their rooms, dressing.

The only place where there was significant activity was the kitchen.

Through the open door a sweating cook and several assistants could be seen laboring over trays of canapés.

Ursula had not known what to expect inside a brothel. Nevertheless, she was mildly astonished by how normal it all appeared. She might as well have been in the hall outside the kitchen of any fashionable mansion preparing for a reception or a party.

A few minutes ago they had arrived at the back door of the Pavilion. Slater had handed some coins to the housekeeper and asked to see Evangeline, who had soon appeared. When she saw Slater, her expression had turned wary.

“The thing is, I’m not sure I should let you into Mrs. Wyatt’s rooms,” Evangeline said, glancing over her shoulder. She lowered her voice. “Charlotte’s in charge when Mrs. Wyatt isn’t around.”

“Then please ask Charlotte to come downstairs,” Slater said. “Make certain she knows that there will be a night’s pay in this if she manages to remain discreet.”

Evangeline hesitated. “I know I owe you a favor, sir, but I never thought you’d ask to settle accounts this way.”

Slater slipped more coins into her hand. “For your trouble, Evangeline. Please hurry.”

Evangeline did not argue. She disappeared. When she was gone, Ursula lowered the veil.

“You did not have to reveal yourself to her,” Slater said without inflection.

“Of course I did.”

Slater smiled slightly but he did not say anything else on the subject.

Evangeline returned with an older woman. Charlotte was suspicious at first and genuinely shocked by the news of her employer’s death. But when Slater produced still more money a great transformation came over her. She led the way to a suite of private rooms.

“Why would anyone murder Mrs. Wyatt?” she asked, fitting a key into the lock of a door.

“We don’t know.” Slater ushered Ursula ahead of him into a lavishly decorated parlor. “We were rather hoping you might be able to tell us.”

Charlotte eyed him and then looked at Ursula. “Why would the likes of you two care about the death of a brothel madam?”

“Because Mrs. Wyatt is not the first person to die in this case,” Ursula said. “A woman who worked for me was also murdered. She was a friend of mine. I want to find out who killed her.”

“There is one other fact you may wish to consider,” Slater added.

“What’s that?” Charlotte asked.

“It’s quite possible that your colleague who supposedly jumped into the river was murdered either because her client was dangerously intoxicated or because, like Mrs. Wyatt and the others, she knew too much about the ambrosia trade,” Slater said.

“Nicole,” Charlotte said, her voice very grim. “We all know she did not jump off that bridge, at least not willingly.” She gestured toward the parlor. “I will wait in the hall while you have your look around. Be quick about it. I don’t think it is a good idea for you to be here.”

“Thank you,” Ursula said. She looked at Slater. “I will examine the bedroom while you investigate this room.”

Slater nodded and went swiftly to the desk near the window. Ursula hurried into the adjoining room.

Mrs. Wyatt’s bedroom was another surprise.

Like the other parts of the big house that Ursula had viewed, the décor was a tasteful mix of yellow and peacock blue.

The four-poster bed was draped with white netting and decorated with an attractive yellow quilt.

The carpet featured gold flowers against an azure background.

The wallpaper was set off with yellow and blue stripes.

There was, Ursula thought, no hint that the former occupant had been involved in the brothel business. Perhaps that was the intent.

She went to the wardrobe first. Ignoring the array of fashionable gowns, she opened the drawers at the bottom and worked her way through the neat pile of freshly laundered and crisply ironed underclothes.

Finding nothing of note, she crossed to the dressing table.

She discovered the perfume bottle tucked away in the back of a drawer. The little porcelain jar looked almost identical to the one she had found among Anne’s things. Unlike that one, however, Mrs. Wyatt’s bottle was not quite empty. There were a few drops at the bottom.

Cautiously, Ursula removed the stopper. The scent that wafted out held the familiar taint of a dark herb.

“Find something?” Slater asked from the doorway.

Ursula turned quickly and saw that he had a leather-bound volume in one hand.

“A perfume bottle,” she said. “Just like the one I found at Anne’s house. There are a few drops left and they smell like the dried herbs at Rosemont’s shop.”

“Both Mrs. Wyatt and Anne were using the drug.”

“Evidently.”

Slater moved, radiating impatience. “Come, we must leave.”

She glanced at the notebook he held. “What did you find?”

“Wyatt’s journal of accounts.”

“What can that tell you?”

“Possibly nothing. But I have found that money is rather like blood. It leaves a stain.”