Loving Lily (Fair Cyprians of London 6)

“That photographer who took our picture at Madame Plumb’s.”

Celeste dropped her brush. “What are you saying? There’s a photograph of me?” She jerked forward, her interest more aroused by the knowledge that she’d been secretly photographed rather than by the fact that her long list of male consorts was clearly public.

“Yes, a very flattering picture of you, Celeste. Mr Benedict the photographer was trying to sell it to the editor of Manners & Morals.” Lily tried not to show how much hope she was pinning on this conversation as she toyed with the pots of beauty creams on Celeste’s dressing table.

She glanced up to see Celeste’s lip curl before she grew excited once more. “Manners & Morals? Not quite their fare but, there’d be other publications interested if the photograph is, as you say, a good one.” She hugged the pillow as she leaned forward. “What did the photographer say? Did he think I looked beautiful? What is the word? Photogenic?”

“You looked beautiful, Celeste. That’s why the photographer was determined to shop it around until he got a buyer.” Lily thought quickly. She knew the extent of Celeste’s vanity. “And you see, Celeste, I think I could be persuasive enough to get a photograph printed. It would publicise the case and—”

“Who cares about publicising the case?” declared Celeste. “It would publicise me, more to the point. Oh, what I wouldn’t do to get my photograph into the newspapers.” She raised her eyes to the ceiling; her mind apparently engaged in a tremendous flight of fancy before she swivelled an intense look back at Lily. “How did you propose to persuade whoever it is you need to persuade? I presume you mean some newspaper editor?”

Lily met her look with a shrug. “I’d thought to invite him to where I lived. I think he could be susceptible to a bit of persuasion, and I wouldn’t mind doing it, you know, for he is very handsome.” A sentiment like this would surely reduce the gaping chasm between them. Celeste saw nothing wrong in selling her body for favours, whereas Lily wouldn’t do that to save her life.

But she could let Celeste think it, and hopefully Celeste would not regard her with quite so much disdain and distrust and so would volunteer more information about Mr Renquist.

“Where do you live? A life of ease in some grand mansion?”

Lily laughed. “A noisy bedsit that smells of boiled cabbage where I’m not allowed gentleman callers.”

“You really think you can get that photograph published?” Celeste had never been so animated. “I remember I was in fine form that night at Madame Plumb’s. There was a gentleman—But no matter. You say this photographer is going to photograph the séance? Can I see the picture? Of me, I mean?”

“The editor of Manners & Morals has it—”

“How do you know?”

“I visited him this afternoon. I spoke with both the photographer and the editor.”

“You did?” Celeste looked admiring. “Lily, you must persuade him to publish, or have the photographer find a smart magazine or newspaper to buy it.”

Lily nodded. “Yes, I think I can do that. I’ll ask again.” Celeste was coming round. She’d be more amenable to Lily’s next questions, Lily was sure.

“Invite him to St John’s Wood,” Celeste went on. “That’s where we girls meet gentlemen on certain occasions. Especially if we need a favour.”

“What is at St John’s Wood?” Lily frowned. A coincidence that it was the location where Mr Renquist had last been seen. Where the bloodstains had been found.

“There’s a very cosy bower there with a fine double bed and all the furnishings. A sweet little house where we girls entertain when we don’t entertain here. I’ll send Gracie over to prepare it. I’ll lend you the key. Just for an afternoon, mind. And then you can persuade whoever needs persuading to photograph me again and to publish.”

She collapsed back on her bed with a satisfied sigh, as if she’d said all that needed to be said and was now dismissing Lily.

Lily turned on the footstool. “Do you think Mr Renquist—?”

“Enough about Mr Renquist.” Celeste waved her hand languidly. “At the time, I thought him the kindest and most thoughtful of all my lovers. I truly was distraught when he stopped coming and then heard he was dead.” She gave a soft laugh and said in the most collaborative tone Lily had heard her use towards her. “You remember how the girls poked fun at me for existing on carrots and oranges? They were referring to Lord Carruthers and Mr Renquist. Fiery red-headed men, both of them. Well, if I had any choice about it, I’d dispose of Lord Carruthers tomorrow, but,” she sighed eloquently, “a girl has got to pay the bills. Now, you just see that photograph of me makes it into print in the right places, since you have so much sway with all these important men of business.” She’d begun filing her nails now, he

r attention focused on her beauty regime though there was an air of suppressed excitement about her.

Uncertainly, Lily rose. She’d spent enough time with Celeste to know the vagaries of the young woman’s mood, and that she’d do herself no favours if she persisted with her questioning.

Celeste stopped her when she’d reached the door. She pointed to a heart-shaped jewellery box on her dressing table. “You’ll find the key and the address in there,” she said. “If you can persuade your editor friend to give me some publicity in his newspaper, I might tell you a little more about Mr Renquist. Something no one else knew about him.” There was a wicked gleam in her eye, and her full pink lips were pursed with promise. Or amusement. “I think you might be interested.”

Lily opened the door to find Gracie raising her arm about to knock. Her eyes were dark, and her lips pressed together. She didn’t look nearly as cheerful as she had when she’d greeted Lily.

“The scary Russian is back,” she whispered, before raising her voice to say, obviously for the benefit of the visitor downstairs, “Miss Celeste, your esteemed visitor Mr Novichov awaits your pleasure.”

For when Lily passed by the parlour, the barrel-chested, white-haired gentleman who’d visited Celeste every Thursday while Lily had been resident at Madame Chambon’s, was looming in the doorway to the parlour as he waited for her to pass.

“You’re back, Mees Eustace,” he said, smiling his gap-toothed leer. “How charming to see you again. I so do look forward to your leetle entertainment at Mrs Moore’s.”

Disconcerted, Lily asked, “Lord Lambton’s seance?”