They were seated together on the sofa opposite the Wycliffs. Lucius was but a foot away, yet Sybil longed to reach out to him, to take his hand and hold it tight.
Mr Wycliff cocked his head and smiled. “People are quick to judge, me included. One would think experience would make me wiser, yet cynicism is hard to master.”
“We are all guilty of cynicism.” Sybil had thought the worst of Lucius Daventry in the beginning. “I imagine it would surprise people to learn that the dangerous Damian Wycliff is benevolent.”
Mr Wycliff laughed. “Sometimes life brings unexpected opportunities, does it not?”
“Indeed,” Lucius agreed, glancing at Sybil.
Silence descended.
“Flannery didn’t disappoint,” Lucius said. “I’d heard he excelled in gathering information, but I didn’t expect results so quickly.”
“Men desperate to reclaim their vowels can be extremely forthcoming.” Mr Wycliff swallowed another mouthful of brandy. “When Flannery offered to wipe a debt in exchange for information, one desperate lord revealed all he knew about Gorget’s Garrett.”
Lucius sat forward. “Tell Flannery I shall reimburse him for any expenses incurred while making enquires.”
Mr Wycliff gave a dismissive wave. “It’s been dealt with.”
“Paying my debts is as important as keeping my word.”
“Very well. You owe Flannery two thousand pounds.”
Lucius nodded. “Tell me about Gorget’s Garrett.”
It was an odd name, Sybil thought. Not that of a person or place. It could be an alehouse, tavern or coaching inn. The term garrett suggested an attic and her mind raced back to the quaint loft room at Bronygarth and her night of passion with Lucius Daventry.
“The Garrett is a select club.” Mr Wycliff’s tone suggested something indecent, something illicit. “A club catering to men who prefer to wear gowns and garters. Ribbons and rouge.”
“A molly-house?”
“The cynical me would assume so, but I’m told the men simply like to pretend they’re women. Lust and lechery play no part in their clandestine meetings.”
“I’m not so sure.” Lucius withdrew the lewd sketch found in Sir Melrose’s secret cupboard. He leaned forward and handed it to Mr Wycliff. “We came across this while searching Sir Melrose’s library. There must have been ten or more hidden in a box. The cynical me says Sir Melrose prefers bedding men. Perhaps he justifies his preference by choosing those with a fetish for wearing women’s clothes.”
Sybil found the hypothesis fascinating. So fascinating she had been absently sipping her sherry and had drained the glass.
“Then the drawings are a catalogue of sorts,” she said. “A selection of men one might find at the Garrett. Men willing to dress as women and take a male lover.”
“One might assume so, Miss Atwood.” Mr Wycliff sniggered as he studied the portrait. “Just because a man has a large chin, don’t presume the rest of him is in proportion.”
Sybil waited for Lucius to mention the likeness to the duke’s steward, Mr Warner, but he didn’t. “So we know what Gorget’s Garrett is,” she said. “And we presume Sir Melrose has specific tastes in the bedchamber. But what has any of it got to do with my father’s journals or the death of Mr Cribb?”
Mr Wycliff returned the sketch to Lucius. “Flannery’s men spoke to another tenant living above the china dealer.”
“Mr Davies??
? Lucius sounded intrigued. “I spoke to him myself, but he told me nothing of interest.”
Mr Wycliff grinned. “I imagine he wouldn’t tell me anything either. But Flannery’s men are known on the streets. Flannery’s men command respect amongst the lower classes.”
“I sensed Davies feared he might incriminate himself were he to reveal anything about Mr Cribb,” Lucius explained.
Mrs Wycliff came to her feet and offered Sybil another glass of sherry. Her husband apologised for neglecting his duties, for not being attentive to her needs. The lady responded with a smile that spoke of a love so deep Sybil couldn’t help but stare. She trailed her fingers over her husband’s shoulder as she moved past—a sensual action brimming with silent promises.
Sybil turned and locked gazes with Lucius. She wondered if he could see the same depth of devotion in her eyes, if her insatiable need for him was evident in her mannerisms, too.
The slight curl of his lips said their thoughts were aligned. Thoughts that would leave them racing from the Wycliffs, keen to indulge in a wild night of pleasure.