Garden of Lies(10)

FOUR




He stood at the window in the front hall and watched until the carriage vanished into the fog. Everything inside him went cold. He was losing her. You never possessed her. She was not yours to lose.

But logic did nothing to push back the endless night that threatened to coalesce at the edge of his senses. It was always there, lying in wait. The time spent in the temple caves of Fever Island had taken its toll. The year in the monastery had taught him self-discipline and the dangers of strong passions. For the most part he had learned to harness the forces of his temperament. The Principles of the Three Ways had provided him with a sense of structure and control that suited his nature. He had found what some would describe as a calling, and he had pursued it relentlessly, driven by a quest for answers to a question he still did not understand.

He thought he had made his peace with the darkness. With the exception of the occasional cathartic flash of violence, he had assumed the role of observer. Even during the rare moments of sexual release some part of him was always standing back, watching.

But Ursula had interfered with the carefully constructed and exquisitely balanced order of his world. She made him want more. And desire was the most dangerous force of all.

Webster cleared his throat in a disapproving manner. “Will there be anything else, sir?”

“No, thank you,” Slater said.

He turned away from the view of the street, went back into the library and closed the door. He stood alone listening to the empty silence for a time, thinking about his first impressions of Ursula Kern. She had been wearing black from head to toe but the very darkness of her attire had only served to heighten the rich, burnished copper of her auburn hair.

He would never forget the moment when she had raised the veil of her dashing little widow’s hat to reveal an intelligent face made riveting by fiercely brilliant hazel eyes, a strong will and a forceful character.

He had known at once that she was a woman of spirit. He had savored the knowledge in ways he could not begin to describe—like a damned moth to her flame, he thought. He sensed that she was a woman who understood the importance of secrets. A part of him hoped that such a woman might come to understand and accept a man who also kept them.

The press speculated wildly about what he had been doing during the past few years. Some claimed that he had studied ancient mysteries in foreign lands and learned strange, exotic secrets. There were rumors that he had discovered astonishing treasures. Other reports insisted that the experience on Fever Island had rendered him unhinged—possibly quite mad.

The general consensus both in the newspapers and in Society was that he had returned to London with the goal of exacting vengeance.

Not all of the rumors about him were false.





FIVE




Matty Bingham was at her desk, transcribing dictation on the latest model of the Fenton Modern Typewriter. Ursula stood out in the hall for a moment, watching through the window set into the door. Matty was one of the first secretaries hired and trained by the newly founded Kern agency two years earlier. She had, in fact, walked through the door only a week after Anne Clifton, desperate and determined. Matty had soon displayed a talent for organization and finances that had proved invaluable. Although she still occasionally took private clients, she had become Ursula’s second-in-command.

This afternoon her curly brown hair was pinned in a tight bundle on top of her head. The style emphasized her fine brown eyes. Attired in a crisp tailor-made dress with a prim white bodice and a maroon skirt, she was the ideal image of the professional secretary. Her posture in the chair was elegant, her back and shoulders very straight. The movement of her hands on the keys was graceful, almost hypnotic to watch. She looked as if she was playing a piano. That was, of course, an important reason why the new field of secretarial work—one of the very few respectable professions open to women—was viewed as a suitable female occupation.

Those who pontificated on such matters in the press were keen to point out that typewriting was a fine job for women because females could perform their tasks without compromising their femininity.

Ursula privately suspected that the real reason women were welcomed into the secretarial field had more to do with the fact that most of them were so grateful to be allowed to make a respectable living that they were willing to tolerate lower pay than a man would demand. She had made certain that the secretaries of the Kern Secretarial Agency were the exception to that rule.

Kern secretaries were not only highly skilled in stenography, typewriting and organizational techniques, they were very expensive. The women who worked for the agency were paid incomes that allowed them to afford good lodgings and fashionable clothes. The high wages made it possible for them to put aside money for their retirement years. Their steady incomes sometimes lured suitors, as well. In the past two years, three Kern secretaries, including Matty, had received offers of marriage. One woman had accepted. Matty and her colleague had turned down the proposals, preferring the freedom that came with their new profession.

The Kern agency advertised that their elite secretaries operated the very latest and most technologically advanced typing machines. Ursula and her employees had all agreed that device was the Fenton Modern Typewriter.

Ursula opened the door and went into the office. Matty looked up in surprise.

“You’re back early,” she said. Concern tightened her brows. “Are you feeling unwell?”