by Goodman, Jo
"You don't mind being alone?"
"It's only until you bring Joe back from Marshall House with the carriage," she reminded him. "How long can that take? Besides, the Benningtons don't know where I am. I'm not worried about Stephen showing up here in the short time you're gone. And if you're really concerned, you can always send someone around to Marshall House with a message."
"I thought of that. But besides the carriage, there are some things I want from the attic. I can get exactly what I need if I go myself."
"From the attic? What could you possibly want?"
"Hatboxes." He finished off his sweet roll, stood, and gave Jenny a sticky kiss on her cheek. "Don't pack any of your chemicals, the baths, or your paper." He shrugged into his coat. "We'll need those things here if we are going to develop the pictures quickly. The tripods, cameras, and glass plates can all go to Marshall House."
"That makes no sense. How are we going to take pictures without a camera?"
"Oh, we'll have a camera," he said, winking at her as he opened the door. "It just won't look like one."
"Unfair!" she called over her shoulder. "You are enjoying this air of mystery too much."
"I will be back in an hour or so," he said. "See if you can figure it out." He shut the door, but even in the hallway he could still hear her trying to change his mind. He laughed when a mild curse left her lips. He supposed he had himself to blame for that.
Jenny set down her cup and tossed her napkin onto the tray. It was all very good for him to be amused when he possessed the answers. She was the one in want of them. Standing, rolled back the sleeves of her blue-gray day dress and prepared to organize the darkroom. She had crossed halfway when the knock at the door stopped her. "Hah!" she called, spying Christian's key on the table by the tray. "It would serve you right if I did not allow you back in." She picked up the key, intending to dangle it in front of him, perhaps even make him give up the answer to the hatbox mystery for it. She opened the door a mere crack and peered out. "Did you forget some—"
John Todd shouldered his way into the suite. Jenny was no match for his speed or his strength. She was caught unprepared, and her scream was more of a harsh, breathy outpouring of air. She had no hope that it was heard. It was only as John Todd was laying a chloroform-soaked handkerchief across her mouth and nose that Jenny identified her assailant. Losing consciousness, she remembered these dark eyes as the same ones that had studied her from behind the grille at Amalie Chatham's parlor house.
* * *
Christian stood in front of Room 212 and patted down his pockets. "I forgot my key, Joe."
"Maybe it's open," Joe said. He dropped the strap of the large reed hamper he had been dragging behind him and reached around Christian, giving the door a nudge. "See? I thought it was ajar."
"Yes, well, it shouldn't have been." He pushed it open wider. "Jenny? I'm back. Bring in the hamper, Joe. Put it in her studio. We'll take the hatboxes out later." Christian poked his head in the bedroom. "Jenny?" The door to the bathing room was closed. He crossed the room and knocked lightly. When there was no answer, he opened it. She was not there. Neither was she in the dressing room. "Joe? Is she in the studio?"
"No, sir," Joe called back. "Not in the tent either."
Christian went back to the parlor and seconds later Joe joined him. "I don't understand. Where can she have gone?"
Joe shifted the weight of his lean, wiry frame from one foot to the other. He fiddled with the curling tip of his mustache while he waited for direction from Christian.
Christian went in the studio, looked around, and then did the same in the bedroom. "She hasn't even packed anything. That's what she stayed behind to do." He raked back his hair, thinking. His eyes went to the brass and porcelain pegs where her cloak was hanging. "She must be in the hotel somewhere. She didn't take a wrap." That relieved him. "We might as well start packing. She'll probably be here soon."
But after half an hour Jenny still did not appear. Christian sent Joe to the dining and reading rooms to see if she was there. At the same time he went to the front desk to make inquiries. They both returned to the suite without any information.
Just inside the room Joe bent and picked up a scrap of linen from the floor. He looked at it, saw the initial J embroidered on one corner, and tossed it to Christian. "This fancy bit of lace isn't mine," he said. "Belongs with Miss Holland's things. She dropped it."
Christian gave it a superficial glance before he stuffed it in his vest pocket. He opened his mouth to say something, stopped, and his brow creased. He drew out the handkerchief slowly and looked at it again, then at Joe. "Jenny's not really Jenny, remember? You heard what she said last night. She is Caroline Van Dyke. This isn't hers."
"Well, sir, it ain't mine. I don't care for lace and the perfume ain't to my liking either."
"It's pungent, isn't it?"
"Don't know from pungent, Mr. Marshall. It stinks."
Christian laughed shortly, raising the handkerchief to his nose. He inhaled, reared back, and held the handkerchief at arm's length. "It's not perfume, Joe. It's chloroform."
"Sir?"
"Chloroform. Surgeons use it to put patients to sleep."
"You're sure?"
"I smelled enough of it in the field hospitals." He put the handkerchief away again but this time in his trousers.
"What does it mean?"
"It means that Jenny's been taken." A muscle worked in his jaw. "It means someone will pay." Christian turned, found Jenny's key, and followed Joe into the hallway where he locked the door. They went to the front desk together. Using pages from the registration book, Christian quickly sketched the faces of four men. The clerk was able to identify both William and Stephen Bennington, but only because they sometimes came into the hotel for lunch or dinner. He also recognized Wilton Reilly but swore he hadn't seen the man for months. The sketch of Liam O'Shea meant nothing to him.
Discouraged, Christian thanked the man for his help, tore out the sketches and stuffed them in his pocket. He and Joe left the hotel for the carriage. With no other recourse presenting itself, they sat for several minutes, neither of them having the slightest inclination to move.
"Don't understand it, Mr. Marshall," Joe said at last. "If none of those men took her, then who did? And how did they leave with her?"
"Not through the lobby. That's clear enough. I would imagine a service staircase and the employee entrance was used. As to your other question... I have no idea who abducted Jenny, but there seems little doubt that the Benningtons are behind it."
"Is that where we're going, then? To the Benningtons?"
Christian nodded; the line of his mouth was grim. "We'll begin there," he said. "I swear if they've hurt her, I'll..." He let the rest of the threat go unspoken. Joe Means could fill in his own ending.
* * *
Christian arrived at the Bennington mansion expecting that Wilton Reilly would show him in or show him the door. Neither came to pass. Instead, upon stating his business, he was shown to the breakfast room by an anxious and thoroughly cowed housemaid who clearly wished herself elsewhere. Curious about the absence of Wilton Reilly and hopeful that the state of the young woman's nerves would serve him well, Christian invented a pretext to ask after the butler. Upon learning that Mr. Reilly had been dismissed the previous evening, Christian asked, "Has he left yet?"
"No, sir. They gave him until afternoon to remove himself."
"Good. Ask him to wait for me in my carriage." Jenny had trusted the man, and Christian thought he could do worse than trust someone who had befriended Jenny. "I have a position for him."
Eyes widening, she nodded rapidly. "Oh, yes... yes, sir!" She opened the door to the breakfast room and fled, forgetting in her excitement to announce the visitor.
Christian walked in and held up a hand, waving off the effort father and son made to rise. "Do not trouble yourselves," he said. "You will want to get to the bank early, William, so I will respect your time. Tell me where Jenny—whe
re Caroline is—and I will leave."
It was Stephen who reacted. He tossed his paper aside and continued to rise. "You should leave now, Marshall." When Christian did not move, Stephen called for the butler. "Reilly! Show this man—"
Christian said calmly, "It is my understanding that he no longer works for you."
"What?"
"It was explained to me that you dismissed Mr. Reilly. Had you forgotten?"
Ruddy color exposed Stephen's embarrassment, and he took a step toward Christian. "No matter. I will show you out myself."
Christian's faint smile was not derisive but merely curious. "Show or throw?"
William Bennington's fork clattered to his plate. "Stephen, sit down," he said, annoyed. "What's this all about, Marshall?"
"I told you. I only want to know where Caroline is."
"She left you?" asked William. "Stephen seemed to think after seeing her last night that she wasn't happy. It would be in keeping with Caroline's rather peculiar character to disappear without a word."
"You know she did not leave me. Not of her own free will. It will be better all around if you explain yourself now. Make no mistake, I want Jenny returned safely."
"Jenny? Oh, yes. Stephen mentioned that was the name she was using." William poured himself a cup of tea, walked to the sideboard, and added a small measure of whiskey. His entire demeanor suggested calm indifference to Christian's presence. He returned to his chair and regarded Christian with a shuttered stare, giving nothing of his thoughts away. "My son also said that you had married her. It won't wash, you know. Even if it's true, which I seriously doubt, the marriage can be annulled. Caroline's mental state is such that she cannot be held accountable for her actions."
Christian fixed his stare on Stephen's father. William Bennington's reaction was not at all what he had expected. He was forced to consider that he might be mistaken about William's involvement in Jenny's disappearance. "We will not discuss my marriage," he said without inflection. "It has no bearing on why I am here."
"Why you've come does not matter to me," said William. His cobalt-blue eyes were hard; his sharp, aristocratic features were predatory. "In truth, you've spared me a visit to your home. I had planned to call on you today and bring Caroline back myself." He set down his cup. "I don't know what your initial interest in Caroline was, or even how your paths crossed. Frankly, I don't care. I'm telling you now that your relationship with my stepdaughter is at an end. She is fragile, Marshall, dangerously unbalanced, and I have doctors who will support what I am telling you. If she's left you, then you should consider yourself fortunate and leave the task of finding her to Stephen and me."
Christian spoke as if William words were of no account. "I want to search the house and grounds," he said. "I can do it with your permission or without it. Either way, I am going to do it. I will find Jenny."
Stephen looked to his father and waited to hear how the refusal would be phrased. When William was silent, even considering, Stephen prompted him. "Father?"
William shrugged. "He's obviously unbalanced as well," he said. "You can search if you like, Marshall, but I hope you won't be difficult when the police arrive."
From the open doorway Wilton Reilly spoke. "Begging your pardon, sir, but the police will not be necessary. Mr. Marshall and I are leaving now."
Christian glanced over his shoulder and saw the butler hovering in the doorway. "Please wait in the carriage, Mr. Reilly. I don't require your service just yet."
Stephen muttered something that could only be interpreted as uncomplimentary under his breath. Everyone ignored him.
Reilly spoke directly to Christian. "Miss Van Dyke is not here, sir," he said with great dignity. "More to the point, neither Mr. Bennington nor Mr. Stephen know where she is. That is the reason I was dismissed. I would not reveal her whereabouts."
For a moment Christian was hopeful, then he realized that Reilly did not know where Jenny was now either, only where she had been. "Very well." Without a word to either Bennington, he turned on his heel. "We will talk in the carriage."
William waited until Christian and Reilly had departed before he turned sharply on his son. "What in God's name was that about, Stephen? Did you tell me everything that happened last night at the lake?"
Stephen's face darkened. He held his ground. "You think I know something about Caroline's disappearance? Well, I don't. You could have saved your breath, blustering at Marshall that way. I don't know where the hell she's gone."
"You should have followed them after they left the Park."
"And leave Sylvie at Beach House? That would not do. I told you, I went to Marshall House later, and neither Christian nor Caroline were there."
"So the housekeeper said. Do you really think she would tell you?"
"I saw the carriage return to the house. The driver was alone. I couldn't have known when they left the Park that they wouldn't be returning to Marshall's home."
"You couldn't. You couldn't. Tell me, Stephen, what is it that you can do? Can you grasp the situation we have here? Marshall thinks we have Caroline, and we know we don't. She's disappeared again, and that can only mean trouble for us. Caroline Van Dyke can ruin everything we've been working for. There is no telling what she has already said to Marshall. Have you considered that?"
"She's mad, remember? Unbalanced. Incompetent. You said yourself that we have doctors to support us. Morgan and Glenn will make certain no one listens to her. You are exaggerating the threat she presents."
William shook his head. "I want her found, and I want her locked away where she cannot escape and where she won't be listened to. When that's done, I will believe we are out of her reach." William stood and leaned forward, bracing his arms on the table. "Take care of it, Stephen. Understand? I want you to take care of it. Hire help if you must, but for God's sake, do something."
"And when I find her? What then?"
"Haven't you been listening? I told you. We will commit her again." He caught Stephen's loose-limbed shrug. "Do you have an objection to that?"
"No," he said. "But for all your talk, I don't know why you hesitate to resolve this problem with a more permanent solution."
"A more permanent solution?"
Stephen said nothing. His eyebrows lifted slightly and he continued to stare at his father.
William stared back. Finally he said, "Use your judgment."
Stephen's eyes followed his father's progress until he exited the room. Once William was gone, Stephen reached into his vest pocket and extracted the calling card he had been given earlier. Amalie Chatham's name was engraved in ornate, flowery script on one side. He turned it over. The handwriting was sharp and spared no ink for extraneous flourishes. The card had been delivered in a plain white envelope. According to the maid who gave it to him, it had been slipped under the front door.
Stephen read the message again. 'Use your judgment,' his father had said. And he had. Twice. Once when he chose not to tell William about this message, and again when he gave nothing away to Christian Marshall. 'Take care of it,' his father had said. And he would. Perhaps he and Amalie Chatham could strike a bargain that would prove lucrative to both of them. She had Caroline Van Dyke, and he had access to more money than Amalie could imagine.
Chapter 15
When Jenny came around, she had no difficulty identifying her surroundings. The room was one she had been in before. It belonged to the woman named Maggie, and Maggie was noticeably absent. In her place, sitting at the vanity, her back turned to the mirror, was Amalie Chatham. John Todd stood by the balcony doors, and behind him the brass handles were chained.
Jenny sat up slowly. Her mouth was dry, and her tongue felt thick. She did not have enough spit to wet her lips. The rough and heavy weight on her left wrist pulled Jenny's attention to her hand. The sight of the iron manacle seized her breath. A chain secured her to the bedpost. Closing her eyes, she pressed her free hand to one temple and massaged the ache that throbbed there.
Her skin craw
led. She had been left very little in the way of dignity. Shackled like an animal, she had also had her gown, corset, shoes, and stockings removed. The shift she wore was a modest covering by Amalie's standards but not by Jenny's. She shook her head, releasing the heavy fall of her dark hair so that it covered her shoulders and filled in the expanse of flesh above her neckline. Still, she felt vulnerable to the eyes of her captors. Jenny forced herself to look at Amalie and pretend she was not afraid for herself or her unborn child.
"She's awake," Amalie said to John Todd. "You can wait in the hallway. If I need anything I will knock on the door."
John Todd gave Amalie a curt nod and crossed the room. At the door, he paused. "If Stephen Bennington comes?" he asked. His dark eyes darted to the concealed panel.
"Show him to the bedroom next door. He can see her from there. I'll decide how close he can get after I've talked to him." When Todd was gone, Amalie turned her attention to Jenny. "Do you remember who I am?" she asked. She affected only mild interest. Her emerald eyes were as flat as bottle glass.
Jenny's head dipped slightly to indicate that she did indeed remember.
"Good. Perhaps fewer explanations will be required." Amalie pointed to the marble-topped bedside table. "There is water for you. Champagne, if you wish." She saw Jenny eye the refreshments warily. "There are no powders in either. I don't think that's necessary now, do you?"
The chain rattled as Jenny stretched toward the table. She poured herself a glass of water, drank it greedily, and poured another. She only sipped the second glass, and even when she knew her throat was soothed enough to speak, she said nothing.
"I recognized you at the outset." Amalie went on, seeing that she had Jenny's full attention. "When you came here on the eve of the New Year, I realized who you were. There is a portrait of you in your stepfather's office at Hancock Trust. Did you know I bank there? I have for years. I opened an account there when your father was there. A good man, Charles Van Dyke. Trustworthy. He managed my investments personally. My arrangement with William has been less profitable, but not excessively so. Of course, I heard rumors that affairs at the bank were not, shall we say, quite aboveboard, but I remained a loyal and mostly satisfied customer.