Otherwise Engaged (13 page)

Penny blinked. Understanding and something that might have been amusement lit her eyes. “Oh my. The poor man had no notion of what he was getting into, did he?”

Amity clasped her hands behind her back and paced the room in a tight circular pattern. “He seemed to think that my book would sell more briskly if the public thought that he’d had a hand in writing it.”

Benedict frowned. “That was his proposition? He wanted you to give him credit as a coauthor?”

“Exactly.” Amity stopped. “You see now why I was so annoyed.”

“Certainly,” Penny said. “He did, indeed, want to take advantage of you. Financial advantage.”

“He may be an excellent photographer and an entertaining speaker, but I suspect he cannot string two or more interesting sentences together,” Amity said. She exhaled a small sigh. “I must admit you were right, Benedict. Mr. Nash did have ulterior motives for wanting to call on me today.”

I
am very impressed with your investigative talents, Mrs. Marsden.” Inspector Logan lowered the sheaf of notes he had been perusing and looked at Penny. “I wish I had more people like you on my staff.”

Amity smiled proudly. “You are brilliant, Penny. You managed to provide some information on every single gentleman who was present at the Channing ball who comes close to my description of the killer. You even found out which ones smoke cigarettes.”

They were gathered in the drawing room. Logan had arrived shortly after Benedict. The two men had immediately set themselves to studying Penny’s annotated list of guests.

“Excellent work, Mrs. Marsden,” Benedict said. He got to his feet and went to stand at the window. “That list should help narrow our search. I will ask my brother, Richard, and Uncle Cornelius to make further inquiries in their clubs. You have saved us a great deal of time.”

Penny blushed and made a gracious gesture with one hand. “I had
considerable assistance from Mrs. Houston and the members of her family who are also in service. We pooled our resources and worked our way through the list.”

Logan smiled at the housekeeper. “I owe you my thanks, as well, Mrs. Houston. Obviously we should be hiring women at the Yard.”

Mrs. Houston blushed. “Pleased to be of service, sir. It was very interesting work. I wouldn’t mind doing that sort of thing again. Makes a nice change of pace.”

Logan gave her a knowing look. “There is something about the hunt.”

Amity saw Penny cast a quick, curious glance at Logan. Nothing was said but Amity got the impression that Penny had gained a deeper understanding of the inspector and admired what she saw. Logan was good for Penny, Amity thought. But the last thing Penny needed now was a broken heart.

Benedict picked up the list and examined it again. “One of the men here is of particular interest—Arthur Kelbrook. He is the man who exhibited an unwholesome curiosity about Amity’s experience at the hands of the Bridegroom. Kelbrook was present at both the Society for Travel and Exploration reception and the Channing ball.”

Amity frowned. “But I told you, I am quite certain that he is not the man who attacked me.”

“I understand,” Benedict said. “Nevertheless, his curiosity about you concerns me.”

“In my experience there is a certain type of individual who is prone to develop a macabre curiosity in crimes of this nature,” Logan said. “Kelbrook is obviously one of that sort. If Miss Doncaster is convinced that he is not the killer, however, we must look elsewhere. We cannot afford to waste time on a suspect who does not match her description.”

Benedict nodded reluctantly. “You’re right, of course, Inspector. We must stay focused.”

“I would feel so much more positive about the outcome of our inquiries if we knew for certain that the killer actually did attend the Channing ball,” Penny said. “We are operating on pure conjecture here.”

“Not entirely,” Logan said. “I think our original assumption has merit. As far as we can tell, your sister came to the notice of the Polite World the morning after that ball.”

“Many of the people who attended the Channing affair will also be at the Gilmore ball tomorrow evening,” Penny said. “As we have noted, Polite Society is a small world. The guest lists for the various events are often nearly identical.”

Amity and the others looked at her.

“What of it?” Amity asked.

Penny cleared her throat. “It occurred to me that it might be interesting for you to attend, Amity—with Mr. Stanbridge, of course.”

Amity stared at her.
“Me?”

“And Mr. Stanbridge,” Penny repeated. She looked at Benedict. “I’m quite certain you could obtain an invitation, sir. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if you have already received one. You are no doubt on the guest list of every hostess in town.”

“It’s possible,” Benedict admitted. “Invitations are always arriving at my house. I usually toss them away.”

“You receive such invitations because you are considered a highly eligible bachelor,” Penny said dryly.

Benedict frowned. “You don’t think it’s because of my charming personality and my witty conversation?”

They all looked at him for a moment. And then Amity giggled.

“Without a doubt,” she said.

Benedict smiled, his eyes warming. “You reassure me.” He turned back to Penny. “Do you really think it might be useful for Amity and me to attend the Gilmore affair?”

“She’s got a point,” Logan said. “If it’s true that at least some of our suspects will be there—”

“I might be able to identify the killer,” Amity concluded. Enthusiasm splashed through her. “Brilliant, Penny.”

Logan smiled at Penny. “Yes, quite brilliant.”

Penny blushed. “I admit, the odds of identifying the killer at the ball are probably not very good.”

“But at the very least it would allow us to remove some of the suspects from our list,” Amity said. “The plan will only work if Mr. Stanbridge received an invitation, though.”

“If I did not get one, I know someone who can obtain it for us,” Benedict said. “As I may have mentioned, my uncle is very well connected in certain circles.”

Twenty minutes later Benedict and Logan left the house—Benedict to secure an invitation to the Gilmore ball, Logan to continue with his inquiries.

The moment the door closed behind the two men, Penny looked at Amity.

“There is something I wish to discuss with you now that Benedict and Inspector Logan are gone,” Penny said quietly.

Amity wrinkled her nose. “I suppose this is about a gown for the ball? I’m sure we can rely on your dressmaker to see that I am properly attired for the occasion.”

“I’m not concerned with the dress. Madame La Fontaine will take
care of that aspect of things. What I want to tell you is that, in addition to some of the suspects on our list, there is another person who will very likely attend the ball. Lady Penhurst.”

Amity frowned. “Who is she?”

“Her name was once linked with Benedict’s in a romantic fashion.”

Amity sighed. “I see. This isn’t the same woman who left him at the altar, is it?”

“No, this is Leona, Lady Penhurst. She was Mrs. Featherton at the time she was involved with Benedict. She was the widow of an elderly, high-ranking gentleman who did not leave her nearly as much money as she had anticipated receiving. She set her cap at Benedict. When that did not work out as she had hoped, she married Lord Penhurst instead.”

“I see.”

“Penhurst is a widower twice over,” Penny explained. “Leona is some forty years younger than him. It was widely assumed that she married Penhurst because she believed that he had one foot in the grave and could be relied upon to insert the other foot in the near future. But thus far she has been disappointed. Penhurst is in his dotage and going senile but he shows no signs of moving on to the next world.”

Amity clasped her hands behind her back and went to the window. “You’re trying to warn me that she might create a scene.”

Penny came to stand behind her. “I’m not sure what to expect from her. But I did not want you to be taken by surprise tomorrow evening. It is said that Lady Penhurst was furious when it became clear that Benedict had no intention of giving her the Stanbridge necklace.”

“I don’t understand. She wanted a family necklace?”

“It’s known as the Rose Necklace,” Penny said. “It’s worth a
fortune. According to the family tradition, the eldest Stanbridge heir—Benedict in this case—gives it to his bride-to-be when he asks her to marry him. I’m sure there was never any possibility that Benedict would have married Leona, but everyone knows she was furious when he ended their association. She is reputed to be a vindictive woman. If Leona believes that there is some way to take her revenge on Benedict, she might be inclined to do so.”

“You think she might try to use me to avenge herself? I don’t see how that is possible.”

“Neither do I,” Penny said. “But Lady Penhurst’s reputation is such that you must promise me that you will be very, very careful if you encounter her.”

Amity smiled ruefully. “I shall be sure to take my tessen to the ball.”

I
must say, the news of your engagement came as something of a surprise, Ben.” Leona, Lady Penhurst, smiled at Benedict, managing to ignore Amity, who was standing beside him. “Can we assume that the wedding will take place in the near future? Or do you plan an extended engagement?”

Leona was a beautiful woman, tall, willowy and regal. Her profile was classically molded. Her dark hair gleamed in the light of the chandeliers that hung from the ballroom ceiling. Diamonds and emeralds decorated her ears and dipped low into the deep décolletage of her garnet-colored satin and lace gown. But all the glitter and charm could not conceal the frustration and bitterness in her brown eyes.

Leona had been blessed with any number of attractive attributes, Amity thought, but she had been cursed in marriage. Lord Penhurst was, as Penny had said, slipping rapidly into senility, but he appeared to be in remarkably good health for a man his age. Amity suspected
that a good deal of Leona’s venom was directly attributable to the fact that her husband was still hanging around.

“My fiancée and I intend to marry as soon as possible,” Benedict said. He looked around the room, clearly bored with the conversation.

Amity winced inwardly. She could not blame Benedict, she thought. He probably had no notion of how he had just added a little more fuel to the fires of anger that burned deep inside Leona.

Leona seized on the opening. She focused rather pointedly on Amity’s midsection.

“I understand the need for a hasty marriage,” Leona said with sugary sympathy. “I thought I detected that special glow about you, Miss Doncaster. But not to worry, your gown appears to be designed to conceal any small . . . mistakes. I congratulate you both. Now, if you will excuse me, I do believe my husband is indicating that he wishes to leave.”

Leona floated away on a foaming tide of elegantly draped skirts. Benedict pulled his attention from the crowd long enough to scowl at Leona’s departing figure.

“What the devil did she mean by that comment about your gown?” he asked. “I think the dress looks very nice on you.”

“She was implying that the reason we are planning a hasty wedding is that I am pregnant,” Amity said.

Benedict’s jaw tightened. “Leona is an extremely irritating female.”

Amity fiddled absently with her tessen while she watched the crowd. “I am told that you knew her rather well at one time.”

Benedict glanced down at the lethal fan. A smile edged the corner of his mouth and a dark amusement lit his eyes.

“I think I can guess who may have mentioned that supremely unimportant fact,” he said.

“My sister thought it best to forewarn me.”

“I admit that there was a period in my life when Leona and I passed some time in each other’s company. For a while I was under the impression that she found me . . . interesting.” Benedict shrugged. “But when I discovered that in reality she considered me to be a great bore we parted ways.”

“May I ask how you came to make that discovery?”

Benedict surprised her with one of his rare, quick, grins. “She made the mistake of telling one of her friends, who told her husband. He, in turn, mentioned it at his club. Word got back to me.”

“I see.” Amity peered at him. “You don’t appear to have had your heart broken by the incident.”

“To be honest, it was something of a relief when the end came,” Benedict said. “I had become aware of the fact that it was all she could do not to yawn in my presence.” He paused and then asked coolly, “What about you and Nash? Did he break your heart?”

“I certainly thought so at the time. But, then, I was only nineteen. In hindsight, I consider that I had a very narrow escape. Marriage to Humphrey Nash would have been a nightmare. I very much doubt that he is capable of loving anyone except himself. He does hold a great deal of admiration for his own accomplishments.”

“I don’t suppose there is any possibility that he might be the Bridegroom?”

The hopefulness in Benedict’s voice would have been amusing under other circumstances, Amity thought. He obviously yearned for an excuse to do something drastic to Humphrey.

“No,” she said firmly. “He is not the Bridegroom. Furthermore, I regret to report that none of the other men I have met here tonight fit my memories of the killer.”

“Damn. We need to get beyond the names on that guest list.”

“How do you propose to do that?”

Benedict contemplated the crowd in silence for a long moment. Amity knew that he was silently envisioning possibilities and probabilities.

“Well?” she prompted after a time.

“Connections,” he said very quietly.

“What?”

“There must be links and connections to the killer. We need to find the right one.”

“I don’t understand,” Amity said.

“We can’t talk in here. Let’s take a walk in the gardens.”

“Certainly.”

Benedict took her arm and steered her through the crowd and out onto the broad terrace. The extensive gardens behind the mansion were drenched in shadows. Here and there lanterns bobbed like fairy lights in the night. On one side of the grounds a glass-walled conservatory glittered obsidian dark in the moonlight. At the far end Amity could see the looming outline of a large structure that resembled an Italian villa. She had been told that it was the handsome stables that Gilmore had built to house his impressive collection of horses.

For the first time since they had arrived at the Gilmore ball, Amity allowed herself to take a deep breath. She had not realized how tense she had been all evening until now. It was as if she and Benedict had been on stage from the moment they had arrived. All eyes had turned toward them when they had entered the ballroom—and just as quickly turned away again. But then the whispers had begun. They had ebbed and flowed through the crowd. More than once Amity had caught snatches of the conversations.

“I see that she is not wearing the family necklace.”

“I wouldn’t put too much stock in the engagement. Obviously he hasn’t given her the Rose Necklace.”

It was a relief to escape the ballroom, Amity thought.

“I am not cut out for this sort of thing,” she said.

“Neither am I,” Benedict said.

It occurred to her that they did not need to explain the meaning of those statements to each other. They both understood.

The evening air was pleasantly cool and refreshing after the overheated atmosphere of the ballroom. Amity noticed that she and Benedict were not alone on the terrace. A handful of other couples stood in the shadows around them. Low murmurs and soft laughter drifted on the night air.

Benedict paused only briefly. Then, evidently not satisfied with the degree of privacy that the terrace afforded, he drew Amity down the steps into the deeper darkness beyond.

A summer moon shone down, spilling silver and shadow across the elegantly manicured gardens. Amity was reminded of the nights on board the
Northern Star
. She was overcome with a sense of wistful longing. Fate in the form of a killer had brought Benedict back to her, but she might only have him for a short time. That knowledge filled her with a sense of urgency. She must savor every moment with him, she thought.

They walked along the graveled path until it ended at the entrance to the elegant stables. There they halted. Amity folded her arms around herself to ward off the small chill that drifted through her. She examined the stables.

“The Gilmore horses live in quarters that are much grander than those of most of the people in London,” she observed.

“Everyone knows Gilmore is obsessed with his bloodstock.” Benedict looked at her. “Are you cold?”

“The night has turned rather crisp, don’t you think?”

Without a word he took off his coat and draped it around her bare
shoulders. Just as he had done that last night on board ship, she thought; just before he had kissed her.

“Better?” he asked.

“Much better.” The coat felt oddly heavy. She realized there was an object in one of the pockets. The heat of Benedict’s body and his very masculine, acutely invigorating scent clung to the fine wool. Surreptitiously, she breathed in the faint essence of the man. “What did you mean when you said there are always connections?”

Benedict lounged against the wall of the conservatory and looked back toward the brilliantly illuminated mansion. “Earlier we considered the possibility that the killer did not attend the Channing ball himself but that someone he knew well was present that evening.”

“You are thinking that is the connection that we need to discover, the guest with whom the killer is closely acquainted. That task will be far more difficult.”

“If we are no longer looking for the killer but rather someone who knew him fairly well, we must return to the original guest list.”

“Benedict, I must tell you that I am very concerned that the guest list is a dead end. We may be wasting a great deal of time.”

“I know. But as Logan keeps reminding us, it is a starting point. Tonight we managed to eliminate a number of men from our list.”

“If Penny is right, the person who is connected to the killer may also be here at the Gilmore ball this evening. But how can we possibly identify that individual?”

Benedict wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “There is one other fact that we have which we should not forget.”

“What is that?”

“The gap in time between the first murder and the next three. If
we could account for that delay we might be able to narrow the list of suspects.”

“But there could be any number of reasons why so much time passed between the first murder and the others,” Amity said. “Maybe the killer was simply not in London. Perhaps he was at his estates in the country. Or traveling somewhere in the Far East or America.”

“Yes.” Benedict tightened his grip on her. “Yes, maybe there is a very good reason why he did not commit any murders for several months. That is a very important piece of the puzzle, one that should not be too difficult to investigate. We are looking for male friends and relatives of the people on the Channing guest list who were out of town for approximately eight months this past year.”

“Do you really think we can discover that information?”

“We will need some additional assistance from my uncle and my brother, but it can be done.” Benedict turned her in his arms. “We will find the killer, Amity. I will not rest until I know you are safe.”

She smiled. “I know.” She put her arms around his neck and stood on tiptoe to brush her mouth against his. “I know.”

He framed her face with his hands and kissed her with such fierce urgency that she felt as if he had literally stolen her breath away.

Very deliberately he set her aside and tried the door of the stable. Amity was surprised when it opened easily. Warm air flowed out of the opening, carrying the scents of hay and horses. Moonlight poured down through the windows that lined the walls.

“Definitely finer accommodations than many that I have enjoyed in my travels,” Amity said.

Benedict laughed.

There was some rustling in the stalls. Several horses put their heads over the top of the half doors and nickered softly. Amity
smiled. She stripped off her gloves and went forward to stroke the nose of one of the beasts.

“These are very beautiful animals,” she said. “They must have cost Gilmore a fortune.”

“He can afford it.” Benedict inspected the moonlit scene with evident interest. “He prides himself not only on his horses but also on the architecture of his stables. Very modern in design. I understand this place is heated with hot water pipes embedded in the floor.”

She hid a smile. She had been thinking that the elegant stables offered a rather intimate, even romantic setting. Trust an engineer to look at things somewhat differently.

“It is pleasantly warm in here,” she said. “It reminds me a bit of St. Clare. Without the waves crashing on the shore, of course.”

“Or the damn insects.”

She laughed and moved down the row of stalls to pat the next horse in line. “I expect your memories of St. Clare are somewhat affected by the fact that you took a bullet on the island.”

Benedict came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. He pulled her back against his chest and put his mouth very close to her left ear.

“You may be right,” he said, his voice low and excitingly rough around the edges. “All I know is that I don’t care if I never step foot on another tropical island. But the prospect of not being able to kiss you again? Now, that would crush my spirits forever.”

She shivered but not because she was cold. A delicious heat was stirring deep inside her.

“I would not want to be responsible for flattening anything about you, Mr. Stanbridge, least of all your spirits,” she said.

He turned her slowly around to face him. His eyes were darkly brilliant in the moonlit shadows.

“I am very grateful to hear that, Miss Doncaster. More grateful than you can possibly imagine.”

He folded her close and kissed her again. He went about it slowly this time, carefully, as if he was afraid of trampling her delicate sensibilities. But she was no stranger to his kisses now and she had been dreaming about them for too long. Curiosity and a rush of recklessness were driving her tonight. From the first moment she had seen him in the alley on St. Clare she had been very certain that she would never meet another man like Benedict Stanbridge. If she did not drink from the sparkling spring of desire with him, she might never taste those forbidden waters.