who wishes his identity to remain a secret. What do you think? I may be more enlightened than you when it comes to dealing with society, but I admit freely you win the day when it comes to experience with criminal minds.”
“I think it’s an excellent idea,” I said. “Shall I help you choose a passage?”
“I’d prefer to do it on my own. But I promise to share with you any response as soon as I get it.” She flashed a feline smile, her eyes lighting up. She’d spotted Colin entering the room.
“Oh, what a good surprise!” she said. “I never suspected I’d find you home at this time of the afternoon, Hargreaves. I am a fortunate one today.”
“Lady Glover,” he said, dropping her hand almost as soon as she’d raised it to him.”
“You’re such a beast, Hargreaves,” she said. “It’s been ages since you’ve been round to see me. What am I to think? Thank goodness your lovely wife deigned to befriend me or I’d feel completely cut. She’s such a gem.”
I half expected her to reach over and pat me on the head.
“That she is.” Colin pulled a cigar out of his pocket and lit it. “I do hope I’m not interrupting delicate conversation.”
“Not at all,” I said. “Lady Glover has just been showing me—”
“Now, now, Lady Emily, that’s to be our little secret. Gentlemen don’t need to know everything. We ladies ought to have some mysteries just for ourselves.”
“Far be it for me to presume otherwise,” Colin said. “How is your husband?”
“Well enough,” Lady Glover said. “His gout’s troubling him again, the poor man.”
“And are you on tenterhooks wondering if you’ll wake up to find red paint splashed across your front door?” he asked.
“Me? Far from it,” she said. “I’m the only person in London with nothing to hide.”
Somehow, I did not believe her.
My doubts about Lady Glover aside, I did find myself enjoying her company. I knew her comments to Colin were meant to get my hackles up—but I had no cause to doubt my husband’s fidelity. That was a subject upon which I had absolute peace of mind. No one was more trustworthy than he, and I had utter faith in him. Most likely because I did not respond to her bait, Lady Glover held me in higher esteem after that meeting, and soon became a regular caller at our house in Park Lane.
Today, I was returning the compliment. I raised the heavy knocker on the Glovers’ door and, in short order, was shown into what the mistress of the house called the Egyptian drawing room. Every flat surface in the chamber was covered with objects—scarabs, ushabtis, colored beads, small glass bottles—she’d begun collecting some years back, when she first took a fancy to the ancient civilization. A grouping of stone stelae hung on one of the walls, hieroglyphs carved around images of a placid-looking pharaoh. Lady Glover was stretched out on a low settee that looked more Roman than Egyptian, but I meted no judgment on her combining of cultures. Her gown, fashioned from layers of thin linen and belted with a narrow strip of gold, would have inspired jealousy in the finest Roman wives.
“Come, come, Lady Emily,” she said, motioning me towards her. As I approached, she sat halfway up and kissed me on each cheek, then returned to her elegant reclining pose. “Do you approve of my Ptolemaic fashion? Roman, of course, if one is going to be proper, but it’s what Cleopatra would have worn.”
“It’s beautiful,” I said.
“But you wouldn’t have the courage to wear it.”
“Not outside a fancy dress party,” I said, taking a seat in a low, gilded chair before I noticed we were not alone in the room. Reginald Foster, resplendent in a perfectly tailored jacket, was standing on his tiptoes to greet me. “Mr. Foster! Forgive me, I didn’t see you.”
“No apology necessary. Who could focus on anything beyond the beauty in front of us?”
“You appear to be in the wrong room, Mr. Foster,” I said. “Lady Glover, do you have a designated space for medieval courtly love?”
“What an idea!” She pushed up one elbow and rested her chin on her hand. “I should redo the entire house, making each room reflect a different historical period.”
“Just don’t have a Waterloo room,” Mr. Foster said, masterfully dividing his glances equally between us two ladies. “Apsley House should have the exclusive rights to that. The Duke of Wellington deserves nothing less.”
“Fair enough,” she said. “But I am going to have a room whose walls are covered in red paint.”
“Do you think that’s wise?” Mr. Foster said. “The perpetrator is wreaking havoc on society.”
“Which is just what society deserves,” she said. “Come now, Reggie, you cannot claim you don’t agree with me. We’ve discussed this too many times.”
“I do appreciate how passionately you feel about the subject, Valerie, but there must be limits,” he said, his voice softer than it had been. “You know that perfectly well. We can’t have the public acting as vigilantes. It would lead to no end of trouble.”
“You’re lucky you’re not my husband, Reggie,” she said. “I’d force you to openly support my positions.”
Their easy familiarity with each other took me aback. I couldn’t decide whether to be impressed or shocked that a man with Mr. Foster’s political aspirations could openly associate with a woman of Lady Glover’s reputation.
Without pausing or giving the slightest reaction to her comment, Mr. Foster changed the subject. “You told me Lady Emily is aware of the correspondence you received regarding the matter at hand?”
“Lady Emily was the first person in whom I confided. Proximity to her husband is nearly the same as being an agent for the Crown, you know.”
“I’ve been trying—with no success—to convince Lady Glover to tell me what she sent this madman in reply,” Mr. Foster said. His voice had lost the intimate tone that had crept in earlier, and he sounded more like a politician again.
“I wouldn’t count on getting her to crack,” I said. “You’ll have to satisfy yourself with the content of the note she received.”
“And the yellow sealing wax,” Mr. Foster said. “One doesn’t see that often.”
“You were here when Lady Glover opened the note?” I asked.
“No, no, I only just read it before you arrived,” he said.
“Our man was clever to leave no clue to his identity,” Lady Glover said.
“Or so it would seem. I wonder his motivation is for sending it at all? What can he hope to gain?” I asked. “May I read it again, Lady Glover?” She handed it to me and I analyzed every inch of the page. There was an oily stain where the wax had once been, but no trace of it remained.
“I think it may be your friend, Mr. Barnes, who is reaching out to me,” Lady Glover said, leaning closer to Mr. Foster. “He’s an outsider, as am I, and might rightly suspect I’d lend a sympathetic ear to his plight.”
“That, my dear, may be the silliest thing you’ve ever suggested,” Mr. Foster said. “Simon isn’t an outsider. He’s nearly as important to this country as the prime minister.”
“He’s not English,” Lady Glover said.
“A fact that hasn’t curtailed his influence on those who run the empire,” Mr. Foster said. “You won’t find a better respected man in Westminster.”
“He’d say the same thing about you,” I said.
“He’s been splendid to me since school. I was a few years behind him and he took me quite under his wing during my first days. He remembered what it was like to be the new boy. I’d trust him with my life.”
“I admit that’s something of a relief,” Lady Glover said. “He’s not my vision of a romantic correspondent.”
“I don’t see how there’s anything romantic about receiving correspondence from a murderer,” I said. “You should take this very seriously, Lady Glover.”
“I assure you, I do,” she said. “I shall set Lord Glover to the task of having the house watched. I want to know who is delivering these messages.”
“It was only one message, was it not?” I asked. “What makes you think there will be more?”
“My dear Lady Emily,” she said. “More are a certainty. I’m in my element here. You can trust me to know when a man will be back in contact.”
