Otherwise Engaged (28 page)

Virgil’s eyes fluttered. He stared up at Benedict with fading eyes.

“Where is Mother?” he rasped. “She will take care of everything.”

“Not this time,” Benedict said.

T
he first light of dawn was illuminating an overcast sky when the hansom cab stopped in front of Benedict’s address. He paid the driver, descended the narrow steps to the pavement and turned to look back at Logan.

“Can I offer you a brandy, Inspector? I think we’ve both earned one. It’s been a long night.”

Logan hesitated and for a moment Benedict thought he might refuse. Then he got out of the cab.

“A brandy sounds like an excellent notion,” Logan said. “Thank you.”

They went up the steps. Benedict reached into his pocket for the key. His fingers brushed across the Rose Necklace. Another sharp pang of dismay splashed through him, weighing down his spirits. He relived the moment in Warwick’s ghastly studio when Amity had looked as if she would fling herself headlong into his arms. Instead,
she had composed herself and said something about his always excellent timing.

They had all agreed that it would be best if he escorted the ladies home before the press arrived. The story was bound to be a sensation, but the uproar would be even greater if the killer’s last two intended victims were discovered at the scene.

Unable to tolerate another moment in the wedding gown the killer had forced her to wear, Amity had insisted on taking the time to change back into her own dress before leaving the studio.

She did not remove the Rose Necklace until they were back in Exton Street. Benedict had the feeling that she had forgotten it. There, on the front steps, Amity had paused to thank him again, ever so politely, and then she had reached up to unclasp the necklace.

In the hazy glow of the gas lamps he thought he saw some emotion in her eyes, but he could not read it. Shock, he concluded. What else? She had been through a terrible ordeal.

“You mustn’t forget your necklace, Benedict,” she said, handing it to him. “I know how important it is to you and your family. I don’t want to take any more chances with it.”

He had left Amity and Penny in Mrs. Houston’s capable hands and returned to the grim, boarded-up house that Warwick had used as a photography studio. He had been very conscious of the weight of the necklace in his pocket while he waited for Logan to finish with the business of collecting evidence.

When Logan had eventually appeared, he had been surprised to see Benedict and the hansom in the street. But he had accepted the offer of a ride without hesitation.

“I must call on Mrs. Warwick before I go home,” he said.

“I will go in with you if you like,” Benedict said.

Logan nodded once, his face grim. “I would be glad of your company. I’m not sure what to say to a mother under these circumstances.”

In the end, however, the meeting with a stoic Charlotte Warwick had been mercifully short. Benedict knew from the shadows in her eyes that she had been braced for the news they had brought her. They had left her alone in her library, tears glittering in her eyes. Benedict had gotten the odd impression that they might have been tears of relief as well as grief, but he could not be certain.

He opened the door of his house and moved into the dimly lit front hall. Hodges appeared in his nightcap and dressing gown.

“Tea or brandy, sir?” he asked.

“Brandy,” Benedict said. “But I’ll see to pouring it.”

“Yes, sir.”

Benedict led the way into the study, turned up the lamps and splashed healthy doses of brandy into two glasses. He handed one of the glasses to Logan and motioned him to sit down. He watched Logan lower himself into the chair with a familiar ease that indicated he was as comfortable in a gentleman’s study with a brandy glass in his hand as he was drinking tea in a lady’s drawing room.

“When did you take a notion to become a policeman, Logan?” Benedict asked.

The question clearly caught Logan by surprise but he recovered readily enough.

“Shortly after I found my father dead from a self-inflicted pistol shot to the head and discovered that he had died bankrupt after a series of disastrous financial investments.” Logan swallowed some brandy and lowered the glass. “It was either take up gainful employment here in London or emigrate to Canada or Australia. I haven’t ruled out the last two possibilities, by the way. In fact, I am giving both countries a great deal of consideration at the moment.”

Benedict took the Rose Necklace out of his pocket. He studied the brilliant jewels in the lamplight for a moment and then set the thing on the desk. The heavy gold links clinked on the polished wood.

He crossed the room and lowered himself into the chair across from Logan.

“You are not the only one who is considering his prospects in Canada or Australia tonight,” he said. He drank some brandy. “And for similar reasons, I suspect.”

Logan glanced at the necklace. “She gave it back to you?”

“Yes.”

“But you did not ask for it to be returned.”

“No.”

“Well? Did you tell her you wanted her to keep it?”

Benedict frowned. “There was no opportunity to discuss the matter. She simply dropped it into my hand before she closed the door. I thought the gesture rather telling.”

“We are men, Stanbridge. We are not always very good at comprehending women.”

“You are in no position to lecture on the subject,” Benedict said.

“Is that right?”

“Bloody hell, man, even I can see that you and Penny—Mrs. Marsden—have warm feelings for each other.”

Logan’s jaw hardened. He drank some more brandy. “At the moment I am in no position to propose marriage to her. I have made a few small investments but none have proved to be especially lucrative. Perhaps in time.” He raised one shoulder in a small shrug. “For the most part I am obliged to survive on an inspector’s salary, at least for now.”

“Well, at least she hasn’t flung a damned family necklace back in your face.”

Logan scowled. “I can’t imagine Miss Doncaster actually flinging the necklace at you.”

“I may have exaggerated slightly on that point, but there is no mistaking the fact that she gave the thing back to me.”

“Huh.” Logan cradled the brandy glass in his hands.

Benedict swallowed some brandy and lowered the glass. “Have you let Mrs. Marsden know that you are considering emigrating to Canada or Australia?”

“The subject of my future has not come up.”

They drank their brandies in silence for a time.

“The ladies suffered a terrible shock to the nerves tonight,” Benedict said after a while.

“We all did,” Logan said. “I certainly doubt that my nerves will ever be the same. When I think of that scene in the bastard’s studio, I feel like reaching for a vinaigrette.”

“So do I. What we need to keep in mind is that by the time we arrived Penny and Amity were in command of the situation.”

Logan smiled grimly. “I do believe they would have killed the monster.”

Benedict recalled the fierce expressions on Amity’s and Penny’s faces. “No doubt about it. They are both quite resourceful.”

Logan nodded. “Indeed, they are.”

“And brave.”

“Absolutely,” Logan said.

“Extraordinary,” Benedict said.

“Indeed.”

They drank some more brandy in silence.

Benedict rested his head against the back of the chair. “It occurs to me that you ought to clarify the matter of your future with Mrs. Marsden.”

“I don’t think I have any choice.” Logan finished his brandy and set down the glass. “I can’t imagine continuing to live here in London knowing that she is living in the same city, wondering if I’ll see her on the street or at the theater, unless I can be with her.”

“You aren’t the only one who needs clarification,” Benedict said.

He drained his glass, got to his feet, picked up the decanter and poured two more glasses of brandy.

“We need to make a plan,” he said. “Two plans.”

I
would just like to point out that, when all is said and done, the Channing ball guest list was the key,” Logan announced. He smiled at Penny. “But we were not using it correctly. Lady Penhurst was, indeed, on that list and on the Gilmore list, as well.”

Penny smiled and blushed.

“One of several aspects of this case that I don’t comprehend is, why did Virgil Warwick kill his own sister?—and in the middle of a ballroom, no less,” Amity said. “After all, it must have been Leona who convinced or bribed Mrs. Dunning to pose as Virgil’s mother so that he could be freed from the asylum the second time.”

It was ten o’clock in the morning. Penny had sent invitations to breakfast to Benedict, Logan and Declan. They had all arrived on time and immediately set to making heavy inroads on the mounds of eggs and potatoes and toast that Mrs. Houston had prepared.

“Perhaps Warwick concluded that he no longer needed Leona,” Logan suggested. “As for the location he chose for that murder, what
could be a more anonymous venue than a masked ball? It was ideal for his purposes. And it created the perfect distraction to make it possible for him to grab you, Miss Doncaster. It’s all very neat when you consider it. He was able to dispatch his sister and kidnap his victim at the same place while wearing a disguise that no one would question.”

Benedict looked at Penny. “Did Warwick tell you anything that might explain why he murdered Leona?”

“No,” Penny said. She swallowed some coffee and cradled the cup very carefully in both hands. “When I woke up in that cage, he spoke only of Amity. He was obsessed with her. When he left to kidnap her, he put on a domino and a mask. He was excited.” She shuddered. “In a most unwholesome fashion.”

“He obviously knew that he would find her at the costume ball,” Declan said. “That means that he knew of Leona’s plans to obtain the necklace from Miss Doncaster at that affair.”

Amity pursed her lips. “He even knew the details of her scheme. It was a large crowd yet he found me quite easily. It was as if he had been waiting for me to appear from that particular hallway.”

“Leona briefed him on her plans,” Benedict said.

“Yes, but that still doesn’t explain why he killed her,” Declan said.

“Leona had her own agenda,” Benedict pointed out. “But she was also working for the Russians. It’s the only reason she would have gone to great lengths to obtain the Foxcroft notebook. Trust me when I tell you that she had no personal interest in engineering and scientific matters.”

Amity looked at him. “During our encounter in the ladies’ room, she made it clear that all she cared about was the Rose Necklace. She also said that she had not brought the notebook with her, but aside from that she did not seem concerned with it. She was fixed on going to the American West to reinvent herself.”

“Did she say anything else?” Declan asked.

Amity wrinkled her nose. “Well, she did admit that she was the one who aimed Virgil at me. She wanted you to suffer, Benedict. She seemed to think that if I was murdered in a spectacular fashion because of my connection to you that you would feel some responsibility.”

Benedict had been about to slather some butter on a slice of toast. His hand tightened into a fist around the knife. “That would be putting it mildly.”

Penny set down her coffee. “It makes sense that Leona went a little crazy with rage after your engagement was announced. But why did she want Virgil to murder Amity before that announcement? After all, as far as she knew, the two of you had merely indulged in a shipboard liaison.”

“Penny is correct,” Logan said. He frowned. “There was no mention of a formal engagement until you returned from America. Yet Leona started the rumors about an affair some three weeks before you returned to London.”

Amity felt an awkward warmth rush into her cheeks, but no one seemed to notice her embarrassment.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Benedict asked around a bite of toast. “It probably wasn’t Leona who decided to murder Amity back at the start. More likely it was her Russian contact. He simply used Leona and her crazed brother to accomplish the mission. As soon as he realized that Amity had saved my life on St. Clare and that we had been quite close for the duration of the voyage to New York, he leaped to the obvious conclusion.”

“Yes, of course.” Amity set her cup down with a clang. “The Russian contact assumed that I was also a spy and that I was working with you, Benedict.”

“I’m sure he knew that I was not a professional espionage agent,” Benedict said. “After all, everyone knows that I spend a great deal of my time locked away in my laboratory. But the master spy in this affair could not be certain about you, Amity. He probably views you as his rival or even as his nemesis. What better cover for an agent of espionage than a career as a lady globetrotter?”

Amity smiled slowly, pleased. “An excellent point, sir. What better cover, indeed?”

He glared. “You needn’t look so thrilled with the notion.”

Declan stepped in before Amity could respond. “So it was very likely Leona’s Russian connection who decided to get rid of Miss Doncaster at the start of this business.”

“Yes,” Benedict said. “But I’m afraid that after I announced that Amity and I were engaged, Leona took it personally. I imagine the Russian spy connection started to lose control of her and of the situation at that point.”

Declan nodded. “Because Leona proved to be as unstable and as obsessive as her brother.”

“Right,” Benedict said. “The master spy is the one who shot Leona at the ball last night. He is also the one who murdered Mrs. Dunning and set the explosive device at Hawthorne Hall. He’s been masterminding this affair from the beginning—or, rather, trying to mastermind it. But things keep going awry. Must be very frustrating for him.”

They all stared at him for a moment.

He looked at Logan. “It occurs to me, Inspector, that your career would benefit nicely if you happened to be the detective who arrested a spymaster who tried to steal a certain notebook containing secrets that the Crown would prefer to keep out of the hands of the Russians.”

Logan’s brows rose. “Doing a favor for the Crown never hurts a man’s career prospects. Can I assume you are aware of the identity of this spymaster?”

Benedict looked at Amity. “I think so, yes. We are looking for someone who arrived on St. Clare shortly before I did, murdered Alden Cork and stole the plans for the solar cannon. That same person was still in the vicinity when my ship docked. He watched me go to Cork’s laboratory and realized that I was very likely working for the Crown.”

“Why try to murder you?” Amity asked. “After all, the spy already had the plans for the solar cannon.”

“We may never know. But for whatever reason, Cork did not give him the name and address of the inventor with whom he was collaborating,” Benedict said. “Cork may have realized that he was dealing with a Russian agent at that point. Perhaps at the last minute he was struck with a burst of loyalty to his country.”

“He refused to tell the agent about Foxcroft,” Logan said. “The agent killed him and then you showed up at the scene.”

“He had no way of knowing that I had discovered Foxcroft’s letter to Cork, but he decided it would be best to get rid of me just to be certain I would not prove to be a problem,” Benedict said. “He must have been furious when he realized that Amity had managed to get me safely on board the
Northern Star
. At that point all he could do was hope that I succumbed to my wound. He booked passage on board another ship bound for New York and, ultimately, London.”

“You survived and headed west to California,” Declan said. “All the spy could do at that point was sit back and wait to see what you discovered.”

“He assumed that I had found something useful when I returned with a certain notebook, which I delivered almost immediately to my
uncle. Cornelius let it be known in certain circles that he had Foxcroft’s notebook and that it was the real secret to the solar cannon. As far as the spy knows, he possesses the correct version of Foxcroft’s design.”

“So now we are looking for the Russian spy.” Penny said, “The puppet master who has been pulling the strings.”

“I think it is safe to say that we know who he is,” Benedict said.

Declan frowned. “Don’t keep us in suspense. Who is Inspector Logan going to arrest?”

Benedict’s smile lacked any hint of warmth. “The one person involved in this affair besides Amity who possesses the ideal cover for a spy, a façade that allows him to travel anywhere in the world without raising questions.”