Mary Jo Putney (14 page)

Her voice was deeper than usual when she said, "Fate," the word drawn out and distant. After a pause that went on too long, she continued disjointedly, "Anger, a veiled face, secrets that join and divide. Lies and betrayals." Then, in a whisper, she repeated, "Lies and betrayals... and love."

Diana felt chill fingers on her spine. Though she chose to make light of Edith's words, in the past they'd been uncannily accurate. Madeline asked quietly, "Are you still sure you want to become involved with St. Aubyn?"

Before Diana could answer, Edith said in her other-worldly voice, "The lies and secrets are not all on one side." Then she shook her head and said in her pragmatic Yorkshire accent, "Whatever that means."

"I doubt it means anything at all," Diana said crisply, rising from the table. "And if neither of you has any more ominous hints or threats for me, I think I'll go throw knives."

As an exit line it wasn't bad.
 
It was also the literal truth. When Madeline had taught Diana what a courtesan should know, the curriculum had included self-defense. Maddy always had a knife ready to hand in her reticule, in a sheath on her leg, or concealed near her bed. Three times the weapon had saved her from great unpleasantness. Once it might have saved her life; the man who threatened her had later strangled another mistress before killing himself.

The lessons had included how to grasp and how to stab.
Hold it underhand and stab upward. If you stab down, you're too easy to block and the blade will glance off the shoulder or ribs and not do enough damage.

The knife-throwing lessons were intended to make Diana more comfortable with the weapon. Throwing was not usually recommended for self-defense because it left the thrower disarmed.

Even though Diana hated and feared violence, knife throwing turned out to have a hypnotic fascination. It required concentration and was a soothing activity when she felt disturbed, as she did this morning.

During her earlier years in London, Madeline had turned a long narrow attic room into a practice range. One end of the chamber was covered with soft pine boards to protect the wall, targets of various sizes and heights were fixed to it, and several swinging targets hung in front. The room was used only for knife throwing and the carpet and sparse furnishings were old, but a large window made the place bright and cheerful.

Diana and Madeline practiced here regularly, with the room kept locked the rest of the time. Edith had tried her hand at knife throwing but the sport had little interest for her.

The special knives were made by an old Syrian man who lived in East London. While shaped more or less like a normal dagger, they were made of one solid piece of steel, with no separate haft. Because of that, the weapons were balanced so that they could be thrown by holding either the blade or the hilt, a most unusual characteristic. Both women had a set of six knives, in three different sizes. The lighter knives were easier for a woman to handle and to conceal, while the heavier ones struck harder.

Diana thought with amusement how incongruous she would appear to an onlooker. She had changed to a white muslin morning gown, her hair was still primly woven back in a chignon, and she looked as ladylike as anyone could wish. Stepping up to the eight-pace mark, she swung her knife lightly to get the feel, then hurled it at a target.

Thunk!
The blade slammed dead into the center.

Strapped to Diana's leg was the embroidered sheath Madeline had given her. Turing her back to the target, she whirled, pulling the knife free and throwing it in one motion without stopping to aim.

It landed half an inch from the first knife. For the next quarter of an hour she threw from different positions as fast as she could. If she ever needed to do this in earnest, she was unlikely to have ideal conditions.

Knives spin in midair, and part of the skill lay in learning how to hit the target with the point rather than the hilt or edge. Different distances from the target allowed for a differing number of spins; a throw that might be accurate at five or eight paces would bounce off the target if thrown from six or nine.

With time, a good knife thrower learned how hit the target every time at any distance. Diana Lindsay, for all her angelic appearance, was very, very good.

After she'ad warmed up, Diana started throwing at moving targets, which swung like pendulums and were a real challenge. Nonetheless, she hit nine out of ten in the center circle. When the door opened, she didn't turn until Madeline's amused voice said, "Are you imagining that I am the target?"

"Good Lord, Maddy, don't even joke about such a thing!" Diana went down the range to remove the six knives. It took time to wrench the two largest blades out; the heavier they were, the deeper they struck.

Walking back to Madeline, she said, "I do find this relaxing, though I'm not sure I could ever throw a knife at another person, even to save my life."

"Would you be able to throw to save Geoffrey's life?"

"Yes," Diana said without hesitation.

"If a situation ever arises where you are threatened—which, God willing, will never happen—just remember how much Geoffrey and the rest of us would miss you." Though Madeline's voice was matter-of-fact, her underlying emotion was apparent. "Save yourself first and make peace with your creator later."

Taking a knife from Diana, she hefted it, then hurled it at the largest target, where it struck quivering three inches from the center. Not pinpoint accuracy, but still a good throw.

Smiling mischievously, Diana took another knife and hit the same target dead center. Madeline chuckled. "I've created a monster. You have the best eye I've ever seen." Taking another knife, she placed it less than a half-inch from Diana's.

Diana laughed. The tension that had existed between them earlier had vanished. "You've never told me how you got started with this. I can understand having a weapon around for self-defense, but why knife throwing? It's such a strange, barbaric skill."

Madeline smiled wickedly and threw at the moving target, which was swinging back and forth. Her weapon hit off-center and the target spun wildly on its rope, but the knife held. "I thought the story too warm for your innocent ears. Now that you've entered the trade, I suppose I should enlighten you."

"How can the story be warmer than some of your other lessons?" Diana asked in amusement as she sat down in one of the worn chairs at the end of the room opposite the targets. "I still can't look at a parsnip with a straight face."

Both women laughed. Madeline had used a parsnip as a teaching aid when describing what a courtesan would be expected to know, reducing first Diana, then herself, to helpless giggles. The lessons had been most enlightening, though Diana sometimes had trouble believing all that Madeline had told her.

"In the past, I talked mainly of what is considered normal."
Thunk!
Another of Maddy's knives hit a stationary target. Though she'd complimented Diana's remarkable skill, she was very nearly as good. "However, some men have tastes that are extremely... unusual."
Thunk!

As
Madeline went to the end of the range to retrieve the knives, she continued, "I once knew a gentleman who was incapable of sexual congress in the usual way. However, knives excited him enormously. The first time he visited me, he pulled out two Indian
kukris
and started waving them around. They're wicked, great curving knives, and I thought I was going to be murdered."

Diana inhaled sharply. Though Maddy was telling the tale with humor, it must have been terrifying. No wonder her friend was so adamant that her protégée learn to protect herself.

Returning to Diana's end of the room, Madeline laid the knives on the side table and sat down. "After the gentleman threw both of the
kukris
into my washstand, which did it no good, he could perform in quite the normal way.

"The first time that happened, I was alarmed, but he was a pleasant man apart from this oddity." She brushed a tendril of dark hair back from her face. "He suggested that watching me throw the knives would be even more exciting for him. Being an obliging sort, I learned how. It was an interesting and useful pursuit, so I continued even after we parted company."

Diana was round-eyed with wonder. "I hadn't realized quite how far one had to go to please a customer."

Madeline grimaced. "Believe me, this particular idiosyncrasy was harmless compared to some. There are things even the most hardened streetwalker will refuse to do. I'll tell you more about that sometime, so you will be better prepared for what might be asked. Don't ever let a man talk you into something you find distasteful. It isn't worth it."

She chuckled suddenly. "The only real danger in throwing knives for my friend's pleasure was the risk of getting lung fever in midwinter. He liked me to do it naked, you see—I always had the fire built up when he was coming."

"It all sounds very... interesting," Diana said faintly. At times like this, she wondered if she was capable of performing as a courtesan. At heart, she was really a conventional creature.

Sobering, Madeline said, "There aren't many men like that, and soon enough you will know how to deal with them. The most difficult part will be your first time. No amount of my teaching will compensate for lack of experience."

"I've been thinking, and I have an idea about how to obscure my lack of skill," Diana said tentatively. In a few sentences she described what she had in mind.

Madeline nodded, impressed. "An excellent idea. You may have a natural talent for this trade after all." She stood and stretched her arms wide over her head. "I'm walking to Oxford Street to look for some plumes. Care to come with me?"

"That sounds delightful," Diana said. "I'll fetch my shawl."

The rest of the day was equally uneventful, with time spent sewing, discussing the week's menus with Edith, and listening to what Geoffrey had learned that day. But that night, after putting her son to bed, Diana once more entered the world of the demirep. Several of Madeline's old friends shared a subscription to an opera box, paying two hundred pounds a year for the privilege of having a shop window for their charms, and Maddy had secured an invitation to join them.

As they entered the first-tier box, Diana saw heads swiveling toward them. She wore shimmering gold silk tonight, a luxurious color that made her hair darkly bright and her skin glow like a peach. The outfit was designed to be noticed, a task it accomplished very effectively. Society ladies ostentatiously turned their heads away, though some took furtive glances, studying the kind of women who lured men away from their homes.

The men were much bolder, staring or squinting through their quizzing glasses in open appraisal. As she slipped into a velvet padded chair, Diana's attention was caught by a man seated directly across the pit in a box on the same tier. He stared with a dark intensity that reminded her of St. Aubyn, but closer study showed that he was a stranger. The man caught her looking at him and gave a slow, knowing smile. She flushed and turned away before remembering that a Cyprian should encourage such interest.

The people in her own box were a merry crew. A regular subscriber, Juliette, was there with her protector, an aging dandy who kept one hand possessively on his mistress's bare shoulder. Juliette had a circle of regular admirers, a fact that afforded her protector great satisfaction.

Some of the men Diana had met at Harriette Wilson's came to pay their respects, and each of them brought friends who begged an introduction and hovered until Diana could scarcely breathe. It was both flattering and alarming. She was learning how to smile and chat with several men at a time, but it was an effort, and she worried about appearing rude by accidentally ignoring someone. Young Mr. Clinton, for example, was so shy that she made a point of drawing him into the conversation.

Diana was beginning to feel faint from the heat and the crowding when a sibilant French-accented voice cut through the babble. "A flower of such perfection will wilt if not allowed air. Would you care to take a turn in the corridor,
ma belle?"

Glancing up, Diana saw the man who had caught her eye across the opera house. He was darkly handsome, with hooded black eyes, and an exotic, un-English air. Except for his immaculate white shirt and gold-headed cane, his broad, powerful frame was clothed entirely in black, with an elegance just short of foppishness. Inclining her head, Diana said, "Sir, I do not know you."

Without taking his gaze from her face, the newcomer commanded, "Ridgley, introduce us."

Lord Ridgley, Diana's middle-aged admirer of the night before, performed the introduction unenthusiastically. "Mrs. Diana Lindsay, the Count de Veseul."

"Now will you walk with me, little flower?" the count asked lazily, extending his arm.

Eager to escape the crush for a few minutes, Diana rose and placed her hand on his black-clad arm. "If you gentlemen will excuse me, I will be back shortly," she said with a warm smile that included her entire court. Ridgley and the others drooped a bit at her defection, then began discussing horses, that never-failing topic of masculine interest.

Since it was between intervals, the corridors were almost empty. Diana inhaled deeply. "I am grateful for your suggestion, my lord. It is much cooler out here."

"Do you enjoy your first visit to the opera,
ma fleur?"
His voice was sibilant, and for a large man, he was very light on his feet. Though wide and solid, the count gave the impression that his exquisite tailoring concealed muscle, not fat.