“I shouldn’t underestimate Ivy if I were you, husband. She has discovered something.”
Conall ruminated a brief moment on this absurd statement and then said, “Yes?”
“It wasn’t simply that the poison was to come from London; there was a London agent involved, a mastermind if you would believe it. Ivy seems to think that this man orchestrated the whole attempt.”
Lord Maccon stilled. “What?”
“Here you thought you had put the matter to rest.” Alexia was feeling justifiably smug.
The earl’s face became still—the quiet before the storm. “Did she provide any details concerning the identity of this agent?”
“Only that he was supernatural.”
Behind them, Professor Lyall’s paper rustling stopped. He looked over at them, his vulpine face sharpened further by inquisitiveness. Randolph Lyall’s position at BUR was not held because he was Beta to Lord Maccon, but because of his innate investigative abilities. He had an astute mind and a nose for trouble—literally, being a werewolf.
Lord Maccon’s temper frothed over. “I knew the vampires had to be involved somehow! The vampires are always involved.”
Alexia stilled. “How do you know it was vampires? It could have been a ghost, or even a werewolf.”
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 course.”
Lord Akeldama tapped one fang with the edge of his monocle. “I dare say your last option is best.”
“Werewolves?” Alexia looked into her teacup.
“A werewolf, yes, my gherkin.”
Alexia put down her cup and then flicked the two sounding rods on the harmonic device to encourage greater auditory disruption. “A loner I suppose, which leaves me in the same situation as a ghost. Most of the local loners were eliminated by the Hypocras Club’s illegal experiments last year.” She poured herself a second cup of tea, added a small dollop of milk, and lifted it to her lips.
Lord Akeldama shook his head, looking unusually pensive. The monocle stopped tapping. “You are missing a piece in this game, I think, butterball. My instincts are inclined to say pack, not loner. You don’t know what the local pack was like at that time. But I remember. Oh, yes. There were rumors all over town. Nothing proven, of course. The last Alpha wasn’t right in the head. A fact kept well away from public and press, and from daylight musings for that matter, but a fact, nonetheless. What he was doing to earn that reputation, well???.?.?.”
“But even twenty years ago, the local pack was?.?.?.” Alexia sat back, sentence unfinished, hand instinctively and protectively pressed upon her belly.
“Woolsey.”
Alexia mentally catalogued the Woolsey Pack members. Aside from her husband and Biffy, all of them were holdovers from the previous Alpha. “Channing,” she said finally. “I’ll wager it was Channing. He certainly didn’t like the idea of my investigating the past. Interrupted me in the library just the other day. I’ll need to check the military records, of course, find out who was in England at the time and who was billeted overseas.”
“Good girl,” approved the vampire. “Nice and thorough, but I have something more for you. That cook who worked for the OBO who you were investigating? The little poisoner?”
“Oh, yes. How did you know about her?”
“Please, darling.” He gestured with the monocle toward himself, as if pointing a finger.
“Oh, of course. I apologize. Do go on.”
“She preferred a tannin-activated dosing mechanism. Very hard to detect, you understand. Her preferred brand of poison at the time was stimulated by the application of hot water and a chemical component most commonly found in tea.”
Alexia put down her teacup with a clatter.
Lord Akeldama continued, eyes twinkling. “It requires a specialized automechanical nickel-lined teapot. The teapot was to arrive as a gift for Queen Victoria, and the first time she drank from it—death.” The vampire made a gesture with two slim, perfectly manicured fingers curving down toward his own neck, like fangs. “Your little ghost may have supplied the poison, but teapots of that type were made by only one specialty manufacturer.”
Lady Maccon narrowed her eyes. Coincidence was a fateful thing. “Let me guess, Beatrice Lefoux?”
“Indeed.”
Alexia stood, slowly and cautiously by degrees but with evident firmness of intent, leaning upon her parasol. “Well, this has been most edifying, Lord Akeldama. Most edifying. Thank you. I must be on my way.”
Right at that moment, there was a scuffle in the hallway and the door to the drawing room burst open to reveal the dewan.
“What is the meaning of such a summons as I just received?” He barreled into the room all loud bluster, bringing along an odor of London night air and raw meat.