Page 20 of Ghost in the Garden (Murder in Moonlight #3)

A ngela’s nerves were jumping as she journeyed from her own house to the Swans’. She would have preferred to do this in the calming company of Mrs. Silver, who would have removed any accidental hint of vulgarity from her dress and made those minor changes that made all the difference to a person’s confidence.

It was incredibly difficult to step into this superior world of wealth and respectability alone. She wasn’t sure she could have done it had not the even larger matter of grief hung over her. Walking alone into a party of hostile humans was nothing beside the hugeness of widowhood, of sole responsibility for the organization.

She forced her tense shoulders to relax and lifted her chin with pride. If she had learned anything over the last two or three years, it was that, alone, she could do anything she wished.

This was to have been Caleb’s big moment. When he, born with nothing in the lawless filth of the Devil’s Acre, stepped into the world of the truly powerful. He had paid a fortune for these tickets, and Angela was determined to put them to good purpose.

Sir Nicholas Swan’s house was nothing great. It was not in a fashionably gracious Mayfair Square but on the edges of the river, a large, old building with a kind of brooding beauty. Not so very different from her own, she told herself as she alighted and walked boldly up to the front steps in the extravagant glow of many lamps.

A liveried footman took her invitation card with a bow. Another took her wrap and she was free to follow the bright, sparkling people in front of her up a polished but not-too-grand staircase, and into a large drawing room full of people.

Angela’s heart thudded as she realized the couple just inside the door must be Sir Nicholas Swan and his wife. She had found out what she could about them, of course, and she knew Lady Swan had once been a governess. To Angela, that put them on a more even footing. She was able to look the younger woman in the eye and say, “Good evening. I know we have not met. I am Mrs. Lambert, Caleb Lambert’s widow.”

Lady Swan had already stretched out her hand in greeting, and she did not withdraw it, though her eyes widened slightly—no doubt at Angela’s black silk ensemble with a solitary jet necklace at her throat.

“Mrs. Lambert! Thank you so much for coming at this distressing time. Our condolences upon your tragic loss. This is my husband, Sir Nicholas.”

Swan was more of a shock. He had one of those dark, brooding faces with a haughty, aristocratic nose and extraordinarily sharp eyes that served as a warning against complaisance. However, he was politeness itself, bowing over her black-gloved hand and murmuring his own words of sympathy.

Angela, aware that in this world, one did not discuss business upon arrival, merely inclined her head and passed on into the room.

In the sea of bright colors and glittering jewels, she must have stood out like a sore thumb, a specter at the feast. She meant to. A lackey offered her a glass of fizzing wine, which she took and then moved among the rich and the privileged, all here to flaunt their charitable credentials. Well, she could and would out-flaunt them there, too.

She encountered a few surprised glances, as Silver had warned her she would. Widows still in the full black of recent mourning did not attend large or frivolous events. Well, she would not stay for the frivolity. It might have been fun to dance with Caleb here, sharing the wonder of what they had achieved.

But Ida had removed all chance of that. Gin must finally have addled the woman’s brain. Angela’s planned takeover of the organization would have been much subtler, leaving her husband as the figurehead to trot out at parties like this one. Instead, with her house crawling with peelers and her cook under arrest for two murders, she would have to let Ida swing, and face these kinds of affairs quite alone.

But instead of feeling daunted, she discovered a sense of elation. These powerful people were wondering who she was, admiring her courage—or her eccentricity—in attending this charitable evening alone.

Since she knew no one, she had no need to speak to any of them, merely drifted among them. Music began, gentle and exquisite, and she followed it to the far end of the room, where a slightly raised platform had been set up by an area of uncarpeted, polished floor that was clearly meant for dancing. At the moment, people merely milled across it, greeting each other in the plummy accents Caleb had aspired to.

The musicians played various stringed instruments. Angela was surprised to see a young woman among them. She wore spectacles and a simple evening gown that was not new, and she played the violin. She drew Angela’s attention, not because she was particularly beautiful but because she was lost in the music she played, caring nothing for the wealth and chatter around her.

Angela’s gaze lingered.

“You are admiring the violinist, ma’am?”

Angela turned quickly, because she recognized the deep, soft voice. Mr. Solomon Grey, austerely handsome in strict evening dress, looked back at her with a faint smile. He did not seem remotely surprised to see her, but then, he wouldn’t. She had told Silver she meant to attend, and Silver had turned down the opportunity to work for her. A mistake the girl might yet learn to regret.

“Mr. Grey. Yes, there is something most appealing about her. I must ask Lady Swan for her name.”

“I can tell you that. She is Lady Grizelda Tizsa, a daughter of the Duke of Kelburn.”

It all proved how right she was to have encouraged Caleb to involve himself in carefully chosen charities. It really was the route to aristocratic associations.

“Perhaps you might introduce me later,” she said, more to depress Grey’s pretensions than because she actually thought he could truly perform such an introduction.

“I might,” Grey said, turning to the man approaching on his left. “In fact, here is her brother-in-law, Lord Trent. My lord, Mrs. Lambert.”

The lord inclined his fair, haughty head to her and clapped Grey on the shoulder in a familiar kind of way. Which was odd, considering Grey’s lowly living as an investigator. Though not quite so odd as the catch in Trent’s breath as Constance Silver materialized on Grey’s other side.

“Mrs. Silver, what an unexpected pleasure,” he said, his voice rich with some amusement Angela could not account for. Nor could she account for the gorgeous gown and jewels worn by the lowly investigator’s partner. Silver was, in fact, breathtakingly beautiful, which might have accounted for the male stares around her.

Angela was piqued to have been upstaged. No matter—this was her evening, and she would complete it with grace. She inclined her head to Silver, who returned the gesture. The faint smile on her lips was merely social and aimed at no one.

Unease seeped through Angela. She had the feeling she was missing something. Something she should have known or troubled to find out.

The music reached its close and was rewarded with enthusiastic applause. The violinist bowed with unexpected shyness and not a great deal of grace. But her moment in the limelight was short-lived. She moved over to make way for Sir Nicholas and Lady Swan.

“Our first thanks of the evening have to go to our distinguished musicians,” Sir Nicholas stated. “And I promise you will hear more of them later, including a duet my wife will perform with Lady Grizelda. But before we reach the fun part of the evening, my wife and I are most grateful that you have joined us in the much more serious purpose of raising money for the rehousing of London’s poorest.

“You are all aware of the horrific existence of slum dwellings and the vile conditions in which we, the richest country in the world, expect other human beings to live. The links between such places and disease and crime are too well known. As are other tragedies such as the recent collapse of a neglected building in St. Giles that killed and injured so many. The funds you have donated this evening, together with what we have already raised, will now make it possible to clear part of St. Giles of dangerous buildings and open sewers and build decent homes where people can live, rather than merely exist on the verge of early death for themselves and their children.

“Without being too somber, I am delighted to announce that our project begins next week with the best engineers and builders, closely supervised and overseen by our own board, headed by our kind patrons, His Grace of Kelburn and Lord Trent.”

He smiled. “And that, I think, is enough of announcements! Please—”

This was Angela’s moment.

She stepped forward and said clearly, “Your pardon, sir, but might I make a short announcement, too?”

She had practiced that line and a few others in front of the mirror. She knew her accent was not perfect, but neither did it shriek Devil’s Acre. Following Silver’s advice, she did not try to impersonate the nobs. And she had everyone’s attention, even their respect for her widowhood.

Swan barely hesitated before he extended his hand to help her onto the platform. Then she stood before a sea of wealthy, pampered, expectant faces.

“I shall not keep you, and I shall not stay. It is not a week since my husband’s untimely passing, so my only purpose here is to announce what he intended to, and what I, as his widow and heir, will honor.” From her reticule, she took the folded banker’s draft and handed it to Sir Nicholas. “In memory of my beloved husband.”

She was gratified to see Sir Nicholas’s eyes widen.

“Mrs. Lambert! This is a considerable sum of money…” he said, clearly awed.

“It is,” she agreed. “And what is more, I will personally supply a company of builders and materials—”

“That, though generous, is out of the question,” Sir Nicholas said.

Taken by surprise, Angela took a moment to understand him. “I beg your pardon?” she said frigidly.

“You are of course welcome to submit the names of your company and the sources of your material, but obviously they will be subjected to the same rigorous inspections as everyone else.”

“Inspections?” It felt like swearing in church.

“That is the system we have agreed,” Grey said quietly from the floor below her. “To prevent the fraud and waste of previous projects of building and repair that either don’t happen or are undertaken with cheap, unreliable materials and shoddy workmanship. Everyone involved must sign up to this system of inspections. Which, of course, you are invited to do.” His lips curved as he held her gaze. “If you still wish to.”

For the first time, it entered her head that Grey was rather more than the grubby little investigator who presumed on the brains and the body of his partner. His evening clothes were exquisitely made from the finest cloth. He looked far too aloof to be a friend of these important men, and yet they all seemed to know him…

“Mr. Grey,” she said, clinging to politeness, “you speak for—”

“For the board,” Sir Nicholas said, “of which he is the new chairman and a longstanding member.”

“It is not pleasant,” said the violinist unexpectedly from Lady Swan’s side, “to have one’s donations and offers hemmed in by conditions and boundaries, but sadly, we have found it necessary. Although the inquiry into the St. Giles disaster has been shut down upon the deaths of both landlords concerned, it did manage to point out several of the landlords’ failings—repairs either ignored or carried out with cheap materials by men without skill or knowledge.”

Angela stared at her. “You are accusing me of offering cheap material and unskilled workmen?”

“We are making sure you don’t,” Grey said. “Since your late husband had a poor record in such matters.”

Heat burned in Angela’s face from humiliation and anger. “How dare you?”

“Eighteen people died, Mrs. Lambert. Countless more cannot work through injury. Some don’t even have a roof over their heads anymore.”

“If you’re talking about that building that collapsed in St, Giles, the landlord was not my husband but Huxley Gregg!”

“They were in partnership,” Silver said. “Gregg’s was the name used, but Lambert was the man who collected. There may not be documents to that effect, but there are several witness statements and the cooperation of banks that do prove the connection.”

Angela stared at her. Bloody little traitress. No wonder she would not be brought in to the fold… And she wasn’t remotely intimidated. If anything, the Devil’s Acre stared out of her lovely eyes.

“You are hurling vile accusations at a widow,” Angela said hoarsely, shading her eyes.

“It is a vile situation,” Constance agreed. “And you are, of course, at perfect liberty to withdraw what I’m sure is a most generous donation.”

It was only then that Angela began to realize the full scale of her defeat. She could snatch back the draft and save herself some money, but either way, this Society and their wealthy business was closed to her for good. It wasn’t just that an opportunity to make a lot of money had been shut down, but she had been exposed along with Caleb. Rightly so, for she was complicit in it all. But now, even without legal inquiries or prosecutions, her wings were clipped. The business she had fought to control would grow no further, and instead would shrink. The horror of slipping back into the kind of life she inflicted on her sick, overcrowded tenants chilled her blood.

It was true what she had said to Silver. She really should have listened to Cathy Knox and seen to those repairs. A few pounds was all it would have cost them…

The silence in the room was deafening. Sir Nicholas held out the banker’s draft out to her.

She stared at it. She could snatch it back and stalk out. It was a lot of money. But this was to have been her night, watched from on high by a proud, if dead, Caleb. And a gesture was clearly called for.

“Keep it,” she said grandly. “For your worthy work. Despite your calumny against my late husband, I wish you well in the project. Good evening, Lady Swan.”

She stepped down unaided and walked, head high, through the crowd, which parted for her.

She had just given away a horrendous amount of money and gained nothing in return. Nothing.

She was at the foot of the stairs before she realized Silver and Grey were following her.

“Seeing me off the premises?” she said bitterly.

“Making sure you get there in one piece,” Silver said. “Only fair when you did the same for us. There’s a lot of ill feeling over what happened in St. Giles. Some will regard your donation as blood money.”

“That lot ain’t innocent,” Angela said with contempt.

“Some of them are undoubtedly two-faced, as no one knows better than I, but they don’t get to dictate the building work either.”

Angela regarded her with growing rancor. “I trusted you, and you stabbed me in the back.”

“I almost trusted you ,” Silver said sadly. “But you were manipulating us all the time. You wanted to lower Caleb’s hold over his people and gain their support for your leadership with the discovery of his sneaking, squalid affair with Iris under your roof, despite his show of respect to you. You might even have had your own will no one rid me of this turbulent priest? moment. Did you hint to Ida Feathers?”

It was the only way to hurt her. “You’ll never know, will you? Enjoy your respectability, Silver. It’ll drown you in the end.”

As a closing line, Angela rather liked it, but Silver ruined it with a spurt of laughter. “Respectability? Angela, I am the madam of a very fine brothel.”

Constance Silver… At last Angela recognized the name. Without meaning to, she swiveled her gaze to Solomon Grey.

“Oh, he is respectable,” Silver assured her. “One of the richest men you’ll ever meet, but he can’t resist a puzzle.”

“Or a dance,” Grey said, as the footman opened the front door. “Goodbye, Mrs. Lambert.”

*

Constance did not turn away until the door clicked shut behind Angela Lambert.

“I suppose you are sorry for her,” Solomon said quietly, without accusation.

“Actually, I’m not. She didn’t take the money back. It is blood money, and you can’t buy redemption, but in her mind, I think it’s as close as she’ll come. She knows the doors are closed to her and she’ll probably turn her attention now to Caleb’s other businesses.”

“And she knows she is under scrutiny for the things she doesn’t want to be remembered for.”

A bit like my mother! Laughter caught in her throat. “Oh, the devil. Solomon, dance with me since I’m here, just once, and then I shall unburden poor Lady Swan of my embarrassing presence.”

“Actually, people seem more intrigued than embarrassed by you. You might be the most spectacular of the charity’s supporters, but you are far from the only oddity present.”

“ Oddity? ” she repeated. “I have a good mind to take my womanly wiles elsewhere.”

“You can’t,” he said. “I’ve invited you and you’re mine.”

Stupidly, her heart gave a wild little bound, preventing the smart riposte that hovered on her lips.

In the drawing room, though the walls were lined with people gossiping over the exciting encounter with Lambert’s wife, the first waltz was already underway. Lady Griz was sawing away at her violin, and the dance floor whirled with color and glitter.

A few men whispered and giggled behind their hands at the sight of Constance, but not too loudly, for their wives and mothers were present too. No one stalked out at seeing her, no doubt because they would then have to explain to said wives and mothers precisely how they knew who she was. The same kind of reasoning kept the respectable but knowing ladies in the room.

It amused Constance, but it didn’t matter to her, not when she strolled at his side.

For this dance, I am his.

And God help her, it was sweet to be taken in his strong arms, to be held and twirled in the exhilarating Viennese manner. The man had grace and charisma and a light, guiding touch. She felt as if she were spinning off the tension of the case, which was closed, at last, as successfully as they could do within the law. They had solved another case by an incredible piece of good fortune, and were embarking upon two more. Everything was right with the world, and she gave herself leave to enjoy these moments in Solomon’s arms. He would never know how intensely.

They waltzed without words, letting their bodies speak. Solomon’s beautiful, dark eyes never left her. My friend, my partner…

Because she was so absorbed in her own foolish bliss, it was some time before she realized the most astounding thing of all.

Solomon was happy.

She had accused him once of being a stranger to happiness, to those moments of pure joy that made life so precious. She had vowed to find happiness for him, and yet never imagined it would be in a mere dance.

And somehow that was perfection. In wonder, she danced on, utterly lost in the moment that should never end.

It did, of course, as the dance came to a close, and she no longer had the excuse to touch him, to hold his hand and gaze into his eyes like a moonling. But it seemed the communication remained, for as one, they walked out of the drawing room and back downstairs.

She would not draw attention to her presence by seeking out Lady Swan, although she would write her a polite note tomorrow. Solomon murmured something to the footman in the hall, and after only a moment, he placed her evening cloak about her shoulders. His touch made her shiver with awareness once more.

Solomon’s carriage awaited them—when had he ordered it?—and he handed her inside. He sat down beside her, not touching, though as soon as the horses moved forward, he swiveled and took both her hands in his.

“Constance. I have something to ask you now.”

Reality walloped her, almost like a physical blow. The warmth drained from her, leaving her suddenly anguished.

“Don’t, Sol,” she whispered. “Please don’t.”

“Why not?” he asked ruefully.

“Because I don’t know if I’ll have the strength… Hasn’t it been a wonderful evening?”

“It has. Which is why I have to ask. I cannot go on like this, Constance, with so much simmering beneath the surface. I need…” He caught his breath. “No. First, I want you to know that you are always my friend. Whatever you do or say tonight, whatever decisions we come to, you and I will always be friends. Yes?”

Then don’t speak, don’t ask, because I’m not sure I can forgive…

And yet why not? He was right. Even if she could never meet him or look at him again, even if there were no more mysteries together, on some level they would always be friends.

“Yes,” she said shakily. “But please leave it there. Don’t—”

“Will you marry me, Constance?” he said desperately.

Something thudded into her stomach, probably her heart. She could not have heard him aright. She only knew her jaw dropped when she tried to speak. Hastily, she closed her mouth, swallowed, and tried again.

“Wh-what did you say?”

A frown flickered across his brow. “I’ve taken you by surprise,” he said slowly, searching her eyes. “What did you think I was going to ask you?”

What men always asked her. The transaction she could not bear with him. But that was not what he’d asked.

“I realize I am probably mad or deaf,” she said shakily, “but what you just said sounded ridiculously like a proposal of marriage.”

“Why ridiculous?”

“Because you’re hugely wealthy and terribly respectable, and I’m the madam of a brothel!”

“We both know what you really are. And what the world says about me behind my back, if not to my face. None of that matters to us. Will you marry me?”

“But…but why ?”

His Adam’s apple jerked, but still he held her gaze. “Because I don’t like being without you. Because you infuriate me and make me laugh and think and…you make me happy.” His fingers tightened on hers. “And I love you, God help me. I love you. And if you don’t yet love me, there is something…”

He trailed off, for without meaning to she had wriggled one hand free and reached up to touch his face with wonder. Annoyed by her gloves, she tugged them off and cupped his face in both trembling hands.

“You love me,” she whispered in wonder. “ You love me . In spite of everything…”

“ Because of everything. It just is.”

She trailed her fingers across his lips, which could kiss so fiendishly, so tenderly. “I never thought… I never imagined…”

“Will you risk it?” he asked. “With me? If not, we are still friends. There is still Silver and Grey. But this feeling, this need, is eating me up inside, gnawing …”

“Pain and joy and all shades in between,” she said.

His shoulders relaxed. A smile tugged at the corners of his eyes. He caught her hand against his lips and kissed it. “You do understand.”

“I always loved you. Though I never wanted to, never imagined, ne—”

“Hush,” Solomon said hoarsely, and seized her mouth as though he were starving.

So lost was she in his astounding kisses that she didn’t notice the carriage had stopped outside her establishment off Grosvenor Square, until he reluctantly raised his head.

The lights were on in the downstairs salons—and, no doubt in the first-floor bedrooms.

“Your house will be quieter,” she said.

“Indubitably. But we are not married yet. I shall call tomorrow.”

She blinked at him and drew back. “Solomon Grey, are you turning me down?”

He kissed her with an overt, exciting sensuality that left her breathless. “No. I’m courting you.”

No one had ever courted her before. “Will I like it?”

His lips twitched. “I hope so. I suspect I will too.”

Releasing her, he opened the carriage door and kicked down the steps before alighting and handing her down.

“Solomon?” she said breathlessly. “Are we engaged to be married?”

Somehow, his dark eyes blazed in the lamplight and his teeth shone white. “Oh yes.”

She laughed with pure joy as she walked up to the front door. And best of all, she heard the echo of his own happiness behind her.