Garden of Lies(15)

“Those damned gutter rags know nothing about me.”

“Mmm, perhaps not. But that does not stop them from speculating.” Lilly’s tone turned thoughtful. “I wonder if it is the rumors regarding your knowledge of exotic lovemaking techniques that alarmed Mrs. Kern?”

“Is that supposed to be a joke, Lilly?”

“No, it is not. I am quite serious. Mrs. Kern is a widow so she is certainly aware of what goes on between a man and a woman in a bedroom. But I have the impression that her marriage was short-lived. Her husband died in an accident less than two years after the marriage.”

“What sort of accident?”

“I believe he fell down a staircase and broke his neck.”

“What is your point, Lilly?”

“I’m simply trying to warn you that any female of limited experience might be shocked at the notion of, shall we say, adventurous lovemaking.”

Slater groaned. “I cannot believe we are discussing this subject. I don’t think Mrs. Kern walked out on me because of the gossip about me. She is a businesswoman. She was concerned about leaving a client in the lurch.”

“The client must be quite important.”

“Lady Fulbrook.”

Lilly’s eyes widened a little and then immediately narrowed. “Of Mapstone Square?”

“Yes. Why? Are you acquainted with Lady Fulbrook?”

“Well, of course I don’t have a personal acquaintance with her, Slater. Women in her world never associate with the women of my world.”

“I realize that but you always seem to know a great deal about what is going on in upper-class circles.”

Lilly raised her delicately drawn brows. “I am familiar with the goings-on of a different generation of the Polite World—your father’s generation. Lady Fulbrook is much younger. She was married in her first season. That would have been four or five years ago at most. Created quite a stir when she was introduced into Society, I understand. She is a stunningly beautiful woman, by all accounts. But she does not go about much these days.”

“Why not?”

Lilly gave an elegant shrug. “I have no idea. I am under the impression that she has become something of a recluse. I can make inquiries if you like.”

“I would appreciate it.”

Lilly gave him a long, inquiring look.

“Why?” she asked.

“Let’s just say I’m curious about the client who succeeded in taking my place.”

“I see.”

Lilly’s expression was not a good sign, Slater thought. She appeared much too intrigued. He searched for a distraction.

“About Mrs. Kern,” he said, schooling his tone to one of mild interest.

“What about her?”

“When did she lose her husband?”

Lilly considered that for a moment. “Do you know, I’m not entirely certain. But I have the impression it was at least four years ago. Mrs. Kern mentioned at one point that she worked as a paid companion for a time before she opened the secretarial agency.”

Slater gripped the windowsill. “Yet she still goes about in deep mourning.”

Lilly smiled faintly. “Very fashionable mourning.”

“Do you think she cared so deeply about her dead husband?”

“No,” Lilly said with conviction. “I think she goes about in black because she believes it assures potential clients that she is a very serious businesswoman.”

He thought about that. “Perhaps you are correct. She is, after all, quite riveting. She would not want her female clients to worry that the men in the household might notice her.”

“Riveting?” Lilly repeated very casually.

He looked out the window and saw Ursula with her hair of low-burning flames and her eyes filled with mysteries.

“Riveting,” he repeated softly.

Lilly smiled and reached for the pot. “More coffee?”





EIGHT




My nerves are quite delicate, Mrs. Kern.” Valerie, Lady Fulbrook, clasped her hands on top of her desk. “I have difficulty sleeping. At unpredictable times and for no apparent reason, I am suddenly overcome with anxiety and dread. I am easily tossed into the depths of despondence by matters that, to those who possess sturdier nerves, would seem the merest of trifles. But I have discovered that writing my little poems provides me with significant relief. I was fortunate to find a small publisher in New York that has been kind enough to take some of my efforts for its magazine.”

“That would be the Paladin Literary Quarterly?” Ursula asked. “I found the address in Anne’s files.”

“Yes. Paladin doesn’t pay, you understand, except in free copies of the Quarterly. But I am not writing to make an income. It is therapy.”

“I understand,” Ursula said. “I’m glad that you have found the services of the Kern Secretarial Agency helpful.”

They were alone in Valerie’s small, private study. A short time ago a dour-faced maid had brought in a tea tray, poured two cups and departed. She had moved like a ghost throughout the process, making almost no noise.

There was, Ursula noticed, a curiously oppressive hush about the entire household. It was as though the inhabitants were waiting for someone to die.