Heartless

Professor Lyall came over to participate in the conversation. “This is grave news.”

The earl continued to expound. “Well, if a ghost, she would have long since disanimated, so we’re well out of luck there. And if a werewolf, he must have been a loner of some kind. Most of those were killed off by the Hypocras Club last year. Damned scientists. So I suggest we start with the vampires.”

“I had already reached a similar conclusion myself, husband.”

“I’ll go to the hives,” suggested Professor Lyall, already heading for a hat rack.

Lord Maccon looked as though he would like to protest.

His wife put a hand to his arm. “No, that’s a good idea. He is far more politic than you. Even if he isn’t strictly gentry.”

Professor Lyall hid a smile, clapped his top hat to his head, and walked briskly out into the night without another word, merely touching the brim in Lady Maccon’s direction before departing.

“Very well,” grumbled the earl. “I’ll go after the local roves. There’s always a chance it could be one of them. And you—you stay right here and keep off that foot.”

“That is about as likely as a vampire going sunbathing. I am going to call upon Lord Akeldama. As potentate, he must be consulted on this matter. The dewan as well, I suppose. Could you send a man to inquire if Lord Slaughter could attend me this evening?”

Figuring that Lord Akeldama would at least ensure that his wife remain seated for some length of time in pursuit of gossip if for no other reason, the earl made no further protest. He cursed without much rancor and acquiesced to her request, sending Special Agent Haverbink off to alert the dewan. Lord Maccon did, however, insist upon seeing her to Lord Akeldama’s abode himself before pursuing his own investigations.

“Alexia, my poppadom, what are you doing in London this fine evening? Aren’t you supposed to be abed reveling in the romanticism of a weakened condition?”

Lady Maccon was, for once, not in the humor to entertain Lord Akeldama’s flowery ways. “Yes, but something highly untoward has occurred.”

“My dear, how perfectly splendid! Do sit and tell old Uncle Akeldama all about it! Tea?”

“Of course. Oh, and I should warn you, I have invited the dewan over. This is a matter for the Commonwealth.”

“Well, if you insist. But, my dearest flower, how ghastly to consider that such a mustache must shadow the clean-shaven grandeur of my domicile.” Lord Akeldama was rumored to insist that all his drones go without the dreaded lip skirt. The vampire had once had the vapors upon encountering an unexpected mustache around a corner of his hallway. Muttonchops were permitted in moderation, and only because they were currently all the rage among the most fashionable of London’s gentlemen-about-town. Even so, they must be as well tended as the topiary of Hampton Court.

With a sigh, Alexia settled herself into one of Lord Akeldama’s magnificent wingback chairs. The ever- considerate Boots rushed over with a pouf on which to rest her throbbing ankle.

Lord Akeldama noticed him and thus the fact that they were not alone. “Ah, Boots, my lovely boy, clear the room, would you, please? Oh, and bring me my harmonic auditory resonance disruptor. It’s on my dressing table next to the French verbena hand cream. There’s a dear.”

Boots, resplendent in his favorite forest-green velvet frock coat, nodded and vanished from the room. He reappeared shortly thereafter pushing in a laden tea trolley upon which lay the expected assortment of delicacies and a small spiky device.

“Will there be anything else, my lord?”

“No, thank you, Boots.”

Boots turned his attention eagerly onto Lady Maccon. “My lady?”

“No, thank you, Mr. Bootbottle-Fipps.”

Remarkably, her use of his proper name seemed to cause the young dandy some embarrassment, for he blushed and backed hurriedly out of the room, leaving them alone save for a plethora of gold-tasseled throw pillows and the fat calico cat purring placidly in a corner.

Lord Akeldama flicked the forks of the auditory disruptor, and the low-pitched humming sound commenced, the sound of two different kinds of bees arguing. He situated the device carefully in the center of the trolley. The cat, who had been lying on her back in a highly undignified sprawl, rolled over, stretched languidly, and ambled toward the drawing room door, disgruntled by the noise. When her lashing tail and obviously presented backside were ignored, she yowled imperiously.

Lord Akeldama rose. “Your servant, Madam Pudgemuffin,” he said, letting her out of the room.

Lady Maccon calculated that she and her host were on familiar enough terms for her to pour her own tea. She did so while he dealt with the demanding feline.

The vampire resumed his seat, crossing one silken leg over the other and rocking the crossed foot back and forth slightly. This was a gesture of impatience when exhibited by any ordinary human, but with Lord Akeldama it seemed to express suppressed energy rather than any particular emotional state. “I used to love pets, my dove, did you know? When I was mortal.”

“Did you?” Alexia encouraged cautiously. Lord Akeldama rarely spoke of his life before. She was afraid of saying more and thus forestalling further confidences.

“Yes. It is greatly troubling that I am now left with only a cat for company.”

Alexia refrained from mentioning the plethora of fashionable gentlemen who seemed to be ever in, out, and about Lord Akeldama’s domicile. “I suppose you might consider keeping more than one cat.”

“Oh, dear me, no. Then I should be known as that vampire with all the cats.”

“I hardly think that ever likely to become your defining characteristic, my lord.” Alexia took in her host’s evening garb—black tails and silver trousers, coupled with a corseted black and silver paisley waistcoat and silver cravat. The neckwear was pinned with a massive silver filigree pin, and the monocle dangling idly from one gloved hand was silver and diamond to match. Lord Akeldama’s golden hair was brushed to shiny butter yellow glory, fastened back in such a way that one long lock was allowed to artfully escape.

“Oh, clementine, what a splendid thing to say!”

Lady Maccon took a sip of tea and firmed up her resolve. “My lord, I do hate to ask this of you especially, but will you be completely serious with me for a moment?”

Lord Akeldama’s foot stopped rocking and his pleasant expression tightened. “My darling girl, we have known each other many years now, but such a request breaches even the bonds of our friendship.”

“I meant no offense, I assure you. But you remember this matter I have been investigating? How the current threat on the queen’s life has led me to dredge up a certain uncomfortable assassination attempt of the past?”

“Of course. As a matter of interest, I have some rather noteworthy information to relay to you on the subject. But, please, ladies first.”

Alexia was intrigued but spoke on as etiquette demanded. “I have heard from Scotland. It seems that there was an agent here in London who apparently concocted the whole dismal plot. A supernatural agent. You wouldn’t know anything of this, would you by any chance?”

“My dearest girl, you cannot possibly think that I—”

“No, actually, I don’t. You enjoy gathering information, Lord Akeldama, but very rarely seem to put it to any active use, aside from furthering your own curiosity. I fail to see how a botched assassination attempt could have anything to do with your unremitting inquisitiveness.”

“Quite logical of you, buttercup.” Lord Akeldama smiled, showing his fangs. They glistened silver in the bright gas lighting, matching his cravat.

“And, of course, you would never have botched it.”

The vampire laughed—a sharp sparkling sound of unexpected delight. “So kind, my little crumpet, so kind.”

“So, what do you make of it?”

“That twenty years ago, some supernatural or other, in London, was trying to kill the queen?”

“My husband thinks it must be a vampire. I’m inclined to suspect a ghost, which would leave the trail cold, of