Wait Until Midnight

  “A Roman villa is not constructed in a day,” Wilson observed.

  Julia drank some tea. “By the way, I had a letter from Jessica this morning. She is having a glorious time in Dorset. I gather that life on her friend’s family estate is one grand round of picnics and games.”

  “We had a note from Nathan telling us that he will be coming down to see all of us on the occasion of my birthday next month,” Wilson said.

  “He is well?” Julia asked, a bit anxious. “I do worry about him devoting so much time to his books.”

  “Do not concern yourself,” Wilson said easily. “He is perfectly content. I think he may have been born for the scholarly life.”

  Julia smiled. “Who would have believed it?”

  The breakfast table chatter ebbed and flowed around Adam but he made little effort to contribute to the conversation. Not only were his thoughts focused on darker subjects; the long night was beginning to catch up with him. He wanted his bed.

  “Is something wrong, Adam?” Julia asked abruptly. “You appear to be a million miles away. Am I boring you with my plans for the ball?”

  “No. I was just thinking about some business that must be attended to this morning.” He tossed his napkin on the table. “If you will excuse me—”

  But it was too late. Julia was giving him a close, sisterly scrutiny. “What’s this? Your shirt is rather crumpled and I do believe you have failed to shave this morning. That is quite unlike you.”

  “Julia, if you don’t mind, I must be off.” He got to his feet. “Enjoy your breakfast. I will see you all later.”

  Wilson inclined his head, eyes narrowing slightly. “Get some rest.”

  Julia’s eyes widened. “Why do you need rest? Are you ill?”

  “I am feeling quite fit, thank you.” Adam grabbed the folded copy of the Flying Intelligencer and made his escape from the breakfast room.

  He heard crisp footsteps in the hall behind him and stifled a groan. He should have known it wasn’t going to be that easy.

  “Adam,” Julia called firmly. “A word, if you please.”

  “What is it?” He walked into the library and sat down behind his desk. “As I said, I’m rather busy.”

  “You did not happen to dress carelessly this morning.” Julia sailed into the library behind him and crossed the oriental carpet to stand in front of the desk. “I do believe that you have just returned after having been out all night.”

  “Julia, there are some things that a gentleman does not discuss, not even with his sister.”

  “Hah! I knew it. You were gone all night.” Curiosity sparked in her eyes. “Is it serious this time or merely another one of your boring little affairs?”

  “I had not realized that you considered my personal life boring. Not that your opinion matters, given that it is my personal life, not your own.”

  She frowned in surprise at his tone. “I meant no offense.”

  Guilt sank its claws into him. He had not meant to snap at her like that. “I know. I apologize for my short temper. Wilson is right. I need some sleep.”

  “I suppose I find your affairs dull for the most part because you seem to find them dull,” she said, thoughtful now.

  “Forgive me, Julia, but I believe I have lost the thread of the conversation. Nor do I wish to rediscover it.”

  She nodded, as though confirming a private opinion. “That is it, of course. I should have reasoned it out sooner. I have always found your liaisons singularly uninspiring primarily because you never appear to be particularly inspired by them.”

  “I do not look to that sort of thing as a source of inspiration.”

  “Obviously. You treat your romantic associations with ladies the same way you do your business affairs. They are always well-planned and deftly handled according to your rules. You never exhibit any degree of strong sentiment or emotion. When a connection ends you seem almost relieved, as though some routine task had been completed, allowing you to move on to another project.”

  “I cannot fathom what you are talking about.”

  “I am talking about the fact that you never allow yourself to fall in love, Adam.” She paused for emphasis. “Uncle Wilson and I believe that it is past time that you did.”

  He set his teeth. “Julia, I will give you fair warning. I have just endured one lecture from Wilson on the subject of finding a wife. I am not in the mood for another.”

  She ignored that, whisked her skirts aside and sat down in one of the leather chairs. “So, you have established a new liaison. Who is she, Adam? I cannot wait to learn her name.”

  It occurred to him that the simplest way to deflect Julia’s attention while he continued his search for the diary was to encourage her in the belief that he was involved in a new love affair. If she thought that to be true, she would be less likely to question any unusual or secretive behavior on his part during the next few days.

  He shuffled the papers while he mentally assembled his plan.

  “You cannot expect me to divulge her name,” he said.

  “I am aware that you have a rule against that sort of thing, but it does not apply in this case.”

  “The rules apply in all cases.”

  “Rubbish. You have always taken your own rules far too seriously. Now then, were you with Lillian Tait last night, by any chance? I knew that she had her eye on you. Did you finally succumb to her wiles?”

  “What makes you think that I would waste an entire night and a good portion of the morning on Lillian Tait?” He stacked the papers he had just finished shuffling. “I can barely tolerate the lady’s conversation for the length of a dance.”

  “I can imagine a number of reasons why you might find her quite entertaining in other circumstances. Mrs. Tait is a very attractive, very rich widow, and she makes no secret of the fact that she has no plans to marry again. She quite enjoys her freedom. All in all, she would appear to meet most of your basic requirements in a paramour.”

  “Do you think so?” He kept his tone deliberately uninterested.

  “I know you better than anyone else in the entire world, with the possible exception of Uncle Wilson. I have been aware for some time now that you have very specific rules when it comes to your intimate liaisons.” She paused meaningfully. “Do you know, I believe that is your chief problem, Adam.”

  He went quite blank. “What?”

  “Your insistence upon living your entire life by rules. For heaven’s sake, you’ve got them for everything, even your romantic connections.”

  He cocked a brow. “You stun me, madam. I was under the impression that properly behaved ladies did not discuss a gentleman’s romantic connections.”

  She smiled serenely. “I assure you, every lady I know finds the topic of who is dallying with whom fascinating. Indeed, it is usually the first subject discussed at any tea or social gathering.”

  “Another illusion of feminine behavior shattered.” He reached for a pen. “And here I thought that the only subjects you discussed with your friends were fashions and the latest sensation novels.”

  She clicked her tongue. “It is a mystery to me how so many seemingly intelligent gentlemen manage to convince themselves that women are shockingly ignorant of the realities of life.”

  The comment made him go very still. “We both know that the one thing you are not is shockingly ignorant of the realities of life, Julia,” he said quietly. “I only wish that I had been able to do a better job of sheltering you and the others.”

  “Nonsense.” The teasing light vanished from her face in a heartbeat. “Do not say such things, Adam. You protected us very well indeed when we were young. I suspect Jessica, Nathan and I would not have survived without you. But surely you did not think that I believed that you lived the life of a monk?”

  He winced. “I had not realized that you gave so much thought to my private life.”

  “I’m your sister in every way but blood,” she reminded him gently. “Of course I give the matter of your priv
ate affairs my closest personal attention.” Her delicate brows rose. “As I recall, you gave mine even more intense scrutiny when I told you that I was madly in love with Robert.”

  “You were an heiress. It was my duty to make certain that you were not married for your fortune.”

  “Yes, I know, and you did not rest until you had assured yourself that Robert and I had indeed contracted a love match. Robert still shudders whenever he mentions the various inquisitions that he was obliged to endure in order to gain your trust and respect.”

  “I did not consider those meetings to be inquisitions. I preferred to think of them as opportunities for Southwood and I to get to know each other and establish a bond of friendship.”

  She laughed. “He told me that he came close to trying to drown you during that fishing trip to Scotland. He said the only thing that stopped him from pushing you into the loch was the knowledge that you were an expert swimmer.”

  “We caught some very fine fish on that trip.”

  “And then there was the time that you invited him aboard Wilson’s yacht for a three-day sail along the coast. He dared not refuse for fear you would think him a weakling.”

  “The weather was excellent for sailing.”

  “He was violently ill throughout the entire trip. He says he still does not understand how you discovered before the journey that he is prone to mal de mer.”

  He nodded sagely. “I have my sources.”

  “My point is that you have always paid very close attention to my personal affairs, and I feel it is only fair to return the favor. Unfortunately, you have never given me much of interest to observe.”

  “I regret that you find me so exquisitely dull but there is little that I can do about the situation. Now then, I hate to interrupt this fascinating conversation but I have plans for this afternoon. I would like to get some rest before I go out.”

  She made a face. “You are not going to tell me her name, are you?”

  “No.”

  “Why so secretive? Sooner or later I am bound to learn her identity. You know how gossip flows in Society.” She paused, tilting her head slightly to one side in a quizzical fashion. “Unless, of course, your new friend does not move in Society.”

  He stood, reaching for the newspaper. “If you will excuse me, I am going to go upstairs and rest for a while.”

  “Very well, I give up, at least for now.” She rose. “It is clear that you are not going to indulge my curiosity. But sooner or later—” She broke off, glancing at the paper in his hand. “I did not know that you read the Flying Intelligencer, Adam. It is not your sort of paper at all. It thrives on the most exciting sort of sensation and gossip.”

  “I assure you, this is the first and only copy I have ever purchased.”

  “You were lucky to get it.” She started toward the door. “Mrs. Fordyce’s latest novel is being serialized in it. She is very popular. I expect the copies will be sold out quickly. In fact, I made certain to send Willoughby off to find a newsboy first thing this morning. I couldn’t bear to risk missing the next chapter of The Mysterious Gentleman.”

  A sense of impending doom struck him. “I did not realize that you read Mrs. Fordyce’s work.”

  “Yes, indeed. Her new story is the best one to date, as far as I am concerned. The villain is a man named Edmund Drake. We do not know what he is about yet, but it is obvious that he has wicked intentions toward the heroine, Lydia Hope.”

  He felt his jaw tighten. “So I have been told.”

  She paused at the door. “Rest assured, he will meet a dreadful end. Mrs. Fordyce’s last villain was taken off to spend his remaining days confined in an insane asylum. I expect she has something equally dire planned for Edmund Drake.”

  A short time later in the privacy of his bedchamber, he freed himself of his tie, waistcoat and shirt and settled down on the bed to get some badly needed rest. He tried to focus his thoughts on the next step in his plans to locate the diary, but for some bizarre reason he kept returning to the matter of Caroline Fordyce.

  She was certainly not his usual type. But in other ways she fit what Julia was pleased to call his rules quite well. She was not an innocent young lady like Jessica, who had to be guarded as closely as a chest of gold until she was married off to a suitable husband. Nor was she the wife of a friend or a business associate, another category of female he was careful to avoid.

  She was a widow and likely a rather worldly one at that. Surely only a woman of considerable experience could write the sort of lurid, melodramatic plots that made sensation novels all the rage.

  Judging by her house and gown, Caroline certainly did not control a fortune but she did appear to be making a comfortable living with her writing. True, she did not move in elevated social circles, but that was an excellent thing, he decided. There would be less likelihood of gossip.

  He groaned and covered his eyes with his forearm. He had enough problems at the moment. The last thing he should be considering was the possibility of having an affair with Caroline Fordyce.

  Unfortunately, he seemed to be able to think of very little else.

  FOUR

  When Caroline walked into the study later that afternoon, she found her aunts waiting for her. They were seated in front of the hearth, drinking tea. They looked at her expectantly.

  “Well?” Milly demanded with her usual enthusiasm.

  “There is no question about it. The mysterious gentleman who called on me early this morning did, indeed, tell the truth.” Caroline sat down behind her desk. “Elizabeth Delmont was murdered last night after the séance. So much for the possibility that Mr. Grove, or whatever his name may be, is either mad or a mischief-making trickster.”

  It had been a weak hope but she had clung to it.

  “What did you see when you went to Delmont’s address?” Emma asked, looking, as usual, as though she was braced for the worst possible news.

  Caroline propped her elbows on the desk and rested her chin on the heels of her hands. “There was a constable standing at the door and a crowd of curious neighbors and some gentlemen of the press gathered in the street.”

  “You were careful not to be seen, I trust?” Emma said anxiously.

  “Of course.” Caroline wrinkled her nose. “Not that anyone would have recognized me, in any event.”

  “Nevertheless, one cannot be too cautious in a matter such as this,” Emma reminded her. “The murder will be a great sensation in the papers soon. It would not do to have your name linked to it in any way, especially in light of that unfortunate article concerning your demonstration of psychical powers at Harriet Hughes’s tea.”

  “Don’t remind me,” Caroline muttered. “What a mistake that was. I don’t know why I let you and Aunt Emma talk me into it.”

  “Now, now, it was very entertaining,” Milly said lightly. “Harriet and her friends were all quite thrilled.”

  Emma frowned. “But who knows what the press might make of such a connection if Caroline were seen at the house where a medium was murdered? It could prove disastrous. We can only pray that it does not get out that she was among the sitters at Delmont’s last séance.”

  “Mr. Grove led me to believe that he has no intention of giving the list of sitters to the police,” Caroline said. But what if he changed his mind?

  Emma echoed her thoughts. “Who knows what the man will do? He sounds quite eccentric, to say the least. Imagine setting out to find a killer on his own.”

  “It is certainly not the sort of behavior one expects from a gentleman who moves in elevated circles,” Milly agreed. “I wonder what is in that missing diary that concerns him. And then there’s that business of a false name.” She made a tut-tutting sound.

  So many questions, Caroline thought. She had not been able to write a single line after the man who had called himself Adam Grove had departed. He was gone but he had left his shadow behind. It hovered over the entire household.

  She looked at the two people she loved most in t
he world. Anxiety gripped her. It was her fault that their lives had been turned upside down three years ago. She could not allow such a thing to happen again. She had a responsibility to protect them from another great scandal—or worse.

  Emma and Milly had raised her from the age of two. They had taken her into their home after her mother had expired from an overdose of laudanum. She had called each woman “aunt” since she had learned to talk, but in truth Emma, her mother’s sister, was the only one of the pair who was related to her by blood.

  They were both women of a certain age. They had been something more than very good friends for years, sharing not only a home and the responsibility of raising a child, but a seemingly endless variety of enthusiasms and interests.

  The pair made a striking contrast in both looks and temperament. Emma was tall, handsome in a severe manner and inclined to a dour view of the world. She was not entirely devoid of a sense of humor but laughter did not come easily to her.

  Milly, on the other hand, was short, plump and so light of heart that those who did not know her well often concluded that she was a bit frivolous. Nothing could have been farther from the truth. Milly was as intelligent and well-educated as Emma but there was a strong streak of the romantic in her.

  Caroline had long ago concluded that her aunts’ tastes in gowns paralleled their temperaments. Emma favored dark, subdued dresses with a minimum of ribbons and flounces. She went about looking as though she were in perpetual mourning, a style that happened to be very much in fashion.

  But there was another, equally popular direction in fashion these days. It emphasized a riotous jumble of colors, patterns, trims and designs, and it suited Milly perfectly. The dress she wore this afternoon was an excellent case in point. It was a mix of red and gold stripes and black and white checks. Fringe swayed from the madras plaid sleeves and neckline. A ruffled red petticoat peeked out from beneath the hem.

  Emma poured tea for Caroline. “The entire affair is extremely disturbing. Do you suppose the killer was watching from the shadows last night when we left Mrs. Delmont’s house? Waiting for his opportunity, as it were?”