To Write a Wrong

by Jen Turano

  Sheldon, interestingly enough, after he’d learned Daphne’s true purpose at Herman’s estate, had become downright friendly to her, offering to take notes as she questioned the guests and not being annoyed when she’d told him she preferred to take her own notes.

  He’d then, when she’d insisted he sit for questions, been more than accommodating. After she was finished, and after she’d come to the conclusion he really wasn’t a viable suspect because he didn’t have a plausible reason to want Herman dead, Sheldon had then turned the conversation to writing, or more specifically, his writing.

  He’d asked her all about her editor and what was required of an author after signing a contract and had then, much to Daphne’s surprise, excused himself for a few minutes, returning with his manuscript in hand, which he asked her to read.

  She’d been worried Herman would take offense at that. But Herman had merely smiled and congratulated his cousin for finally having the courage to allow someone to read his work, even if that someone hadn’t been him.

  Herman was considerate that way, a trait she found all too appealing.

  Truth be told, there was much that appealed to her about Herman, but given that she’d withheld the truth about her writing from him and had failed spectacularly with solving his case, she was firmly convinced there wasn’t much he could find appealing about her.

  It was a depressing thought, but frankly, she knew she wasn’t a woman a gentleman like Herman would find appealing anyway. She was much too quiet, when she wasn’t adopting a sophisticated woman of the world persona, and much too dowdy, when she wasn’t styled by Phillip, and quiet and dowdy weren’t characteristics a gentleman like Herman would find attractive in a woman.

  He’d not been attracted to any of the young ladies his grandmother had selected for him—ladies who were exactly like Daphne, when she wasn’t pretending to be someone else, that was.

  Granted, she did think he enjoyed her company at times, but that wasn’t enough to . . .

  “What if the culprit really is Perkins?” Ann suddenly asked, drawing Daphne from her depressing thoughts.

  “Why would Perkins want to kill Herman?”

  Ann grinned. “I don’t actually think he does, but that would be amusing if he turned out to be the guilty party, what with him being the butler and all.” She bit her lip. “I do wonder if Jay Storrow might be to blame. He was a little too enthusiastic with proclaiming his innocence. He kept mentioning how many times Herman’s books have gone into print, then following that up with how he doesn’t envy Herman his success.”

  “I don’t think Jay’s guilty of plotting Herman’s demise,” Daphne said. “Frankly, the problem with all the guests we interviewed is that none of them seems to have a compelling reason to want Herman dead, including Jay. Yes, he’s envious of Herman, but I get the distinct impression that at heart, he’s a good man. He also genuinely appears to like Herman, as do all of the other guests—save perhaps Charles, but I’m not sure Charles likes anyone other than himself.”

  Daphne leaned back in the chair and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, the elaborate hairstyle she’d been wearing since she arrived on Herman’s estate now abandoned because there was little reason to continue on as a fashionable woman of the world. “I’ve been thinking we probably shouldn’t have taken on Herman’s case. I’m evidently not up for running a case without the expertise of Gabriella, and my lack of experience is exactly why I should have encouraged Herman to go with the Pinkerton Agency instead. It’s his life we’re talking about, something I seem to have taken far too lightly in my quest to secure a murder investigation for the agency.”

  “Herman does have the services of the Pinkertons because Cooper’s on the case as well,” Ann reminded her. “His involvement should lend you a bit of comfort because even with Cooper’s experience, he’s not been able to crack this case either. You’re being far too hard on yourself, and besides, Herman doesn’t appear to have any second thoughts about hiring us.”

  “That’s just because he’s too polite.”

  “He is very polite, but I believe he’s impressed with us.”

  “How could he be impressed with us? We’ve failed to uncover anything of worth, completely disrupted his house party, and I stabbed him, for crying out loud. How can a man be impressed when the inquiry agent he hired took off a good bit of his arm?” She blew out a breath. “I’ve made a complete muddle of everything.”

  “But if you hadn’t taken on this case, you would have never gotten to know Herman.”

  “Something I’m sure he wouldn’t have minded in the least. If he wasn’t acquainted with me, he wouldn’t now have seventeen stitches marching up his arm.”

  “I haven’t heard him voice a single complaint about his injury. If you ask me, that’s telling.”

  Daphne rolled her eyes. “Oh, here you go again, seeing romance where none exists.”

  “And here you go again being evasive about the romance business.”

  “There’s nothing to be evasive about. Herman and I enjoy a professional relationship, one that’s destined to remain that way because I’m not exactly the type of lady Herman would hold in anything other than professional esteem.” She held up her hand when Ann opened her mouth. “There’s nothing more to say on the subject, so if we could return to the pressing matter at hand, that being our case, I’d appreciate it.”

  “I think a more pressing matter is convincing you that Herman holds you in more than professional esteem.”

  “Your stubbornness about the matter isn’t going to convince me you’re right.”

  “It was worth a try,” Ann said as a knock sounded on the office door, and then, a second later, the subject of their discussion appeared, pausing inside the doorway.

  “I hope I’m not intruding,” Herman said.

  “Not at all,” Daphne said, gesturing him forward and hoping he wouldn’t notice the heat that was creeping up her neck. “Ann and I were just discussing, ah, our progress with your case.”

  “Cooper and I were doing the same,” Herman said, pulling a chair close to where Daphne was sitting. “He’s currently finishing up a report to send to the Pinkerton headquarters, but he’s not got much to report.”

  “We don’t have much to report either,” Daphne said, rubbing a hand over the back of her neck where tension had firmly settled.

  “I’m sure that’ll change at some point,” Herman said. “I’ve consulted with detectives and the like while doing research for my stories, and they’ve frequently told me that it takes months to solve some of their cases.”

  “You could be dead by then.”

  “That’s a cheery thought.”

  “Speaking of cheery thoughts,” Ann began, moving for the door, “if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go see what Cooper is including in that report he’s working on.”

  As Ann quit the room, Daphne squared her shoulders and caught Herman’s eye. “Since we’re now alone, this is the perfect moment to discuss something of a more personal nature with you.” She blew out a breath. “I owe you an apology, and please forgive me for not apologizing sooner. I’ve been trying to get you alone ever since Charles figured out I’m Montague Moreland.” Her lips curved. “Your grandmother seems to be making it a point to materialize whenever we find ourselves without company. So, before she shows up in here, allow me to simply say that I should have told you I’m Montague Moreland. I’m sure you’re disappointed with me for withholding that information from you, especially after you entrusted me with your manuscript, not knowing that you were giving your work to one of your biggest competitors.”

  “There’s no need for you to apologize, Daphne, nor is there a reason to fear I’m upset with you because you’ve seen parts of my latest manuscript. You’re far too talented an author to need to steal anyone’s work or ideas, so if you’ve been fretting about that, don’t.”

  “I still should have told you.”

  “You’re under contract to keep your ide
ntity a secret, and don’t forget that I know all about contracts. And if you’ll recall, you tried to discourage me from giving you my manuscript to type. I was the one who insisted on that, and that was with me knowing you’re no poet.”

  “You didn’t believe I was a poet?”

  “Not after you recited that bit of nonsense about something being soft as a baby’s bottom.”

  “That was remarkably awful,” she admitted with a small smile.

  “Especially coming from a lady who possesses more than her fair share of intellect.”

  Heat immediately settled on her cheeks. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I really can’t believe I didn’t figure out your real identity on my own. I’ve read every Montague Moreland book you’ve written, and now, after considering your writing, there is a distinct bit of you in all of your stories. If I’m not mistaken, one of your characters, Miss Dorothy Weathermill, bears a remarkable resemblance to you.”

  “I might have put a little dash of me into her character.”

  “Or a large dash, given the enormous bag she carries and the smelling salts she’s never without.” Herman shook his head. “It’s very unfair you’ve been forced to write under a man’s name. You’ve got an incredible talent for the written word, and it’s unfortunate you’re unable to allow the world to know you, not Montague Moreland, possesses that talent.”

  Daphne suddenly found it rather difficult to breathe.

  No one had ever really appreciated her talent for writing before. Her mother had always encouraged her to keep her fondness for the written word under wraps when she was younger, believing Daphne would never secure a husband if word got out she was a bluestocking. And while her brothers had humored her and read many of the stories she’d penned in her youth, they’d never encouraged her to pursue writing as a serious endeavor, apparently under the belief, as so many people were, that a woman could not possibly have what it takes to find success in the publishing world.

  “Thank you for that, Herman,” Daphne finally managed to get past a throat that had turned constricted. “It’s rare for me to be able to discuss my writing with anyone. But once again, we’re becoming distracted from what you’re actually paying me to do. We should return to the particulars of your case.”

  “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather talk writing. We’ll have plenty of time to discuss my case later.”

  “You really want to discuss writing with me?”

  “I’ve been dying to do exactly that ever since I learned you’re Montague Moreland.”

  She fought a grin of pure delight. “And do you want to talk about sentence structure, like you do with your other author friends, or would you prefer to delve into something a little more . . . meaty?”

  Herman laughed. “Since you’ve made your opinion well known for writers talking sentence structure, I think we should delve into plot points, or better yet, tell me about that pirate of yours that seems to be giving you difficulty.”

  Trying to focus on the words coming out of Herman’s mouth, something that was rather tricky to do because his laugh had left her feeling overly warm and a bit flustered, Daphne struggled to regain her composure as she cleared her throat. “There’s not much to say about my pirate except that, quite like your axe scene, I’ve decided he’s wrong for my story.”

  “You’re going to get rid of him?”

  “I’m afraid I must because I’ve written the hero wrong. He shouldn’t be a pirate, although what he should be is beyond me right now.” She tapped a finger against her chin. “I imagine I’ll eventually figure it out once I get back to the city. For right now, though, I’m more focused on your case, not a looming deadline.”

  “I’m not sure you’ll have to worry about looming deadlines, especially after you see what’s been written about you in all the papers.”

  Glancing to the door, apprehension was swift as Mildred strode into the room, her arms laden with newspapers, all of which she immediately set on the table in front of Daphne.

  “We’ve just gotten the morning and afternoon papers delivered, a bit delayed since the recently hired newsboy couldn’t find our estate. You’re the news of the day and have made each and every one of the papers.” She nodded to the pile on the table. “These are just a sample of the papers you’ve been written about in—the New York Times, the New York Tribune, and the New York World.”

  “I’ve made the New York Times?”

  “Indeed. It’s a very detailed article, written by none other than Mr. Charles Bonner. He evidently sold it to every publication he could, and to give that man credit, it does make a riveting read.”

  Herman snatched up the copy of the New York Times, snapped it open, and disappeared behind it. The longer he read, the more apprehensive Daphne became.

  “What does it say?” she finally asked.

  “There are other papers,” Mildred pointed out. “You could read the story for yourself, although I doubt you’re going to be pleased with what’s included in the tale. Charles discloses your identity as the author behind the Montague Moreland books and delves into your position as an inquiry agent. He does not seem overly impressed with your abilities there. In fact, he goes on for at least four paragraphs about how you were unable to solve Herman’s case.”

  “Why would he have done that?”

  Herman looked over the edge of the paper. “Because Charles has a vindictive streak a mile long, as I believe Jay mentioned to you. From the tone of his piece, I think he’s still disgruntled about your being Montague Moreland, as well as enjoying far greater success than he could ever achieve. I believe his purpose in disclosing all is to damage your reputation as an author, subtly suggesting that a great writer of mysteries would have been able to solve the case of who wants to murder me.”

  “And isn’t that going to complicate the case,” Cooper said from the doorway, striding into the room with Ann by his side, both of them clutching newspapers. “By disclosing Herman’s situation to the public, Charles has all but ruined our case. There’s little likelihood that the responsible person won’t lay low now, which means solving this case is going to be more difficult than ever.”

  “It’s also going to ruin your chances of finding a bride, dear,” Mildred said, sending Herman a look filled with disappointment. “What lady, pray tell, will risk attaching herself to you?”

  The oddest desire to raise her hand in answer to Mildred’s question struck from out of nowhere, a desire she, thankfully, resisted because there was little chance Mildred would take kindly to the idea that Daphne wouldn’t mind attaching herself to Herman.

  Before Herman had an opportunity to respond to his grandmother’s question, though, a bit of a ruckus sounded from the hallway and Perkins all but stumbled into the office. The reason for the stumbling quickly became evident when Eunice glided into the room behind him, holding a pistol in her hand. She stopped for the briefest of seconds and glanced around, although how she could see through what looked to be at least five layers of veils was anyone’s guess.

  “Ah, Daphne, there you are,” she said, striding in Daphne’s direction. She then surprised Daphne when she gave her a quick hug before she stepped back and inclined her head at Herman. “Forgive me for making such a dramatic entrance into your home, Herman.” She gave a wave of her pistol in Perkins’s direction. “Your butler was reluctant to let me into the house, even after I told him I’m with the Bleecker Street Inquiry Agency and needed to speak with Daphne immediately.”

  Perkins tugged down a waistcoat that had hiked up, probably due to all the stumbling. “Begging your pardon, ma’am, but one doesn’t expect to open a door and discover someone like you lurking on the other side. I had no notice that you were expected, and the manner in which you’re currently dressed is not one that gives a person confidence that you’re not, well, in disguise.”

  “I’m in mourning,” Eunice pointed out. “And you didn’t receive notice of my arriva
l because I wasn’t expected. With that said, though, I would have expected you to confer with Daphne about the matter before telling me I wasn’t going to be permitted entrance. If you’d done that, you would have spared yourself a meeting with my pistol.” She tucked her pistol into her reticule before she turned back to Daphne. “I’m sure you’re wondering what I’m doing here.”

  “I imagine it has something to do with the articles in the newspaper, and I can’t imagine you have pleasant news.”

  “Troubling news would explain my presence more accurately.”

  “How troubling?”

  “Troubling enough,” Eunice said, reaching into her pocket to withdraw a telegram. “This is from your publishing house. I took the liberty of opening it when it arrived and—” she lifted up one of the veils that was obscuring her face, giving Daphne just a hint of her features—“I’m sorry to say that your publisher is insisting on speaking with you in person to discuss the Montague Moreland situation.”

  Daphne forced herself to take the telegram from Eunice. “I’m sure they’re curious to learn how my secret ended up in the papers. Are they traveling to New York to speak to me?”

  “I’m afraid not,” Eunice said. “They’ve demanded a meeting in Boston with you within the week, a request that, unfortunately, will give them the upper hand in this situation.”

  Daphne read over the telegram and frowned. “Demanding to see me within a week seems rather high-handed.”

  “I thought that as well,” Eunice said. “That is why I’ll be traveling with you to lend you what will certainly be much-needed support. I’ve already secured us train tickets to Boston, and there’s a rented carriage waiting outside to get us on our way.”

  “Would you care for me to accompany you to Boston too?” Herman surprised Daphne by asking, his offer leaving her feeling overly warm again, as well as smiling, until Mildred stepped forward.

  “That is completely out of the question,” Mildred said, moving to take hold of Herman’s arm. “Your life, if you’ve forgotten, is still in jeopardy. That means you need to stay close to home where Agent Clifton can keep an eye on you.” She nodded to Ann. “You may stay as well and continue on with Herman’s case.” She settled narrowed eyes on Daphne. “Forgive me if this hurts your feelings, but it’s because of you that everyone knows about the attempts on his life, which Agent Clifton has already admitted will see progress in the case stalling. I feel confident that Herman and his case will be far better off without you, which means you might want to consider taking yourself off his case once and for all.”