Loving Lily (Fair Cyprians of London 6)

“My lover!” she flung at him. “Like you, he soothed me with soft words, made me believe he had my best interests at heart. He was supposed to restore me. My husband paid him well enough to do it, and Teddy promised to take me to a place where I would be cured. I spent the next two years being starved and ill-treated. I would rather die in the gutter than return to a place like that. Teddy was my doctor, and then he was my lover. There! What does that make me in your eyes? The whore you didn’t want to believe?” She thrust out her chin. “I believed in Teddy. Loved him. Trusted him. Now you, Hamish, promise to take care of me.” She put her hands to her face and wept. “Every time a man has promised to take care of me, it ends in tragedy.”

***

They’d parted awkwardly; Hamish clearly worried, but giving her his word that he’d not precipitate any action or reveal her identity.

After a short sleep, after she returned to her lodgings, the landlady roused her. Mr Montpelier arrived to convey her to her new lodgings, and informed her that she would be performing again that night at the request of the Widow Renquist.

While Lily was making money for her captors, they would look after her. But what would happen when Robert arrived in London?

Now, as the clock in the drawing room chined nine o’clock, Lily again stood waiting, the inexorable ticking reminding her of the passage of time that meant her choices were running out.

The intensity of the soft chatter filtering from the upstairs chamber suggested that Mrs Moore’s parlour was, again, filled to capacity.

She’d heard the continual progression of knockings and entrances made, and the tread of feet. But, as she waited below, the intensity of those murmurs was far greater than on any previous occasion.

Interest in the disappearance of Mr Renquist had exploded, partly due to his supposed widow’s promotion of her cause, partly due to the growing celebrity of Lily herself.

It was an onerous responsibility. The information Lily had was next to nothing, yet her suspicion that answers could be found if tracked from Madame Chambon’s could not be broadcast.

Celeste knew something but she was afraid, keeping her counsel. Had Bernard Renquist been a spy? Did his identity as a man of means in the world of industry conceal a double life? This was the avenue Lily wanted to navigate, but if the police and authorities were not interested—as they would not be if they knew her real identity—her entreaties during her seances would continue to be meaningless.

Hamish didn’t believe her, but what if she could reveal Mr Novichov’s involvement? Though how did she reveal such a thing, and in such a short time? No, she must forget any ideas regarding a reward from Mrs Renquist, and whereas she’d held out a sliver of hope a week earlier, that she might discover something sufficient to satisfy the woman’s demands, she now realised her future would not be shored up by any financial compensation from Renquist’s widow.

The arrangement between Madame Chambon and Mr Montpelier meant she now had decent lodgings for the next two weeks.

But after Sir Robert Bradden’s arrival in the city, what, then, would happen to Lily?

* * *

Waiting for the audience to quieten, Lily rubbed her gloved hands together and then her chilled arms. It was cold and dark in the cellar, and she was looking forward to the rush of warmth that would envelop her once she stepped out of the depths through the trapdoor and into the centre of the parlour above, to confront the crowds amidst the haze.

A gong sounded, silence echoing in the aftermath of the chatter.

Lily could have heard a pin drop had the floor not been carpeted in Turkish rugs, and the occasional cry from the street vendors not filtered into Mrs Moore’s very middle-class parlour.

But that woman had an eye to milking an audience to the fullest extent of its credulity, and the lace curtains and doilies that had adorned the room when Lily first arrived in London had given way to heavy drapes of purple, gold, and black, with Oriental urns and paintings adorning the spaces once taken up by stuffed foxes in glass boxes.

“Does his earthly being still walk the earth, or can you tell the world that Bernard Renquist has quit this mortal coil and now communicates through you, his conduit, to inform us of the terrible crime committed against his person?” Mrs Moore’s quavering voice was heavy with drama and portent. There was only one way Lily could answer, but she did it with misgiving.

Lily let out her breath in a slow, drawn-out sigh, gathering her energy for the intonation that the widow and her audience had been waiting for. “Bernard Renquist wishes to make it known from the other side that through foul play, he met his maker, and his body lies in eternal rest.”

She stopped short, then let out a theatrical gasp, clutched her stomach and bent double as she cried out, “Find me! Please, find me so that my soul may be released, and my wife given her freedom. Find the perpetrator of this foul deed who followed me down a dark alley and plunged a dagger into my heart.”

Lily closed her eyes as she continued to hold her stomach while listening to the response of the audience. Would something be prompted to recall a memory? Perhaps the sight of a heavyset, white-haired man with an accent?

It was, however, a faint hope, and she didn’t really think her theatricals were going to tip the balance and unmask a murderer. Mr McTavish was perfectly correct in dampening her earlier enthusiasm.

Hamish didn’t even believe her suspicions regarding Mr Renquist. Yet, he was very ready to believe the story that Robert had broadcast about his wife.

Wasn’t that at the heart of it? The injured party was, too often, the one who had no power.

And Lily, as Robert’s despised wife, certainly had no power.

She blinked, as if coming out of a trance, opening her eyes just long enough for her to scan the audience.

She recognised a few familiar faces, locking gazes with Mr Novichov in the front row.

But the terror was short-lived because Mrs Moore was rapping on the floor, and the smoky mist was once again being released with a hiss. It was Lily’s cue to drag open the trapdoor and disappear down the steps and into her dungeon.