“Perhaps the greater shock to the likes of you is that Daniel had a wife at all.”

The likes of you. It seemed Mariel was not the only time her husband had strayed.

“I think there’s a misunderstanding—” Celeste began.

“Girls like you are nothing,” Mrs. Alameda spat. “A foul habit that I tolerated because he always came back to me. To me!” And now her veneer cracked completely, a sob racking her body, her shoulders heaving. “But now one of you little monsters have taken him from me for good. To hell with you, all of you! May the devil take your soul!” She lunged at Celeste, her fingers extended like claws.

Celeste threw herself back, tripping down the porch stairs. She cried out, arms seeking purchase, but caught only air. She landed hard on her back, the breath flying from her lungs.

Mrs. Alameda stood on the steps over her, glaring down, and for a moment, Celeste thought she might come for her. She shuffled away, crablike, putting distance between her and the grief-stricken woman.

Mrs. Alameda’s glare morphed into triumph as she looked down at Celeste, fallen in the dirt and ash. It seemed enough to satisfy her, and she retreated into the house, slamming the door behind her.

Celeste groaned in pain, her heart still racing. Then she remembered that a woman like Mrs. Alameda might well have a shotgun, and something told Celeste the woman wouldn’t hesitate to use it. She scrambled to her feet, picked up her skirts, and ran. She didn’t care who saw her. She only wanted to be as far away as possible from this cursed house and its bitter inhabitant.

CHAPTER 12

Once Celeste was well down Gethsemane and the Alameda house was no longer in view, she stopped to catch her breath. Despite the awful encounter, she had learned valuable information. Mariel’s Daniel was dead, and he had been a Virtue. It was not a distant leap to assume he was the murder victim, although she would have to confirm it with Ibrahim. And now she remembered who had told her of the Order of Raphael. It had been Grace, speaking of the victim and calling him a saint.

“A saint who couldn’t keep his trousers up,” Celeste observed to no one.

His widow had certainly implied that Daniel had multiple mistresses, which meant Mariel was possibly only one of many. Which also meant any number of women might have castrated Dr. Daniel. Hell, his wife alone seemed perfectly capable of the deed, although her misery had seemed genuine.

Perhaps another woman had framed up Mariel well and good. But who? It would have to be someone who had earned her trust. Someone who might encourage her to share a bottle of laudanum. It seemed outrageous. It was much more likely that Daniel’s murder was the result of some business dealing gone wrong, and Mariel had simply gotten caught up in it.