Daring Duplicity Read online

  Stetson stepped into the room behind her, leaned against the closed door, and let out a deep sigh. With eyes shut and hugging herself, she took a moment to process the warm thrill that rose from her loins. Reveling in the euphoric rush, she wanted to believe the impossible–that maybe her dreams could come true. Mayhap there was a chance, ever so slight, that she, too, could act on her passions. Her breathing became ragged as she imagined kissing Jewel, and being kissed in return. Her heart pounded in excitement. Until reality stuck its ugly head into her dream reminding her there was a case to solve. Stetson moaned softly in aggravation and opened her eyes to glance around her inner sanctum.

  Within the confines of Mr. Wellington's lair were all the implements one would need to be a successful private investigator. On the wall to the left was an array of weapons, including both an umbrella and walking cane hiding swords in their handles, an umbrella with a singleshot rifle barrel and a trigger in the handle, several knives, guns, and gadgets. A glass-doored cabinet contained other curiosities such as a wristwatch that concealed a tiny explosive, a unique copper and brass miniature camera with flash attachment, a mirror attached to a long folding pole for seeing around corners or over walls, telescopic opera glasses, and a voice recording device. There was a table holding an array of wigs in vast colors and styles for both men and women, false beards and moustaches, along with an exhaustive selection of hats. Hanging from hooks on another wall were various costumes for the well-to-do business people, and the poor, male and female alike. There was a large vanity with a mirror and cases of cosmetics and face powder as one might see backstage of a theatre. Yes, the windowless room had all the trappings to outfit a man of mystery save one—there was no Xavier Wellington… only Stetson.

  The product of an American cowboy father and a London actress mother, Stetson was destined to be different. Her parents met while her mother, Bernadette Goody, was on tour in the western U.S. with her acting troupe bringing Shakespeare to the uncultured frontier. Being a free spirit, Bernadette had wished to experience everything about the "Wild West," including Luke McCoy, who had apparently been quite the lover. Bernadette hadn't even known she was pregnant until the voyage back across the Atlantic, and by that time it was too late to legitimize the relationship. She had, however, wanted her daughter to have some connection to her father, so she had named her after the style of hat he perpetually wore.

  Stetson had been raised by practically the whole of the London theatre community, growing up backstage where she had been the darling little tom of her mother’s entire theatre troupe, always greeted kindly, joked with, given treats… By age twelve, she had become a make-up artist, earning her keep in the company. Once she was a little bigger, she acted as stage hand as well, line-prompter, curtain puller, janitor, and throughout her childhood had performed children’s rolls in the plays, both of girls and boys. They all assumed she would be an actress like her mother, and in a very real way, she was—just not on a stage. But she also must have inherited her father's love of adventure and physical prowess, for she was not a conventional woman in any sense. After her mother's death from tuberculosis when Stetson was twenty, she found herself being faced with the usual choices of marriage, work in a factory, going into domestic service. She had chosen none of the above. While she could have stayed with the theatre, her departed mother’s presence in every corner saddened her spirit too much.

  Stetson had managed to secure a clerical position in the law office of a solicitor who represented the theatre she had been with, and she learned a lot while working there. While men still dominated the field of clerks and secretaries, women had begun to trickle in and were accepted to a degree, even if their salaries were little better than half what the men earned. It was in this capacity she fostered the idea of becoming a private investigator. She was introduced to people in the law enforcement world and many from the criminal element as well. She witnessed what worked about the judicial system and what did not. While thieves were often caught, it was rare their victims’ property was ever returned. She saw innocent men go to prison and guilty ones go free. Even a twenty-year-old woman from the acting world understood she could not repair what was broken, but she could even the scales just a bit. An honest person with a sharp eye and quick wit could make London a shilling’s worth safer, but not if she was a woman. Women didn’t do that sort of thing. But as a man…

  Stetson pressed the envelope to her breast. Standing on the other side of that door was an angel—bright, beautiful, and bold. But how do I proceed? It would have to be with extreme delicacy, and certainly she could take no action until the investigation was successfully brought to a close. But Stetson concluded she could cultivate a friendship with young Jewel, gain her trust, and let her know she did not judge her in any way. Lay some ground work—yes, that was what she would do. But first she must dispatch this blackmailer. Taking a deep breath, Stetson looked again at the photograph and the message and set her mind to ticking.

  A short while later, she emerged carrying the envelope, photo, note, and a notepad and pencil. A bright smile lit her face as she returned to her desk. "Mr. Wellington will take your case, and promises to have it solved with the utmost expediency and discretion." The anxious Jewel relaxed, sighing with relief, and a beam of joy shone in her youthful appearance. "There are some questions, though, before we can proceed."

  "Yes, yes, certainly," Jewel eagerly replied.

  Stetson glanced at her notepad. "Mr. Wellington has deduced several things so far. Your blackmailer is a left-handed man of humble means, and most likely with minimal education. He works or spends time in a public area where he could notice you and the young lady together. He quite obviously owns a camera, which implies he is at least gainfully employed."

  Jewel's eyes betrayed astonishment. "How can Mr. X know all of that just from a note?"

  Stetson smiled, a twinkle in her eye. "Mr. X is a master sleuth, after all." She held out the message, and Jewel leaned forward over the desk to look, laying a hand frightfully close to Stetson's. "Notice the quality of the paper: coarse, inexpensive, certainly not from a businessman's writing pad or a gentleman's stationary. Also, see how the letters slant this way," she motioned. "Clearly written with the left hand." Stetson could smell a flowery fragrance wafting from Jewel as she inched her way closer examining the penmanship. "And since schools strongly insist upon all writing being performed with the right hand, and detecting the abundance of misspelled words, it is doubtful he spent regular time in a classroom. Notice also the small, scrunched size of the letters, indicating a lack of self-esteem or self-importance."

  "I see," Jewel noted in a curious tone. "Amazing! I would never have imagined so much could be gleaned from a blackmail demand."

  Stetson lowered her chin and adjusted her glasses in an attempt to hide her pride. "Now, Mr. X has a few questions to help us pinpoint the location of your blackmailer and thus determine his identity. Where exactly did you meet your lover, and in what alley was this photograph taken?"

  A cloud of dismay passed over Jewel's face, and she waved a hand dismissively. "That saddle-goose is not my lover! 'Twas but a tryst. Then, in her exuberance, she let the passions of the moment take control from her better senses and kissed me outdoors. I could never sustain a relationship with such a fool as that, and I haven't spoken to her since!"

  "I see," Stetson replied, repressing a smile of delight to find Jewel was not engaged in a serious affair. But did that mean the kiss had only been an experiment? Maybe she had been too quick to assume Jewel might present a possibility for her to pursue.

  "We met for a bite and drink at Gordon's Wine Bar on Villiers Street, and afterward took a stroll that ended us in an alley. Then the impulsive twit kissed me! I told her then and there if she had no better sense than that, I did not wish to see her again, and that was the end of it… until I received the envelope."

  "Where and when was that, exactly?"

  Jewel thought Stetson looked like an educationist wear
ing her spectacles while seated at a desk and scribbling on a notepad. A wistful sensation warmed her as she recalled her first crush, which had been on her tutor. "Yesterday, a week after the incident. The carriage was parked on Berwick Street, in Soho, outside my dressmaker's shop," she replied.

  "Hmm. That is only a few streets away from the restaurant, therefore the culprit must live, work, or both in that part of town. Also, Gordon's, a new establishment nestled below street level, is a popular rendezvous for married persons and their lovers."

  "Really?" Jewel asked. "How do you know that?"

  Stetson waved her hand. "Oh, the majority of Mr. X's clients are husbands or wives who want to find out if their spouse is being unfaithful. He has been there on numerous occasions. May I suggest a more mundane locale next time you meet a young lady for wine?"

  Jewel's countenance fell as she stared blankly at a spot on the desk. "I'm not sure if there shall be another occasion. I am twenty-one, and father is intent on finding me a husband. He keeps bringing young men home to meet me in hopes I will take a spark to one." She sighed and shifted uncomfortably in her seat, transferring her gaze to the rectangular carpet at her feet. "I suppose I should pick the best of them and marry him just to keep up appearances; but I feel that would be so unfair—to him and to me… to enter knowingly into a marriage with no hope of passion, at least on my part." She flicked her eyes questioningly to Miss Goody, who was watching and listening intently with no hint of disapproval in her expression. "I know there are many loveless marriages void of passion, especially within the aristocracy." Then she chuckled. "I would join a convent, save that I am not Catholic!"

  Stetson eyed her thoughtfully. "Are there others?" There was hesitation in her voice. "I mean, is there some secret society of women who love women? How do you find each other? How do you know?"

  Any hint of awkwardness Jewel had been feeling melted away under the warmth of laughter that spilled unexpectedly from her mouth. Stetson flushed and cast her gaze down to her notepad. Jewel shook her head and relaxed, her laughter warming to a soft smile. "Do not be ashamed for asking, Miss Goody. I realize you must be curious. There are no secret societies that I am aware of, but…" The word hung in the air as her gleaming green eyes met Stetson's with a knowing guise. "I know how to find who I'm looking for, and yes, there are others. However…" Humor evaporated from her expression as she continued. "Any thoughts of my personal needs or desires are of no consequence until this matter is resolved and my family's honor safe. After this incident, I may even conclude the whole venture is far too risky to be worth any potential pleasure."

  "Certainly." Stetson straightened, continuing in a confident, business-like tone. "It will be dealt with forthwith. So, unless you have further information to bring to light, I must shoo you away so that Mr. Wellington can embark on solving the case, and putting this all behind you."

  Jewel smiled and winked. "Very well, but I shall be back tomorrow afternoon for an update."

  Stetson rose to see her enchanting client to the door. "I'm sure Mr. X will have something to tell you by then."

  "Thank you, and good day," Jewel said in parting.

  "Good day to you as well." Stetson's eyes followed her out and then closed as she shut the door with a longing sigh. She couldn't remember ever feeling so flustered and aroused at the same time, but she couldn't think about that now. It was time for Mr. X to jump into action.

  CHAPTER 3

  Within the hour, someone who appeared to be a businessman of average height and slender build stepped out of the building onto the sidewalk of Haverstock Street. He had short, tawny hair and mustache, wore a navy-blue waistcoat with matching vest and trousers, a white shirt with lighter blue cravat, topped with a black silk top hat. It was a soft day, and since his destination was less than ten blocks from Haverstock Hill, he decided to walk rather than hail a cab, to get a better sense of the neighborhood he was entering near the Thames.

  He noted how the various people looked and sounded, the timbre of their accents, the smell of their cologne or tobacco, the feel of their moods in the damp air. How does Lady Jewel Ashton know which women are of like persuasion? Stetson wondered, even as she absorbed all the information that surrounded her in her gentleman disguise. Does she suspect how I am inclined?

  Stetson—or Wellington, or some random banker whom she was pretending to be at the moment—was greeted by some on the street, and she returned the "how do you do?" or tip of the hat, but most Londoners were simply too busy with their own affairs to notice the ordinary businessman whose name they could not place. A few times she had the paranoid feeling of being followed again, but that was par for the course. She had specifically spied for anyone shadowing her and had found no one.

  Presently, she rounded Villiers Street and slowed her pace to study Gordon's Wine Bar, noting everyone who came and went, or even passed by. There was a boy hawking newspapers, a dignified lady with an air of self-importance clipping down the walk at a brisk stride with her maid in tow, and hansom carriages rolling by. She noticed a brown-haired man with spectacles and a walrus mustache dressed in the attire of an artist exiting Gordon's, which like most downtown establishments, housed apartments above it. Is that Rudyard Kipling, the writer? She scrutinized the gentleman until he had moved out of her view, then gave her head a shake.

  Content all was as it should be, Stetson strolled into the establishment as if she had noticed it for the first time. After giving her eyes a chance to adjust to the low light, she glanced around an interior that strongly resembled a cave. There were fewer patrons at midday than there would be at night, no doubt, but it had been daytime when Jewel met the young woman here.

  She noted other customers, the greeter, a waiter, and a bartender. His dark hair was thin on top, with bald spots showing through. He was pouring drinks with his left hand, spoke with an uneducated cockney accent, and when he smiled, she detected a missing tooth. As she formulated reasons to include him as a suspect, she saw it plain as day. Stashed on a shoulder-high shelf behind the bar, surrounded by liquor and wine bottles, sat a Kodak box camera.

  Ah ha! she thought in triumph. It all fits. He can easily take photographs of married men and their mistresses, or wives with their lovers, then use them for a profitable little blackmailing business. He must have been suspicious of Lady Jewel Ashton and followed them out, or maybe he was just on his way home and lucked upon his money shot.

  Stetson did not want to appear dubious for merely standing around looking at everything, so she took a seat and ordered a small fare, concocting a plan as she ate. After departing, she turned down a minor side lane where she possessed a view of the employees' entrance to wait for the bartender to leave. It was then she was again overtaken by the notion that she was indeed being watched.

  After conspicuously crossing the street and strolling to the corner, Stetson ducked into a narrow alley and pressed herself against a brick wall to wait. It wasn't long until a figure quietly and cautiously rounded the junction—a very feminine figure with silky blonde strands falling onto the shoulders of a blue dress. Stetson rocked from her swimming head down to her toes with disbelief, and for a moment she couldn't even breathe. Is this what it means to be scared out of one’s wits? she pondered. In an instant, they were staring into one another's faces, and Stetson strained to make her brain work.

  "What are you doing here?" she demanded in a low, throaty voice.

  Jewel's mouth dropped, and a startled hand jumped to her chest. Was that just annoyance or anger she saw burning behind Mr. Wellington's eyes—Mr. Wellington's stunning cognac eyes? "It's you!"

  "Shhh," the detective commanded as she grabbed Jewel's arm and pulled her to the side. "Are you trying to thwart your own investigation? Bloody hell, woman!" she blasted in a pointed whisper.

  "I… I," she stammered, flushing with surprise. Then she lifted her chin and retorted with resolve, "It is my life, my reputation on the line. I need to find out who is demanding to coerce money out of me a
nd destroy all traces of that buggered photograph."

  "That is what you hired me for," Stetson declared in hushed fury.

  Then Jewel cocked her head, eyeing the face before her. "I hired Xavier Wellington, not his assistant."

  All color drained from Stetson's face. "Wha—whatever are you blabbering about? Despite my best plans for keeping my identity secret, I am Wellington."

  She pressed tighter against the wall. "You have a wonderful disguise, I admit it," Jewel noted. "But you could never hide those singularly captivating eyes."

  Tightening her grip on Jewel's arm, she spat out a warning so menacing that it sent a chill down Jewel’s spine. "If you ever so much as tell your pet cat about my identity, you won't have to worry about a blackmailer. I'll see to it that photograph graces the front page of The London Times!"

  Jewel frowned and pulled away from her, having been deeply offended. "Is that what you think of me? That I would come to you for help with my secret and then at my first opportunity exploit yours?"

  "I don't know you," she whispered back with less venom in her voice. "I only met you this morning."

  "And I certainly don't know you, yet had enough trust in your character to literally put my future in your hands. Was I wrong to do so?" Stetson slowly released Jewel's arm, letting her hand drop impotently to her side.

  They both took a moment to gather their wits and emotions until the silence hung between them like a thick curtain. It was Stetson who spoke first, her voice at last steady and calm. "I have built a life for myself, a successful business, and a reputation that I could not bear to lose. You were not wrong to trust me. I can solve your problem. Only now I seem to have one of my own."

  Jewel's expression relaxed as well as she comprehended how gravely important this matter was to Stetson. "So," she ventured, taking a step closer. "Now that we know each other's deepest secrets, where do we go from here?" She turned dazzling eyes up into Stetson's gaze, apprehensively awaiting a reply.