Page 46 of Rules for Ruin

Herein slept the man who had stolen Miss Corvus’s fortune. Who had tricked her and betrayed her, and who—if permitted to—might use his position to affect the safety and security of all women. Effie had her own private reasons for wishing his destruction, but she was still keenly sensitive to the larger picture.

She stopped at the door and listened, one hand resting lightly on the doorknob. There was no sound from within. If Parker or his lordship’s valet were inside, they were taking pains to disguise their presence, and Effie knew of no reason why they should.

Steeling herself, she opened the door to Compton’s room and entered.

10

Lord Compton’s bedroom was awash in darkness. Effie stopped inside, the door clicking shut behind her. She blinked into the murk, willing her eyes to adjust.

This time, there was no Gabriel Royce to light a friction match. Fortunately, Effie hadn’t come unprepared. Raising her skirts, she felt for the small taper candle she’d tied to the wires of her cage crinoline. It was still there, along with the small candleholder, and the silver vesta case.

Unlike regular friction matches, vesta matches were made of wax, with red phosphorus tips. One could strike them anywhere. Effie waited to do so until she was certain there was no one else in the room. Only then did she light her candle. It produced just enough of a flame for her to see in front of her.

Like his daughter’s bedroom, Lord Compton’s chamber was of an enormous size. In the dim glow of the candle, Effie beheld a monstrous mahogany four-poster bed, several towering wardrobes, and a full-sized sofa and chairs arranged around a marble fireplace. A bank of windows lined the opposite wall, the glass covered in thick folds of velvet draperies.

Effie moved past them toward the open door across the room. It led to his lordship’s dressing room and bathing chamber, the luxury of which seemed to her even greater than in his bedroom. But Effie didn’t have time to reflect on Compton’s propensity for extravagance, nor on the possibility that some of that extravagance had been funded by Miss Corvus. She kept her eyes ahead of her, scanning every surface as she went, lest—like that night in the library—she should be taken unaware.

She found Compton’s study on the other side of his bathing room. Entering it in the tiny halo of candlelight, Effie’s already fizzing pulse surged with a mixture of anxiety and anticipation. She couldn’t think when she’d have another opportunity such as this. She was determined to make the most of it.

The study was small in comparison to the other rooms. It contained a secretary desk, a chest of drawers, and several leather chairs. Two bookcases rose on either side of the desk. They held row upon row of thick, leather-bound volumes, their titles stamped in gold on the spines. No medieval texts, these. They were books on geography, history, and law.

Effie skimmed the titles on her way to the desk. Were these books more personal to him than the ones in his library? If they were, it wasn’t readily apparent why.

She sat down in the chair in front of his desk. Placing her candle atop the surface, she quietly began testing the drawers. To her surprise, many of them were unlocked. Surprise swiftly gave way to disappointment as she searched each one, finding nothing but tradesmen’s bills, a few dry letters from Compton’s colleagues in Parliament, and a document that appeared to be the lease agreement on a house.

Hope sprang anew with the next drawer. It was located behind a small door on the side of the desk. Unlike the other drawers, this one refused to open.

Removing her two remaining dragonfly hairpins, Effie set to work. She inserted the first hairpin into the lock until she felt resistance from the lock pins. Using that hairpin as leverage, she slid the second hairpin into the lock and manipulated the tumbler. It took a bit of doing, but after a few nerve-racking minutes, Effie felt the unmistakable click as the lock opened.

Satisfaction flared in her breast. Next time she saw Nell, Effie looked forward to informing her that she hadn’t, in fact, forgotten everything she’d learned at the Academy. After returning her hairpins to her hair, Effie slid out the small drawer. It contained a stack of loose papers that smelled faintly of violets. Withdrawing them, she quickly ascertained that they were handwritten notes, all penned in the same script and signed with the same initial—D. Effie pored over them in the candlelight. They didn’t contain anything damning in regard to Miss Corvus, but neither were they entirely innocent.

My dearest, what pleasure you gave me (one of the notes read). My poor body has not yet recovered.

And…

How virile and strong you were yesterday afternoon. Shall we repeat the performance Thursday morning next?

The more Effie read of the notes, the more she became convinced of two things: 1) Compton had a mistress; and 2) he and that mistress had a regular appointment on Thursday mornings.

But where did they meet? The letters didn’t specify. Effie presumed it was a prearranged location. A hotel room or a house, perhaps.

Her thoughts instantly returned to the lease agreement. She removed it from the desk again, this time examining it more closely. The house was located in Ellis Street. Had Compton let it for his mistress? Effie suspected he might have done. She committed the address to memory.

“Lord Solomon, indeed,” she murmured disdainfully as she returned the lease to its place. She put the letters back in their drawer and locked it.

Evidence of a mistress wasn’t what she’d hoped to find, but it wasn’t nothing. For now, it would have to do.

Rising from the desk, she paused to blow out her candle. Once the wick was sufficiently cooled, she resecured the taper and the holder to her crinoline and prepared to make her exit in the darkness. She’d already been away from the performance too long. Any longer and her absence would be remarked. A lost hairpin could only explain so much.

She was just making her way back through Lord Compton’s bedroom, preparing to slip out the door, when a male voice sounded in the hall.

Effie froze where she stood. Her heart leapt into her throat. Good lord. It was a servant!

Her gaze darted about the darkened room. With only seconds to act, she did the only thing she could. She dashed behind the heavy curtains, hoping against hope that there would be a window seat she could squeeze into. It was the only way to disguise the fullness of her skirts.

But there was no window seat.

And the windows weren’t windows, either. They were tall glass doors leading out to a stone terrace.