Mistress of Scandal (Greentree Sisters 3)

Prologue

London

Aphrodite’s Club

1849

“I need you to go back to a time many years ago.” Madame Aphrodite sat forward in her Egyptian-style chair, her black silk gown rustling, her long fingers, heavy with rings, gripping the sphinx carvings on the armrests. Her beautiful, haggard face was intent, while her dark gaze was fixed upon Sebastian Thorne. “I need your help,” she said hoarsely.

“Of course,” Sebastian murmured. He was used to overwrought clients—it was something he had seen a lot of in the past eight years—but there was something about this one that was different. “I will do what I can, Madame.”

Aphrodite must have decided she was playing her hand too openly, exposing her raw feelings, because she leaned back, forcing her clenched fingers to relax, one by one. “So you will help me?”

“Yes, if I can.”

“You are the best…or so I have been told.” She gave a little smile.

“I am flattered.” Sebastian bowed his head.

“Don’t be, mon ami! I was also told that you are a dangerous opponent and give no quarter to those you hunt; that there are those who glance over their shoulders and look for you in the shadows and shiver. But I am not one of them, so that does not concern me. I want results, and I do not care how they are obtained. If you are ruthless, then so much the better.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “Then explain to me what it is you want, Madame, and I will tell you honestly whether or not I can obtain it for you.”

“Very well.” She smoothed her skirts. “Let us begin.”

Beyond the room Sebastian heard laughter—women’s voices. He knew that although Aphrodite’s Club offered many forms of entertainment to its patrons, it was actually a high-class brothel. Such things did not bother him; for the past eight years he had walked through the darkest streets in London and seen some nightmare sights, so he doubted he could be shocked. Besides, Aphrodite’s Club had a better reputation than most. The owner was the mysterious Madame Aphrodite, and although there were plenty of stories and rumors about her, no one knew the truth. Whatever it was she wanted from him, he needed to hear it from her own lips.

“You called me here to help you, Madame,” he prompted her now. “I am at your disposal.”

She looked amused, as if she knew his gentlemanly good manners were nothing more than the veneer over something far more dangerous. But then her face grew serious once more, her eyes full of painful memories.

“Twenty-four years ago my three daughters were stolen by a woman called Mrs. Slater. She was one of those evil creatures known as a baby farmer, and she came to my country home in the night, and bundled my poor children into a coach. I was here, in London, and the servants were asleep. I do not blame them, for how could they know what was about to happen? How could any of us have known? Besides, it seems likely she had an informant, someone who knew which door would be unlocked, and where the nursery was situated.”

For a moment she seemed to brood on the perfidy of that someone, and then she drew a deep breath and went on.

“Unknown to me, Mrs. Slater took my daughters north, to the Greentree estate in Yorkshire, where she had leased a cottage. For a time they lived there, unharmed, although they were left very much to fend for themselves.” Aphrodite blinked back tears. “Imagine it, mon ami, three little girls—Francesca no more than a baby—left to feed and dress and care for themselves? Vivianna was six years old…” She managed a smile. “I dread to think what would have happened to the two tiny ones without my sensible and clever Vivianna. Then Mrs. Slater’s husband came to live at the cottage. He was in his cups most of the time, shouting at them. They were afraid of him—they had never been shouted at before. They were left alone more than ever, locked in one room, cold and hungry. Frightened. And then one day the Slaters left, abandoning the cottage…and the children.”

“They were left entirely alone?” Sebastian found his jaded senses could still be shocked after all.

“Oui, all alone, until Amy Greentree rescued them.”

“And you want me to find Mrs. Slater and her husband?”

“That is part of it. While she was living in the cottage, Mrs. Slater would visit the village inn, and she was heard to boast about how clever she had been, and that she was expecting to be well paid for something she was hiding. Of course she meant the children. Someone was paying her to do what she did. That is why I need you to find that monstrous woman, Mr. Thorne.

Mrs. Slater is the key that will unlock the truth.”

Sebastian’s voice was tempered with caution. “You don’t know that Mrs. Slater is still alive. These events happened many years ago. She may have drunk herself to death by now.”

“Psht! Creatures such as she do not die so easily. They cling to life, no matter how miserable, because they are afraid that their evil will be punished in the hereafter.”

Sebastian thought she might well be right.

“Go to Yorkshire,” Aphrodite was instructing him in a firm voice. “Go to the Greentree estate and visit the village. After Mrs. Slater and her husband fled, they must have hidden themselves somewhere. People notice. There was much talk at the time the children were found. Someone must remember something. Start there, Mr. Thorne, and follow the trail. I will pay your costs. How much do you require to begin?”

He smiled, and bowed his head to hide it.

But Aphrodite saw, and raised her slim dark eyebrows at him. “I amuse you, mon ami?” she said tartly.

“It is just that I’m not used to such plain speaking, Madame. Most of my clients prefer to pretend I am doing their bidding out of the goodness of my own heart. They do not discuss money. It is impolite; it is beneath them. Besides”—and he shrugged to show he didn’t care—“they prefer to despise me for what I do.”

Aphrodite waved an impatient hand. “Psht! I have no time for such foolishness. I do not care who you are, only that you will do this job for me, and for that I will pay you very well.”

“I will try—”

“Come now, you are the best! You found Lady Harmer when she shot her lover and fled her home, and you discovered Sir Marcus Grimsby when he ran off with the parlormaid and his family’s fortune. You have a reputation, Mr. Thorne.”

She was right; he was the best at what he did. He was a hunter, and once he had the scent of his prey he followed the trail wherever it led. “A veritable human bloodhound,” he murmured.

She laughed, but sadness lingered in her eyes and about her mouth.

“If it becomes necessary to speak with your daughters, Madame…?”

“Vivianna is presently in Derbyshire, and Marietta is in Cornwall. Francesca remains in Yorkshire, at Greentree Manor.” She sighed, as if Francesca were a source of concern to her.

“And will you take your daughters into your confidence in this matter?”

Again she leaned forward, her expression deadly serious. “Under no circumstances should you reveal your true quest to them, sir. I do not want them to know. They will pester me into telling them, and…and I cannot be pestered about this matter. It is dangerous. Even you, Mr. Thorne, must tread very carefully. The persons you are seeking will harm you if they think you might threaten their anonymity.”

“I am not afraid, Madame, but I am not a fool. I will be careful.”

“Good, that is good.”

“May I ask what you hope to accomplish by this search? And why you have waited so long?”

Aphrodite’s dark eyes took on a feverish quality. “A name. I need to hear a name spoken aloud. I thought I could put it behind me but I can no longer live with this terrible fear. I begin to think that he will strike again,” and she pressed her hand to her heart. “It is making me ill. I want to know that my daughters are no longer in danger from him. I want to enjoy their company and not be always afraid.”

“You want to put an end to it, Madame. I understand that. What about punishment? Justice? Do you want this person brought before the law? Or do you prefer to deal out your own brand of retribution?”

She blinked, but he could see that she understood exactly what he was saying. “You have done this before?” she whispered. “You have punished people for their crimes?”

“You said you knew the sort of man I was,” he reminded her quietly. “Madame, it is clear that you suspect someone else to be the general behind Mrs. Slater. Can you tell me his name?”

But she shook her head violently. “Non, non! Not yet. I want you to discover it for yourself. I want to hear it spoken on your lips. I want to know I am not the only one who believes it is so.”

She was frightened, and it was a fear that had been with her for a long time.