Surprised, Hamish waited a few seconds until his lordship was out of sight before he quietly let himself into the garden, taking the steps two at a time before he rapped on the door.
“Really, darling, what have you forgotten this time?” came a feminine voice he didn’t recognise until the door was swung open, and he was confronted by the lush, willowy form of Miss Celeste.
She looked surprised, frowning a moment before she said, warily, “I don’t take gentlemen callers without prior arrangement, you should know.” Still, she looked anything but forbidding as she leaned against the doorframe, sizing him up, perhaps recognising his shock before saying with a giggle, “I beg your pardon! My mistake entirely, for aren’t you the fine gentleman who owns the newspaper? Do come in, sir, if you please. You’re here because of Lily, aren’t you?” She hiccupped gently and Hamish, who’d been on the verge of excusing himself, realised she was tipsy, and that, perhaps, he really did need to hear whatever she had to say about Lily, as his toes tingled with alarm.
“Here’s a nice brandy for you, sir. And another one for me,” she added, dropping into a chair, stretching out her legs in quite an abandoned fashion, and regarding him with a smile as she waved him to a chair opposite. “Lily said she’d persuade you and, truth to tell, I didn’t think she had it in her. Why, you’d n
ever seduce a gentleman to get what you want? I said to her.” She put her hand to her mouth to cover another soft hiccup, adding, “But she’s a dark horse, like I said. So, we’re in, are we?” She leaned forwards, her eyes bright. “Front page?”
Hamish looked about him, his eyes running over the pictures on the wall, everything so tasteful.
He felt slightly nauseated.
This was not, he realised, Mrs Eustace’s normal abode, but she had pretended it was. “What is this place?” he asked. “I thought you conducted all your business elsewhere.”
“Certain occasions call for a change of venue. Not every man is going to be satisfied with the four walls of Madame Chambon’s. You certainly wouldn’t have been, even with a discreet side entrance, as I told Lily when I gave her the key. Now, you were looking for her, were you? Well, you won’t find her here, and I can’t but say that it’s a good thing you didn’t come earlier, for Lord Carruthers mightn’t have taken kindly to have had you knocking on my door.”
Hamish felt trapped. He remembered how beautiful he’d thought this woman, yet in the space of several months, her skin had lost a little of its dewy freshness, her hair a little of its lustre.
Or was it he who was simply jaded? Right now, he felt disoriented.
“Mrs Eustace said nothing to me about putting any photographs in my newspaper,” he said, toying with his drink.
“Well, maybe she hadn’t got around to it yet for she said that was exactly what she was planning to do.” Celeste looked put out. “She showed me the photograph your photographer took of us. Why, she swore she’d be able to persuade you.”
“And why did she think she could do that?” There was a nasty taste at the back of Hamish’s throat.
“Because she’s clever! And it would make us famous!” Celeste shifted in her chair and sent him an irritated look. “Do you think we enjoy what we have to do to get the necessities of life? Lily is in quite desperate straits, obviously, otherwise she wouldn’t have sunk all her scruples to get you to agree. I lived with her for two months. I know what she’s like.” She pouted. “So, are you going to put our photograph in your newspaper?”
“I haven’t decided.” Hamish put down his unfinished drink and rose. “Do you know where I’d find Mrs Eustace?”
“No. I thought you’d be eating out of her hand by now.” Celeste sounded sulky as poured herself another drink.
Hamish paused. “What do you know of what she was doing before she came to London?”
Celeste shrugged, her face averted. “Didn’t talk much, that one. Certainly not to me. Though I heard rumours.” She tilted her chin, an artful manoeuvre clearly designed to show her profile to best effect. “Do you promise to publish my photograph in your newspaper if I tell you everything I know about Lily Eustace and everything I’ve heard people say about her?”
Hamish returned her look. “No,” he said, carefully. “But I promise I won’t print your photograph if you don’t tell me everything you know about Lily Eustace and everything you’ve heard people say about her.”
Celeste merely smiled as she knocked back her drink. “Where do I start?” She stretched langorously, and her decolletage fell open, revealing one creamy breast as she said huskily, “There really is so much to tell you about mad, bad Lily Bradden.”
Chapter 19
All day, Lily had waited. But there had been no word from Mr McTavish. Feeling ill and dejected, she’d made her way to Mrs Moore’s for another Thursday performance.
“Dammit woman, wot’s got inter yer?” Mr Montpelier appeared like a wraith, standing upon the bottom step as he peered into the dimly lit cellar, his speech reverting to the gutter, no doubt due to his stress. “The crowd is growin’ impatient.”
Lily jerked into the present and wrapped her stole about her shoulders. There was nothing to say to him other than to obediently gather whatever inner resources she still had and mount those stairs to…
What?
Another close, tightly occupied room with strangers hungering for what she could not give them.
Answers.
They all wanted answers, and Mrs Renquist wanted answers more than any of them. The pinch-faced widow had every reason to want to know what had happened to her husband, not least to find peace in the knowledge. His body needed to be found to allow the estate to be wound up and her children settled.
Stiffly, Lily mounted the stairs, her eyes adjusting to the semidarkness as she stood upon her dais and stared, unseeingly, across the sea of unrecognisable faces. Some were regulars. A quick glance told her that. Some were admirers. The way they raked their gazes across her made it clear they were not here only for the answers Mrs Renquist desired.