Garden of Lies(81)

“The men in these photographs all appear to be asleep,” Ursula said.

“More likely unconscious,” Slater said. “I think it’s obvious that the men engaged in a sexual encounter and then were exposed to a dose of ambrosia that was strong enough to induce unconsciousness long enough for the photographs to be taken.”

“Society’s attitudes toward women are harsh enough,” Lilly remarked. “But they are just as cruel when it comes to liaisons conducted between two male lovers. Furthermore, as far as the law is concerned such relationships are illegal. Mind you, the reality is that most people turn a blind eye to this sort of thing but if those photographs were made public, they would destroy the gentlemen involved.”

Ursula glanced at the journal and then looked at Slater. “What else did you find in that book?”

“More detailed blackmail material. Rumors of relationships that could jeopardize the marriage prospects of the daughters of certain highly placed men. Notes about the financial distress of other members that could ruin them socially.”

“Blackmail is a risky undertaking,” Lilly said.

“Only if the victims know the identity of the extortionist,” Ursula pointed out. “I have had some experience in that regard if you will recall.”

“I do believe that Mr. Otford is well aware that he is fortunate to be alive,” Slater said.

Ursula sighed. “At least he had a reason to blackmail me. He was hungry and on the verge of becoming homeless. Fulbrook does not have any such excuse. He is a wealthy man. Why would he stoop to something so terrible?”

“I doubt very much that this is about money,” Slater said, “although there was a good deal of it in the safe. But there is one commodity that is even more attractive to some men. Power. If you know a man’s secrets you can control him.”

Ursula took a breath. “Yes, of course. But surely these men—the victims—would know the identity of the blackmailer. They would take action.”

“I agree that if even one of those highly placed men knew who was behind the blackmail scheme, Fulbrook’s life would not be worth a penny,” Slater said. He turned away from the desk and went to stand at the window. “Which is why I’m sure none of them know the truth. We must assume that Fulbrook is very careful about what he is doing. I’m sure that none of the men in those photographs has any clear memory of the events.”

“I have certainly seen men suffer blackouts after drinking too much,” Lilly said. “And the effects of opium can be so intoxicating that users can become quite . . . careless.”

Ursula looked at Slater. “What do you intend to do with the information that you have discovered?”

Slater glanced at her. “I’m going to talk to Fulbrook.”

“You plan to tell him that you know that he is blackmailing people?” Lilly asked sharply.

“I am going to give him a chance,” Slater said. “That is more than Anne Clifton, Rosemont and Mrs. Wyatt got.”

“A chance to do what?” Ursula asked.

“To survive,” Slater said.

“I don’t understand,” Lilly said.

But Ursula did. She searched Slater’s face. “You believe that Fulbrook is next on Damian Cobb’s list, don’t you?”

“I’m sure of it.”

“Then why warn him?” Ursula said. She waved a hand at the photographs and the journal. “He’s a blackmailer who has been responsible for the suicides of at least two men. His threats have no doubt made life a living hell for the other people in that journal. And what about that woman—Nicole—who worked for the Pavilion of Pleasure? Fulbrook is directly responsible for her death because he introduced the drug to the Olympus Club.”

“I’m aware of that,” Slater said. He took off his spectacles and pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket.

“Slater, he doesn’t deserve to be warned,” Ursula said. “I say let Cobb get rid of him.”

Slater polished the lenses of his eyeglasses. “You are very fierce tonight. I find the quality admirable in a lady.”

She folded her arms tightly beneath her breasts. “Fulbrook may have a title and a fine pedigree but he is, in truth, a crime lord who has gotten away with his crimes because of his rank in Society. You know very well that it is unlikely we will ever be able to find the proof we would need to have him arrested. Even if we did, it’s even less likely that he would be convicted and sent to prison.”

Slater put his handkerchief back into his pocket and looked at the tall clock. “I know.”

She unfolded her arms and spread her hands wide, exasperated. “Then why warn him that Cobb may be about to kill him?”

Slater put on his glasses and gathered up the photographs. “I’m going to warn him because it will make no difference in the end.”





FORTY-EIGHT




Slater ignored the barely veiled stares and the sudden hush that had descended on the club room. It was nearly two o’clock in the morning. Most of the men lounging in the deep, leather chairs were dressed in formal black-and-white. Bottles of claret and brandy sat on every side table. A haze of cigar smoke hung in the air.

One elderly man whom Slater recognized as a friend of his father’s snorted in amusement and winked. Slater nodded in acknowledgment and continued on his way into the card room. He had refused to surrender his greatcoat and hat to the porter so he dripped rainwater on the carpet.