Professor Lyall chuckled at their antics and then returned to quietly going about official business, papers rustling softly as he calculated and correlated some complex mathematical matter of state.
“I have just come by the most interesting bit of information,” was Lady Maccon’s opening gambit.
This statement effectively distracted her husband from any further admonishments. “Well?”
“I sent Ivy to Scotland to find out from Lady Kingair what really happened with that previous assassination attempt.”
“Ivy? As in Mrs. Tunstell? What a very peculiar choice.”
“I shouldn’t underestimate Ivy if I were you, husband. She has discovered something.”
Conall ruminated a brief moment on this absurd statement and then said, “Yes?”
“It wasn’t simply that the poison was to come from London; there was a London agent involved, a mastermind if you would believe it. Ivy seems to think that this man orchestrated the whole attempt.”
Lord Maccon stilled. “What?”
“Here you thought you had put the matter to rest.” Alexia was feeling justifiably smug.
The earl’s face became still—the quiet before the storm. “Did she provide any details concerning the identity of this agent?”
“Only that he was supernatural.”
Behind them, Professor Lyall’s paper rustling stopped. He looked over at them, his vulpine face sharpened further by inquisitiveness. Randolph Lyall’s position at BUR was not held because he was Beta to Lord Maccon, but because of his innate investigative abilities. He had an astute mind and a nose for trouble—literally, being a werewolf.
Lord Maccon’s temper frothed over. “I knew the vampires had to be involved somehow! The vampires are always involved.”
Alexia stilled. “How do you know it was vampires? It could have been a ghost, or even a werewolf.”
Professor Lyall came over to participate in the conversation. “This is grave news.”
The earl continued to expound. “Well, if a ghost, she would have long since disanimated, so we’re well out of luck there. And if a werewolf, he must have been a loner of some kind. Most of those were killed off by the Hypocras Club last year. Damned scientists. So I suggest we start with the vampires.”
“I had already reached a similar conclusion myself, husband.”
“I’ll go to the hives,” suggested Professor Lyall, already heading for a hat rack.
Lord Maccon looked as though he would like to protest.
His wife put a hand to his arm. “No, that’s a good idea. He is far more politic than you. Even if he isn’t strictly gentry.”
Professor Lyall hid a smile, clapped his top hat to his head, and walked briskly out into the night without another word, merely touching the brim in Lady Maccon’s direction before departing.
“Very well,” grumbled the earl. “I’ll go after the local roves. There’s always a chance it could be one of them. And you—you stay right here and keep off that foot.”
“That is about as likely as a vampire going sunbathing. I am going to call upon Lord Akeldama. As potentate, he must be consulted on this matter. The dewan as well, I suppose. Could you send a man to inquire if Lord Slaughter could attend me this evening?”
Figuring that Lord Akeldama would at least ensure that his wife remain seated for some length of time in pursuit of gossip if for no other reason, the earl made no further protest. He cursed without much rancor and acquiesced to her request, sending Special Agent Haverbink off to alert the dewan. Lord Maccon did, however, insist upon seeing her to Lord Akeldama’s abode himself before pursuing his own investigations.
“Alexia, my poppadom, what are you doing in London this fine evening? Aren’t you supposed to be abed reveling in the romanticism of a weakened condition?”
Lady Maccon was, for once, not in the humor to entertain Lord Akeldama’s flowery ways. “Yes, but something highly untoward has occurred.”
“My dear, how perfectly splendid! Do sit and tell old Uncle Akeldama all about it! Tea?”
“Of course. Oh, and I should warn you, I have invited the dewan over. This is a matter for the Commonwealth.”
“Well, if you insist. But, my dearest flower, how ghastly to consider that such a mustache must shadow the clean-shaven grandeur of my domicile.” Lord Akeldama was rumored to insist that all his drones go without the dreaded lip skirt. The vampire had once had the vapors upon encountering an unexpected mustache around a corner of his hallway. Muttonchops were permitted in moderation, and only because they were currently all the rage among the most fashionable of London’s gentlemen-about-town. Even so, they must be as well tended as the topiary of Hampton Court.
With a sigh, Alexia settled herself into one of Lord Akeldama’s magnificent wingback chairs. The ever-considerate Boots rushed over with a pouf on which to rest her throbbing ankle.
Lord Akeldama noticed him and thus the fact that they were not alone. “Ah, Boots, my lovely boy, clear the room, would you, please? Oh, and bring me my harmonic auditory resonance disruptor. It’s on my dressing table next to the French verbena hand cream. There’s a dear.”
Boots, resplendent in his favorite forest-green velvet frock coat, nodded and vanished from the room. He reappeared shortly thereafter pushing in a laden tea trolley upon which lay the expected assortment of delicacies and a small spiky device.
“Will there be anything else, my lord?”