Wait Until Midnight (10 page)

He tried another approach.

"Surely it is not gossip you fear, Mrs. Fordyce," he said dryly. "You are, after all, a respectable widow, not an unwed young lady who must avoid being seen getting into a carriage with a gentleman who is not her intended"

To his surprise the small taunt had a rather startling re-action. Caroline's hand tightened almost violently around the handle of the parasol.

"I am well aware of the dictates of propriety," she said coldly.

"Of course. Then may I ask where the problem lies?" "It lies with the fact that I do not know precisely who you are, sir."

"I told you, my name is Hardesty. Adam Hardesty." "Why should I believe that is your real name any more than Grove was?"

He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small white piece of pasteboard neatly imprinted with his name. "My card, Mrs. Fordyce."

She examined the card, unimpressed. "Calling cards can be forged."

She handed the card back to him as though it were a piece of trash. For the first time in a long while he felt his temper heat.

"I do not mean to give offense, madam," he said evenly, "but this coyness is a bit overdone, if you don't mind my saying so. You are, after all, an author of sensation novels."

"What of it?"

"Everyone knows what that means."

"Indeed? And just what does it imply about me person-ally, Mr. Hardesty?"

It occurred to him that he had painted himself into a very small corner. This sort of thing rarely happened to him in his dealings with women.

"It means that you write stories that rely upon a great deal of, well,
sensation,"
he said, belatedly cautious. "What is wrong with that?"

He gave the street a quick survey, making certain that there was no one near enough to overhear the deteriorating conversation. The last thing he wanted was a public scene.

"It is a fact that sensation novelists are noted for writing plots that involve what can only be termed extremely worldly subjects," he said in low tones.

"How would you know that, sir? You have made it clear that you don't read that sort of thing"

"True. But I did happen to peruse the most recent chapter of
The Mysterious Gentleman.
In that single episode there were unmistakable references to adultery, illicit love affairs, both a runaway marriage and a run-away carriage, and a murder. Clearly your plots rely on one sensation after another."

She gave him a steely smile. "I am impressed with your

newfound knowledge of the genre, sir. But perhaps you should read a few more chapters before you make judgments about the author."

"There is no need to finish the story. It is obvious that Edmund Drake is going to meet a very unpleasant end. My uncle and my sister assure me that you are noted for bringing your villains to dreadful ends."

Caroline's expression underwent a sea change. "Your sister and your uncle read my work?"

"I'm afraid so."

"I see." She was delighted by that news. "It is always a great pleasure to learn that someone enjoys my stories." "Yes, well, as I was saying—"

"I quite understand now why you are so concerned about the respectability of my novels." She smiled warmly. "Naturally you do not wish your sister to be exposed to in-appropriate subjects. Rest assured that although my themes and plots are often mature in nature, my characters are suitably rewarded or punished depending upon the morality of their actions."

"That does not bode well for Edmund Drake."

`"There is no need to be concerned about him. He is the villain, after all. Bear in mind that my heroes always save the day and marry the heroine."

He planted one hand against the side of the carriage and leaned over her just far enough to cast her into his shadow. "Tell me, Mrs. Fordyce, have you ever gotten your heroes and villains mixed up?"

"Never, sir. The difference between a hero and a villain has always been perfectly obvious to me."

He could see that there was not so much as a sliver of doubt in her mind on that score. Drake was doomed. "How fortunate for you, madam," he said.

Understanding lit her eyes. "Oh, dear. You are taking this personally
because
I told
you
that I
intended
to
use
you as a model for the character of
Edmund Drake." She gave
him a contrite smile. "My apologies. I did not mean to insult you or injure your feelings, sir."

What in blazes was he doing standing here arguing about her villains and her heroes?

"Do not concern yourself with my feelings, madam. I assure you, they have endured far worse abuse." He straightened and took his hand off the side of the vehicle. "You can make amends by allowing me to see you safely home?'

"Well—"

"If you still have doubts about my identity, Ned here can vouch for me."

Ned had been standing patiently beside the open carriage door, trying very hard to look as if he was not listening to the unusual conversation. He started violently at the sound of his name.

"Sir
^?
"

"Please assure Mrs. Fordyce that my name is Adam Hardesty and that I am considered, by and large, to be a respectable gentleman who is not in the habit of kidnapping ladies and carrying them off in my carriage for immoral purposes."

Ned's jaw dropped in visible shock. He swallowed quickly and pulled himself together with an obvious effort.

"I can vouch for Mr. Hardesty here, ma'am," he said with touching sincerity. "Driven for him for years. Ye've nothing to fear from him and that's a fact."

Caroline smiled. "I have your word on that, Ned?" "Aye, ma'am. And may I say, Mrs. Fordyce, that I find your new novel even more thrilling than the last one. The business with the fire and the rescue of little Miss Ann from the flames was very exciting. So was the bit with the murder."

Caroline glowed. "Why, thank you, Ned."

"It was a stroke of genius to keep Edmund Drake lurking about in the shadows, so to speak, until this new chapter. Very mysterious, he is."

Caroline blushed happily and walked to the steps that Ned had set down in front of the carriage door. "You are very kind to say so."

Ned grinned and handed her up into the vehicle. "I can't wait to see what happens to that rotten-hearted bloke."

Caroline laughed lightly. "I am working out his fate this very week, Ned."

Adam watched her bend elegantly at the waist to enter the carriage. The ridiculous green and gold velvet bow twitched enticingly and then vanished into the shadows.

Perhaps he ought to start taking lessons from Ned, he thought, climbing in behind Caroline. His coachman had had no difficulty whatsoever persuading her to get into the carriage. Hero material, no doubt.

NINE

She had done it, Caroline thought, rather dazed by her own boldness. She had taken advantage of her status as a widow to climb into the carriage, and now she was sitting here sharing the vehicle's intimate confines with the most fascinating man she had ever met in her life.

It was unfortunate that the topic of conversation was to be murder.

She gave Adam an inquiring look, trying to act blasé, as though she was accustomed to riding through the streets of
London with a gentleman.

"The rumors were correct, it seems," Adam said. He lounged in the corner, one leg outstretched, an arm braced on the window frame. "There was certainly no love lost between Irene Toller and Elizabeth Delmont."

"No, indeed" Caroline forced herself to concentrate on

what she had observed at the demonstration. "Mrs. Toller made no secret of the fact that she feels justice was done."

Adam raised a brow. "I doubt if there was any justice involved, but regardless of the motive, Mrs. Delmont's skull was not crushed by manifestations from the Other Side. I cannot imagine that any self-respecting spirit would use something as mundane as a fireplace poker to commit murder."

Caroline shuddered. "I agree. That sort of violence is all too human, is it not?"

He meditated on the busy street scene. "Toller obviously possesses strong feelings about her dead rival. She may know something of the murder."

"It did occur to me that Mrs. Toller may have killed Mrs. Delmont. Professional rivalry is no doubt a very powerful motivation."

"I do not deny that." His eyes tightened faintly at the corners. "But the thing that interests me the most at the moment was what was not reported in the press."

"Did you see the papers this morning? They covered the crime in great detail. They all mentioned the overturned furniture and the watch that was stopped at midnight."

"Those were the least of the bizarre elements I found at the scene," he said quietly.

"I beg your pardon?"

"When I found Elizabeth Delmont, she was lying faceup on the carpet of her séance room. Someone, presumably the killer, had placed a wedding veil over her face. It was soaked with her blood."

She stared at him, shocked. "Good heavens."

"In addition, a black enameled mourning brooch had been left on the bodice of Delmont's gown. On the reverse side of the brooch there was a twist of blond hair and a small photograph of a young, fair-haired woman dressed as a bride."

"You say the brooch was placed on Mrs. Delmont's person? Not pinned to her gown?"

He shook his head. "It appeared to have been positioned very carefully on the body, just as the veil was."

Caroline folded her arms, hugging herself against the strange chill that his words had sent through her. "Bizarre is, indeed, the right word. The veil and the mourning brooch imply a very personal sort of murder. It certainly does not sound like the work of a housebreaker or a burglar."

"Nor does it sound like the actions of someone who killed Delmont simply to acquire the diary," he admitted, obviously reluctant to abandon that notion. "I cannot envision a potential blackmailer taking the trouble to create such a dramatic scene."

"Unless he wished to throw the police off the trail by making the murder appear to be the work of someone who had a personal reason for killing Elizabeth Delmont," she suggested.

He gave her a long, cool, assessing look. "That, Mrs. Fordyce, is a very interesting possibility. Distraction is the oldest trick in the world. Someone might well have stolen the diary and then deliberately left a variety of clues pointing in another direction. But if that is the case, why was there no mention of them in the papers?"

"Your problem would seem to be even more complicated than it appeared at the start. What do you intend to do next?"

"I would very much like to learn more about Irene Toller. Her intense dislike of Delmont makes her an excel-lent suspect, to my way of thinking. But I doubt that she will respond helpfully to direct questions, especially if she has something to hide."

"You believe that she would lie to you?"

"I am more concerned that she will pack her bags and disappear if she thinks that she has been found out," he said. "I do not want to scare her off until I know for certain whether or not she is involved in this affair."

"What will you do?"

"If she is the one who killed Elizabeth Delmont and stole the diary, it is likely that she has the journal hidden somewhere in her house," he mused. "I believe my next step is to conduct a search of the premises."

She unfolded her arms very quickly. "You intend to break into her house? Good heavens, you cannot take such a risk, sir. If she has already killed once, she will not hesitate to do so again."

He appeared bemused by her protest. Then a strangely quizzical expression darkened his eyes. "Are you worried about my safety, Mrs. Fordyce?"

"I am merely trying to inject some common sense into your plan"

"A pity. For a moment, I dared to entertain the hope that you were concerned for my well-being."

"I do not appreciate being teased, Mr. Hardesty. Now, then, if you are determined upon this venture, would it not make more sense to at least learn something about the plan of the house before you break into it? Having some prior knowledge of that sort would enable you to conduct a more efficient search."

He gave her a speculative look. "What do you suggest?"

"You could schedule a séance," she said, thinking quickly. "Mrs. Toller made it obvious today that she was attempting to use her public demonstrations to promote her private business."

'What an imaginative notion." His brows rose. "Brilliant, in fact. Entering the house for the purpose of a séance would not only give me an opportunity to look around, it might provide me with other information about Toller as well. Do you know, something tells me that having a sensation novelist for a consultant in this affair is going to prove extremely useful."

His slow smile was as sensual and thrillingly intimate as it was unexpected. It transformed his appearance, giving her a brief glimpse of the complex man beneath the enigmatic façade that he presented to the world.

It also flustered her. She struggled to regain her composure.

"I must accompany you, of course," she said, trying to ignore the fluttery sensations in her stomach.

His smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. The re-mote, cryptic expression returned.

"I do not think that will be necessary"

"I disagree, sir," she said as forcefully as she could manage. "My presence will help allay any suspicions Mrs. Toller might have."

"What suspicions could she possibly entertain? Mrs. Toller and I have never met. Even if she does possess the diary and even if she is aware that a gentleman named Adam Hardesty is a potential target for blackmail, how could she recognize me as her intended victim?"

"She might have seen you at the demonstration today."

He moved one hand in an uninterested motion. "If she did, she will only know me as Mr. Grove, just as Reed and Elsworth do. Irene Toller is in the business of giving séances. I will be just another client as far as she is concerned.
^"

Obviously she would have to come up with another argument to convince him that he must include her in his plan. She had no intention of allowing him to pursue his inquiries

without her.
Tread cautiously,
she warned herself. Adam Hardesty would not appreciate any attempts to manipulate him. But manipulate him, she must.

She cleared her throat. "No offense, sir, but there is, shall we say, a certain aspect about you that might well make Mrs. Toller—" She paused, searching for a diplomatic word to finish the sentence. None came to mind. "Uneasy."

His jaw hardened.
^"
Why
the
devil
should
I
make her
uneasy?"

She
thought about
taking out
the
small mirror in
her pocket
and
letting him
have a look at
his
fierce expression, but in the next moment, she decided against that tactic. He was unlikely to see what others saw when they looked at him.

Stick with logic and reason, she thought. Those were the tools she must employ if she hoped to prod Adam Hardesty into doing what she wanted him to do.

"If Irene Toller does, indeed, possess some knowledge of the murder, she will be on her guard," she said, striving for patience. "If, on the other hand, she is innocent of any knowledge of the crime, the murder of another medium will likely have made her quite nervous. I would not be surprised if she refuses all requests for sittings from strangers for a time. I would, if I were in her shoes."

"Would you?"

"Most certainly," she assured him.

He did not bother to conceal his skepticism of that statement. Nevertheless, she could see that he was giving her words some close thought.

"Are you acquainted with Toller?" he asked finally. She was making progress, she told herself.

"We have not
been introduced
but I'm
sure she
will know who I am because I have been in Wintersett House several times recently to conduct my research. As you just witnessed in the case of Mr. Reed and Mr. Elsworth, my activities are no secret among the members of the Society for Psychical Investigations."

There was a wry edge to the curve of his mouth. "In other words, your name might be just what I need for an entrée to Irene Toller's house; is that it?"

"I do not think that it would seem odd to her if I re-quested a sitting. In fact, I might very well have done so in the normal course of events."

He contemplated that for a moment longer. Then he straightened in his seat and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs.

"Very well, Mrs. Fordyce," he said in his midnight voice. "If you can arrange a séance with Irene Toller, we shall attend it together."

Relieved at having achieved her objective, she gave him an approving smile. "I will send a note to Mrs. Toller immediately. I'm sure there will be no difficulty."

"Will I be allowed to hold your hand?" he asked. She froze. "I beg your pardon?"

He drew the curtains closed across the carriage windows with a few swift, efficient motions, plunging the interior into intimate shadow. He reached out and caught hold of her hand.

"I was under the impression that sitters at a séance often join hands." His fingers tightened gently around hers. "Something to do with strengthening or centering the power of the medium, I believe"

She looked down at his large, strong fingers and discovered that she could scarcely breathe. He was so very close. "Yes, well, that is the usual explanation," she managed.

"There are some who claim that mediums insist that every-one hold hands because that way a skeptical sitter is less likely to strike a light at an inopportune time or try to grab a spirit manifestation."

"And thereby expose the medium's tricks," he concluded. "Precisely."

"I shall look forward to holding your hand at the séance, Mrs. Fordyce"

She could not move. She did not want to move.

He held her transfixed with some invisible force while he slowly, deliberately raised her hand to his mouth. Turning her fingers palm up, he eased the green glove down just far enough to expose the exquisitely sensitive inside of her wrist.

She stopped breathing altogether.

When he kissed the place where her pulse beat so swiftly, she thought she would fall apart into a million tiny fireworks.

"Mr. Hardesty," she whispered.

He raised his head but he did not release her hand. "Call me Adam"

`Adam." She tasted the name on her tongue and discovered for the first time in her life the exotic flavors of fire and ice.

He smiled as though the sound of his name on her lips pleased him. Then he leaned a little closer. She realized with shock that he was going to kiss her right on her mouth. Before she could deal with the monumental implications of the situation, his lips closed over hers and the world around her dissolved into mist.

A euphoric feeling welled up inside her; delight, excitement, curiosity and anticipation mingled, making her light-headed. Dazzled, she put her hands on his shoulders to brace herself. When she touched him, he made a harsh, urgent sound deep in his throat, gripped her shoulders and pulled her hard against his chest.

He deepened the kiss until she could no longer think; until she was lost amid a tumult of powerful sensations.

The well-sprung carriage clattered to a halt. Adam reluctantly eased her away from him, sat back against the cushions and opened the curtains.

"We appear to have arrived at your address." He gave her a heart-stoppingly intimate look. "I can only regret that the journey did not take a good deal longer."

She did not know what to say to that so she looked out the window instead. Two figures stood on the doorstep. They, in turn, were staring at her in openmouthed astonishment.

She was instantly jolted back to reality.

"Oh, dear," she murmured. "This may prove to be a trifle difficult for you, sir."

Adam studied the pair on the step. "Your aunts, I presume?"

"I'm afraid so"

He reached for the door handle. "I told you that I am considered to be quite respectable. Surely they will not object to me bringing you home."

"The problem is that they will insist on inviting you in for a cup of tea."

"Excellent. I could do with a cup of tea."

"Wait, you don't understand," she said. "It won't be just the tea. There will be questions. A lot of them."

He smiled his mysterious smile and got out of the vehicle. "I don't mind a few questions," he said. "As it happens, I have a few of my own."

TEN

Some twenty minutes later she was still wondering uneasily what Adam had meant by that last cryptic remark. She studied him covertly, uncertain of his mood. He should have been showing signs of impatience, she thought, but instead he seemed to have made himself quite comfortable in the little parlor at Number 22 Corley Lane.

He was seated in an armchair, legs stretched out in front of him, one ankle stacked casually on top of the other. On the table beside him there was a half-finished cup of tea and a plate of Mrs. Plummer's pastries. He had made great inroads on the latter.

"I'm sure your niece has explained to you both that I believe that Elizabeth Delmont was in possession of a certain diary at the time of her death," he said around a mouthful of jam tart.

Milly and Emma had been polite but wary at the start of the conversation. However they appeared to be falling very quickly under Adam's spell.

"Yes," Milly said. "Caroline told us about the diary.
^"
Emma frowned. "I will admit that we are all quite curious about the contents."

"Naturally." Adam swallowed the last of his tart. "I regret to say that I cannot satisfy your curiosity entirely. I'm sure you will understand when I tell you that the diary contains some information of an extremely personal nature about other people of whom I happen to be very fond.
^"

"How did you come to discover that Mrs. Delmont was in possession of the diary?" Caroline said.

He hesitated briefly. She knew he was deciding just how much to tell them.

"A fortnight ago I received word of the death of an old friend named Maud Gatley," he said. "I was saddened by the loss, but the news was not unexpected. Maud had been addicted to opium for a long time. In recent years the drug had taken control of her life. In the end, it killed her."

"How tragic," Milly whispered.

"A few days later I received a blackmail note threatening to reveal the contents of Maud's diary unless I left a very large sum of money in a certain location." Adam reached for another tart. "Until that moment, I had not realized that Maud had kept a journal. I immediately made some inquiries and soon discovered that what few possessions she had left behind had been claimed by a cousin.
^"

"You tracked down the cousin?" Emma asked.

"Yes. Discovering that Maud had a relative was some-thing of a surprise, too. She had always claimed that she had no family."

`Amazing how long-lost relations emerge from the woodwork when a person dies and leaves behind a few items of value," Emma said dryly.

Adam was amused. "Yes. In any event, I realized that, given the timing of events, the unknown cousin had no doubt found the diary among Maud's things, read it, saw the potential for profit and fired off the anonymous extortion note. I made a few more inquiries and identified Elizabeth Delmont as the woman who had come to Maud's lodgings and taken away what little was there."

"That was an excellent piece of detective work, sir," Milly said, impressed.

He reached for his tea. "Actually, it was not particularly complicated at all. A few questions here and there and I soon had an address in
Hamsey Street
"

He spoke casually, as though anyone could have achieved similar results, Caroline thought, but she knew that was not true. Those who moved in Adam Hardesty's circles did not associate with the Elizabeth Delmonts of this world. Judging by the few possessions she had left be-hind, the opium-addicted Maud had occupied an even lower rung on the social ladder. It was highly unlikely that the average gentleman in Society would have the sort of connections required to trace a link between someone like Maud and her cousin so quickly.

The more she learned of Adam, the more mysterious he became.

"Unfortunately, by the time I arrived on Delmont's doorstep to confront her the other night, she was dead and the diary was gone" He glanced at Caroline. "As you know, one thing led to another and that was how I happened to turn up here"

"Caroline explained about the list of sitters that you found," Milly said. "Her name was on it."

Adam switched his attention back to her. "I was soon satisfied that she had nothing to do with the affair and said as much to her." He drank some tea and lowered the cup. "Imagine my surprise when I walked into the lecture hall at Wintersett House today and saw that she had chosen to at-tend Irene Toller's demonstration of spirit writing"

Milly and Emma looked at Caroline.

"Not being a great believer in coincidences," Adam added, "I realized immediately that she had decided to conduct her own investigation. I do not feel that it is at all necessary, but I am under the impression that I cannot persuade her to leave this business to me."

Emma frowned. "I fear the three of us have excellent reasons for being extremely cautious about the potential for scandal, sir."

"Indeed," Milly said. "You appear to be sincere, Mr. Hardesty, and I believe you when you say that you no longer harbor any suspicions about Caroline's connection to the murder or the stolen diary. But what if you change your mind?"