with blood. That sort of thing." Tobias nodded. "I see." Lavinia thought about the extraordinary degree of detail in the waxwork picture she clutched and went very still. What if fate had led them directly to the killer? Across the room, she caught Tobias's eye. He shook his head slightly. She took a deep breath to compose herself. He was right, of course. It was simply too much of a coincidence to believe they had come straight to the killer seeking answers about a death threat she had sent. Then again, how many expert workers in wax were there in London? The number could not be large. Emeline had put Mrs. Vaughn at the top of the list of the most skilled without any hesitation. As if she had read Lavinia's mind, Mrs. Vaughn glanced at her with a knowing expression and smiled broadly. Lavinia shook off the cobwebs of unease that had settled over her senses. What on earth was the matter with her? She was allowing her thoughts to become disordered. It was impossible to envision this small, cheerful woman in the role of murderess.
"We came here today to consult with you about that very subject, Mrs. Vaughn," she said. "Artistic details?" Mrs. Vaughn beamed. "How intriguing. There is nothing I love to discuss more than my art." Lavinia put the package on the nearest table. "If you would be so kind as to examine this waxwork and tell us what you can about the artist who created it, we would be extremely grateful." "The work is unsigned?" Mrs. Vaughn moved closer to the table. "How unusual." "I think you will comprehend why the artist did not inscribe his signature when you see the picture," Tobias said dryly. Lavinia untied the string that bound the cloth. The material fell aside to reveal the unpleasant scene. "Oh my." Mrs. Vaughn removed a pair of silver spectacles from the pocket of her apron and pushed them onto the bridge of her nose. She did not take her gaze off the picture. "Oh my" Troubled lines appeared between her brows. She picked up the picture and carried it across the room to put it down on top of the piano. Lavinia followed. She stood behind Mrs. Vaughn and watched as the tapers in the candelabra cast a flaring light across the miniature ballroom and the dead woman in the green gown. "Can I assume that this is not intended to illustrate a scene from a play or novel?" Mrs. Vaughn asked without looking away from the waxwork. "You assume correctly" Tobias came to stand next to Lavinia. "We believe it was meant as a threat. We wish to find the artist who made it." "Indeed," Mrs. Vaughn whispered. "Indeed. I can certainly understand your desire to do that. There is great malevolence in this little piece. Great anger. Great hatred. Was it sent to you, Mrs. Lake? No, that cannot be. The hair is blond caught in the process of turning slowly silver. You are a younger woman and your hair is quite red, is it not?" Tobias gave Lavinia's hair an enigmatic glance. "It is very red." She scowled at him. "There is no need for personal remarks, Sir." "Merely an observation." It was more than an observation, Lavinia thought. She wondered if Tobias was one of those men who disliked red-haired women. Perhaps he actually believed all that nonsense about fiery tempers and difficult dispositions. Mrs. Vaughn looked up. "How did this little picture come into your hands?" "It was left on the doorstep of an acquaintance," Tobias said. "How odd." Mrs. Vaughn hesitated. "I must say, the piece is very elegantly modeled, for all its unpleasantness." "Have you ever seen workmanship of this quality?" Lavinia asked. "Other than my own, do you mean? No." Mrs. Vaughn slowly removed her spectacles. "I cannot say I have. I make it a point to tour the galleries and exhibitions of my competitors. I would have remembered such skill." "Do you think we can assume, then, that the artist is not exhibiting to the public?" Tobias asked. Mrs. Vaughn frowned. "I would not assume any such thing, Sir. An artist possessed of this degree of talent would find it
"We came here today to consult with you about that very subject, Mrs. Vaughn," she said. "Artistic details?" Mrs. Vaughn beamed. "How intriguing. There is nothing I love to discuss more than my art." Lavinia put the package on the nearest table. "If you would be so kind as to examine this waxwork and tell us what you can about the artist who created it, we would be extremely grateful." "The work is unsigned?" Mrs. Vaughn moved closer to the table. "How unusual." "I think you will comprehend why the artist did not inscribe his signature when you see the picture," Tobias said dryly. Lavinia untied the string that bound the cloth. The material fell aside to reveal the unpleasant scene. "Oh my." Mrs. Vaughn removed a pair of silver spectacles from the pocket of her apron and pushed them onto the bridge of her nose. She did not take her gaze off the picture. "Oh my" Troubled lines appeared between her brows. She picked up the picture and carried it across the room to put it down on top of the piano. Lavinia followed. She stood behind Mrs. Vaughn and watched as the tapers in the candelabra cast a flaring light across the miniature ballroom and the dead woman in the green gown. "Can I assume that this is not intended to illustrate a scene from a play or novel?" Mrs. Vaughn asked without looking away from the waxwork. "You assume correctly" Tobias came to stand next to Lavinia. "We believe it was meant as a threat. We wish to find the artist who made it." "Indeed," Mrs. Vaughn whispered. "Indeed. I can certainly understand your desire to do that. There is great malevolence in this little piece. Great anger. Great hatred. Was it sent to you, Mrs. Lake? No, that cannot be. The hair is blond caught in the process of turning slowly silver. You are a younger woman and your hair is quite red, is it not?" Tobias gave Lavinia's hair an enigmatic glance. "It is very red." She scowled at him. "There is no need for personal remarks, Sir." "Merely an observation." It was more than an observation, Lavinia thought. She wondered if Tobias was one of those men who disliked red-haired women. Perhaps he actually believed all that nonsense about fiery tempers and difficult dispositions. Mrs. Vaughn looked up. "How did this little picture come into your hands?" "It was left on the doorstep of an acquaintance," Tobias said. "How odd." Mrs. Vaughn hesitated. "I must say, the piece is very elegantly modeled, for all its unpleasantness." "Have you ever seen workmanship of this quality?" Lavinia asked. "Other than my own, do you mean? No." Mrs. Vaughn slowly removed her spectacles. "I cannot say I have. I make it a point to tour the galleries and exhibitions of my competitors. I would have remembered such skill." "Do you think we can assume, then, that the artist is not exhibiting to the public?" Tobias asked. Mrs. Vaughn frowned. "I would not assume any such thing, Sir. An artist possessed of this degree of talent would find it
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