The Regency Redgraves: What an Earl Wants / What a Lady Needs / What a Gentleman Desires / What a Hero Dares

Jessica also looked to Gideon, who had been standing at the fireplace, his face an expressionless mask. It was two o’clock, Adam was safely in Portman Square with Seth, his new keeper, and Lady Katherine was already on her way to Redgrave Manor, a young woman on a mission. Jessica could only wish her new sister-in-law hadn’t seemed so eager to begin the hunt.

“He tells me he never paid all that much attention to it, as he couldn’t understand most of what’s there. He’s only interested in his own conquests, of which I believe half exist purely in his imagination. He only handed over his father’s journal as some sort of afterthought. He’d had it in his room at school, with orders to study it, when word came about his parents’ fatal accident. When he was packed up to come to me in London, it came along with him. Otherwise, we’d never have known it existed.”

“All these years gone by since I’ve seen one of these, and yet still not enough time to lessen the pain. I believe I’ve succeeded in banishing the memory of those days, gotten past the shame, the horror of it, and then…this. But I suppose it has to be said.” Trixie turned another page and sighed.

“What is it?” Jessica asked nervously, wondering if she really wanted an answer. The dowager countess’s cheeks were so pale, she feared for her. “Did you recognize a name?”

“I’ve recognized several. Have you shown this to your wife, Gideon?”

“No,” he answered and took another sip from his wineglass. “I thought we’d let you tell us what you see.”

Trixie slipped off the half-spectacles and laid them in her lap. “I see history repeating itself,” she said sadly. “The codes remain the same. For instance, V, of course, stands for virgin, although they saw damn few of them. Playacting, most of it, with willing, highly paid prostitutes. Naughty little boys, drinking, whoring, one trying to outdo the next in manufactured, carefully orchestrated depravities. That’s all most of the hellfire clubs were, back then, Dashwood’s included, from all I’ve heard of the thing. There was a surfeit of deviltry, but little actual devil worship.”

“Yes, I’d assumed that,” Gideon said tightly, joining Jessica on the couch facing Trixie’s one-armed reclining couch. “And the double V?”

“You do need to know, unfortunately. This is where your grandfather’s Society differed, pet, and first grew ugly. The letters refer to vestal virgins, the true virgin sacrifices. Jessica, dear, I would rather you left the room until we call you back.”

“No. If Gideon needs to know, then so do I.”

Trixie’s mouth worked for a moment, as if she was searching for the least offensive words concerning a subject that had few to offer. “Very well. Vestal virgins. They’re reserved for the highest rite, when a new member is welcomed into the thirteen which, thankfully, isn’t often. The Society takes everything and stands it on its head. Evil for good, wanton for chaste. In ancient Rome, vestal virgins were kept safe from the priests. In the Society, they are for the empowerment of the priests, and become the living altar for the induction rite. The more elevated the vestal virgin, by way of birth and social status, the more power flows to her initiator, who is first, but definitely not last, to approach the altar. I won’t say more than that.”

Jessica laced her fingers together in her lap, her knuckles white with strain. Gideon covered her hands with his own and murmured something he must have supposed to be comforting. She couldn’t make out the words for the buzzing in her ears. Her father had turned her over for such a rite?

“Jessica, I’m sorry, but we need to know all of this,” Gideon apologized. “What you’re saying, Trixie, is that five years ago, a new member was to be installed?”

“And Jessica was chosen for the honor of gifting him with her virginal power. One thing has bothered me since first you told me about what nearly happened to you, Jessica. Turner Collier was an ass, but I find it difficult to believe he volunteered his own daughter.”

“I find everything in that journal difficult to believe,” Gideon said, his tone bitter. “Explain the other code letters, if you please. There’s nearly an entire alphabet of them listed inside the rear cover.”

Trixie slipped her spectacles on again and reopened the book to the page she’d marked with her finger. “Must we? R stands for restrained. F-W for free will. The rest denote the acts themselves. I believe you can figure out those without my help. Find a coded name and then read the strings of letters that follow, one set per line for each encounter, all neatly dated as to time, place and other participants. Monsters all, but quite orderly, and with steadfast attention to detail. Your grandfather was always quite particular about detail.”

“And these names denote guests?”

“Yes. And wives, of course, to be schooled in the arts of submission and arousal. That also was your grandfather’s idea, as it neatly circumvented the tiresome necessity of constantly hunting up enough prostitutes and training them as to their roles, you understand. No damp caves or sneaking about, not for the Society. Simply gather the members and their wives together at one of their estates, slip into their masks and hooded cloaks, feast, drink, partake of their indulgences and then go out shooting or fishing the next day as the wives went back to their embroidery and water colors. Very neat, very orderly, remarkably civilized. We are speaking of men who enjoyed their comforts. Some of the women took to it quite well, even enthusiastically.” Her voice went very faint. “Most didn’t. But there was no choice. What else could we do…?”

“All right, Trixie,” Gideon said gently, forced to think about his grandmother and mother living with such monsters, which he did not wish to do. “I think we’ve had enough of that, and I can only apologize for the necessity of any of this.”

“Apologize? Why?” Trixie lifted her chin in a way Jessica had begun to admire very much. “I haven’t been a faint-at-heart miss for a half-century and certainly lay no claims to innocence. Or did you think this journal would be as innocuous as a book of fairy tales? Ah, and now you’re frowning. Don’t ever worry about me, pet, I’m a practical woman, or haven’t you noticed?”

“I’m still sorry, Grandmother,” Gideon said. “I know that doesn’t help.”

“Actually, pet, it does. I’m sorry, as well, for so many things. But what’s done is done, and sad to say, I would do it again. Now, back to business. The journals are divided into parts. The first is the diary, kept in as much detail as the member chooses. Turner was crude, but blessedly brief. His wife, you’ll note if you care to check, is notated as F-W. As I said, some took to it with remarkable enthusiasm. The second section is the real meat of the volume, denoting what I’ve already told you. I can see by the dates listed that, blessedly, they don’t meet for ceremonies nearly as often as in your grandfather’s or father’s time—only four meetings in the entire year—although there could be other gatherings, for other purposes.”

“Such as planning sedition,” Gideon grumbled. “For my father the Society, the rites, were the means to an end. Isn’t that what you said?”

“One problem at a time, pet. But, yes, these rutting fools are also powerful fools. Remember, my late houseguest occupied quite a high office in the Royal War Office until only a few months ago when his health began to fail, and if that doesn’t give you pause, also bear in mind Jessica’s father had the Prince of Wales’s ear concerning more than fashion. What confuses me is I see no high rites at all last year, even though several members died. It hardly seems possible, but they may have made some alteration into the usual way of inducting members?”

“No more vestal virgins?” Jessica asked, praying it was true.

“Even sex can become tiresome, difficult as that may be to believe. Then there’s the problem of abducting suitably high-born virgins. Six in the space of a year? That would have to raise an alarm,” Trixie said, her forehead wrinkling as she considered her own words. “There could be a wholesale shifting of purpose we’re seeing here, Gideon.”

“Again, sedition.”

“I wish you’d stop saying that. With Bonaparte still running amok through the world, the thought is unnerving. He has too many admirers, even here in England. Worse, your search for members now borders on the impossible. Remember, pet, that body you carried out of here last night belonged to the last of the members from your father’s time, the last name I know for certain. Who knows, he may have been the next one to suffer a fatal accident. He should be grateful to me, if I saved him from that.”

“Yes,” Gideon said flatly, “a lucky man.”

Trixie laughed softly. “I know you’re being facetious, but he did seem happy…at least up until the end. Now, stop scowling at me and listen carefully. This last section is the most valuable, the list of member names. Once a code name is assigned, it becomes permanent, whether it be the original member, or handed down to the next generation, which is why family names are used, as titles can change. The bible would have all the details, everything spelled out. Find the bible, Gideon, and you’ve solved it all, as that’s the single volume that traces the history all the way to your grandfather’s time. Names, events, purposes, triumphs. All of it dutifully recorded every year. It’s quite the magnificently fashioned tome, huge, ridiculously ornate, wrapped all about with gold chains, the lock in the shape of a devil’s head. Highly melodramatic.”

“That…” Jessica had to clear her throat, finding it difficult to speak. “That journal is for last year. Wouldn’t my…Shouldn’t it have been turned over to somebody, to have the information recorded in the bible?”

“Yes, that is puzzling,” Trixie said, turning the journal over to look at its cover. “Gideon? Do you suppose the Keeper of the bible has died, or was one of the accidents? Could the society be in the midst of choosing a new leader, so that all the members still hold their journals from last year? Could this be what all the deaths are about—a weeding out of competition, bringing in a whole new order?”

“Or Cotsworth didn’t much care for the new leader, and had decided to leave the Society,” Gideon suggested.

“Pet, no member ever leaves the Society. Not alive. The accidents you’ve uncovered fairly well prove that point. But what an interesting theory, killing off the competition within the Society. Death certainly has made quite a run at the devil’s thirteen.” The dowager duchess opened the journal once again and adjusted her spectacles, that had slipped down her nose. “Let’s have a good look at the list as it was last year, shall we? All right, here’s the first. Either. That’s Ranald Orford.”

“The first death I know of,” Gideon said. “Hunting accident.”

“Yes, I remember. And then this one. Less. That could only be George Dunmore, eldest son of Walter, who was one of your grandfather’s original devil’s thirteen. He’s the one who drowned? And, if you’re beginning to understand this silliness, Gideon, Soft would be…?”

“Baron Harden, who died in that fall down the stairs. My God, it’s that simple?”

“The journals were only for the members. They aren’t all so simple as mere opposites, but they’re not all that difficult. Either, less, soft. If you didn’t already know the names, you would have no idea what this list of words refers to, now would you?”

“And my father?” Jessica asked, leaning forward on the couch.

Trixie ran a fingertip down the list of names. “Ah, here we are. Miner. Because colliers are miners, correct? Now let me see…” She squinted at the page. “Yes, here are the two I can add to our list of deceased members. The Right Honorable Noddy Selkirk, another second generation member, has to be Church. He fell afoul of a rock slide while hiking in the Lake District this past autumn, and Cecil Appleby would have to be Pear. Lord knows he was shaped like one. He supposedly succumbed to some sudden stomach ailment a few months past, although I now have it on the highest authority his tongue had turned black.”

“Who is this highest authority?” Gideon asked.

Trixie rolled her eyes. “You’re questioning me? Cecil’s valet is brother to my glover’s assistant, if you must know. It can take positively hours to fit a new glove properly, and there’s plenty of time for gossip. It took an entire afternoon last Thursday, and an order for six new pairs of gloves, but I’m assured my information is correct. I had the bill sent to you.”

“I suppose I can’t quibble with that,” he said, smiling.

“As well you shouldn’t. And now poor Guy has cocked up his toes. Here he is. Cot, which of course stands for Bedworth.” She ran her finger down the list of names. “Strange. I don’t recognize any of these. If they were still passing father to eldest son, I should know these names. Perhaps one of you should be writing them down?”

Jessica got to her feet and walked over to the writing desk, where paper and pen were already assembled for just such a purpose. She only hoped her hands wouldn’t shake so much her words wouldn’t be legible. She felt as if she was trapped in some sort of nightmare. How else could they be speaking so calmly about murder and other atrocities?

She had soon assembled a list, as dictated by Trixie. Hammer. Weaver. City. Bird. Post. Burn.

By now, Gideon was standing behind her, leaning over her shoulder to look at the list of words. “You’re right, Trixie. Simple words, but if you don’t already know the answers, all I see here are questions.”

Jessica looked at Trixie, who was still paging through the journal. “But you said you had more information for us. Did Cot give you any other names?”

“A question you should have asked, Gideon. I may have had them all, if Guy hadn’t gotten so belatedly suspicious and then so inconveniently dead. Why women don’t rule the world has always been a conundrum to me. Greater physical strength has led you all to believe your minds are stronger, as well, which is poppycock. At any rate, we women couldn’t do worse—you men just keep bollixing it all up. But yes, two others, although I can’t say I know them personally, although I know their families. Lord Charles Mailer, and Archie Urban.”

“Post and City,” Gideon said quickly, almost triumphantly, as if they were solving puzzles in some game. Perhaps that was the only way to deal with any of it without going mad?