Prudence set her teeth against the rage that poured through her. "Where did you take her?"

"To Curling Castle. Curling has a room for that sort of sport. Created it especially for The Princes of Virtue." Bloomfield glanced at her as if he'd momentarily forgotten she was there. He scowled. "That was the name of our club. We liked the irony of it, you see."

"I see." Prudence wanted to go for his throat.

Sebastian must have sensed the fury that was boiling like a sickness in her stomach. He moved to stand directly behind her. She felt his hand settle on her shoulder.

"Do The Princes of Virtue still use that room for their private entertainment?" Sebastian asked matter-of-factly, as if such lechery were the norm for high-ranking gentlemen.

"What?" Bloomfield appeared briefly confused. "No, no. That's all over now. We never met again after that night. She ruined everything. Everything, damn her soul."

"How did she ruin things?" Prudence managed to ask in a rela­tively calm tone.

"Killed herself." Bloomfield shuddered. Then he went back to staring into the heart of the lamp.

Prudence fought for her self-control. Her task was to pry the an­swers from Bloomfield, not tell him what she thought of him. "Did she kill herself because of what you did to her?"

"Curling had her first." Bloomfield spoke very softly. "There was blood. Didn't expect that, you know. Curling was pleased. Said he'd gotten his money's worth. Then Ringcross and Oxenham got on top of her."

"What about you?" Prudence asked.

"By the time it was my turn, the ropes had loosened. She got free of them and ran to the window. Curling tried to grab her, but he slipped and fell. The robes, you see. We all wore black robes. The others were too drunk to catch her in time."

Prudence remembered a vague dream of black drapes blowing in front of a window that opened onto darkness. "Lillian jumped out the window?"

"She stood on the sill for a second. Then she tore the gag out of her mouth and looked back at us. I will never forget her eyes as she cursed us. Never, as long as I live." Bloomfield slammed his fist onto the desk. "Her eyes have haunted me for three damned years."

Prudence choked on her rage. For a few seconds she literally could not speak. It was Sebastian who quietly took over the questioning.

"What did she say when she cursed you?" he asked without any sign of emotion in his tone. "What were Lillian's exact words, Bloom­field?"

‘You will pay. As God is my witness, I swear you will pay. There will be justice." Bloomfield looked down at his shaking hands. "Then she leaped to the stones below. Broke her neck."

"What did you do then?" Sebastian asked.

"Curling said we had to get rid of the body. Make it appear that she had drowned. He had us wrap her up in a blanket and take her to a stream." Bloomfield frowned. "She was so light. Didn't weigh much at all."

Prudence straightened her shoulders and told herself that she had to hold up her end of the investigation no matter how unpleasant it was. "And now you believe that Lillian has come back to claim her vengeance."

Bloomfield's eyes burned with a barely controlled terror. "It's not fair. She was just a tavern wench. We just wanted a bit of sport."

"Tavern wenches have feelings just like other women," Prudence said tightly. "What right did you have to force her into that carriage and carry her away like that?" She broke off with a small gasp as Sebastian's fingers bit into her shoulder.

But she saw at once that there was no need to worry about having interrupted Bloomfield's story. He was staring into the lamp again, pondering some vision that only he could see.

"It's all so unfair," he muttered. "The wench has already had her vengeance on me. Why does she want to kill me? Hasn't she done enough?"

Prudence leaned forward. "What do you mean? What vengeance has Lillian taken against you?"

"I have not had a woman since that night," Bloomfield howled. Despair was carved on his face. He did not appear to see Prudence at all now. He was still looking into the vision that he saw in the lamp­light. "I can no longer even have a woman. She destroyed my manhood that night."

Prudence started to tell him it served him right if he had indeed been impotent for the past three years. But Sebastian's hand tightened again on her shoulder, silencing her.

"And now you think she is going to kill you?" Sebastian prodded quietly.

"She has already killed Oxenham and Ringcross." Bloomfield clasped his shaking hands together. "I know they say that Ringcross's death was an accident and that Oxenham committed suicide, but it's not true. I got this note, you see."

He picked up a small piece of foolscap and handed it to Prudence. She read the brief message.

Lillian will be avenged.

"Where did you get this?" Prudence asked.

"I found it lying on my desk yesterday. She must have put it there. I want you to make her go away and leave me alone," Bloomfield said.

"How, precisely, do you expect me to do that?" Prudence asked.

"Contact her. Tell her I have paid for my part in what happened."

Prudence looked at him. "It might be difficult to convince her that she should be satisfied. After all, you are still alive and she is dead."

"It's not fair," Bloomfield said again. "I have paid for what hap­pened. I never even took the girl."

"But you watched while the others did," Prudence said. "And you would have taken your turn if Lillian had not leaped to her death."

"I do not deserve to be hounded to my death by her ghost. I have paid, I tell you."

"I think," Sebastian said very coolly, "that you would be wise to leave Town for a while."

"What good would that do?" Bloomfield swung his frightened eyes toward Sebastian. "She is a ghost. She has already found Ringcross and Oxenham. She will find me regardless of where I go."

Prudence glanced at Sebastian. Apparently he wanted Bloomfield to leave London. She pursed her lips in a considering manner. "It is my professional opinion that there is an excellent chance you will escape her notice for a while if you leave Town today."

"Tell no one where you are going," Sebastian said. "Absolutely no one. Not even your housekeeper."

Bloomfield shook his head in a helpless gesture. "You don't under­stand. I want Lady Angelstone to deal with Lillian's ghost. Tell her she has already had her vengeance."

"I shall need time to reflect upon the proper way to contact her," Prudence said. "These things require investigation and planning. Angelstone is right. It would be best if you left Town for a while."

"But I don't care to travel," Bloomfield whined. "I rarely leave the house. It makes me very uneasy. I suffer from the nervous sickness, you know."

"I have the distinct impression that if you do not leave this house as soon as possible," Sebastian said, "you will find yourself suffering from something far more debilitating than the nervous sickness."

Bloomfield's eyes widened. "She will come for me next, won't she?"

"Very likely," Sebastian said easily.

"I believe that Angelstone is probably quite right," Prudence said briskly. "I cannot positively guarantee your safety anywhere, of course. After all, we're talking about a ghost. But I am persuaded that if you leave Town at once and tell absolutely no one where you're going, I may be able to accomplish something useful."

"At the very least we shall purchase a little time for you, Bloom­field," Sebastian said. "And I have the impression that time is of the essence."

Bloomfield looked at Prudence. "You'll find a way to contact Lil­lian's ghost while I'm gone? You'll talk to her?"

"If I encounter her, I shall definitely talk to her about the matter," Prudence said.

"Very well." Bloomfield heaved himself wearily to his feet. "I shall make arrangements to leave at once. I am grateful to you, Lady Angelstone. I did not know where else to turn. I began to worry after Ringcross fell from the tower room. But when I learned that Ox-enham had died, too, I truly began to fear for my life."