by Jen Turano
“I respectfully disagree with that, Charles,” Jay said, looking over Charles’s shoulder to read over the notes Daphne had made, as well as the ones Charles had just written. “Readers, in my opinion, won’t be receptive to a pirate, much less a sensitive one. They much prefer a pirate to be the villain in a piece, but . . .” He stepped next to Charles and leaned forward, pointing to one of the notes Daphne had made. “What’s this about falling into the ocean amidst a frenzy of sharks?”
Charles began scratching through some of Daphne’s notes. “The sharks will have to go, but with them gone, your poem might show some potential. In fact, I could see someone writing a novel and including such an unlikely hero. A pirate-themed novel would, you mark my words, be a best seller.”
In the blink of an eye, clarity struck from out of nowhere.
Quite like Herman had come to the conclusion he’d been wrong about the axe, she knew without a shadow of a doubt that she’d been wrong about her pirate, and all because Mr. Charles Bonner, one of the most questionable authors she knew, thought she was on to something.
She’d somehow convinced herself that a pirate would be a marvelous hero, a man of adventure who both male and female readers would enjoy rooting for, but clearly, she was off the mark about that, which meant . . .
She was going to have to scrap her latest draft and start from scratch, while also figuring out exactly who the perfect hero would be for her to write about and all while being under a rather daunting deadline.
“How goes the typing?”
Shaking herself from the epiphany she’d just had that was going to demand a lot of work on her part, Daphne realized that Herman had now joined them.
“Daphne seems to believe I’m trying to sneak peeks at your latest work,” Charles said before Daphne had a chance to respond.
“I don’t seem to believe that,” Daphne began. “I do believe that because it’s exactly what you were trying to do.”
Charles’s lips thinned before he shrugged. “We authors are always curious as to what our competition is writing, but it’s not as if I need to steal Herman’s work. I’ve found incredible success with the two novels I’ve published and have no doubt that the one I’m currently working on will see the same success, if not surpass it.”
Daphne tilted her head. “Didn’t you say yesterday that you’ve only just started your third novel and were still contemplating whether or not it was going to be a murder mystery or an adventure story? If you were to change genres, your book might not be as well received as the others because your mystery audience might not care for an adventure story.”
“My readers are so loyal to me that they’ll buy any book with my name on it, no matter the genre. Besides, I’ve been growing bored with murder, which is why I’m contemplating venturing into the thrilling world of exotic locations.”
“Aren’t you a little hesitant to venture into that world, since Herman has seen so much success with using exotic locations?” Daphne asked. “You said only yesterday that you’re a competitive man, but going up against Herman in what is certainly a competitive publishing market may not sit well with you in the end if your sales don’t compete with his.”
Charles seemed to swell on the spot. “Of course my sales will be comparable to his, and I’ll thank you to keep those types of insulting remarks to yourself.” With that, Charles spun on his heel and stalked away.
“I’m not sure that was wise of you, Daphne,” Jay said, frowning at Charles’s retreating back. “He may seem like a fool at times, but he’s got a vindictive streak a mile wide. He won’t take kindly to your suggesting he won’t be as successful as Herman if he includes exotic locations into his books.”
“Then he really wouldn’t have taken it kindly if I’d asked him what I really wanted to ask him—if he’d been trying to sneak a peek at Herman’s latest draft because he needed some ideas,” Daphne said.
“No, he wouldn’t have taken kindly to that at all, so I suppose it’s a good thing you showed some restraint,” Jay said, his lips curving. “However, even if Charles had gotten more than a glimpse at Herman’s draft, Herman wouldn’t have anything to worry about. Charles is not the writer Herman is and would not be able to do justice to the quest for El Dorado.”
“I don’t remember telling you I was considering an El Dorado theme in my latest book,” Herman said.
Jay shrugged. “I heard it from Martin Corrigan yesterday at our literary chat. You must have already left the room, but we were all in agreement that the lost city of gold is an excellent idea. Truth be told, I’ll be waiting with bated breath to learn the particulars of how you’re going to handle the plot.”
“And while I have no idea where Martin heard about El Dorado, I’m afraid you’re going to be holding that bated breath for some time, because I’ve decided to move on to another location.”
Jay immediately perked up. “That’s too bad, but if you’re not going to use it . . .” He muttered an excuse under his breath and hurried away, grabbing up a jacket that was slung over a chair and retrieving a notepad from it, which he immediately flipped open and began scribbling into.
“Jay’s definitely staying on the list,” Daphne said, earning a laugh from Herman.
“Just because Jay has clearly absconded with one of my abandoned ideas does not mean he’s a murderer. In all honesty, I would think he just proved he’s not the culprit because there was nothing subtle about his actions just now.”
“He stays on the list.”
Herman laughed again before he extended his hand to Daphne. “Since you’re obviously firm on that, allow me to artfully change the subject. How do you feel about rapiers?”
“I don’t have much of an opinion about them because I’ve never held one. Cooper has yet to introduce rapiers into our lessons.”
“We should rectify that straightaway.”
Daphne blinked. “You want me to join in with a bout of fencing?”
“That might be a little too ambitious, but you can at least look over my rapier collection and get a feel for one.” He nodded to the stack of papers on the desk. “Allow me to take those into my library so you won’t worry someone may try to sneak a peek at my current draft before we repair to the fencing field, known to true fencers as a piste or strip.”
“Should I take it there aren’t many true fencers at this party?”
“Indeed, hence the reason for calling it a fencing field, which will spare me some lengthy conversations with curious authors.”
Exchanging smiles, Daphne watched Herman stride for the house with the pages she’d typed out before she turned back to the guests, taking a moment to look each one of them over as they mingled about on the lawn.
Sheldon and Martha were speaking with Mildred and Dr. Gibbons, while Jay Storrow had abandoned his notepad and was now looking over Herman’s rapier collection with Martin Corrigan, who was pointing to the protective tips Herman insisted were a must for their fencing matches. Cooper was chatting and exchanging smiles with Ann, his smile disappearing when Charles Bonner joined them. Charles didn’t stay with them long, though, not after he apparently asked Ann if he could borrow her Montague Moreland book, which he took with him to a shady tree, sat down, and began reading.
Normally, Daphne was delighted to witness anyone reading her work, but because it was Charles, she couldn’t help but wonder if some of her scenes might soon find their way into Charles’s new novel.
“Collecting more thoughts on the guests?” Herman asked, returning to her side.
“That is what you’re paying me to do.”
“And you’re doing a wonderful job of sorting through all the suspects.” He smiled. “I was quite impressed with how you uncovered all that nastiness about Irwin, especially when I wasn’t certain it was wise to pursue Finetta after our unexpected dip in the Hudson. If you hadn’t insisted on pressing on, we might never have known it was he who tried to run me over.”
“If only I was convinced he was responsibl
e for all your mishaps.”
“If he’s not, I’ve every confidence you’ll figure out the culprit.”
Butterflies immediately began fluttering in her stomach, but since butterflies were not what a true inquiry agent should experience simply because she’d just been given one of the nicest compliments of her life, Daphne settled for sending Herman a smile as they strolled over to where everyone was now gathered for fencing. They joined Jay and Martin, whom Daphne had not spoken to often because Martin was a quiet gentleman, which was too bad because she longed to learn more about his writing process.
Martin handed Jay the rapier he was holding before he turned to Herman. “Jay was just telling me he wants to fence with you because he feels that will help improve his fencing abilities, so he’s going to take my place. I’ll wait and fence with Sheldon, who was going to spar with Cooper, until Dr. Gibbons voiced his concern that fencing may reinjure Cooper’s head.”
Daphne glanced back at Cooper, who seemed to be fine, but who also seemed completely content to chat with Ann. That suggested the Pinkerton wasn’t too worried about his head, but adhering to the doctor’s concerns had now lent him the perfect opportunity to indulge in a bit of flirting.
“Martin was showing me all the extra precautions that have been taken with the equipment,” Jay said, holding up the rapier and showing Daphne where a protective sleeve had been attached to the tip of it. “I was wondering why Mildred wasn’t putting up a fuss with this activity, and now I know.”
Herman looked to Mildred and grinned. “Considering Grandmother has parked herself close to the fencing field, I’m not sure she’s going to avoid fussing at some point.”
“Perhaps now isn’t a good time for me to inspect the rapiers,” Daphne said. “If she sees me near them, I imagine she might demand an end to the activity.”
“You’re not going to be engaged in an actual match,” Herman countered. “Which means Grandmother will have no reason to fuss.”
“If you’re certain it won’t cause problems with your grandmother,” Daphne began, accepting the rapier Jay offered her. She smiled and gave it a few experimental swings. “It’s far lighter than I expected.”
“Rapiers are light, but they’re not meant to be swung around like a bat,” Herman said, his eyes twinkling. “Come on, I’ll show you how to wield it properly.”
Unable to resist the lure of learning how to wield a rapier, especially when that unforeseen skill might come in handy with a future story, Daphne walked with Herman to the middle of the fencing field, nodding to Sheldon, who was holding up a protective chest pad. “I think Sheldon’s trying to get your attention. He seems to want you to put some protective gear on before we begin, which isn’t a bad idea, given how athletically challenged I am. I would hate to accidentally stab you and leave you bleeding all over the place.”
“You could intentionally stab me with your rapier, and it wouldn’t pierce my skin because of the protective sleeve over the blade.” He nodded to the rapier. “Go ahead. Give it a try.”
“You want me to stab you?”
“It might give you some great inspiration, because how often are you encouraged to stab a person? Besides, as I mentioned, it won’t leave a scratch.”
Exchanging a smile with Herman, because they both knew she’d be incapable of turning down his offer to stab him, Daphne gave the foil a few tentative thrusts, then turned to Herman, sent him a cheeky grin, and stabbed the foil at him, making contact with his arm.
To her absolute horror, a second after she felt the tip meet its mark, blood began to seep through the white sleeve of Herman’s shirt. A second after that, black dots began obscuring her vision, and even though she tried to fight against the blackness, she felt the rapier slip from her hand before she crumpled to the ground.
CHAPTER
Sixteen
A mere blink of an eye after Herman realized he’d actually been stabbed, he realized Daphne was in trouble.
Grabbing hold of her just before she hit the ground, he swept her into his arms, ignoring that his right arm was beginning to burn where the rapier had pierced his skin.
“Herman, have you taken leave of your senses? This is no time for chivalry. Set Miss Beekman down this instant so Dr. Gibbons can attend to you,” Mildred said, hurrying toward him, her face white as she held fast to Dr. Gibbons’s arm.
“I’m fine, Grandmother,” he reassured her. “It’s probably just a scratch. If you’ll excuse me, though, I need to get Daphne inside.”
“You’ll do no such thing.” Mildred gestured to Jay. “You can take Miss Beekman inside.”
Having absolutely no reason to trust any of his guests because, obviously, someone had tampered with the protective sleeve he’d attached to every rapier, nor would he have relinquished Daphne even if all of his guests weren’t now suspects, Herman shook his head at Jay, who was already holding out his arms. He then turned and found Ann standing beside Cooper, who was picking up the rapier Daphne had dropped. “Ann, will you get Daphne’s bag? We’re going to need her smelling salts.”
As Ann spun on her heel and raced away, Herman headed for the house, holding Daphne close.
Perkins was already holding the back door open, stepping aside as Herman strode through it. “Is the young lady all right, sir?” Perkins asked.
“She’s suffered a fit of the vapors.”
“How regrettable. Did she injure herself? There appears to be blood dripping on the marble.”
“The blood’s mine, not hers, and we’ll worry about the mess later. If you could bring me a basin of cold water and some cloths, I’ll be in the music room.”
Striding past Perkins, who was now looking at him in horror, Herman made his way down the back hallway and into the music room. He headed for the divan that was placed beside the piano, laying Daphne on it, concern flowing freely when he noticed the paleness of her face.
Placing his hand on her forehead, his concern increased when his touch met skin that was decidedly clammy.
“I found her bag. Give me a minute to find her smelling salts,” Ann said, rushing into the room. She dropped Daphne’s bag on the floor and began tossing out item after item as she searched for the smelling salts. “How does she fit all this in here, and why wouldn’t she keep her smelling salts on top of this mess? It seems like they’d be far more important than this book on poisonous plants.”
“Why would Miss Beekman need a book on poisonous plants in the first place?” Mildred asked, coming up behind Herman to peer over his shoulder. “Seems somewhat suspect. And why would she keep smelling salts in her bag? Most women of the world, as I’ve heard her proclaim to be numerous times, aren’t prone to swooning.”
“There’s nothing suspect about Daphne’s book because she’s an avid reader with diverse tastes. As for her swooning, I imagine even a woman of the world would be expected to swoon after what Daphne just experienced.”
“Her swooning could have been avoided if she hadn’t stabbed you.”
“I told her to stab me, never believing the precautions I’d taken would fail in such a spectacular fashion.” Herman glanced to the door as Perkins hurried through it, water sloshing on the floor from the basin he was carrying, not that Perkins seemed to notice, which was a testament to the dire situation at hand.
He set the basin beside Herman and handed him some cloths. “I brought enough so you’ll have some to mop up that arm of yours, as well.”
“Herman’s going to need more than a mopping up,” Dr. Gibbons said, moving to Herman’s side. “Allow me to attend to Daphne while you repair to your room. Given the amount of blood soaking your sleeve, stitches are going to be in order.”
“I’m not leaving her,” Herman said, earning a grumble from Mildred even as she handed her vial of smelling salts to Ann, who’d almost emptied Daphne’s entire bag on the floor and not found any success with locating Daphne’s salts.
“While I would expect nothing less than you taking it upon yourself to see after
your secretary, you’re dripping blood on the Aubusson carpet. You’re not going to be any use to Miss Beekman if you lose so much blood that you faint,” Mildred said.
Even though there was nothing that would have him leaving Daphne’s side, his grandmother did have a point. He dipped one of the cloths into the basin, wrung it out, then placed it on Daphne’s forehead before directing his attention to Dr. Gibbons. “Can you stitch up my arm in here?”
“I can, but you’re going to have to sit down for me to do that. Daphne’s merely fainted. She’ll be fine while I see after you.” Dr. Gibbons glanced to Mildred. “You and Miss Evans will need to leave the room. Stitches aren’t pleasant to receive, and there’s certain to be a great deal of discomfort on Herman’s part. Frankly, one groan from your grandson might be enough to send you, as well as Miss Evans, into the same state Daphne’s in.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mildred countered, lifting her chin. “I’m not going to swoon, nor will Miss Evans, who is certainly a no-nonsense type of lady.” She moved beside Ann, took hold of the vial Ann was struggling to open, gave the top a twist, then moved closer to Daphne, waving the vial under Daphne’s nose.
Herman’s concern increased when Daphne didn’t so much as twitch, but before he could suggest he take over for his grandmother, Dr. Gibbons began cutting away his sleeve.
“It’s going to take at least ten, if not twenty, stitches,” Dr. Gibbons said after he considered the wound. He snatched up one of the cloths Perkins had provided, dipped it in the water, then began cleaning Herman’s arm. “The blade made a mess of your arm, probably because the young lady was very enthusiastic about the way she thrust it into you.”
“Which I encouraged her to do,” Herman said when Mildred began muttering something about questionable behavior under her breath. He caught Dr. Gibbons’s eye. “You might as well get on with it, and don’t worry that I’ll be a difficult patient. I’ve had stitches before, and while they’re not pleasant, I assure you, they’re not something I won’t be able to tolerate.”