by Amanda Quick
“But now Foxcroft’s notebook has disappeared. Benedict risked his life for nothing.”
“Hmm. Yes. Interesting, eh?”
Amity glared at him. “How can you be so casual about the theft, sir?”
The kitchen door opened and closed. Benedict walked back into the study. He slipped his gun into the pocket of his coat.
“The intruder evidently has a talent for picking locks,” he said. “There is barely a scratch on the door. It appears he left the same way he entered—through the kitchen.”
“He must have been watching the house,” Cornelius said. “He knew that I was alone. This is Palmer’s day and night off. He always goes to see his daughter and her family on Wednesdays. He takes the train and does not return until Thursday morning.”
“If the spy is aware of this house, then we must assume he knows a great deal, not only about the solar cannon and Foxcroft’s engine and battery but also about your government connections,” Benedict said.
“The intruder must be the same person who stole Cork’s drawings for the weapon and tried to murder you on St. Clare,” Amity said. “Now he has Foxcroft’s notebook. This is terrible.”
There was a short, tense silence. Cornelius and Benedict exchanged glances. Neither man appeared unduly alarmed. If anything, they seemed remarkably satisfied.
She planted her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes. “What is going on here? I have the distinct impression that neither of you is sufficiently concerned about this turn of events.”
Benedict raised his brows. “Well, sir? You did request my fiancée’s assistance in this matter. It seems to me that she cannot be helpful unless you tell her more about the situation.”
Cornelius hesitated and then grunted. “Quite right. Miss Doncaster, the reason we are not overly concerned about the loss of the notebook is because Benedict wisely thought to remove the most crucial pages—the ones that provide the specifications and materials required to construct the engine and the battery.”
Amity absorbed that news. “Very clever. But won’t the spy realize that the important pages are missing?”
“With luck, no,” Benedict said. “My brother is a very good architect. He possesses a great deal of talent when it comes to drawing. The plans he produces for Stanbridge & Company are works of art.”
“Oh, I see.” Amity beetled her brows. “Do you mean to say that you forged some pages of the notebook?”
Benedict smiled approvingly.
“Foxcoft kept his notes in a binder. We simply removed the important pages and inserted new ones.” Benedict looked at Cornelius. “I told you that she is very sharp.”
Cornelius chuckled and then winced in pain and gingerly touched his head. “I believe you.”
Benedict turned back to Amity. “Between the two of us, Richard and I were able to forge two pages of specifications and notes for Foxcroft’s engine. We used some of the unused pages in the binder.”
Amity caught her breath. “That was a very clever plan.”
Cornelius snorted. “Ben always has a plan.”
“I thought it best to take the added precautions because Uncle Cornelius believes that there is a well-placed traitor involved in this affair,” Benedict said.
“Obviously you are right,” Amity said.
Out of curiosity, she moved closer to the safe and leaned down to peer into the dark interior. The only thing left inside was an envelope.
“My plan did not involve you being injured in the process,” Benedict said to Cornelius. “I assumed that if someone made an attempt to steal the notebook it would happen when you and Palmer were away from home.”
“Don’t blame yourself, Ben,” Cornelius said. “The important thing is that you predicted that someone might try to steal the notebook and you were correct. Whoever our spy is, we now know for certain that he possesses considerable talent for his profession. The lock on that safe is the most modern model available.”
Amity looked over her shoulder at Cornelius. “How do you plan to catch the thief?”
“You misunderstand, Miss Doncaster. I have no intention of arresting the spy. I merely wish to identify him. Once I know who he is, I can make use of him.”
“By feeding him false information to give to the Russians,” Benedict explained.
“Well, that makes sense, I suppose,” Amity said. “But how will you identify him?”
“I have a short list of suspects, Miss Doncaster,” Cornelius said, his voice turning grim. “They are all being watched very closely at the moment. When one of them makes a move to give the notebook to the Russians, I will know about it.”
Benedict studied him. “What if you are watching the wrong people? You told me that none of your suspects was absent from London at the time I was shot on St. Clare.”
Cornelius fumbled with his spectacles and squinted at Amity. “I am hoping that Miss Doncaster will be able to assist me in that regard. But I am not at my best at the moment. I can’t even recall all the questions I had intended to ask you, my dear. The interview must wait until I can think more clearly.”
“I will be happy to tell you what little I know whenever you are ready, sir,” Amity said. “But what of the letter inside the safe?”
Cornelius scowled. “I never put any letter in there.”
Amity removed the envelope from the safe, straightened and studied the name on the front. “It is addressed to you, sir.”
“Let me see that,” Cornelius snapped.
Amity handed the letter to him. “I suspect that your safecracker left you a message.”
Cornelius yanked the letter out of the envelope and peered at it for a moment. “Damn and blast, I can’t read a thing. My vision is somewhat blurred and my head hurts.” He thrust the letter toward Benedict. “Read it, Ben.”
Benedict unfolded the single sheet of paper and read it in silence. He looked up.
“It appears our burglar is not particularly loyal to any government,” Benedict said. “He has his own best interests at heart. He’s looking to turn a profit on this night’s work.”
“How?” Amity asked.
Benedict tapped the letter. “He states that he is willing to sell it back to us. For a price.”
“Bloody hell,” Cornelius growled. “And just what the devil is the price?”
Benedict glanced at the note in his hand. “It does not say. It only states that you will be contacted in the near future, at which time details will be provided.”
In spite of all he had been through that night, Cornelius appeared suddenly cheerful.
“Well, now,” he said sounding quite pleased. “That makes things so much simpler, doesn’t it?”
“Does it?” Amity asked.
“There is no way the spy can conduct a transaction without coming at least partway out of the shadows,” Cornelius said. “And when he does, we will be ready.”
Thirteen
What will happen next?” Amity asked.
“You heard my uncle. He will assign his regular agents to handle the investigation from now on, although I’m sure Cornelius will still want to question you,” Benedict said. “But for now I think he is entirely focused on setting a trap to catch our mystery thief. There is nothing more that either of us can do to assist him. That, in turn, leaves us free to concentrate on helping Logan catch the Bridegroom.”
The carriage clattered to a halt in front of the little town house in Exton Street. Amity looked out the window and saw that the lights were still on inside.
“Penny is waiting up for me,” she said. “She is no doubt curious to hear about my interview with your uncle.”
“There is no need to keep secrets from her,” Benedict said. “She already knows as much about this espionage affair as we do.” He looked out the carriage window in the opposite direction and appeared satisfied. “There’s the c
onstable that Logan promised. Good. I’ll see you inside and then we must both get some sleep.”
He opened the carriage door and got out. Amity gathered the folds of her cloak and skirts and stepped down from the cab. The door of the house opened just as she and Benedict started up the steps. Mrs. Houston appeared. Amity was surprised to see that she was not in her nightgown and robe. Mrs. Houston beamed, looking quite pleased.
“I heard the carriage and thought it must be you coming home, Miss Amity,” she said.
“It was kind of you to wait up for me, Mrs. Houston,” Amity said. “But, really, there was no need.”
“Nonsense. It’s not as if I could go to bed, what with a stranger in the house and all.”
“What?” Startled, Amity peered through the doorway into the hall. “Who on earth would come calling at this hour of the night?”
“I wouldn’t call it a social call.” Mrs. Houston chuckled. She stepped back, holding the door wide. “It’s that nice Inspector Logan. He’s in the study with Mrs. Marsden.”
“Logan is still here?” Benedict asked, moving into the hall. “How convenient. I’ll have a word with him.”
“How odd,” Amity said, but she was speaking to herself.
She gave her cloak and gloves to Mrs. Houston. Benedict did not bother to take off his coat.
“I won’t be staying long,” he said to Mrs. Houston.
Amity hurried along the hall toward the study, aware that Benedict was hard on her heels. When she walked into the room, she saw Penny seated behind the desk. Logan was sprawled in a decidedly comfortable, relaxed manner in a chair. His tie was loosened around his neck. He had a glass of brandy in his hand. He set aside the glass and rose politely when he saw Amity.
“I’m glad to see you, Miss Doncaster,” he said. He nodded at Benedict. “Mr. Stanbridge. We have been wondering what kept you.”
“Amity,” Penny said. “I was starting to get worried. You were gone so long.”
“Things did not go as anticipated,” Benedict said. He glanced at the sheet of paper in front of Penny. “Any luck with the Channing ball guest list?”
“Inspector Logan and I came up with the names of a few gentlemen who might warrant further investigation because, in a rough way, they match the description that Amity provided,” Penny said. “But I must admit there were no obvious madmen on the list.”
Logan looked grim. “As I told Mrs. Marsden, the kind of man we are hunting does not stand out in a crowd. He possesses the ability to blend in with his surroundings.”
“A wolf in sheep’s clothing,” Benedict said.
Logan nodded. “That is precisely what makes him so dangerous.”
“I was afraid catching him would not be as simple as perusing a guest list,” Benedict said. He looked at Logan. “Saw your man keeping watch from the park.”
“Constable Wiggins,” Logan said. “Quite reliable. He’ll be there until dawn. Mrs. Houston was kind enough to send coffee and a muffin out to him earlier.”
Amity noticed that there was a low fire burning on the hearth. In addition to the unfinished brandy that Logan had just set aside, there was another half-empty glass on Penny’s desk. It was all very cozy, very comfortable, very interesting.
Penny frowned in sudden concern. “Was there a problem?”
“It is a long story, Penny,” Amity said. “I promise I will tell you everything.”
Logan glanced at the clock. “It’s past time I took myself off. I will notify all of you at once if there is any news.” He smiled at Penny. “Good night, Mrs. Marsden. Thank you for the brandy.”
“You are welcome, sir,” Penny said. “Thank you for the company.”
Benedict stirred in the doorway. “I have a cab waiting in the street, Logan. I’ll be happy to give you a ride to your address.”
Surprise came and went on Logan’s face. “That is kind of you, Mr. Stanbridge, but unnecessary. I’m sure I will find a hansom within a few blocks.”
“It’s no trouble at all,” Benedict said. “We can discuss the names on that guest list.”
Logan appeared satisfied that the offer of a cab ride would result in a discussion of the case. He relaxed. “Very well, then. I accept. Thank you.”
Benedict turned to Penny and Amity. “Good night, ladies. I will call tomorrow.”
The two men disappeared down the hall. A moment later Amity heard the front door close.
Penny peered intently at Amity. “What in the world happened tonight?”
“The notebook that Benedict—Mr. Stanbridge—brought back from California was stolen from his uncle’s safe sometime this evening,” Amity said. “The intruder bashed poor Cornelius Stanbridge over the head.”
She went to the small table where the brandy decanter stood and poured herself a healthy glass of spirits. She sank down into the chair that Logan had just vacated, propped her heels on the hassock and swallowed some of the brandy.
She gave Penny a quick summary of events.
“In short the intruder intends to sell the notebook back to Cornelius Stanbridge,” she concluded. “Stanbridge hopes to set a trap for the thief.”
“I see.” Penny looked at her across the width of the desk. “This affair of the solar cannon and the engine system is causing no end of trouble.”
“Fortunately, it is Cornelius Stanbridge’s problem now. When he is feeling better I will provide him with what few observations I can offer concerning the passengers on board the Northern Star, but I really don’t think there is anything else I can do to assist him. He has the passenger list. It will be up to him to research the individuals on board, always assuming the spy was on the Star, which is problematic, to say the least. A number of ships stop at St. Clare.”
“How odd that in both cases we are examining lists of names,” Penny said.
“Yes.” Amity took another sip of the brandy, savoring the warmth. “But I suppose that is what any type of criminal investigation comes down to—a list of names of possible suspects.” She held her brandy glass to the firelight and studied the way the flames turned the spirits to liquid gold. “Is that what you and Inspector Logan were discussing when Benedict and I arrived a few minutes ago? Suspects from the Channing guest list?”
Penny went very still. “In part, yes. But Inspector Logan was mostly interested in the scandals surrounding the other victims of the Bridegroom. I was able to provide some information.”
“Did you come up with anything helpful?”
“I was able to confirm what he already knew—that all four of the women who were murdered came from high-ranking families that moved in polite circles and that each young lady had been tainted by a scandal of a romantic nature.” Penny hesitated. “The discussion did make me aware of one very important thing, however.”
Amity paused the brandy glass halfway to her mouth. “Really? What was that?”
“You would not have been thrust into that rarified world if it had not been for my marriage to Nigel Marsden.”
Amity set the brandy glass down abruptly. “For heaven’s sake, Penny, you must not say things like that.”
“Why not?” Penny got to her feet and went to stand in front of the fireplace. “It is the truth. Your association with Mr. Stanbridge would have gone unremarked in Society had it not been for your connection to me and the Marsden name.”
“Good heavens, it is not your fault that I came to the attention of the Bridegroom. It was a combination of my essays in the Flying Intelligencer and someone’s gossiping tongue that made the killer aware of me.”
“Perhaps, but if you had not been connected to the Marsden family through your relationship to me that dreadful monster would not have taken any notice of you.”
“We have absolutely no idea if that is true.” Amity rose quickly and went to stand next to Penny in front of the fire. “I will not allow you to
blame yourself for what has happened. We are dealing with a madman. Such creatures follow their own twisted logic. He must have seen my name in the papers any number of times. When rumors about me started after the Channing ball, he seized on that information as an excuse to focus his attention on me. There is nothing more to it than that.”
“I wish I could believe that.”
Amity grasped Penny’s shoulders, turned her around and hugged her. “You must believe it because it is the truth. I will not see you cast back into that dark pit of depression in which I found you when I arrived a few weeks ago. It was so good to see you surfacing from your grief. I know how much you loved your handsome Nigel. But you are my sister and I love you, too. I want you to be happy again and I know Nigel would have wanted that as well.”
“Do you think so?” Penny asked in an odd tone of voice.
Startled, Amity gently pushed Penny a short distance away and searched her face.
“Nigel loved you deeply,” Amity said gently. “He would not have wanted you to spend the rest of your life pining away for him. For heaven’s sake, Penny. You are still young and lovely and—I know this sounds crass, but it matters—you are financially secure. Widowhood gives you great freedom. You should enjoy life.”
“How can I enjoy life when I know there is a killer hunting for you?” Penny asked.
Amity was touched. “Oh, yes, well, I do appreciate your concerns, but I am sure Mr. Stanbridge and that very nice man from the Yard—”
“Inspector Logan,” Penny said deliberately. “His name is Inspector Logan.”
“Right. Inspector Logan. He seems very competent.”
“Indeed.”
The tone of her sister’s voice told Amity that something more was required by way of description.
“And intelligent,” Amity said.
“Quite. He is a great fan of the theater, you know.”
Amity took a flying leap in the dark.