Wicked Widow by Amanda Quick

precisely how I came to know of your connection to the Dream Pavilions.”
    “Forgive me, Mrs. Deveridge, but my curiosity on that point was strong enough to keep me awake for quite some time last night.”
    “Really?” She brightened with what could only be a sympathetic interest. “Do you suffer much difficulty in sleeping? ”
    He smiled thinly. “I am sure I will sleep like the dead once I have the answers to my questions.”

    She started a bit at the word
dead,
but she caught herself immediately. “Yes, well, I suppose I ought to begin by telling you that my father was a member of the Vanzagarian Society.”
    “I am already aware of that fact. I also know that he had achieved the rank of a master.”
    “Yes. But he was interested primarily in the scholarly aspects of Vanza, not the metaphysical notions or the physical exercises. He studied the ancient language of the Isle of Vanzagara for many years. Indeed, he was a noted expert within the Society.”
    “I know.”
    “I see.” She cleared her throat. “In the course of his work he communicated with many other Vanza scholars scattered throughout England, the Continent, and America. Here in London he frequently consulted with Ignatius Lorring himself.” Madeline paused. “That was, of course, before Lorring became so ill that he stopped seeing his old friends and colleagues.”
    “As the Grand Master of the Society, Lorring knew more about its members than anyone else. Are you telling me that your father discussed such matters with him?”
    “I regret to say that they did more than merely discuss the personal affairs of the members of the Society.
    Toward the end of his life, Lorring became obsessed with information concerning gentlemen in the Society.” She rolled her eyes. “One might say that he became the Grand Master Eccentric of the Society of Eccentrics and Oddities.”
    “Perhaps we could skip your personal reflections on the members of the Vanzagarian Society?”
    “Sorry.”
    She did not look at all sorry, he decided, merely frustrated because he had stopped her in mid-lecture.
    “I comprehend that you hold strong views on the subject,” he said politely, “but I fear that if you take the time to describe them all to me, we shall not finish this conversation by nightfall.”
    “You may be right,” she shot back. “There are, after all, so many things to criticize about the Society, are there not? But for the sake of brevity, I shall move on to the essentials. Suffice it to say that, driven by a desire for the most minute details, Lorring appointed my father to keep a record of the members.”
    “What sort of record? ”
    She hesitated, as if torn by some internal debate.
    Then, quite suddenly, she got to her feet. “I will show you.”
    She removed a gold chain from around her throat. He saw that a small key, which had been hidden from sight beneath her fichu, dangled from the delicate, gold links. She crossed the room to a small cupboard secured with a brass lock.
    She opened the cupboard with the key and removed a large journal bound in dark leather. She carried the volume back to her desk and set it down with great care.
    “This is the record Lorring requested my father to compile and maintain.” She opened the book and glanced down at the first page. “It has not been kept current since my father’s death, so the information on the members is now a full year out of date.”
    A whisper of unease went through him. He got to his feet and went to look at the first page of the old journal. He saw at once that it was a record of names that went back to the earliest days of the Vanzagarian Society. Slowly he turned the pages, examining the contents. There were lengthy notes beneath each entry. The details covered far more than such minor facts as the date a gentleman had been admitted to the Society and the level of expertise he had achieved. They included business and personal affairs as well as comments on the temperaments and