Otherwise Engaged (7 page)

P
enny was in the small drawing room with Inspector Logan. She was perched gracefully on the sofa. The skirts of her black gown fell in perfect folds around the soft leather shoes she wore indoors. She was discussing the weather with the tall, broad-shouldered man standing near the window.

It was not the topic of conversation that startled Amity. Everyone talked about the weather. It was the surprisingly animated expression on Penny’s face that caught her attention. It would have been going too far to say that Penny looked positively cheerful, but there was a subtle hint of the old, enchanting sparkle that had once characterized her.

All the evidence indicated that Inspector Logan was responsible for lifting Penny’s spirits, and if that was, indeed, true, Amity thought, she was quite prepared to like the man on sight.

“Oh, there you are, Amity,” Penny said. “Allow me to introduce
you to Inspector Logan of the Yard. Inspector, my sister, and her fiancé, Mr. Stanbridge.”

Amity winced at the “fiancé” but Benedict did not even flinch. Then again, he’d had more experience in covert work, she told herself.

Logan turned quickly. He inclined his head toward Amity. “Miss Doncaster. It is a pleasure to see you safe and sound this morning.”

Logan was in his early thirties. Blond-haired and almost handsome, he had a boyish innocence about him that was utterly belied by the watchful expression in his cool blue eyes. He spoke with the accent of a respectable, educated man. The quality of his coat and trousers was good but not exceptionally fine or in the first stare of fashion. Amity suspected that he was able to supplement an inspector’s pay with a small, independent income. Or maybe, like Penny, Logan had a knack for investments.

His attitude was both respectful and polite but he did not appear either intimidated or impressed with the expensive furnishings in the drawing room.

He gave Benedict a swift, assessing look and seemed satisfied with what he saw. “Mr. Stanbridge, I congratulate you on your engagement.”

“Thank you, Inspector,” Benedict said. “I am the happiest of men.”

Amity closed her eyes briefly at that. When she looked at Logan again, it was obvious he saw nothing unusual about Benedict’s statement.

Logan’s brows rose. “Would that be Stanbridge of Stanbridge & Company, sir?”

“Yes,” Benedict said. “You’re familiar with the firm?”

“My father wanted me to study engineering,” Logan said. “If he had lived, he would have been severely disappointed by my decision to apply for a position at the Yard.”

“It seems to me that your career requires engineering of a somewhat different nature from my own,” Benedict said. He smiled. “But we are both engaged in the business of trying to ensure that the trappings of civilization do not collapse beneath us.”

Evidently having concluded that Benedict was not going to try to intimidate him, Logan relaxed. He went so far as to smile.

“Indeed, sir,” he said. “That is a very insightful observation.”

Amity was not surprised by the ease of manner between the two men. She had spent enough time in Benedict’s company to know that he did not judge others by their social rank. He respected competence and professionalism in whatever guise it appeared and Inspector Logan gave the impression of possessing both qualities.

Mrs. Houston appeared with a tea tray and set it on the table in front of the sofa. Logan did appear briefly surprised when he was offered a cup but he recovered smoothly.

Amity sat down in a chair and hid a smile. She was well aware that Penny’s manners were not what the inspector was accustomed to from women of the upper classes. Policemen—even inspectors—were usually treated like tradesmen and servants by those who moved in the circles that Penny and Nigel had once inhabited. The very wealthy rarely had occasion to speak to the men of the Yard. When they did find it necessary to talk to an inspector, they did not receive him in their drawing rooms. Nor did they offer tea and cakes.

“Thank you for allowing me to call on you today, Miss Doncaster,” Logan said. He set his cup and saucer on a nearby table and took out a small notebook and a pencil. “Please accept my sympathies. I have read my predecessor’s reports and I have the greatest
admiration for you. Your quick thinking and bold action no doubt saved your life and may well lead to the capture of the monster.”

“I was fortunate,” Amity said.

“Yes.” Logan eyed her with a thoughtful expression. “How, exactly, did you manage to escape? The reports I inherited from my predecessor were rather vague.”

“That is very likely because your predecessor displayed little interest in the details I tried to supply.” She touched the fan that dangled from her chatelaine. “In my travels abroad I have picked up one or two odd skills. An acquaintance of my father’s gave me this fan and taught me how to use it in self-defense.” She gripped the fan and snapped it open with a sharp, practiced motion to display the elegant painting. “The ribs are made of sharpened steel. The steel leaves can be employed to deflect a blade. The top edges of the leaves are honed. In effect, my fan is a knife.”

Logan looked first stunned and then intrigued. “Good lord. I’ve never seen anything like that. Every woman should carry one.”

“It requires some training and considerable practice,” she said. “I do not claim to be an expert. Nevertheless, a sharp object of any kind can be extremely useful in the sort of situation that I was forced to deal with.”

Logan nodded. “Indeed. But it also requires clearheaded thinking and the will to employ the weapon.”

“My sister possesses both qualities,” Penny said calmly. “I cannot imagine her panicking under any circumstances. I sincerely doubt that I would be so coolheaded in such a situation.”

Amity snapped the fan closed. “I must tell you that although I have traveled around the world, the only place I have ever had to employ this fan in self-defense was here in London.”

“London has never been known as a safe place,” Benedict observed.

“Certainly not now with that dreadful killer on the loose,” Penny said.

“I regret to say that the Yard has not distinguished itself in this case,” Logan said. “To be quite honest, we are at a standstill. That is why my superior put me in charge of this investigation. He is hoping that fresh eyes will see clues that have been overlooked.”

Benedict lounged against a wall and folded his arms. “What do you know of this killer, Inspector?”

“Over the course of the past year the bodies of four women—all of whom appear to have been murdered by the same individual—have been found dumped in various alleys around the city,” Logan said.

Penny stared at him. “But I thought the Bridegroom was believed to have committed only three murders, Inspector.”

“Three bodies have been found in the past three months,” Logan said. “However, a year ago a woman was murdered in an identical manner. We—I—believe that she was the first victim.”

Benedict frowned. “If that is true, there was a considerable gap in time between the first death and the next three murders.”

“Approximately eight months,” Logan said. “That time factor is one of the many mysteries involved in this case.” He looked at Amity. “We are in desperate need of information.”

“I will assist you in any way I can,” Amity said.

“Can you describe the man who grabbed you off the street?”

“I did not see his face,” she said. “He wore a mask made of black silk. I can tell you a few more things about him but I fear they may not be terribly helpful.”

“At this point any details would be better than what I have now,” Logan said.

“Very well, then, I will give you my impressions. His speech was that of an upper-class gentleman.”

Logan appeared quite startled. Benedict, however, took the information in stride. Evidently the notion of a well-bred, aristocratic gentleman who was also a vicious killer did not seem at all extraordinary to him.

“Are you certain of his social rank, Miss Doncaster?” Logan asked.

“It’s not the sort of thing that is easy to conceal,” she said. “A good actor could affect the speech and mannerisms, I suppose, but I doubt if he could have afforded the expensive interiors of that carriage or the fine clothes that the killer wore.”

Logan tapped his pencil against the notebook. He looked at Penny with an odd expression and then just as swiftly shifted his attention back to Amity.

“You are correct,” he said. “It is difficult to imitate great wealth. What else, Miss Doncaster?”

She hesitated and then another memory flashed into her head. “He smokes cigarettes scented with some sort of spice. I could smell the stale smoke on him.”

Benedict looked at Amity. “Did you see a family crest or some other indication of his identity?”

“No,” she said. “He wore gloves—very good leather gloves, I might add. Everything I saw and touched in that carriage was expensive and in the most elegant taste. Except for the thick wooden shutters.”

Benedict frowned. “There were shutters on the windows?”

“Heavy wooden ones,” Amity said. “They were closed so that no one on the street could see what was happening.”

“And perhaps designed so that you could not get out if the door was locked from the outside,” Benedict said, very grim now.

Amity shivered. “I think you are correct.”

There was a moment of silence while they all considered the implications.

“A private carriage, then,” Logan said. He made a note and looked up. “But you did not identify it as such from the outside?”

“No. I assure you, the vehicle looked like any other ordinary cab. There was nothing unusual about the driver, either.”

“Yes, of course,” Logan said. “The coachman.” He made another note. “We must look into that aspect.”

Benedict nodded in silent approval.

“Can you tell me anything else about him?” Logan said.

Amity shook her head. “I’m afraid not. The one time he spoke, he sounded exactly as you would expect a cab driver to sound. Working-class. A bit rough around the edges. But he was certainly skilled with the reins. And he made no move to catch me when I escaped.”

Logan wrote something down in his notebook and looked up again. “What did the killer say to you?”

Amity glanced at Benedict and then turned back to Logan. She took a breath. “He informed me that he had chosen me because I had deliberately compromised myself with Mr. Stanbridge. He seemed to believe that I had set a trap for Mr. Stanbridge.”

Logan glanced at Benedict, who gave him a cool smile.

“Evidently the killer was not aware that Miss Doncaster and I are engaged to be married,” Benedict said.

“I see.” Logan made another note and looked at Amity. “I must ask you if the killer made any reference to photography.”

“Why, yes,” Amity said. “I was just about to mention that. He said he intended to take my bridal portrait. How did you know?”

“I asked because there is one significant detail that we have not divulged to the press,” Logan said. He lowered his notebook. “Each victim was found in a different alley. Each one had her throat cut by an extremely sharp blade. The wounds appeared almost surgical in nature.”

“A scalpel,” Amity said suddenly. “He held a scalpel to my throat.”

“Did he?” Logan jotted down another note. “That is very interesting. To continue, the victims were all dressed in the clothes in which they had last been seen. And each was wearing a gold wedding ring.”

“That much has appeared in the press,” Penny said. “The wedding rings are the reason the papers labeled the killer the Bridegroom.”

“Yes,” Logan said. “But what we have managed to keep out of the papers is the fact that in addition to the rings, the women were all wearing lockets. Inside each locket there was a small bridal portrait of the victim. The photographs are clearly the work of a professional photographer.”

Amity frowned. “But none of the women had ever been married.”

“No,” Logan agreed.

“Dear heaven,” Penny whispered. “The man is quite mad.”

A chill swept through Amity. “Were the photographs taken before or after the women were murdered?”

Benedict straightened away from the wall and went to stand at the window. “A number of professional photographers make their livings taking pictures of the deceased.”

Amity shuddered. “The practice has always struck me as quite macabre.”

“It strikes me that way, as well,” Penny said.

“The Bridegroom’s victims were all alive when they were photographed,” Logan said. “Their throats had not yet been cut.”

“Why have you kept the business of the lockets a secret from the press?” Penny asked.

“Believe it or not, we at the Yard have discovered that there are some demented souls who will actually come forward to claim responsibility for crimes that have received a great deal of public attention,” Logan explained.

Benedict turned around. “In other words, you use the detail of the lockets to separate the wheat from the chaff. Only the real killer will know about the photographs.”

“Yes,” Logan said.

Penny put down her teacup. “Something has just occurred to me. It probably amounts to nothing—”