Wait Until Midnight (18 page)

"It's possible, yes"

`But Irene Toller and Elizabeth Delmont were rivals." "Money makes for strange bedfellows. Just ask any of the husbands and wives in Society."

"That is a very cynical remark, Adam."

"I discovered long ago that one can answer a great many questions about anyone, high or low, if one first ex-amines the source of his or her income."

"An intriguing observation. That reminds me, you said you had plans for that building in
Stone Street
. What are you going to do with it?"

He hesitated and then decided that there was no reason not to tell her of his intentions. "I am making arrangements to turn it into a charity house for street children. It will be a place where they will be safe and well fed. They will be taught to read and write so that they can make their way in the world."

She gave him a soft, mysteriously knowing smile. "Of course. I should have guessed."

Surprised at the comment, he frowned. "How the devil could you have possibly—"

"Never mind. It's not important. Good night, Adam." "Good night, Caroline."

"I cannot wait to get back to my new chapter in the morning," she said. "I am suddenly brimming over with fresh ideas for my story."

The door closed very gently in his face.

He stood there for a moment, bemused. At a time like this, some women would be worrying about their reputations or the possibility of pregnancy. Caroline appeared to be concerned only with the plot of her novel.

He wondered if that should give him cause for alarm.

TWENTY

Shortly after nine-thirty the following morning, Caroline put down her pen and looked at the paragraph that she had just finished writing.

Lydia
began to suspect that Edmund Drake was not as he appeared on the surface. The hard, unyielding exterior he presented to the world concealed not just his secrets but perhaps a certain innate nobility of soul as well. He was not the sort to reveal his true nature easily, but she had learned enough about his character in the wake of the re-cent, disturbing events to cause her to question her original assumptions.

Drake was most certainly a man of strong passions, she concluded, but those passions were held in check by a powerful will and a sense of honor that would put to shame the shallow code embraced by so many wealthy, well-born gentlemen.

Drake made his own rules, and he lived by them.

Satisfied, Caroline reached for another sheet of paper. The story was coming along nicely. The surprising twist in the character of Edmund Drake would certainly astonish her readers. Now all she needed was another startling incident with which to end the chapter and she would be finished with this week's episode.

She picked up her pen and tapped it lightly on the desktop. A runaway carriage, perhaps? No, that would be much too similar to an earlier incident. That sort of thing had to be spaced out carefully in order to create the de-sired effect.

What was needed now was a scene of thrilling passion, she decided. Something along the lines of what she had experienced in Adam's arms last night would be perfect.

The exciting memories flooded back. She indulged her-self in them once again, aware of tingling warmth in her lower body.

Yes, a passionate embrace would be just the thing to end this chapter. Inspired, she started to write.

In the shadowy light cast by the carriage lamps Lydia
could see Edmund Drake's
eyes glowing like emerald coals
taken
from
some supernatural
fire.
He took her into his
arms, crushing her against his powerful chest.

"My sweet, beautiful
Lydia," he whispered. "When I am with you I cannot seem to control

"Mrs. Fordyce?"

Caroline started in surprise. Her pen slipped, marring
control.
She looked up quickly and saw Mrs. Plummer standing in the opening.

"Yes, what is it?" she said, trying not to let her impatience show.

"I'm sorry to disturb you while you're writing but this just came for you." Mrs. Plummer walked into the room. She held an envelope in one hand. "A lad brought it around to the kitchen door a moment ago."

"A note?" Caroline was instantly wary. "It's not from Spraggett, is it? He knows very well that the new chapter is not due until the end of the week. I vow, if he does not stop pestering me I am going to lose all patience and look for another publisher."

"No, I don't think it's from Mr. Spraggett. He always sends that young red-haired lad, Tom, when he wants to deliver a message to you. The boy who gave me this was a stranger."

Adam, Caroline thought. It had to be him. No one else had any reason to send her a message. Her pulse sparked and a pleasant sense of euphoria bubbled through her. Then it occurred to her that Adam might have dispatched the note to let her know that he had changed his mind about calling on her today.

"Thank you, Mrs. Plummer."

Snatching the envelope from the housekeeper's fingers, Caroline ripped it open.

Dear Mrs. Fordyce:

I must see you immediately. It concerns a message from the Other Side that was communicated to me last night after you left my house.

Yrs.,

I. Toller

"How curious," Caroline said, rereading the note. "It is from the medium."

"Which medium would that be, ma'am?"

"Irene Toller. The one who gave the séance that I at-tended with my, uh, friend Mr. Hardesty last night." She put the note down, rose quickly and started around the desk. "I wonder what on earth this is all about."

"Will you be going out, then, ma'am?"

"Yes. This is a very interesting turn of events. I do not want to miss the opportunity. I am going straight upstairs to change into a walking dress." She whisked through the door and then paused in the hall. "When my aunts return from their morning constitutional, please tell them that I had to pay a hasty visit to Mrs. Toller and that I shall be back in time for lunch."

"Yes, ma'am."

Caroline hurried toward the stairs and then paused again when another thought struck her. "One more thing, Mrs. Plummer. Mr. Hardesty mentioned that he would pay a call sometime today. If he arrives before I return, will you please tell him that I will be back shortly and ask him to wait?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She was forced to let two dashing hansom cabs go past be-fore a lumbering hackney presented itself. It was really most annoying not to be able to use a hansom, she thought, climbing up into the aging carriage. Not only did the de-sign, with its open front and the driver up behind, appear as though it would provide the passenger with a marvelous view, the hansoms were considerably faster and more agile in the London traffic than other vehicles.

Unfortunately, any lady, even a widow, who was seen riding in a hansom was considered to be fast in more ways than one.

Sometime later the hackney stopped in the street in front of Irene Toller's address. The house appeared just as bleak and gloomy this morning as it had the night before when it had been shrouded in fog and darkness, Caroline thought, alighting.

She was concentrating so intently on wondering why Irene Toller had sent the message that she did not immediately take note of the small cluster of people standing about in the street in front of the house. When she realized that a crowd had gathered, a trickle of alarm coursed through her. Something was very wrong here.

She caught snippets of conversation when she went up the steps.

"The villain broke into her house while she was asleep is the way I heard it," announced a woman who wore a housekeeper's apron. -

"Can't believe it happened right here in our street," a maid whispered.

"Never had any trouble like this in all the years I've lived here," a matronly-looking female declared. "This is a respectable neighborhood."

Caroline's alarm intensified. All she could think about in that dreadful moment of realization was Adam and his plan to search the premises. Had he changed his mind after he had taken her home? Had he come directly here instead of waiting until later today as he had planned?

"Who's that woman on the front step?" someone hissed behind Caroline. "Never saw her around here before."

Caroline ignored the curiosity and banged the knocker.
Please don't let this have anything to do with Adam.

Heavy footsteps sounded in the narrow hall. The door opened. She found herself gazing at a large burly man in a constable's uniform.

"What would you be wanting at this address, madam?" he demanded.

Panic shot through her. Had Adam been caught in the act of searching Toller's house? Visions of him being clapped in irons and hauled off to a damp, dark prison seared her brain.

She forced herself to speak calmly. "I received a message from Mrs. Toller a short while ago. Is something wrong?"

"A message, you say?" The constable squinted a bit. "From the medium?"

"Yes. I came immediately."

A short, spindly, thin man in an ill-fitting suit appeared behind the first man. There was a shrewd, no-nonsense air about him.

"What's going on out there, Constable?"

"There's a lady here, Inspector." The policeman glanced back over his shoulder. "Says she got a message from the medium a short time ago"

"Well, now, isn't that interesting?" The inspector came forward. "Very interesting, indeed. And who might you be, madam?"

"My name is Mrs. Fordyce," Caroline said. She man-aged to keep her voice firm but she could scarcely breathe. "I do not believe we have met."

"Inspector J. J. Jackson, at your service. What is your business here, Mrs. Fordyce?"

The situation was growing worse by the second, Caroline thought. "As I just told the constable, I received a message. It sounded quite urgent."

A third figure emerged from the dark hallway behind the inspector.

"Good morning, Mrs. Fordyce," Adam said. He spoke in an extremely polite, very cool manner, as though they were on only the most formal of terms. "It is certainly a surprise to see you here."

Her stomach clenched. Her worst fears were confirmed. Adam had been caught inside Irene Toller's house. There was no mistaking the message that he was sending her now with his chilly, impersonal air. He wanted her to pretend that they barely knew each other.

She managed what she hoped was a bright, polite smile. "How nice to see you again, sir," she said smoothly. She did not dare to address him by name because she had no way of knowing if he was using Hardesty or Grove. "I gather that you also received a message from the medium asking you to call this morning?"

"Yes," Adam said without any inflection whatsoever. "When I arrived I found Inspector Jackson and the constable here"

"I see," Caroline said. She felt as though she were making her way through a field of nettles. "Was anyone hurt?"

"You could say that Mrs. Toller was badly hurt," Inspector J. J. Jackson announced solemnly. "She's dead."

"Dead."
Unnerved, Caroline sat down hard on a small chair set against the wall directly beneath a row of iron coat hooks. "Dear heaven."

"Murdered in her séance room. The place was ripped apart. Furniture upended. Lamp broken. That sort of thing."

"Same as the other one," the constable said with a knowledgeable nod.

"Mrs. Toller appears to have been struck several times on the back of her head," Inspect
^or
Jackson continued, remarkably matter-of-fact.

"Just like the other medium,
^"
the constable offered ominously.

Caroline forced herself to think. "She cannot have been dead for very long."

J. J. Jackson rocked on his heels. "Murdered at midnight."

"Just like the other one," the constable mumbled again.

"Midnight? But that's impossible. I just had a note from Mrs. Toller." Caroline checked her watch. "It was delivered less than forty minutes ago."

Jackson raised one narrow shoulder in a shrug. "She must have written it last night and given it to her house-keeper to dispatch this morning.
^"

Caroline looked around. "And just where is the house-keeper?"

"She hasn't turned up yet," the constable said.

"How did you learn of the murder?" she demanded. "Got an anonymous message,
^"
Jackson said. "A tip, you might say. We depend on that sort of thing."

"What makes you so certain that Mrs. Toller was killed at midnight?" Caroline asked.

Jackson cleared his throat and looked at Adam. "As it happens, we found a gentleman
^'
s pocket watch on the floor beside the body. Mr. Hardesty and I were just discussing it when you arrived.
^"

Mr. Hardesty. So Adam had given the inspector his real name. She did not know if that boded ill or not.

"A watch?" she asked carefully
^.

"Same as happened with the last one," the constable said with another wise nod.

Caroline recalled Adam telling her that he had seen a broken pocket watch next to Elizabeth Delmont's body.

"I don't understand," she said evenly. "What does the watch tell you about the time of the medium's death?"

"It appears to have been smashed in the course of the struggle." J. J. Jackson moved one hand in a dramatic fashion, a magician unveiling a new trick. "The hands are stopped at twelve o'clock precisely."

"Do you believe that the watch belonged to the killer?" she asked, her curiosity resurfacing.

The inspector and the constable looked at her as if they found the question exceedingly strange. Another chill went through her.

Adam folded his arms and leaned one shoulder against the wall. "The pocket watch in question is engraved with my name, Mrs. Fordyce."

"What?"
She leaped to her feet, horrified. "But that's not possible."

This was far worse than she had believed. This was a case of murder. Adam might hang. The image that came to mind made her feel quite faint.

Struggling to conceal her panic, she gave Adam a quick, searching glance, silently asking for guidance. But his face remained grimly unreadable.

"Those are the facts, ma'am,"
Jackson announced. "No mistaking the name on the watch. Spelled out clear as a bell."

Caroline swung around to confront him. "I can assure you that Mr. Hardesty had nothing to do with the death of Irene Toller."

Inspector
Jackson arched thick brows.

"Mrs. Fordyce," Adam said flatly, "I think it would be best if you refrained from commenting further on this affair."

It was an order but she had no intention whatsoever of obeying it.

"Inspector
Jackson," she said in her most forceful tones. "I cannot explain how Mr. Hardesty's pocket watch came to be at the scene of the crime, but I can assure you that Mr. Hardesty himself was nowhere near this house at midnight last night"

Adam's jaw jerked in annoyance. "Mrs. Fordyce, you've said quite enough."

"And how does it happen that you are so certain of Mr. Hardesty's whereabouts last night?"
Jackson asked, politely curious.

"Because Mr. Hardesty was with me at midnight, Inspector." She raised her chin. "We attended a séance here at Mrs. Toller's house earlier in the evening and then we left together in Mr. Hardesty's carriage. The other sitters will confirm that."

Jackson nodded. "Mr. Hardesty claims the séance ended around ten o'clock."

"That is correct," she said.

Jackson regarded her with keen interest. "How far away is your address, Mrs. Fordyce?"

"About half an hour, depending on traffic."

"In that case, you would have been home well before midnight, leaving Mr. Hardesty plenty of time to return to this house and commit the murder,"
Jackson observed.

Outraged, Caroline looked down her nose at the short man. "Mr. Hardesty and I did not go to my address directly after the séance. We spent a number of hours together. He did not deliver me home until nearly two o'clock in the morning."

"Is that a fact?" The inspector took a notebook out of his pocket. "Well, now, that is very interesting, Mrs. Fordyce. Did the two of you attend a party or the theater, perhaps?"

"No, Inspector, we were alone together in a room in
Stone Street
. Mr. Hardesty's coachman drove us there and picked us up a few hours later."

Adam exhaled heavily and appeared to resign himself to some inevitable fate.

"Alone together in a room in
Stone Street
,"
Jackson repeated softly, making some notes. "Very interesting, Mrs. Fordyce" He gave Adam a speculative look. "Didn't realize that the two of you were so closely acquainted."

Caroline reminded herself that she actually was an experienced woman of the world as of last night. She gave the inspector her most polished smile. "Yes, indeed, Mr. Hardesty and I are very good friends, Inspector. Intimate acquaintances, as it were. And I will be happy to testify in a court of law that he was with me last night at the time of the murder."

Adam wrapped strong fingers around her arm. "If you will excuse us, Inspector, I will escort Mrs. Fordyce home. If you have more questions for me, you know my address."

Jackson pocketed his notebook. "Thank you, sir."

Adam steered Caroline through the front door and down the steps. A familiar face lunged out of the crowd and hurried toward them. He had a copy of a newspaper tucked under one arm.

"Mrs. Fordyce. Mr. Grove."

Caroline looked at him in surprise. "Mr. Smith. What are you doing here?"

"Actually, the name is Otford. Gilbert Otford." He whipped the newspaper out from under his arm and held it aloft like a banner. "When we met at Toller's séance last night, I was not free to inform you that I am a correspondent for the
Flying Intelligencer."

"I recognize your name," Caroline said, suddenly incensed anew. "You did that dreadful piece on me, didn't you? The one about my supposed demonstration of psychical powers at a certain tea."

"Yes. It was all very interesting, but I fear that it is old news." Gilbert's cunning eyes shifted back and forth between Caroline and Adam. "I have been informed that Mrs. Toller was murdered sometime during the night. Is it true?"

"How did you come to learn of the murder of Mrs. Toller?" Adam asked before Caroline could respond.

A secretive expression pinched Otford's features. He put a bony finger alongside his sharp nose. "Let us just say that information reached me a short time ago. We correspondents depend on informants, you know. I'm pleased to say that mine are among the swiftest and the most accurate."

"Given your decidedly misleading piece on me, perhaps you should review the accuracy of your informants," Caroline snapped.

Adam contemplated him as though deciding whether to set a rat trap or simply fetch a broom and sweep Otford into the gutter. "Why were you at the séance last night?"

Otford lowered his voice and looked around quickly, making certain that no one could overhear him. "Between you and me, sir, I am conducting an investigation of mediums with the intention of exposing their deceptive practices. Public's right to know and all that sort of thing. That is why I did not reveal my identity last night. I was incognito, as it were."

"What a coincidence." Adam produced a card. Rather than handing it to Otford, he contrived to drop it into the correspondent's palm in a not-so-subtle manner that made it clear he disdained any physical contact. "I neglected to tell you my true identity also. Adam Hardesty. I am not Mrs. Fordyce's personal assistant. I am her friend."

Caroline watched Otford stare at the card, eyes widening. She could tell that the Hardesty name registered immediately. When it all finally came together, Otford's eyes glittered with barely restrained excitement.

"I say, sir, this is all extremely
unusual."
Otford took out a small pad of paper and a pencil. "False identities and what-not. Very curious. Would you care to explain what the two of you were doing at the scene of a murder this morning?"

Caroline could almost see Otford writing his next crime sensation story in his head. Disaster loomed.

Adam casually reached out and jerked the notepad from the correspondent's fingers. "Confidentially, Otford, Mrs. Fordyce and I were aiding the police in their inquiries. If her name appears in any piece written about this murder, I assure you that you will hear from me very soon thereafter. Do I make myself clear, Mr. Otford?"

Otford's mouth opened and closed twice. He took a step back. "I say, sir, you cannot threaten a gentleman of the press."

"I do not see any of that breed in the vicinity," Adam said. "I only see you. For the sake of your continuing good health, I strongly recommend that you keep in mind the fact that I never make threats, Mr. Otford. I only make promises. Good day."

Adam drew Caroline down the street to a waiting hack
ney cab.

TWENTY-ONE

Caroline did not speak during the entire trip back to
Corley Lane
. She could scarcely order her thoughts, let alone voice them aloud. Adam lounged beside her, one foot braced on the opposite cushion, his attention on the scene outside the window. He made no attempt to shatter the brittle silence inside the cab. She had no clue at all to what he was thinking.

When they arrived at Number 22, she was deeply relieved to discover that Emma and Milly had not yet re-turned from their morning exercise. She stormed into her study and flung herself down into the chair behind her desk.

"That," she announced, "was a very near thing. I am still shivering in my shoes."

Adam strolled into the room behind her and stopped in the center of the carpet. He put his hands in his pockets and contemplated her thoughtfully.

"It was somewhat dicey there for a moment or two," he agreed.

"This is no time for bad jests, sir." She frowned. "You do realize that your threats will very likely not keep Otford from writing a piece on the murder and our connection to it for the
Flying Intelligencer?"

"I admit I am not hopeful on that point"

"I assure you, an item that involves another murdered medium, a powerful gentleman and a sensation novelist will prove utterly irresistible to Otford and Mr. Spraggett" She raised a finger in warning. "Mark my words, the story, in one version or another, will appear in print sooner or later."

"I suspect you are right." He looked around expectantly. "Have you got any brandy, by chance?"

She closed her eyes. "We seem to be dealing with an ever-widening scandal. How can you be so calm about this situation?"

"Do not mistake my mood. I'm not entirely unconcerned. I do recognize that we have a few problems on our hands."

She opened her eyes. "I'm pleased to hear that" "About the brandy? I know it is rather early in the day, but I could use a restorative. It has been a trying morning." "There is some sherry in that cupboard," she said grudgingly.

"Thank you." He opened the cabinet and removed the decanter of sherry. "Not quite the strong tonic I would have preferred but it will have to do" He selected a glass. "I am sorry if you are distressed at the notion of having your name linked with mine in the press, Caroline. But I would remind you that you were the one who insisted on informing Inspector Jackson that we spent a good portion of last night together in extremely intimate circumstances"

She spread her hands. "There was no help for it. I had to tell him that you were with me at the time of the murder."

"Actually," he said with grave precision, "you did not have to tell him any such thing. You must have realized that I had not given him your name or mentioned the nature of our association."

"Yes, I gathered that much. You were trying to protect me. I appreciate your intentions, Adam, but I simply could not remain silent under the circumstances."

"I see." He drank some sherry and lowered the glass. "A prudent woman who had a proper concern for her reputation would have had the sense to remain quiet and thereby avoid being dragged deeper into an unpleasant scandal"

"We have both agreed that my status as a widow gives me a great deal of freedom."

He raised his brows. "You know very well that if it gets out that you are not really a widow, your reputation will be ripped to shreds"

"You are worrying about an extremely unlikely possibility. I suggest that you save your energy for more pressing concerns"

He gave that a moment's consideration and then inclined his head. "Perhaps you are right. What's done is done. We must go forward from here."

"Quite right." Relieved that he was not going to lecture her further, she folded her arms on top of the desk. "Did you have an opportunity to examine the scene of Mrs. Toller's murder?"

"To some extent. Inspector
Jackson did not object to my looking around the séance room."

"No sign of the diary, I take it?"

"None."

"Aside from the pocket watch, were there any other similarities to the scene of Mrs. Delmont's murder?"

"The scene in Mrs. Toller's séance room duplicated the scene at Mrs. Delmont's house in every particular that was reported in the press," he said softly. "And I find that fact quite interesting."

"Every particular reported in the press?" Understanding dawned. "You mean there was no wedding veil and no brooch?"