Page 27 of A Vocation of Violence
I felt the color rise to my cheeks, but I kept my response ambiguous, my words seasoned with just enough suggestion to stoke her curiosity. “He fulfills his duties most satisfactorily.”
A chuckle escaped her lips, rich and velvety, as she reclined against the cushions. Night Horse remained stoic beside me, though the faintest twitch of his lips indicated his amusement.
“Indeed,” the baroness breathed out, her eyes still fixed on my silent companion. “One must appreciate a man who can satisfy the demands ofanyposition required.”
Her words hung in the room, laced with double entendre, as I forced myself to focus on the task at hand, unwilling to allow her to manipulate the conversation. Our exchange was a dance of shadows and suggestion, and I knew then that extracting the truth from the baroness would be like plucking thorns from a rose—delicate, dangerous, and likely to draw blood.
“Baroness,” I began, attempting to steer the conversation back to the matter at hand. “I’ll admit I understood that you and Vivienne were rivals for the baron’s affections some twenty years ago.”
“And you think it took me two decades to reap my revenge?” She cackled so sharply, the cat scampered from her lap in astartle. “For what, darling? I won. The baron has held me as his muse all this time, indulging my every whim. What possible grudge could I hold against Viv? She’s been forced to sing for her supper, and there are fewer and fewer men to foot the bill at her age.”
She said this as if unaware she’d aged right alongside Vivienne.
Aged rather well, all told.
“Perhaps you could share your thoughts on some of the other individuals involved?” I pressed, watching her closely.
She made a huffing sound in the back of her throat and reached for a silver case on the table at her elbow, extracting a cigarette and an ornate box of matches. “Anything I would tell you is pure speculation, of course. I know nothing but rumors.”
“Rumors often have seeds of truth,” I replied, watching as her gaze flitted toward the window, where the firelight cast shadows long and deceitful across the pale carpets.
“Ah, but which truths?” The baroness’s voice was a melody of insinuation. “Miss Mahoney. It is true that many in my circle have secrets they’d rather keep hidden. I do not want to be considered the leak in the ship.”
“Of course,” I acquiesced, noting her evasiveness. “Nonetheless, any information you might provide could help bring Vivienne’s killer to justice… I would treat it with the utmost discretion.”
“Very well.” The baroness seemed to weigh her words carefully before continuing. “As you may know, Jorah and Vivienne had a tumultuous affair some seven or so years past, which ended quite poorly. There’s word she let something slip that sent the Syndicate against Jorah and took him no small amount of work to unravel.”
I’d heard she’d stolen from him, but nothing about imperiling his place in the criminal enterprise. Of course, Jorahwould never implicate himself, and I certainly didn’t want to believe he’d hire me if I’d uncover enough clues to investigate him.
Surely he believed in my skills better than that.
The baroness wasn’t finished with her thought. “To be fair, Vivienne has been connected to a swath of undesirable men. Oswald Drumft, for example… A man of ruthless ambition and no morals. She’s been rumored to have been kept and shared by half the House of Hapsburg and twice as many Sax-Coburns, not to mention our own dear Albert Victor, though one must be careful when speaking of such matters, Miss Mahoney. Royalty is not to be trifled with.”
“Indeed,” I agreed, sensing that she would say no more on the subject. “But one must also acknowledge that power can be a dangerous weapon in the wrong hands.”
“Which is why I shall steer clear of the entire affair, and you would too if you know what is good for you.”
At that, Night Horse stepped forward, “Are you threatening her?” he asked, his voice as smooth as silk.
“I’m warning her,” she replied, not seeming surprised in the least to hear him speak perfect English. “People who investigate the royal family often find themselves imprisoned…or worse.” She drew a line over her throat with a sharply pointed nail on her index finger.
As our conversation drew to a close, I found myself increasingly unsettled by the baroness’s elusive demeanor. She had skillfully deflected my inquiries, casting suspicion on each potential suspect without implicating herself. Yet something in her bearing, an unspoken tension that lay beneath her elegant façade, told me that she was probably not to blame for Vivienne’s murder.
But nor was she innocent.
“Before I take my leave, baroness, might I ask if you’ve ever heard of an organization known as the Order of the Green Carnation?”
For the first time, her composure faltered, the ghost of a frown creasing her flawless brow. “I can’t say that I have,” she responded, her voice clipped, the warmth of our earlier exchange chilled by suspicion.
“Curious,” I murmured, my mind working furiously to stitch together the disjointed tapestry of her defenses. “It is said to be quite exclusive.”
“Many things in London are,” she retorted, rising to her full height, her elegance unmarred by the hint of steel in her tone. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other engagements to attend to.”
“Of course, baroness,” I said, bowing my head slightly. “Your insights have been most enlightening.”
As we withdrew from the parlor, I felt the weight of her gaze upon us, heavy and calculating. In the silence that followed, I knew that the dance was far from over, and that the baroness, like all great predators, was most dangerous when cornered.
Night Horse trailed behind me, his silent footsteps testament to a lifetime honed in stealth. As we emerged into the dimly lit corridor, I sighed. “I can’t help but feel we’re no closer to the truth than when we began.”
