Mischief in Regency Society: To Catch a Rogue

“When she sees the sunlight again?”

Calliope remembered Lady Tenbray’s Etruscan diadem, far from the sun of its homeland. “And will you be the one to liberate her—Cameron?”

He gave the lioness a considering glance. “Do you think I’m strong enough, Miss Chase? Calliope?” he said teasingly, flexing his—admittedly impressive—arm muscles.

“Are you a hidden Herakles, then?”

“Ah, fair doubter! But as I am not Herakles, merely Hermes, I fear your doubts are justified. She would be much too heavy for me, winged sandals or not. One day, though, someone will free her from this place. Free all these things.”

“Send them back where they came from?”

He shrugged. “Some place where they can be safe. I don’t think anything can be safe here.”

“Oh!” Calliope cried, sharply reminded of their errand. “Clio.”

“Yes, we should move on. If you’re quite recovered?”

“Of course.”

He held out his arm and she accepted his support, letting him lead her down yet another corridor towards a narrow, winding staircase. She couldn’t help but glance back at the lioness, so silent and stolid. Except for that gleam in her eye. That secret glint.

Had she seen Clio tonight?

“The Alabaster Goddess is up here,” Cameron said, clambering up the steps.

Calliope looked up. She saw only a stout wooden door, somewhat ajar, and yet more shadows. More darkness. “How do you know?”

“Still so suspicious! And after I asked you to call me by my given name and everything.”

“The duke said her location was a secret.”

“I have my ways. Come, do you want to see or not, Athena?”

She glanced again towards that doorway. It could conceal anything at all. She half-expected a many-headed Hydra to leap out at them, snarling and slavering. “I want to see.”

“Follow me, then. I may not be Herakles, but I promise I’ll keep you safe.”

He held out his hand, beckoning, and Calliope reached out and clasped it. Held fast to it, like a lifeline in a stormy sea. They climbed up the last of the stairs together, and slowly pushed open the silent door.

That entrance led not to Hades or a vast black river, but to a long, narrow gallery. Tall windows let in moonlight, which mingled with the glow of sputtering candles and cast a soft illumination on more antiquities, more statues and stele and sarcophaguses. Calliope blinked at the light, at first unable to see anything beyond the rich clutter.

Next to her, Cameron stiffened, and a curse escaped his lips in a soft, ominous explosion.

“What…?” Calliope began. Then she saw it.

The Alabaster Goddess, the pride of the Duke of Averton’s collection, lay on her back on the floor, her bow aimed upward at the inlaid ceiling. Her gleaming alabaster body seemed intact, tangled with a length of black satin, but her wooden base was split and splintered.

And, at her feet, lay the duke himself.

Cameron dashed forward, Calliope close on his winged heels. The duke’s bright hair was darkened with a spreading stain, his eyes closed, his skin as pale as Artemis’s. His leopard skin was torn beneath him, and the coppery tang of blood was thick in the cool, dusty air.

“Is he dead?” Calliope whispered.

Cameron knelt down beside the prone duke, reaching out to touch the base of his bare neck. “Not yet. I can feel a pulse, but it’s thin. See here,” he said, gesturing to a gash along the duke’s forehead. “It matches Artemis’s elbow.”

Calliope glanced at the goddess and saw that her arm was indeed stained, a dried smear of rust-coloured blood. “He must have been here for quite a while, for it to dry like that. Do you think the statue fell on him?”

“Maybe her base broke as he was gloating over her. It would seem to be poetic justice of a sort.”

“Or maybe…” Calliope leaned closer, pushing down her nausea. “No. It can’t be.”

“What?”

Shivering, Calliope gestured towards the duke’s hand.

Clutched in his fist was a ripped swathe of green-and-gold silk. Half-hidden underneath his arm was a scattering of sparkling green beads.

“What is this?” Cameron asked tightly.

“Clio,” Calliope groaned. “These are from her costume.”

Cameron straightened, peering intently into the shadows. But Calliope could not be so cautious. She shot to her feet, dashing behind the marble plinth Artemis fell from. “Clio!” she cried. “Where are you? Clio!”

“Shh!” Cameron caught her hand, pulling her up short. “What if whoever did this is still lurking about? What if your sister…?”

“No! Clio couldn’t do this, or if she did I’m certain she had a good reason. You were at the British Museum, you saw. We have to find her.”

“And we will. But there are no other bloodstains on the floor, are there? She isn’t hurt. We need to get help for the duke first. He’s still alive.”

Calliope looked at the man sprawled on the floor. He was still pale, yet she could see that he stirred. “You would help him? Even though you loathe him?”

He laughed wryly. “I may be tempted to leave him to die, done in by his famous Alabaster Goddess. But I would loathe myself even more than him if I did that. I will run back to the ballroom and fetch help, if you think you can stand guard for a few moments. I promise I won’t be gone long.”

Calliope sucked in a deep breath. “Yes. I can stay.”

He studied her closely, as if to gauge her words. Finally, he nodded. “Of course you can, you’re Athena. When you hear people approaching, hide behind that sarcophagus. It would never do for anyone to know that we were alone here!”

Calliope thought of the rumours Emmeline told her about, the gossip about Westwood and her, the bets. How upset she had been by that! Now it hardly seemed to matter. “Not at all,” she said tartly. “Then you would be forced to offer for me.”

“A dreadful fate.” He caught her close in a swift, hard embrace, pressing a kiss to her brow. “I won’t be gone long.”

Calliope watched as he dashed back down the gallery and out the door, as fleet as any true Hermes. When he was gone, the silence gathered around her, thick and muffling, like a true London fog. The shadows also seemed to gather closer, creeping around as if they sensed doom, fed off it.

Calliope wrapped her arms tightly around herself to ward off the cold, to hold Cameron’s embrace close. Some of her stout, Athena-ish courage was ebbing away without him to hold it up, but she knew she had to hold strong. Hold on to her composure. So much depended on it.

Steeling her nerves, she knelt by the duke and reached for his hand. Swallowing a sudden bitter rush of bile, she loosened his fingers to pull free the strip of telltale silk. His grip tightened, as if reluctant to relinquish his prize, but she tugged it loose. Then she set to gathering the green beads, the scattered snake eyes.

As she picked up the last one, she noticed the broken wooden base of the statue. Even though it was splintered, it appeared to not be broken so much as split along an opening. Calliope peered closer, and saw that a tiny, torn bit of paper protruded.