“Those are positive signs,” Fiona agreed.
“If I can help track down Fong, then I will demonstrate my competence once and for all,” Livy concluded. “Hadleigh is a reasonable man. Once he sees that I’m perfectly safe working as an Angel, and I apologize for keeping him in the dark, I’m certain he’ll support my dreams.”
Her friends looked at her…and grinned.
“Then let’s solve this case, shall we?” Glory said.
“Thank you for seeing us, Miss Hoskins,” Livy said politely.
“Call me CeCe, luv.” The stunning blonde woman curled up on the threadbare chaise dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. “All my friends do, and any friend o’ Edwin’s is a friend o’ mine.”
At the intimate use of Longmere’s name, Livy exchanged uneasy glances with her friends, who occupied the mismatched chairs next to hers. They were in the shabby parlor of Miss Alicia Hoskins’s cramped flat. The model was gorgeous, with wavy hair, heavy-lidded turquoise eyes, and a curvaceous figure barely contained by her flimsy pink robe.
Sensing an opening, Livy took it. “That is the reason we are here today. We know that you were one of his favorite models.”
“I sat for him just a week before ’is passing,” CeCe said with a sniffle.
“Did you notice anything out of the ordinary about his behavior then?”
“Why does that matter now?”
“It might be related to his death,” Glory said.
CeCe’s long lashes fanned rapidly. “I thought that Edwin’s death was an accident. An excess o’ laudanum, the papers said.”
“We are investigating all the possibilities,” Livy said. “At the request of his widow.”
“Oh, the countess is such a dear thing; ’ow she must be grieving. I do want to ’elp if I can.” Twin lines forming between her brows, CeCe said, “Come to think o’ it, there was something unusual that ’appened before one o’ my sittings. Edwin was ’aving an argument with someone. A woman.”
Livy’s pulse sped up. “Do you know her name? Can you describe her appearance?”
CeCe shook her head. “I didn’t see ’er. I’d arrived early and was waiting for Edwin to let me in, it being the ’ousekeeper’s day off. I ’eard raised voices coming from the front parlor. I couldn’t make out most o’ what they were saying, but the woman sounded like a blue blood…” The model mimicked in aristocratic tones, “After all I’ve done for you, this is how you repay me. That part I ’eard. By the time Edwin came to the door, she was gone. I asked ’im about it, but ’e brushed me off. Said it wasn’t important.”
Who was the mysterious woman? Livy wondered. What was the quarrel about?
A sudden intuition gripped her as she recalled Cherise Foxton at the ball with Simon Thorne. Was Lady Foxton involved with the Horsemen? Could her tears have been related to Longmere? Could she be the mysterious aristocratic woman CeCe had overheard?
“There’s something else.” CeCe gnawed on her lip. “A few days before that, I was supposed to pose for Edwin, and when I arrived ’e was in a feverish state. ’E’d been up all night, working on a painting and, by the looks o’ it, drinking as well. ’E was ranting and raving about being ‘useless’ and a ‘weakling.’ Said the painting meant nothing if ’e lacked the fortitude to get to the ‘heart o’ the matter,’ as ’e put it. Then ’e shoved the canvas at me and told me to throw it in the rubbish bin.
“At the time, I didn’t think much o’ ’is outburst—artists are a temperamental lot, and Edwin was always bemoaning this or that. But the piece wasn’t so bad, so instead o’ tossing it out, I kept it. I thought Edwin might want to work on it again someday.”
The hairs tingled on Livy’s nape. “Do you still have the painting?”
The model nodded. “I’ll fetch it.” She rushed out of the parlor, her slippers flapping against the floor and robe fluttering against her calves.
“In his diary, Longmere called himself a weakling for not standing up to Fong,” Livy said with barely suppressed excitement. “I wonder if this painting has something to do with the villain.”
“I wonder why Pippa wasn’t worried about her husband being alone with the spectacular Miss Hoskins for hours on end,” Fiona murmured.
“Pippa is just as beautiful,” Livy pointed out.
“Nonetheless, one should never be too trusting,” Fi said sagely. “Especially when it comes to men.”
Glory snorted. “I think Charlie is rubbing off on you.”
Just then, another woman entered the parlor. In contrast to CeCe’s voluptuous sensuality, the newcomer was thin, dark-haired, and angular, and most surprisingly of all, dressed in male attire. She held a tray with a chipped teapot and a plate of biscuits.
“Morning, ladies,” the woman said in a friendly manner. “Thought I might offer you a spot o’ tea seeing as CeCe most likely forgot.”
Accepting a cracked cup, Livy smiled at her. “How kind of you, Miss…”
“You can call me Marg.” The woman winked at her. “All the pretty ladies do.”
Livy blinked in confusion, wondering if she’d imagined the innuendo.
CeCe returned, huffing, her arms stretched around a painting covered in an oilcloth.
“Are you teasing the poor girl?” she asked Marg.
“Just ’aving a bit o’ fun.” Marg gave her a playful grin. “Let me ’elp you with that, luv.”
Marg took the canvas, propping it on the chaise. CeCe tugged off the cloth.
Livy studied the painting. She hadn’t known what to expect, but it wasn’t this: a bland riverside scene done in muted strokes of beige, blue, and grey. A small, nondescript two-story building occupied the center of the canvas. It was perched on the banks of a river, an empty field to the right of it. To the left was a dock where several small boats floated, including one with the figurehead of a mermaid.
“Did Longmere say anything about the significance of this piece, CeCe?” Livy asked.
“Just what I told you: that he’d failed to get to the ’eart o’ the matter.” The model tilted her head. “But the painting isn’t so bad, is it?”
“Looks
