“No, thank you, Boots.”
Boots turned his attention eagerly onto Lady Maccon. “My lady?”
“No, thank you, Mr. Bootbottle-Fipps.”
Remarkably, her use of his proper name seemed to cause the young dandy some embarrassment, for he blushed and backed hurriedly out of the room, leaving them alone save for a plethora of gold-tasseled throw pillows and the fat calico cat purring placidly in a corner.
Lord Akeldama flicked the forks of the auditory disruptor, and the low-pitched humming sound commenced, the sound of two different kinds of bees arguing. He situated the device carefully in the center of the trolley. The cat, who had been lying on her back in a highly undignified sprawl, rolled over, stretched languidly, and ambled toward the drawing room door, disgruntled by the noise. When her lashing tail and obviously presented backside were ignored, she yowled imperiously.
Lord Akeldama rose. “Your servant, Madam Pudgemuffin,” he said, letting her out of the room.
Lady Maccon calculated that she and her host were on familiar enough terms for her to pour her own tea. She did so while he dealt with the demanding feline.
The vampire resumed his seat, crossing one silken leg over the other and rocking the crossed foot back and forth slightly. This was a gesture of impatience when exhibited by any ordinary human, but with Lord Akeldama it seemed to express suppressed energy rather than any particular emotional state. “I used to love pets, my dove, did you know? When I was mortal.”
“Did you?” Alexia encouraged cautiously. Lord Akeldama rarely spoke of his life before. She was afraid of saying more and thus forestalling further confidences.
“Yes. It is greatly troubling that I am now left with only a cat for company.”
Alexia refrained from mentioning the plethora of fashionable gentlemen who seemed to be ever in, out, and about Lord Akeldama’s domicile. “I suppose you might consider keeping more than one cat.”
“Oh, dear me, no. Then I should be known as that vampire with all the cats.”
“I hardly think that ever likely to become your defining characteristic, my lord.” Alexia took in her host’s evening garb—black tails and silver trousers, coupled with a corseted black and silver paisley waistcoat and silver cravat. The neckwear was pinned with a massive silver filigree pin, and the monocle dangling idly from one gloved hand was silver and diamond to match. Lord Akeldama’s golden hair was brushed to shiny butter yellow glory, fastened back in such a way that one long lock was allowed to artfully escape.
“Oh, clementine, what a splendid thing to say!”
Lady Maccon took a sip of tea and firmed up her resolve. “My lord, I do hate to ask this of you especially, but will you be completely serious with me for a moment?”
Lord Akeldama’s foot stopped rocking and his pleasant expression tightened. “My darling girl, we have known each other many years now, but such a request breaches even the bonds of our friendship.”
“I meant no offense, I assure you. But you remember this matter I have been investigating? How the current threat on the queen’s life has led me to dredge up a certain uncomfortable assassination attempt of the past?”
“Of course. As a matter of interest, I have some rather noteworthy information to relay to you on the subject. But, please, ladies first.”
Alexia was intrigued but spoke on as etiquette demanded. “I have heard from Scotland. It seems that there was an agent here in London who apparently concocted the whole dismal plot. A supernatural agent. You wouldn’t know anything of this, would you by any chance?”
“My dearest girl, you cannot possibly think that I—”
“No, actually, I don’t. You enjoy gathering information, Lord Akeldama, but very rarely seem to put it to any active use, aside from furthering your own curiosity. I fail to see how a botched assassination attempt could have anything to do with your unremitting inquisitiveness.”
“Quite logical of you, buttercup.” Lord Akeldama smiled, showing his fangs. They glistened silver in the bright gas lighting, matching his cravat.
“And, of course, you would never have botched it.”
The vampire laughed—a sharp sparkling sound of unexpected delight. “So kind, my little crumpet, so kind.”
“So, what do you make of it?”
“That twenty years ago, some supernatural or other, in London, was trying to kill the queen?”
“My husband thinks it must be a vampire. I’m inclined to suspect a ghost, which would leave the trail cold, of course.”
Lord Akeldama tapped one fang with the edge of his monocle. “I dare say your last option is best.”
“Werewolves?” Alexia looked into her teacup.
“A werewolf, yes, my gherkin.”
Alexia put down her cup and then flicked the two sounding rods on the harmonic device to encourage greater auditory disruption. “A loner I suppose, which leaves me in the same situation as a ghost. Most of the local loners were eliminated by the Hypocras Club’s illegal experiments last year.” She poured herself a second cup of tea, added a small dollop of milk, and lifted it to her lips.
Lord Akeldama shook his head, looking unusually pensive. The monocle stopped tapping. “You are missing a piece in this game, I think, butterball. My instincts are inclined to say pack, not loner. You don’t know what the local pack was like at that time. But I remember. Oh, yes. There were rumors all over town. Nothing proven, of course. The last Alpha wasn’t right in the head. A fact kept well away from public and press, and from daylight musings for that matter, but a fact, nonetheless. What he was doing to earn that reputation, well???.?.?.”