by Goodman, Jo
"Then I saw you. Rather odd, that. According to the papers and your stepbrother's own account, you were dead. Yet there you were, standing on my doorstep." Amalie approached the bed but only came close enough to pour herself a glass of champagne. "Once I recovered from the shock of seeing you, it occurred to me that your business here must be related to your stepfather. I don't know that I really considered what your intentions were, but it truly never occurred to me that you were here to see anyone but William." She shrugged, studying her champagne in the firelight. "I also had it from William's own lips that you were dead. Obviously you weren't. I thought there was some money to be made from that inconsistency. A miscalculation, as it turned out. I was dealing with the wrong Bennington."
Jenny's fingers tightened on her water glass. "Whatever you thought you could get from William or Stephen—I will pay you more."
"If only that were possible," Amalie said. She returned to the vanity, sat, and regarded herself in the mirror before slowly turning to face Jenny again. "I can't depend on that. I know something of the nature of your father's will. Stephen again, I'm afraid. He can be encouraged to say a great deal when he is, um, occupied. My understanding is that since you are unmarried and over twenty-one, your estate must be entrusted to three managers. I think it is unlikely that they will want to give me so much as a penny. No, I'm afraid that won't work. I shall have to depend on one of the Benningtons to line my pockets."
"Christian Marshall will pay."
"Christian Marshall will kill me," Amalie said flatly. "I don't think it would be best to apply there for funds. Regardless, the Benningtons owe me. William has one hundred thousand dollars of my money. I want it back, and I want interest."
"How did you find me?"
"A bit of luck. Common sense. After the commotion and confusion settled on New Year's Eve, I came to suspect a connection between you and Mr. Marshall. I set John Todd to follow Christian. It took time but,"—she waved her hand expansively, indicating Jenny's presence in the room—"you're here now. We've known for two weeks where you were, but Mr. Todd had to wait until you were alone. Mr. Todd suspects you were ill for a time. Is he right?"
Jenny pressed her lips together. Amalie's solicitousness was as absurd as it was unwelcome.
"No matter," Amalie said when she saw Jenny was not going to answer. "You're probably wondering what's to become of you. Or are you? I cannot quite make you out. Again, from Stephen, I have it that you are given to fits rage and bouts of melancholia." Amalie touched the side of her head with her forefinger. "Something lacking with your mental faculties, he says. Is that so?"
"Oh, I am absolutely mad," Jenny said solemnly. "If I were not chained like a rabid dog, I would show you exactly what you have to fear from me."
Amalie gave a small start, her eyes narrowing as she studied Jenny. "There is no point to you being difficult. You would be pathetically easy to subdue. Keep that in mind, please."
Jenny knew that she would. There was the child to think of.
"I've sent a note round to Stephen." Amalie sipped her champagne. "I should have dealt with him from the beginning."
"Stephen is no one's fool," Jenny said.
"I'll keep that in mind," Amalie said dryly. "I'm expecting your stepbrother soon. I'm sorry. Perhaps you prefer to think of him as your fiancé."
"I prefer not to think of him at all."
Amalie chuckled. "Under the circumstances, that is understandable." Her smile faltered, then faded. "I truly don't know what Stephen will want to do with you. For what it's worth, I won't let him have you cheaply."
Jenny ignored that. "Christian will find me," she said instead. "For what it's worth, you were right... he will kill you."
Amalie gave no indication that she was troubled by this confirmation. She set her glass down and stood. "There will be something for you to eat later. I advise against screaming or trying to draw attention to your situation in some other manner. There is no one in the house at this time of day who will come to your aid. My girls know better than to interfere in my business. Also, I won't hesitate to gag you or put you in the fruit cellar. You would be much less comfortable there, but I leave the choice to you." She gathered a good measure of her gown in one fist and turned on her heel. The satin fabric rustled noisily. Confident of Jenny's cooperation, Amalie left the room without a backward glance.
* * *
Stephen quietly closed the panel that had allowed him to view Jenny. He turned, leaned casually against the wall, and studied Amalie. She was looking clear-eyed and composed. He imagined that John Todd's presence in the room contributed to her self-assurance.
"She seems well," he said.
"She has only been here a few hours and she is being well cared for," Amalie told him.
"What has she said?"
"Very little."
"What have you told her?"
"Again, very little. She knows I am negotiating with you."
"Oh? Is that what we're doing?"
"I hope so," said Amalie. "I would like to come to a mutually satisfying agreement today."
Stephen's eyes were dark and unfathomable. "What is it you want, Amalie? And why come to me and not my father?"
"Your father and I had a falling out." She smiled coolly. "I think you know precisely what I want, and I want quite a lot of it actually. There's a matter of a hundred thousand that your father stole from my account."
Stephen whistled softly. "Father never mentioned that. A hundred thousand? I don't know if I can get it for you."
Amalie laughed softly. Even John Todd smiled. "I'm not sure you understand. That's my money. Once you give me what is mine, we merely will be even. Whatever figure we arrive at for Miss Van Dyke is, well, let us call it interest."
"I'll have to think about that, Amalie," Stephen said. "You might want to reconsider your request... say, twenty-five cents on the dollar. You could recover a quarter of your money."
Amalie remembered what Jenny had said. Stephen was no one's fool. Well, neither was she. "I will make certain the right people know she's alive, Stephen. I can name three gentlemen on your board of directors who call on this house. Your fiancée will do the rest. I think she has quite a story to tell. I haven't learned it all, but I can."
"Caroline will not keep quiet about your part in this. You won't get any money at all if you take that route."
"Perhaps not, but I'll have my pound of flesh. I can live with that." She paused a beat. "Can you or your father?"
Since it was Bennington flesh that Amalie would take, Stephen was forced to rethink his position. "If I pay, what then?"
"Then it's over. I look the other way. So does Mr. Todd. You can take your fiancée from the house in the manner of your choosing... " Her voice trailed off as she gave him a significant look of understanding. "By that I mean dead or alive."
Stephen frowned. "You embrace peculiar notions."
Amalie's head tilted to one side. She raised her hands, palms out. "Just a passing thought. It occurs to me that you might be able to get your hands on her money through the Van Dyke Foundation."
"I could have all her money if I marry her."
"It would be better if she were to die in an accident soon after the wedding." Amalie could see by Stephen's reaction that the same idea had crossed his mind. "But we digress. To wed her, you must have her, and to have her, you must meet my price. I understand that the Van Dyke estate is valued in excess of twenty million dollars. Don't shake your head at me, Stephen. That's the figure you quoted to Maggie not so long ago. Caroline is yours for nine hundred thousand." She ignored the hiss of Stephen's angry, indrawn breath. "That is the interest on the one hundred thousand. You owe me—"
"One million," he said tersely. "That is an outrageous demand. I won't pay it, Amalie."
"Why don't you think on it," she said calmly. "There is no real hurry. I can be patient, oh, for three days or so. And I will do you the favor of not requiring reimbursement for her care."
Stephen
took a step toward Amalie but stopped when John Todd drew a derringer from under his jacket. Stephen's hands hung uselessly at his sides. He would not come to Amalie's again without a weapon. "I cannot get any money to you before Wednesday. And there is no possibility that I will be able to bring anything close to what you've asked."
"Think on it, Stephen," she said again. "I'll accept real-estate deeds transferred to my name. Jewelry will suit as well. I want cash, of course, but I am prepared to be somewhat flexible. Get back to me in seventy-two hours with your answer. You have my word that I won't do anything until then."
Stephen held his jaw rigidly. His narrowed gaze remained on Amalie for a time before it turned to the gun John Todd leveled at his chest. "Very well," he said, nodding at them in turn. When he left, he was careful to close the door quietly behind him.
"How do you think that went, John Todd?" Amalie asked as Stephen's footsteps receded in the hallway.
Mr. Todd put away the gun. He slipped an arm around Amalie's shoulders and kissed her on the cheek. "He surprised me at the end," he said thoughtfully. "But as to everything that came before? Well, there he was predictable."
* * *
For the purposes of explanation and demonstration, Christian gathered everyone in Jenny's suite at the St. Mark. Mrs. Brandywine was there, sitting in the rocker with her ivory-knobbed cane resting at an angle on her wide lap. Wilton Reilly sat in the overstuffed armchair. His fingers tapped gently against brass tacks that dotted the curve of the arm. Occasionally his glance would dart solicitously to Mrs. Brandywine, but she had yet to spare him more than a tight-lipped smile. Susan Turner shared the chaise with Liam O'Shea. Christian had invited the copper because Liam had demonstrated he could be trusted. Christian suspected O'Shea would genuinely care what happened to Jenny Holland. Discovering that Jenny-with-the-crullers was Caroline Van Dyke had briefly set him back on his heels, but Liam decided he could like her in spite of her fortune. That announcement, delivered in the copper's lilting brogue, was responsible for the only smile the group had shared.
Scott had brought in a chair from the bedroom. He was sitting on it backwards, straddling the seat and resting his folded arms across the curved rococo rail. His chin pressed against the back of his hand. His features were grave, solemn with thought.
Christian stood by the fireplace. He leaned against the wall, his hands thrust deeply into the pockets of his black frock coat. A gaslight not far from his head brightened strands of bronze in his dark hair. The tight set of his mouth caused a muscle in his cheek to tick as regularly as the pendulum clock.
Except for the beribboned hatboxes that occupied chairs, tabletops, and the mantelpiece, the room was exactly as Jenny left it. Susan fingered the handkerchief, passing her thumb across the delicately embroidered J.
"It doesn't mean anything to me," she said finally. "It must belong to someone the Benningtons hired."
Liam O'Shea shook his head. "Not to be contradictin' you, ma'am, but I think I'd know if the Benningtons hired someone to do this. They never knew Jenny—er, Miss Van Dyke—was stayin' here."
"It's still Jenny," Christian told Liam. "I agree with him, Susan. I no longer think the responsibility for this rests with William or Stephen."
"Who else has a motive?" asked Scott.
Mr. Reilly stopped drumming his fingers momentarily. "Perhaps someone who knows how important the princess is to the Benningtons. That's what we have to hope for, isn't it? If no one contacts them about Miss Caroline, then our chances of finding her are very poor indeed."
Christian offered his reluctant agreement. "Mr. Reilly is right. No one has made any demands on me for ransom, and it's been some ten hours since she was abducted. No messages have been delivered here or to my home. I have to assume that whoever took Jenny plans to contact the Benningtons. It seems someone besides us knows that she is Caroline Van Dyke."
Scott nodded. "Perhaps the Benningtons know more now than they did when you spoke this morning."
"I hope so," said Christian. "In part, that is the reason I've asked all of you to come here. We have to keep Stephen and William in sight on the assumption they will learn something—if they haven't already. I am proposing teams. Mr. O'Shea and Joe Means will share responsibility for Stephen. Mr. Reilly, Mrs. Brandywine, and I will watch William."
"Me?" squeaked Mrs. Brandywine. "You know I want to help, but there's my leg to consider."
"That's why you'll be staying here. You will be able to watch William while he's at the bank. Mr. Reilly and I will be your legs."
The housekeeper smiled widely, satisfied with her contribution to the plan. "It is very good of you to include me."
Scott raised his eyebrows. "What about me?"
"Keep to your routine, or rather your lack of routine, at the hospital. Jennings is the best place for you to be. If Jenny's taken there, or if Morgan or Glenn are called to treat her, I'm confident you will learn about it."
Susan twisted a cloth-covered button on her bodice. "It seems you've thought of everything," she said. "Is there nothing at all that I can do?"
Christian pushed away from the wall and reached for the hatbox on the mantel. Without moving it, he straightened the section of black velvet ribbon at the front of the box. "There is something only you can do," he said.
Susan sat up straighter. Out of the corner of her eye she saw her husband frown. She avoided looking in his direction. "What is it?"
"I promised Jenny that she would have her evidence on William and Stephen," he said quietly. "No matter what happens, I plan to keep that promise. She placed herself at risk any number of times because it was important to her that the Benningtons be stopped. I think I know how to stop them, but I find I cannot do it all myself."
"Is this going to be dangerous for Susan?" Scott asked.
Susan's lips pursed to one side. She rolled her eyes. "Do you really think Christian would let me do something the least bit dangerous?" She turned back to Christian. "Go on. I'm listening."
"I want you to take the photographs of William and Stephen," he said.
Scott lifted a hand. "Now just a minute—"
"Will you please let him explain?" Susan said, cutting off her husband. "I suppose it has something to do with all these hatboxes." She indicated them in a sweeping gesture. "Do you have a camera in each one?"
"In a way," Christian said. "The hatbox is the camera. A pinhole camera." He glanced at the clock, then walked to the box resting on the table in the middle of their group and adjusted the ribbon on the front of it. "Jenny and I were talking about my brother Logan last night..." Christian stopped, collecting his thoughts. It was nearly impossible to believe that twenty-four hours ago he and Jenny had been together. "That is when I realized that a pinhole camera was the answer. The photograph will be coarse, not as sharp as if we were using a lens, but with a little luck, we'll get an image that will identify William and Stephen as thieves."
Susan held up one hand before he went on. "I know very little about photography, Christian. We have a stereoscope at home, but I know next to nothing about the technical points. How does one take a picture with a hatbox? Which side do you aim at your subject?"
One corner of Christian's mouth turned up in a faintly amused smile. "The side with the pinhole." He went to a third hatbox and adjusted the ribbon, covering the nearly invisible hole. "It works very simply," he said. "I could have used any type of box as long as it could be made light-tight. I chose a common hatbox because it would not call attention to itself if carried into the bank. The ribbon helps secure the lid against stray rays of light, and it serves the additional purpose of providing a shutter for the lens."
"I thought you said it doesn't have a lens," said Scott.
"It doesn't. Not really. It has a pinhole, which allows light to enter. The light rays will produce an image on the photographic paper I've secured to the opposite inside wall of the box." Christian looked at the blank faces of his audience and realized they only had a vague idea of what
he was talking about. "Trust me."
They nodded in unison.
"I've painted the inside of all these boxes with flat black paint. That stops the light rays coming through the pinhole from bouncing in all directions and fogging the paper. As I said, the ribbon acts as a shutter... an eyelid, if you will, and keeps the light out until you are ready to expose the paper to your subject. While we've been sitting here, I've been experimenting with the exposure time. That's why I set up a number of hatboxes. I uncovered the pinholes when you sat down and I've been covering them up again at different intervals. The light in here is not so different from the light in the bank. I'll do some more bracketing of the exposure tomorrow as well. There will be some adjustments for daylight because William has that large window in his office. If it's a bright day the exposure time will be shorter."
"Do you mean you've been taking our picture?" asked Scott.
Christian nodded. He covered the last pinhole. "And I have to say that you've all been cooperative. One of the problems with using a pinhole camera is that the exposure time is even longer than if we were using a lens. I've made exposures from four to fifteen minutes. That can be a long time for a person to sit relatively still, but you've all more or less managed it. There is no way of knowing if William and Stephen will be so cooperative, but we have to get lucky sometime, don't we?"
"But they're not going to be stealing the money right in front of me," Susan said. "I am not certain I understand how this is going to be done."
"I admit that the odds are not in our favor. Not that it's risky," he said quickly, assuring Scott. "Timing is everything. We know the day they are likely to take the money. Because of the payroll schedule we even know the approximate hour when the safe is filled. From this room we can see almost all the activity. The increase in guards will let us know that a transfer of funds is going to take place. According to Jenny, William and Stephen are skimming the cream. In order to catch them at it Susan will go into the office on our signal, just minutes before we think they are preparing to take the money. She will play the dissatisfied customer and make enough noise so that William has to listen to her." He went on for several minutes, explaining in detail what it was that Susan would do. When he finished he looked at them expectantly. "Well?"