“She told you?”

“Not exactly. If Madame Lefoux prefers to keep things a secret, who am I to gainsay her? But I did look inside some of those hatboxes of hers, and they do not always contain hats. I did inquire as to the specifics, and Madame Lefoux assured me it was better if I not become involved. However, Alexia, I wouldn’t want you to think me ignorant. Tunny and I do talk about such things, and I have eyes enough in my head to observe, even if I do not always understand.”

“I apologize for doubting you, Ivy.”

Ivy looked wistful. “Perhaps one day you, too, will take me into your confidence.”

“Oh, Ivy, I—”

Ivy held up a hand. “When you are quite ready, of course.”

Alexia sighed. “Speaking of which, you must excuse me. This news about the ghost, it is of no little importance. I must consult my husband’s Beta immediately.”

Ivy looked about. “But it is daylight.”

“Sometimes even werewolves are awake during the day. When the situation demands it. Conall is asleep, so Professor Lyall is probably awake and at his duties.”

“Is a cephalopod so dire as all that?”

“I am afraid it might be. If you would excuse me, Ivy?”

“Of course.”

“I shall inform Floote about the little matter of my patronage. He will set you up right and proper with the necessary pecuniary advance.”

Ivy grabbed at Lady Maccon’s hand as she passed. “Oh, thank you, Alexia.”

Alexia was as good as her word, going immediately to Floote and issuing him with instructions. Then, in the interest of economy and perhaps saving herself a trip to BUR, she casually asked, “Is there a local OBO chapter in this area? I understand it is quite the secret society but thought perhaps you might know.”

Floote gave her a meditative look. “Yes, madam, a block over. I noticed the marking just after you began visiting with Lord Akeldama.”

“Marking, Floote?”

“Yes, madam. There is a brass octopus on the door handle. Number eighty-eight.”

CHAPTER FIVE

The Lair of the Octopus

Number 88 was not a very impressive domicile. In fact, it was one of the least elegant in the neighborhood. While its immediate neighbors were nothing when compared to Lord Akeldama’s abode, they still put their very best brick forward. They acknowledged, in an entirely unspoken way, that they were denizens of the most fashionable residential area in London and that architecture and grounds should earn this accolade. Number eighty-eight was altogether shabby by comparison. Its paint was not exactly peeling, but it was faded, and its garden was overgrown with herbs gone to seed and lettuces that had bolted.

Scientists, thought Alexia as she made her way up the front steps and pulled the bell rope. She wore her worst dress, altered to compensate for her stomach and made of a worsted fabric somewhere between dishwater brown and green. She couldn’t remember why she’d originally purchased the poor sad thing—probably to upset her mother. She had even borrowed one of Felicity’s ugly shawls, despite the fact that the day was too warm for such a conceit. With the addition of a full white mob cap and a very humble expression, she looked every inch the housekeeper she wished to portray.