Chapter One
The first indication he got that his carefully laid plans
for the night were doomed came when he opened his
bedchamber door and found Cleopatra standing in the hallway.
"Bloody hell," he said very softly. "I was expecting
Minerva."
His long-anticipated vision of a night of passion spent in
a comfortable bed with his lover and occasional business
partner, Lavinia Lake, faded into a hazy mist.
His past had come back to haunt him at a most inconvenient
moment.
"Hello, Tobias." The woman in the hall lowered the green
and gilt mask attached to the little gold post in her hand.
The cobra diadem that graced her long, elaborately braided
black wig gleamed in the light of a nearby wall sconce. Wry
amusement lit her dark eyes. "It has been a long time, has
it not? May I come in?"
It had, in fact, been three years since he had last seen
Aspasia Gray, but she had changed very little. She was
still a stunningly beautiful woman with a classical profile
that was well-suited to her guise as the queen of Egypt. He
knew that her real hair was a deep, rich brown. Her tall,
elegantly proportioned figure was displayed to advantage in
a pale green gown trimmed with gold embroidery.
The last thing he wanted to do tonight was renew old
acquaintances, Tobias March thought. But the sight of
Aspasia Gray had definitely shattered the mood. Memories
from that very dark time three years ago crashed over him
with the force of storm-driven waves.
He collected his wits with an effort and quickly surveyed
the darkened hallway behind Aspasia. There was no sign of
Lavinia. Maybe, if he acted swiftly, he would be able to
rid himself of his unwelcome visitor before his evening was
entirelyruined.
"I suppose you'd better come in." Reluctantly, he stepped
back.
"You have not changed, sir," she murmured. "Still as
gracious as ever, I see."
She entered the firelit room with a soft rustle of silken
skirts and a whisper of exotic perfume. He closed the door
and turned to face her.
He had not noticed any Cleopatras at the costume ball
earlier in the evening, but that was not surprising.
Beaumont Castle was a huge, sprawling monstrosity of a
house, and tonight it was crammed with people. He had been
interested in only one particular guest.
The invitation to the house party had come through the
auspices of Lord Vale. Tobias's first, automatic
inclination had been to decline the offer. He had little
interest in such affairs. House parties, in particular,
struck him as tedious at best, albeit his experience of
them was limited.
But then Vale had reminded him of the one singular
attraction of a properly organized country-house party.
Yes, there are the lengthy, boring breakfasts and the
frivolous conversations and the silly games, but bear in
mind this vastly important, highly relevant point: you and
Mrs. Lake will each be provided with a private bedchamber.
Furthermore, no one will pay the least attention to which
of those bedchambers you decide to occupy at night. Indeed,
the true objective of a well-planned house party is to
provide ample opportunities of that sort.
The reminder of the true nature of a large house party had
struck Tobias with the force of a lightning bolt. When
Vale, who had no intention of attending the Beaumont
affair, graciously offered the use of one of his private
carriages for the journey, Tobias had felt himself inspired.
He had been surprised, not to say greatly relieved, when
Lavinia agreed to the plan with very little fuss. He
suspected that her enthusiasm was generated in large part
because she viewed the house party as an excellent
opportunity to fish for new business. But he refused to
allow that fact to depress his spirits. For the first time
in their acquaintance, they would enjoy the luxury of being
able to spend the better portion of not one but two entire
nights in the cozy warmth and privacy of a real bed.
The prospect had been dazzling. For once there would be no
need to sneak about in remote sections of the park or make
do with the desk in Lavinia's little study. For three
glorious days he would not be obliged to rely on the
benevolent graces of Lavinia's housekeeper, who could
sometimes be persuaded to take herself off to shop for
currants when he came to call.
He certainly savored the all-too-brief encounters alone
with Lavinia in town, but those occasions--stimulating
though they were--tended to be rushed and occasionally
nerve-racking. The weather had a nasty habit of delivering
rain on afternoons when he chose the park for a tryst, and
one never knew when Lavinia's niece, Emeline, might select
an inopportune moment to return home.
There was also the unpredictable nature of the business in
which he and Lavinia were engaged. When one offered one's
services to persons who wished to commission private
inquiries and investigations, one never knew when a client
might knock on the door.
He looked at Aspasia. "What the devil are you doing here? I
thought you were in Paris."
"I am well aware that you have a tendency to be blunt to
the point of rudeness on occasion, Tobias. But surely I
deserve a warmer welcome from you. It is not as though I am
only a casual acquaintance, after all."
She was right, he thought. The two of them were forever
linked by the events of the past and by a dead man named
Zachary Elland.
"My apologies," he said quietly, "but the truth is, you
have caught me very much by surprise. I did not see you
this afternoon when the other guests descended on the
castle, nor did I notice you at the costume ball tonight."
"I arrived quite late, after the evening festivities had
commenced. I saw you at the ball, but you were preoccupied
with your little redheaded friend." Aspasia stripped off
her gloves with languid grace and held her hands out to the
fire. "Who on earth is she, Tobias? I would not have said
that she was your type."
"Her name is Mrs. Lake." He did not bother to conceal the
edge to his words.
"Ah, I see." She looked down into the flames. "You are
lovers." It was a statement, not a question.
"We are also business partners," he said evenly. "On
occasion."
Aspasia glanced at him, fine brows lifted in a faintly
quizzical expression. "I do not understand. Do you refer to
some financial dealings in which the two of you are
engaged?"
"In a manner of speaking. Mrs. Lake and I both make our
livings in the same fashion. She takes commissions for
private inquiries, just as I do. We investigate certain
cases together."
She smiled fleetingly. "I suppose the private-inquiry
business is a step up from being a spy, but surely it is
not nearly as respectable as your previous career as a man
of business."
"I find it suits my temperament."
"I will not ask how your partner made her living before she
went into this odd profession."
Enough was enough, he thought. There were limits to one's
obligations to old acquaintances. "Aspasia, tell me why you
are here. I have plans for the remainder of the night."
"Plans that no doubt include Mrs. Lake." Aspasia sounded
genuinely apologetic. "I truly am sorry, Tobias. Please
believe me when I tell you that I would not have come to
your bedchamber at this hour had it not been extremely
urgent."
"Can this matter wait until morning?"
"I'm afraid not." She turned away from the fire and walked
slowly toward him.
Aspasia was a woman of the world. He knew that she was well-
schooled in the fine social art of concealing her private
sentiments and feelings. But now he glimpsed a disturbing
shift in the shadows beneath her cool veneer. He had seen
that same emotion often enough in others to recognize it
instantly. Aspasia Gray was afraid.
"What is wrong?" he asked, somewhat more gently this time.
She sighed. "I did not come here to spend a few days
rusticating in the country. As of last night, I had no
intention whatsoever of accepting the invitation to
Beaumont's house party. Indeed, I sent my regrets some
weeks ago. But things changed. I am here now because I
followed you, sir."
He glanced at his pocket watch lying on the dressing table
and saw that it was nearly one o'clock in the morning. The
house had settled down for the night. In a few minutes
Lavinia would knock on his door. He very much wanted to get
rid of Aspasia before that happened.
"Why the devil did you chase all this way after me?" he
asked. "It's a six-hour drive from Town."
"I had no choice. This morning I went straight to your
address in Slate Street but you had already departed. Your
man informed me that you had left for Beaumont Castle and
would be gone for several days. Fortunately, I remembered
that the invitation mentioned the costume ball. I managed
to find this wig and a mask at the last minute."
"You received an invitation to this affair?" he asked,
curiosity stirring.
"Yes, of course." Aspasia brushed that aside. "Lady
Beaumont sends invitations to everyone in Society. She
delights in entertaining. It has been her passion for
years, and Lord Beaumont is only too happy to indulge her."
Everyone in Society certainly did not include Lavinia or
himself, he reflected. They managed to hang around on the
fringes of the polite world thanks to connections with some
wealthy, powerful former clients such as Vale and Mrs.
Dove, but that association did not automatically qualify
them to be placed on any hostess's regular guest list.
Aspasia's pedigree, on the other hand, was impeccable. She
was the last of her line, and she controlled a substantial
inheritance that she had received from her father. At
seventeen she had been briefly married to a man some forty
years her senior. His death six months after the nuptials
had left her with an additional income. Tobias calculated
that she was now twenty-eight. The combination of beauty,
breeding, and money made her an extremely attractive
addition to any guest list. It was not at all surprising
that she had received an invitation to Beaumont Castle.
"I'm surprised the housekeeper was able to find a
bedchamber for you on such short notice," he said. "I
thought the castle was filled to the rafters."
"It is quite crowded. But when I arrived and made it plain
that there had been 'a mistake with the invitations,' the
butler and housekeeper consulted together. They managed to
find a very pleasant room for me just down the hall. I
suspect that they arranged to move someone of lesser
consequence to a less desirable location."
"Tell me what this is about, Aspasia."
She began to pace back and forth in front of the
hearth. "I'm not sure where to start. I returned from Paris
last month and took a house in Town. Naturally I had
intended to call upon you in due course after I was
settled."
He watched her face very closely and decided that he did
not entirely believe that last statement. He was quite
certain that, if she'd had a choice in the matter, she
would have been content to avoid him indefinitely. He
understood. She would always associate him with the tragic
events of three years past.
"What changed your mind?" he asked.
Her expression did not alter, but her elegant bare
shoulders stiffened with tension. It would, he reflected,
take a great deal to rattle Aspasia's nerves.
"Something happened this morning," she said, gazing into
the fire. "Something quite unsettling. I could not think of
anything else to do but to consult with you immediately,
Tobias."
"I suggest you come straight to the point," he said.
"Very well, but I fear you will not credit what I have to
say if I do not show you what was left on my front step
early this morning."
She opened a tiny, beaded reticule and removed a small
object wrapped in a linen handkerchief. She offered it to
him on the palm of her hand.
He plucked the small parcel from her fingers and carried it
across the room to examine it in the light of the candle.
There he untied the handkerchief and let the cloth fall
away.
He looked at the ring that had been revealed and felt the
hair lift on the back of his neck.
"Hell's teeth," he whispered.
Aspasia said nothing. She folded her arms beneath her
breasts and waited, eyes shadowed.
He studied the ring more closely. The band was set with
black stones. The darkly glittering gems framed a small
gold coffin. He used the tip of one finger to raise the lid.
A tiny, exquisitely detailed white skull grinned up at him
from inside the miniature sarcophagus.
He angled the ring to read the Latin inscription on the
inside of the lid, translating the ancient warning silently
to himself. Death comes.
He met Aspasia's eyes. "It is an old memento-mori ring."
"Yes." She hugged herself more tightly.
"You said it was left on your doorstep?"
"My housekeeper found it. The ring was inside a small box
covered in black velvet."
"Was there a note? A message of some kind?"
"No. Just that damned ring." She shuddered, no longer
bothering to conceal her disquiet. "You see now why I went
to such lengths to find you tonight?"
"It is impossible," he said flatly. "Zachary Elland is
dead, Aspasia. We both saw the body."
She closed her eyes briefly in pain and then looked at him
very steadily. "You do not need to remind me."
The old guilt slammed through him. "Of course not. My
apologies."
"Afterward," she said slowly, "you told me you'd heard
rumors of another man who once made a profession of murder,
just as Zachary had done, a killer who used the same
ghastly signature."
"Calm yourself, Aspasia."
"I recall you told me that he was never caught and that
there was never any proof of murder in the first place
because the deaths always appeared accidental or natural."
"Aspasia--"
"Maybe he's still out there, Tobias. Maybe--"
"Listen closely," he said in a tone that finally succeeded
in silencing her. "The original Memento-Mori Man, if he
ever actually existed, would be quite elderly by now. Dead,
most likely. Those rumors dated from decades back.
Crackenburne and some of his companions heard them years
ago when they themselves were young men."
"Yes, I know."
"They eventually concluded that the tale of a professional
killer for hire was never anything other than just that, a
grisly legend. It was fed by rumors among servants who
gossiped in the taverns and told tall tales to their
friends. Zachary no doubt took pleasure in invoking the old
stories because it suited his sense of melodrama. You know
how he thrived on excitement."
"Yes, of course." The room was warm, but she rubbed her
arms as though she felt a chill. "He craved thrills and
drama the way some are addicted to opium." She
hesitated. "He no doubt enjoyed re-creating the legend of
the Memento-Mori Man. Now it would appear that someone else
has the same taste for melodrama."
"Perhaps."
"Tobias, I do not mind telling you that I am quite
frightened."
"Obviously someone else knows about Zachary Elland and his
connection to you." He contemplated the miniature skull in
the gold coffin. "Are you sure there was no note?"
"I am positive." She stared bleakly at the ring. "He left
that death's- head on my step to terrify me."
"Why would he do that?"
"I do not know." A visible shiver went through her. "I've
been thinking about that question all day. Indeed, I've
thought of little else." She paused. "What if . . . what if
whoever left that ring blames me for Zachary's death and
seeks some sort of crazed revenge?"
"Zachary took his own life when he realized that I was
about to have him brought up on charges of murder. You had
nothing to do with his death."
"Maybe whoever left that ring doesn't know that."
"Indeed." But that conclusion did not feel right, he
thought. He raised the little skull to the light again. The
death's-head stared back at him with its empty eye sockets,
taunting him with its macabre grin. "We must also consider
the possibility that this was intended as an announcement
of some sort."
"What do you mean?"
He weighed the ring in the palm of his hand. "You are one
of the very small number of people who would comprehend the
significance of this ring, because you are one of the few
who knew that Zachary Elland styled himself the Memento-
Mori Man and used such rings as his signature. I wonder if
this is some new villain's way of telling us that he plans
to take up Zachary's professional mantle."
"You mean there might be another murderer out there who
seeks to emulate the Memento-Mori Man? What a terrible
thought." She paused. "But if that were true, it would have
been far more logical for him to leave his calling card
with you, not me. You were the one who hunted Zachary down."
"For all I know there will be a ring waiting for me when I
return to Town," he said quietly. "I set off very early
this morning. Perhaps he delivered this ring to you first,
and by the time he got to my house I was gone."
She swung around and took a step toward him, anxiety clear
in her eyes. "Tobias, whoever left that ring has something
dreadful in mind. If you are right and this is a calling
card, we are dealing with a new Memento-Mori Man. You must
find him before someone is murdered."