Otherwise Engaged

  “Yes,” Amity said.

  She had been quite pleased when Benedict had suggested that she accompany him to the home of his uncle. It was an indication that not only did he trust her—she knew that much already—but he had come to consider her an equal partner in the case.

  For his part, Cornelius Stanbridge appeared much improved. He still wore a small bandage, but he insisted that he had recovered from the blow to his head.

  Benedict got to his feet. Amity watched him walk to the window. She could sense the restless energy driving him.

  “I very much doubt that either Warwick or Leona is in Scotland,” he said.

  Cornelius grunted. “I have asked young Draper to look into Lady Penhurst’s past.”

  Benedict’s jaw flexed. “Leona is Virgil Warwick’s sister and she is in the pay of the Russians. It is the only answer that explains the twists and turns in this case.”

  “I believe you are correct.” Cornelius tapped the stem of his pipe against the arm of his chair. “As the wife of Lord Penhurst, she is certainly in an excellent position to play the part of an espionage agent. Penhurst may be going senile but he is still extremely well connected. He knows everyone and, at least until quite recently, he enjoyed the trust of a number of high-ranking men in government. There is no telling how many secrets he has been privy to over the years.”

  “And no telling how many he has unwittingly divulged to Lady Penhurst,” Amity said.

  “Indeed.” Cornelius squinted a little. “I think you both should take a look at the note that I received shortly before you arrived here today. I was about to ask you to call on me when I discovered you on my doorstep.”

  Benedict turned around, eyes darkening with understanding. “You heard from the thief?”

  “Yes,” Cornelius said. “And the timing of the note suggests that the thief is aware that you and Miss Doncaster survived the explosion at Hawthorne Hall. It arrived after you returned to London unharmed. However, it appears the spy is now extremely anxious to complete the transaction.” Cornelius gestured with the pipe stem. “Go on, take a look and see for yourselves. I’d like your opinions. The price for the return of the notebook is rather interesting.”

  Amity jumped to her feet and hurried toward the desk. Benedict took two long strides from the window and joined her.

  He read the message aloud, his voice increasingly dark with each word.

  The transaction will occur tomorrow evening at the Ottershaw ball. Miss Doncaster will bring the Rose Necklace as payment for the notebook. She will wear a black domino with the enclosed mask. She will be contacted at the ball and given final instructions for the exchange.

  “Son of a bitch,” Benedict said. “There can be no doubt now. Leona sent this.”

  “I’m inclined to agree,” Cornelius said. “I cannot imagine anyone else insisting on a specific necklace as payment for the notebook.”

  Amity looked at him, bewildered. “But this makes no sense. She must realize that demanding the Stanbridge family necklace is a very risky venture. It is bound to bring suspicion down on her head. Too many people know that she was offended when Benedict did not ask her to marry him.”

  “I think that Lady Penhurst has allowed her desire for revenge to overcome her common sense,” Cornelius said.

  “I wonder if the Russians have begun to realize that their agent has allowed her personal desire for vengeance to override common sense,” Benedict said.

  Amity smoothed the letter with one hand. “Charlotte Warwick told us that Mrs. Dunning claimed to have observed evidence of mental instability in Virgil’s sister. Perhaps our engagement has completely unhinged her.”

  Benedict started to pace the study. “So it seems.”

  Amity looked at Cornelius. “Where is the mask?”

  Cornelius pointed the pipe stem at a box on the desk. “In there.”

  Amity lifted the lid and set it aside. She studied the beautiful mask. It was elegantly made and lavishly trimmed with feathers and small glass jewels that caught the light. It was designed to conceal the upper portion of the face. And it was crimson red.

  “Not very subtle, is she?” Amity said. “She wants me to go as a Scarlet Woman.”

  Benedict stopped his pacing and gave the mask a hard look. “You aren’t going to that damned ball.”

  Amity noticed that Cornelius did not attempt to interfere. Instead, he waited to see how she would respond.

  “Of course I am going to the ball,” she said. “Leona will know if you try to bring another woman in my place. Not that I would allow you to take any other female.”

  “If she wants to make the trade she can damn well make it on our terms,” Benedict said.

  Cornelius coughed a little. “We need to unmask Lady Penhurst. Literally, it appears.”

  “Your uncle is right,” Amity said. “We must catch her. This is our best chance to expose her as a spy.”

  Cornelius grunted. “Miss Doncaster is correct in terms of strategy. As I have mentioned, in this sort of ransom situation, the moment of the exchange is the time when the thief is most vulnerable.”

  “I realize that the necklace is probably quite valuable and that it has great meaning and significance to your family, Benedict,” Amity began. “But if we are careful we can protect it.”

  “I don’t give a damn about the necklace.” Benedict’s eyes tightened at the corners. “That mask is an insult to you.”

  “Only if I choose to take it that way,” Amity said. “I prefer to see it as part of the costume that I will wear in a play. Really, sir, there is no need for agitation and anxiety. What can possibly go wrong in the middle of a crowded ballroom?”

  “Let me count the ways,” Benedict said.

  “Benedict, surely you can see this is our best chance, not only to catch Lady Penhurst but to find out where her brother is hiding. If anyone can lead us to Virgil Warwick, it is most likely his sister.”

  Benedict looked grim.

  “We need a plan,” he said at last.

  Amity smiled. “Well, then, come up with one.”

  Cornelius snorted. “She’s right, Ben. You’re the one who has a talent for planning for various and assorted disasters.”

  Thirty-seven

  The vast ballroom of the Ottershaw mansion was dimly lit with colored lanterns that cast seductive shadows over the throng of elegantly costumed guests. Under other circumstances, Amity thought, the scene would have been wonderfully romantic. For the first time since meeting Benedict she was actually dancing with him—a waltz, no less, the most romantic music in the world.

  Not that Benedict appeared to appreciate the romanticism of the moment. He danced the way he did most things—with a fine, efficient competence. But there was a clockwork precision to his steps that made it clear his attention was on other matters. She could almost hear the internal metronome inside his brain counting off the steps. He searched the crowd with eyes that glittered darkly behind a plain black mask. He, too, wore a black domino, the hood pushed back to allow him a better view of the room.

  She had also folded her hood back, framing her face to make certain that the scarlet mask was visible. She was very aware of the weight of the Rose Necklace around her throat. It was hidden beneath the domino. Benedict had insisted that was the safest location for it. When he had clasped it around her neck, she had taken one look in the mirror and nearly been blinded by the dazzling rubies and diamonds.

  Benedict steered her into a crisply paced turn while he checked another quarter of the heavily shadowed ballroom. She smiled. He was manipulating her as if she were a tool, she thought, a device that he just happened to need to produce the correct pattern of the dance.

  “It’s as dark as the inside of a cave in here and everyone is wearing a mask,” he said.

  “Well, it is a costume ball,” Amity reminded him.

&nb
sp; “Believe it or not, I am aware of that. Damn it, it’s nearly midnight. We’ve been here over half an hour already. When is she going to make contact?”

  “Probably when we least expect it. Relax, Benedict. You are making me nervous. Perhaps I should say more nervous than I already was before we arrived.”

  “Sorry.” He cranked her through another perfectly executed turn. “It’s just that I don’t like any of this.”

  “No one does. But it’s not as if we have any choice.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  The music rose to a dramatic crescendo and ceased abruptly. Benedict stopped as if someone had flipped an invisible switch. Amity was forced to halt so quickly that she accidentally stumbled into another dancer. She could not tell if her victim was male or female because the individual was wearing a long black domino with the hood pulled up around a full-face mask.

  “Your pardon,” she started to say.

  The dancer thrust a note into her hand. Before Amity understood what had happened, the costumed figure vanished into a sea of black dominos. Amity clutched the note very tightly, trying to peer through the throng. It was hopeless.

  “Benedict.” She yanked on his arm to get his attention.

  “What?” He did not look down at her. He was too busy studying the crowd.

  “I think Lady Penhurst—or someone—just made contact. I was given a note.”

  “What the devil?” He stopped, turning quickly to survey the crowd behind her. “Describe the costume.”

  “It was just another black domino. She was wearing a mask that covered her entire face. There was nothing to see. Except—”

  “Except what?”

  “Now that I think about it, I’m quite certain that the person who thrust the note into my hand was wearing gloves. Kid gloves, I believe. And she was about the same height as Leona. But that’s beside the point. We need to find a place where we can read the note.”

  Benedict steered her through the crowd and out a side door. Amity pushed her mask up onto her forehead and fumbled beneath the domino to touch her tessen. It dangled from the chatelaine, together with the dainty evening bag that contained a tiny sewing kit of the sort that ladies frequently carried to balls. The kits were designed to make it possible to do emergency repairs to ripped hems and petticoats.

  When she looked around, she discovered they were in a hallway lit with gas lamps. At the end of the hall she could see footmen dashing about. Silver platters clanged. Someone swore. Someone else called out orders.

  “More champagne and another tray of lobster canapés needed in the buffet room.”

  “Let me see that note,” Benedict said.

  She handed it to him and then leaned around his broad shoulders to read it aloud while he studied it:

  The ladies’ withdrawing room. Five minutes. I will not wait any longer.

  Amity straightened swiftly. “Good heavens, I must find the withdrawing room immediately. There is no time to waste.”

  “I don’t want you going anywhere without me.”

  “Nonsense. It is the ladies’ room, for heaven’s sake. There will be chambermaids and any number of guests coming and going.”

  Benedict looked deeply suspicious. “Where is this withdrawing room?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll ask one of the footmen. Come, we must hurry.”

  She grabbed Benedict’s hand and drew him down the hall to a room swarming with sweating servants. The first one to see her looked shocked.

  “Can I help you, madam?”

  “The ladies’ withdrawing room, please,” she said.

  “Not in here,” the footman said. “Opposite side of the ballroom. There will be a maid at the door.”

  “Thank you.”

  She yanked the mask down over her eyes.

  “We’re losing time,” she said.

  She towed Benedict back along the hall and out into the darkened ballroom. She paused briefly to let her eyes adjust to the shadows.

  “Damn it, I can’t see over the heads of the crowd,” she said.

  “I’ll get you there,” Benedict said.

  He moved through the crowd, an implacable force of nature, drawing her along in his wake. When they reached the far side of the throng, he stopped in front of a discreetly shadowed hallway.

  A maid appeared. She bobbed a quick curtsy.

  “The ladies’ withdrawing room, please,” Amity said.

  “I will escort you, madam.” The maid turned to move down the hall. “This way, please.”

  Once again Amity pushed the mask up onto her head and pulled up her hood. She started to follow the maid. Benedict put a hand on her arm.

  “I’m coming with you,” he said.

  The maid halted and turned quickly. Her eyes widened.

  “Oh, no, sir, I’m sorry, sir, but it is the ladies’ room. You cannot go in there.”

  “She’s right,” Amity said. “Wait here. I’m sure this won’t take long.” She looked at the maid. “Which door?”

  “The one on the right at the end of the hall, madam.” The maid moved forward again.

  Amity left Benedict standing in the hall and hurried after the maid. The woman opened the door for her and stood aside.

  Amity stepped into an elegantly appointed sitting room. The door closed behind her. She had just concluded that she was alone and was wondering if she had come to the right location for the meeting when the door on the far side of the room opened.

  A figure draped in a hooded domino, her face covered with a full mask, stepped out. She had a pistol in one hand.

  “Good evening, Leona,” Amity said.

  The figure in the domino froze.

  “What?” Amity said casually. “You didn’t realize that we knew you were the one who stole the notebook?”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Leona pushed back the hood of the domino and removed her mask. “Give me the necklace.”

  “Since this place is obviously not the ladies’ room, I’m assuming you paid the maid to bring me here?”

  “I told her I wanted to surprise you.” Leona’s hand tightened on the gun. “Where is the necklace?”

  “I’m wearing it, of course.”

  “Not any longer. It’s mine.”

  “Where is the Foxcroft notebook?”

  “Do you think I’m an idiot? I didn’t bring it with me. I will send word to tell you where to find it after I am safely out of the country.”

  “Of course you will.” Amity smiled. “You’re a liar and a thief and quite capable of using your brother’s murderous tendencies for your own benefit. Did you take Virgil with you to Hawthorne Hall so that he could perform the messy work of cutting Mrs. Dunning’s throat? Or did you handle it all yourself?”

  Leona raised her brows. “You know about my connection to Virgil? I’m impressed. You have been busy. Yes, I am his long-lost sister. Dear Papa threw me into an orphanage after my mother—his mistress—died giving birth. Mrs. Dunning fired up her blackmail scheme shortly thereafter, but she was content with small payments. I suppose Papa found it easier to pay her than to get rid of her and risk the scandal that might occur if he became involved in a murder investigation.”

  “When did you discover the truth about your father?”

  “When I turned sixteen. Dunning sent most of the girls away as soon as they were old enough to work as governesses. Except me. She offered me a post as a teacher at the orphanage. I declined. I knew I could do much better out in the world. But her offer made me curious. I went through her records and discovered her blackmail scheme. Imagine how thrilled I was to discover that I had a half brother. I forced Mrs. Dunning to make me a partner in her extortion scheme. The first thing I had her do was raise the price, of course. She was not charging Papa nearly enough for her silence.”


  “When did you realize that your half brother was a murderer?”

  “Not until his wedding. We had become quite close before that, however, although his mother was not aware of it. I was aware of his various hobbies. Let’s just say that I was not the least bit surprised when his bride suffered a fatal and rather bloody accident on her honeymoon. By then, of course, I had begun my career as an espionage agent. It occurred to me that Virgil might come in handy one day. The problem is that—like a bullet or an arrow—once he had been fired he was rather difficult to control.”

  “Your first husband died rather conveniently, I’m told.”

  Leona laughed. “Dear Roger suffered from a very severe case of gastric distress.”

  “Brought on by steady doses of arsenic.”

  “Heir powder, I believe the French call it. It is also very popular with women who wish to become widows.”

  “When you discovered that your first husband had not left you nearly as much money as you had expected—”

  “Not nearly as much as I had earned.” Leona’s cheeks blazed with sudden fury. “Do you know what it is like to be married to a man who is old enough to be your father? It is a living hell.”

  “So you got rid of him and set out to seduce Benedict. But that plan failed, didn’t it? You seem to have much better luck with gentlemen who are in their dotage.”

  A wild rage flashed in Leona’s eyes. “It is Benedict’s fault that I was forced to marry that old fool Penhurst. He proved to be a cheap bastard. He actually changed his will shortly after we were married. When he dies I will be left with nothing—only a fraction of his estate.”

  “Ah, so that is why he is still alive. I wonder if he realizes how fortunate he is.”

  “The Rose Necklace should have been mine,” Leona said, her voice raw and tight. “It will be mine. You should have been dead by now. Virgil was supposed to make you one of his brides.”

  “Why take the risk of using your unstable brother to try to murder me?”

  Leona smiled. “Because I knew that Benedict would feel responsible for your death. After all, if it wasn’t for the gossip about the two of you, the Bridegroom would never have selected you as his victim. I wanted Benedict to pay a price for the hellish marriage he forced me into.”