Finishing up with the desk, Ben went to Livy, who was standing in front of a wall, staring up at a row of paintings.
“Did you find anything?” she asked.
“Evidence of Longmere’s debt,” he replied. “What about you?”
“Nothing yet.” Pursing her lips, she pointed at the paintings. “Do you notice anything odd?”
He regarded the three works. Framed in gilt, each one depicted a fruit bowl from various angles. “They appear unexceptional,” he said truthfully.
“The one at the end is jutting out a bit, isn’t it?”
Looking closer, he was amazed at her eye for detail. “You’re right.”
He reached up and grabbed hold of the heavy frame. Surprised when it didn’t budge, he examined the painting closer. It wasn’t just hung on the wall…it was affixed to it. Why? He ran his fingers over the ornate gold border, encountering a switch. He pressed it, and the panel that had been concealed by the painting swung open like a door.
“Zounds,” Livy breathed. “What’s inside?”
He reached in and pulled out the contents: a leather-bound volume.
He flipped through the handwritten pages.
“It’s Longmere’s journal,” Livy said excitedly.
Side by side, they skimmed the passages. The earliest ones detailed Longmere’s despondency over his artistic ambitions. His hopes of becoming financially solvent through his painting had been met with failure after failure. Ben paused at an entry that proved to be a turning point:
Two nights ago, as I stumbled out of a Whitechapel tavern, drunk on despair, a stranger came to me. A Chinese man with a long braid and beard, his face hidden behind a mask. Shrouded in fog and mystical secrets, he wore the robes of his ancient civilization. He offered me salvation…and I took it. The Devil’s Bliss has all the pleasures of the poppy’s tears and none of the pains. It is as if I’ve been looking through a filthy window all this time and never knew it.
Now the panes are clear, and I see the world in a rapturous new light. Last night, I fell into a trance, painting until I must have lost consciousness. When I awoke, I saw before me a canvas at last deserving of my name. My talent and genius are finally revealed…
Memories flooded Ben: he saw himself in the soaring euphoric prose…and was not surprised by what soon followed.
My muse has become my nemesis. Inspiration has become anguish, which can only be held at bay by taking more. Like Midas, I regret my foolish choice. I am held captive, will never be able to free myself from the bargain I made with the Devil.
Longmere’s last entry, written mere days before his demise, turned Ben’s insides to ice.
I have not seen the Devil since that first fateful night. Sometimes I wonder if he is a figment of my darkest imagination: the Chinese warlord, the brilliant alchemist, the spy with eyes and ears everywhere. His minions lure my friends and me in with promises of riches and happiness. The Devil knows everything, sees everything, is everything.
If he knows what I am thinking, then he knows that I suspect the truth: the Devil’s Bliss can bring ecstasy…and it can kill. While this poison is in my blood, I cannot have it upon my conscience as well. I will be a weakling no longer. I must purge myself—and the world—of this toxin. I must stand strong and confront the felonious Master Fong once and for all.
Eyes huge, Livy said, “Do you think Longmere confronted this Master Fong and was killed for his efforts?”
“That is a likely hypothesis,” Ben said grimly. “Which makes it all the more important to find this murderous villain and put a stop to the Devil’s Bliss.”
23
The following evening, the Willflowers attended a soiree hosted by Lady Newberry. Glory’s parents had offered to chaperone Livy, and Charlie had taken them up on the offer. Livy knew her mentor planned to spend the evening making inquiries into the mysterious Master Fong.
Ben was on a similar mission, and Livy wished with all her heart that they could join efforts. When she had brought up the notion, however, Charlie had opposed it.
“Give a man an inch, and he will take over the entire case. The Angels do not require male assistance,” Charlie had said with cool finality. “You are an adult, Livy, and I will not diminish your independence by telling you what to do in your personal affairs. Do not, however, forget the oath you took when you joined.”
Livy’s insides knotted. How could she possibly forget? At times, it seemed all she could think about was the secret she was keeping from Ben.
“Do try to enjoy yourself, Livy.” Cheeks glowing from a recent whirl around the dance floor, Fiona murmured, “There is nothing we can do to help Pippa at the moment, and an evening’s distraction from the dark business might do us all good.”
“The magic show should start soon,” Glory added. “The papers have been raving about the magician’s tricks, especially the one with the interlocking rings.”
The touring Chinese illusionist was all the rage in London. Passing through the drawing room earlier, Livy had seen the stage where he was set to perform, the banner above it reading, “Behold the Secrets of the Orient.” There was nothing like exoticism to draw a crowd.
“If you ask me, our hostess was a bit heavy-handed with the decoration,” Fi said dryly.
The ballroom showcased a mishmash of Orientalism. Strings of paper lanterns rustled over pots of tall, leafy bamboo. A stuffed tiger prowled over a Kashmir carpet, its expression disturbingly hungry. Objets d’art inspired by The Arabian Nights, including Aladdin’s golden lamp, were sprinkled throughout the room. Upon the walls hung tasseled silk scrolls of “calligraphy”; Glory had derisively noted that the
