A Study in Scandal

by Robyn DeHart

  Chapter Twelve

  “And yet the motives of women are so inscrutable ... their most trivial action may mean volumes, or their most extraordinary conduct may depend upon a hairpin or a curling tongs.” ~The Adventure of the Second Stain

  Thursday afternoon. It was finally here, and Colin hated to admit it, but he was nervous. Nervous as hell. Better get this over with, he certainly couldn’t stand on the doorstep all afternoon. Colin knocked on the door.

  The thought of that door opening and him entering a parlor full of women nearly had him shaking in his boots. Not precisely behavior befitting a grown man.

  What was there to be afraid of with a bunch of frilly skirts?

  Just then the door opened and chatter and giggles tumbled out to greet him. The butler grimaced.

  What was there to be afraid of?

  Plenty.

  “Follow me, Inspector. They are all expecting you.”

  Colin thought he detected a slight smile on the old butler’s face. No doubt the man found great humor in the path he led Colin on. This was a mistake.

  Weston opened the double doors leading into the parlor. “Presenting Inspector Brindley,” he said loudly.

  Immediately the room fell quiet, and all eyes turned to him. He fought the urge to turn and leave the way he’d come. No, he would not retreat. They were only women. He could handle this. He’d been in far more dangerous situations before.

  “Welcome, Inspector.” A tall woman with stunning features stepped from within the crowd.

  “I’m Charlotte Reed,” she said.

  Ah, Charlotte, the pretty one, as Amelia referred to her.

  She clasped both his hands and led him forward. “We have everything set up for you over here.”

  He allowed her to lead him into the room, all the while he searched for Amelia. To no avail. He could not see her bright face anywhere amid the sea of feminine features. Surely she wouldn’t leave him to his own devices with this crowd.

  Everywhere around him were whispers and giggles and he very much felt as if everyone in the room knew a joke he wasn’t privy to. And still no Amelia.

  He looked back at Charlotte. She clearly knew she was a beautiful woman. Yet he found she did not affect him, despite the perfection of her features.

  He sat at the table she’d led him to and began retrieving things from his bag. He knew every eye was on him. Every feminine eye. Far too many fluttering eyelashes for his own comfort. He felt someone behind him and he slowly turned.

  Amelia stood at his elbow, cup of tea in hand. She handed him the cup and gave him a broad smile. “I thought you might need this,” she said quietly.

  His heart seemed to pause a moment, as if by her mere presence she’d tripped its rhythm. Now there was a face that affected him. Not as beautiful by the world’s standards, but much more compelling.

  “Did you put brandy in it?” he asked under this breath.

  She chuckled. “No, would you like some?”

  “No, that’s all right. Thank you,” he managed, but found his mouth had gone rather dry. He took a sip of the tea, then went back to retrieving his items.

  “I apologize for not being here when you first arrived. I was tending to something for my father.”

  “Is everything all right?” he inquired.

  She smiled. “Yes, all is well. Thank you for asking.” She pulled up a seat next to him. “I thought I would act as your assistant. To make certain everything runs smoothly. Especially since I know everyone.”

  Relief washed over him. “Thank you again.” She certainly knew how to give him what he needed.

  “I want you to meet all my friends—at least the important ones,” she said so that only he could hear. “I see you already met Charlotte. Willow and Meg are here somewhere. They are handling all the organization for us and entertaining the guests while they wait for their turn.”

  “Sounds very efficient to me.” He pointed to the petite redhead across the room. “I believe that is Meg.”

  She followed his hand. “Yes, that absolutely is Meg. How did you guess?”

  “Probably the hair. It does tend to stand out. And you were correct, she is somewhat elfin.”

  Amelia smiled. “Yes, she is.”

  “And that one over there.” He nodded toward the girl in the tan dress standing behind the sofa. “That’s Willow.”

  “You’re right again. Oh, you really are quite good at that, you know?”

  “Well, it is my job to do those sorts of things.”

  “True. So what gave it away with her?”

  He uncorked his ink bottle and poured a minimal amount in the small dish they’d set out for him. “For starters, she has a book in her hand. She also looks reserved and stern—just as you described her.”

  “Amazing.”

  “Perhaps it is not all my observation skills, but also your skill at accurately describing people.”

  She opened her mouth to respond, then shut it. “Oh,” was all she managed to say.

  Inking Amelia had been one of the most sensuous activities he’d ever participated in. Something told him that doing the same to the roomful of talkative females would not have the same effect on him. Granted, he wouldn’t be kissing them afterward, either.

  Someone tapped a spoon against a glass. “Pardon me,” Charlotte said loudly. “May I have everyone’s attention?”

  The chatter simmered to a low muffle before dying out altogether.

  “Thank you,” she continued. “Now then, as you can all see, Inspector Brindley is here. And we will start the special presentation momentarily.”

  Colin straightened his stack of parchment, then glanced at the edge of the table and noticed a pipe stand. Curious addition to a ladies’ parlor. He’d have to remember to ask Amelia if she smoked. Which he doubted, as he’d been close enough to her on several occasions to know she never smelled of tobacco. No doubt it was her father’s.

  “We will do this in the most organized way possible,” Charlotte continued. “You will have three stations to move through. At the first you will remove your gloves and secure your sleeves so as not to dirty them. The second will be with the handsome Inspector. And finally the third will be with Meg, over there, where you may clean your hands.”

  Several hands shot into the air.

  “Yes, Anne?” Charlotte said.

  “Precisely what are we doing removing our gloves with a gentleman present, and then what is occurring that requires hand-washing?”

  A few murmurs scattered about. Colin caught the words “scandalous” and “shocking.”

  Apparently Amelia and her friends had been adequately evasive in their invitations.

  “Excellent question, Anne. I know you are all most eager to uncover the secret of the afternoon. You’ve all come to see the inspector, and now you want to know precisely why he’s here.” She reached over and retrieved the fingerprints he’d placed on the table and held them up above her head.

  “These marks are what we’ll be doing today,” she continued. “The inspector is going to ink your fingers and print them on the paper. Someday, marks such as these will help Scotland Yard solve crimes.”

  There was an audible gasp in the room.

  He certainly hoped what Charlotte described would be the result of his research, but there was no such guarantee. Charlotte had made his research sound far more impressive than in actuality it was. He thought it was worthwhile, else he wouldn’t be doing it, but it wasn’t quite as glamorous as she made it out to be.

  “Inspector.” Charlotte turned to face him. “Will you please provide our guests with some additional information?”

  Amelia listened intently as he explained the merits and procedure of his research. She allowed the rich timbre of his voice to fall over her ears. She loved being this close to him. And she’d get to sit here, next to him, all afternoon.

  She was proud. Proud to know him. She wanted to help him with his research, after all he’d done for her. He’d take
n her father’s case when most would have written him off as a dotty old man. Allowed her to assist him when she really had no right to do such a thing.

  Been kind to her and engaged her in conversation. Complimented her. Kissed her. She felt her cheeks heat with blush. And oh, how she wished he’d kiss her again. Perhaps she should take the lead since he didn’t seem to mind too much the first time.

  Granted, she couldn’t do that here. Not with everyone watching. But perhaps they could sneak away for a bit of privacy later. Or perhaps he’d stay for a while after everyone left. That was it.

  He finished his explanation and took his seat beside her. He busied himself with neatly stacking his parchment.

  She leaned in to him. “Do you think you could stay a bit afterwards so we might discuss the case?”

  He looked at her, and his warm brown eyes melted her heart. Gracious, he was handsome. She wiped her hands on her skirts.

  He nodded.

  He turned then to the first woman who approached the table. He was gentle with her, much as he had been when he’d printed Amelia. But he was quicker too, and he didn’t look the woman in the eye.

  One by one, he took their prints. Always the same—swift and gentle, but evasive. He politely answered their questions, nodded, and gave tiny laughs when appropriate. But mostly he printed and sent them on their way.

  Amelia scanned the room to judge their success. It was working. The women were having a splendid time. And Colin was a huge success. Perhaps too much of one. Some of the women flirted shamelessly, others beat their lashes coyly without saying a word. He didn’t seem to detect their attentions, or if he did, he chose to ignore them.

  She watched a particular group of women, marriageable girls a few years her junior, clump together and whisper feverishly. They’d glanced over their shoulders at him every so often, then giggled.

  Yes, it seemed Colin was more of a success than she’d anticipated. She’d expected the guests to enjoy the fingerprinting. She hadn’t anticipated them noticing him. Not the way she had.

  He was her secret, she’d thought. There were so many eligible men who would offer marriage to those girls, none of whom were lined up at Amelia’s door. She’d missed her opportunity. Missed her chance while caring for her ailing mother and then supporting her grieving father.

  She’d reconciled herself to the fact that she would probably not marry. But then she’d found Colin, and it wasn’t so much that she saw him as husband material, but she’d felt as if she’d discovered a secret. A treasure, buried, that no one had even known about.

  He was gruff and quiet where most men were charming and polite. Stodgy and precise where most men were whimsical and rakish. He was her secret. Her private discovery. And she felt nearly sick to her stomach when the tinges of jealousy pricked at her.

  She held no claim over him, she realized.

  And certainly, were Colin the marrying kind, he would likely select someone entirely different from herself. Someone in this room perhaps. Someone similar to Charlotte, with incomparable beauty. Or even someone such as Willow; someone with whom he could match his wits.

  But never Amelia. She was plain and rarely clever.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “The Englishman is a patient creature, but at present his temper is a little inflamed and it would be as well not to try him too far.” ~His Last Bow

  Colin waited while Amelia escorted some of her guests to the door. Tonight had been an enormous success. Not only had he collected well over forty sets of fingerprints, but he’d had no fewer than five women ask about his services for potential hiring. He needed to thank Amelia and her friends for orchestrating it for him.

  “Yes, she said that the author used that delectable Brindley as a model,” a woman’s voice said from behind him. Colin stilled and listened intently.

  “But I must say,” she continued, “he’s much more handsome in the flesh than I imagined Sherlock Holmes.”

  “I agree. He’s positively dashing. What a thrill to meet the inspiration for the clever literary hero.”

  Colin’s jaw clenched. So that had been her big secret. She’d lied to persuade the women to attend. She’d pawned him off as the real Sherlock Holmes. Now the pipe sitting on the table made perfect sense.

  She had lied.

  She had helped him, yes. But advancing his research at the expense of honesty—it wasn’t worth it. He tolerated a lot of peculiar behavior in people, but he would not tolerate lies. Especially not intentional lies. He was tempted to reveal her deception to her friends, and show them the fraud she was.

  He’d trusted her, and she’d let him down. So rather than confronting her, he simply wanted to leave. She didn’t even deserve an explanation. But he’d told her he would stay after. Perhaps to some that meant nothing, but he kept his word. So he’d stay, answer her questions, then leave. He’d figure out something about their trip to Brighton when he got home, and then send her a message.

  He didn’t have to wait long for the remainder of the guests to leave and for Amelia to return to the parlor. He ignored her presence while he packed his belongings.

  “That went rather well, didn’t you think?” she asked from behind him.

  “Indeed.”

  “You must be tired. Would you like some more tea?” she asked.

  He turned to face her. “No.”

  “Well, are you pleased with your results?” she asked. She smiled brightly. She honestly believed she’d fooled him. It was more than he could handle. He would confront her. He needed to know why she’d done it.

  “I suppose I am.” He took a step toward her. “Tell me the truth, Amelia, did you not think I would discover your little deception?”

  Her eyes went wide. “I beg your pardon. What deception?”

  “Come, now. I will admit that it was a rather clever idea. But I’m surprised you followed through with it. No, I’m surprised you came up with it. Not that you’re not clever—you’re quite clever, actually—but I didn’t perceive you as a deceiver.”

  She winced at his words and guilt pinched his gut. Why should he not feel anger? She’d deceived him. But worse than that, she’d used him as a cheap parlor trick. Had she feigned interest in his research simply to host a fashionable party? Apparently she had decided that he and his research were not enough to draw out a crowd. So she’d taken it upon herself to make him a little more intriguing.

  “Colin, what are you talking about? What deception?” she asked.

  He took a deep breath. “I heard them. I heard your friends talking about how you told them I was the real man. The real Sherlock Holmes.”

  “What?” She looked genuinely surprised.

  “You can abandon the innocent act. I caught you. I knew you were bothersome with your incessant chatter and continual smiles—”

  “Bothersome?” she interrupted. “You find my chatter bothersome?” she asked, clearly hurt.

  “But I never thought you were dishonest,” he said, finishing his sentence. “I thought at least, that we had in common.”

  “We do have that in common. I wasn’t dishonest.” She frowned and shook her head. “Honestly, I don’t know who you overheard talking, but I never told anyone you were the real Sherlock Holmes. But I can certainly guess who did.”

  He searched her face, and she certainly looked as if she were telling the truth. But he’d thought that up until tonight. He grabbed his bag and turned to go. She pulled at his sleeve.

  “Wait one moment. What you think you know isn’t correct at all. And bothersome chatter or not, you will listen to what I have to say. Then you can make your own judgment,” she said.

  He shouldn’t have said that about her chatter. Initially he had found that quality bothersome, and frankly it still was trying at times, but he’d said it to hurt her. Because her lying to him, well, he hated to admit it, but it had hurt him. She was the first friend he’d had in a long time, and to be betrayed by her—it was simply too much.

  Not to
mention the fact that he didn’t want her to see him as Sherlock Holmes. He wanted her to see him for who he was, not a poor imitation of her literary hero.

  He crossed his arms across his chest. “Very well.”

  “When the girls and I were planning this party, Meg had the idea that we could suggest to everyone that you were the real Sherlock Holmes. She thought that would produce enough curiosity that people would come to the party regardless of what the actual purpose was.

  “But I told them no.” Her arms flew up. “Charlotte thought it was a brilliant idea as well. Willow never said much, now that I think about it. But I told them no. I told them you would be no part of deception, that you would not look kindly on playing people falsely. Then they said you didn’t have to know. That the evening would run smoothly without you being the wiser.

  “But I couldn’t do that. You’ve been so kind to me. I didn’t want to deceive you. I didn’t want to do something wrong, even if it was harmless, simply to make a party successful.”

  She was sincere. Her stance, her demeanor, her words were all so earnest. She was telling the truth. So rather than Amelia deceiving him, her friends had deceived them both.

  “Rather nasty of your friends, don’t you think?” he said.

  “Nasty?” She frowned.

  “Well, they lied to both of us.”

  “They’re not calculating,” she said softly. “They only wanted to make this a success. Make you a success. Their intentions were well meant.”

  She always had a kind word about everyone. Always gave people the benefit of the doubt. It was naive of her, but it was behavior rooted in genuine kindness and he had to respect that. “I see,” he said. “Who gave them the idea that I resembled Sherlock Holmes?”

  She looked up, her bottom lip caught by her teeth. She worried it a bit before speaking. “I suppose that was me. I might have mentioned that once or twice after I first met you.”

  It felt as if someone had kicked him. No wonder she had been so eager to work with him. It hadn’t been him at all, but rather a fantasy. He frowned. “You think of me as a fictional character?”