uncomfortable time, before Gideon spoke. “How many other members from my father’s time are still alive?”
“One,” she said quietly. “With Turner gone now, too, just the one.”
“Yes, but you’re forgetting those who took their places,” Jessica said, her mind racing. “The eldest offspring. Why couldn’t one of them be our killer, to protect his father’s memory, or to protect his own reputation if word were ever to get out? And what about those guests Trixie spoke of—one or more of them might also feel vulnerable. Your father’s Society was plotting the overthrow of the monarchy, Gideon, for pity’s sake. The Society was still active five years ago in some ways, I promise you that, although I can’t say it functioned as it once had. It may still go on today, in one form or another. But to be a member today would make it logical for anyone to believe there are still plots against the government, and all while Bonaparte threatens to invade us. That’s reason enough for a dozen murders.”
“Now you’re simply speculating, my dears, and rather wildly at that. Without Barry, their leader was gone,” Trixie reminded them. “The ceremonies, the masks, the orgies, the opium eating, I’m sure they went on. It was that side of things that most attracted many of the members, as Barry well knew. So, yes, I know they went on. But I was assured by Ranald Orford himself, the rest of it quickly shriveled to nothingness. Barry made them believe they were capable of anything. Without him, they had to convince themselves, and that wasn’t possible. If they still meet, it’s only to be naughty little boys, nothing more.”
“Naughty?” Jessica was instantly incensed. “My father was going to turn me over to be used in some horrible ceremony.”
Trixie shrugged yet again. “He may have been attempting to impress someone with his loyalty. It has been done before.”
She turned her attention back to Gideon. “That would be unsettling, however. It would mean there’s a clear new leader, perhaps even as strong as Barry. You force me to do some investigating. Go away now, Gideon. Thank God you’ve left off wearing that damnable golden rose. You can’t allow anyone to speculate that you’ve stumbled onto them. Your best strategy is to do nothing else until you hear from me.”
“I don’t know that I want you involved, Trixie,” Gideon said, getting to his feet and holding out his hand to Jessica. “If we’re anywhere close to correct with our speculations, you might be putting yourself in danger.”
“Danger? You forget, I have weapons of my own, so don’t worry your head about me. As to the boy? If you truly believe the ceremonies continue, in any way or form, I’d suggest locking him up somewhere. When the world goes mad, you can’t take too many precautions.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE DRIVE BACK TO JERMYN Street was accomplished in tense silence, but when Gideon tossed the reins to Thomas and followed Jessica inside, she didn’t object.
“We’ll be upstairs, Richard,” he called over his shoulder at her business partner. “See to it we’re not disturbed.”
“Yes, but—” the man protested before Jessica motioned him to silence.
“Take the knocker from the door, please, Richard. I’m sorry, but we won’t be entertaining for a while. I’ll explain later.”
“We won’t—Jess? What’s going on? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Go on up,” Gideon told her, touching his hand to her back. “I’ll join you shortly.”
She looked as if she might wish to argue the point. She looked at him for a long time, actually, as if memorizing him or some such thing, but then nodded and headed for the stairs.
“Richard? If you’d kindly put down that thing you’re waving about, I believe we need to have a conversation.”
The older man looked at the feather duster he’d been wielding and then laid it on one of the sheet-covered tables. “I wasn’t planning to employ it as a weapon,” he said. He reached beneath the sheet and came up with a nasty-looking wooden club. “This has served me well enough over the years. Do I need it now, my lord?”
“I most sincerely hope not,” Gideon said wryly as he pulled two chairs out from one of the card tables and pushed one toward Richard, choosing to turn his own around and straddle it. “Tell me about Jamie Linden.”
Richard eyed the chair as if considering other uses for it but then sat down. “A fellow of much my own age, but much better set up, I should think people would say. A winning smile, a clever tongue. You could almost like him, I suppose, although not quite so much when he was in his cups. But I barely knew the man.”
“Really? And are you quite sure you want to go on with that? I’ve already had to wade through evasions and outright lies once today. I don’t have the patience for a second round. I know what he was before he and Jessica ran off to escape her father’s plans for her. Now I want to know about the time between then and the day he died.”
“No, my lord, you don’t.” Richard extracted a large handkerchief from his pocket and wiped at his suddenly damp brow. “It was another time, another lifetime. The past is long behind her now, dead and gone.”
Gideon felt his muscles tensing. “He hurt her?”
“He hurt her,” Richard answered simply.
There was no easy way to ask his next question. “Only him?”
“Did he pass her around? Sell her body? Is that what you’re asking? Not after the first time, no. He couldn’t afford to lose his only asset.”
“Explain that.” Gideon felt physically ill and nearly on the sharp edge of madness. Everything Jessica had suffered, endured, could be led straight back to his father, the man who had begun it all.
“Look at her wrists.” Richard stood up. “I’ve got to get back to work, customers tonight or not. Damn, and what are we supposed to do with all that fish chowder?”
“Sit down. I’m not finished. How did you meet her? How did you end up here, together?”
“Most all of that’s not my story to tell, my lord.”
“Richard, you can tell me the whole, or I can choke it out of you. In my current mood, I’m amenable either way.”
“Yes, I can see that. You care, don’t you? Thank you. Very well.” Richard took up the chair once more and then fell silent, as if attempting to line up his facts in good order. “He took her up as he was ordered—I suppose when you say you know what happened, you know what I mean, and who gave him the order.”
“Her father, yes?”
Richard nodded his head. “But who ordered him, my lord? That’s a question I can’t answer, nor can Jess. Jamie Linden took that knowledge to his grave with him. The only thing she knew was he was terrified of someone and itching to get himself free of the country.”
Damn. One speculation put to rest, unfortunately. As of at least five years ago, there was a new leader. A strong leader, a dangerous leader. Another Barry Redgrave. One, if Trixie was to be believed, Turner Collier was prepared to hand over his own daughter to as a way of showing
