Otherwise Engaged

  “You aren’t the only one who needs clarification,” Benedict said.

  He drained his glass, got to his feet, picked up the decanter and poured two more glasses of brandy.

  “We need to make a plan,” he said. “Two plans.”

  Forty-two

  I would just like to point out that, when all is said and done, the Channing ball guest list was the key,” Logan announced. He smiled at Penny. “But we were not using it correctly. Lady Penhurst was, indeed, on that list and on the Gilmore list, as well.”

  Penny smiled and blushed.

  “One of several aspects of this case that I don’t comprehend is, why did Virgil Warwick kill his own sister?—and in the middle of a ballroom, no less,” Amity said. “After all, it must have been Leona who convinced or bribed Mrs. Dunning to pose as Virgil’s mother so that he could be freed from the asylum the second time.”

  It was ten o’clock in the morning. Penny had sent invitations to breakfast to Benedict, Logan and Declan. They had all arrived on time and immediately set to making heavy inroads on the mounds of eggs and potatoes and toast that Mrs. Houston had prepared.

  “Perhaps Warwick concluded that he no longer needed Leona,” Logan suggested. “As for the location he chose for that murder, what could be a more anonymous venue than a masked ball? It was ideal for his purposes. And it created the perfect distraction to make it possible for him to grab you, Miss Doncaster. It’s all very neat when you consider it. He was able to dispatch his sister and kidnap his victim at the same place while wearing a disguise that no one would question.”

  Benedict looked at Penny. “Did Warwick tell you anything that might explain why he murdered Leona?”

  “No,” Penny said. She swallowed some coffee and cradled the cup very carefully in both hands. “When I woke up in that cage, he spoke only of Amity. He was obsessed with her. When he left to kidnap her, he put on a domino and a mask. He was excited.” She shuddered. “In a most unwholesome fashion.”

  “He obviously knew that he would find her at the costume ball,” Declan said. “That means that he knew of Leona’s plans to obtain the necklace from Miss Doncaster at that affair.”

  Amity pursed her lips. “He even knew the details of her scheme. It was a large crowd yet he found me quite easily. It was as if he had been waiting for me to appear from that particular hallway.”

  “Leona briefed him on her plans,” Benedict said.

  “Yes, but that still doesn’t explain why he killed her,” Declan said.

  “Leona had her own agenda,” Benedict pointed out. “But she was also working for the Russians. It’s the only reason she would have gone to great lengths to obtain the Foxcroft notebook. Trust me when I tell you that she had no personal interest in engineering and scientific matters.”

  Amity looked at him. “During our encounter in the ladies’ room, she made it clear that all she cared about was the Rose Necklace. She also said that she had not brought the notebook with her, but aside from that she did not seem concerned with it. She was fixed on going to the American West to reinvent herself.”

  “Did she say anything else?” Declan asked.

  Amity wrinkled her nose. “Well, she did admit that she was the one who aimed Virgil at me. She wanted you to suffer, Benedict. She seemed to think that if I was murdered in a spectacular fashion because of my connection to you that you would feel some responsibility.”

  Benedict had been about to slather some butter on a slice of toast. His hand tightened into a fist around the knife. “That would be putting it mildly.”

  Penny set down her coffee. “It makes sense that Leona went a little crazy with rage after your engagement was announced. But why did she want Virgil to murder Amity before that announcement? After all, as far as she knew, the two of you had merely indulged in a shipboard liaison.”

  “Penny is correct,” Logan said. He frowned. “There was no mention of a formal engagement until you returned from America. Yet Leona started the rumors about an affair some three weeks before you returned to London.”

  Amity felt an awkward warmth rush into her cheeks, but no one seemed to notice her embarrassment.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Benedict asked around a bite of toast. “It probably wasn’t Leona who decided to murder Amity back at the start. More likely it was her Russian contact. He simply used Leona and her crazed brother to accomplish the mission. As soon as he realized that Amity had saved my life on St. Clare and that we had been quite close for the duration of the voyage to New York, he leaped to the obvious conclusion.”

  “Yes, of course.” Amity set her cup down with a clang. “The Russian contact assumed that I was also a spy and that I was working with you, Benedict.”

  “I’m sure he knew that I was not a professional espionage agent,” Benedict said. “After all, everyone knows that I spend a great deal of my time locked away in my laboratory. But the master spy in this affair could not be certain about you, Amity. He probably views you as his rival or even as his nemesis. What better cover for an agent of espionage than a career as a lady globetrotter?”

  Amity smiled slowly, pleased. “An excellent point, sir. What better cover, indeed?”

  He glared. “You needn’t look so thrilled with the notion.”

  Declan stepped in before Amity could respond. “So it was very likely Leona’s Russian connection who decided to get rid of Miss Doncaster at the start of this business.”

  “Yes,” Benedict said. “But I’m afraid that after I announced that Amity and I were engaged, Leona took it personally. I imagine the Russian spy connection started to lose control of her and of the situation at that point.”

  Declan nodded. “Because Leona proved to be as unstable and as obsessive as her brother.”

  “Right,” Benedict said. “The master spy is the one who shot Leona at the ball last night. He is also the one who murdered Mrs. Dunning and set the explosive device at Hawthorne Hall. He’s been masterminding this affair from the beginning—or, rather, trying to mastermind it. But things keep going awry. Must be very frustrating for him.”

  They all stared at him for a moment.

  He looked at Logan. “It occurs to me, Inspector, that your career would benefit nicely if you happened to be the detective who arrested a spymaster who tried to steal a certain notebook containing secrets that the Crown would prefer to keep out of the hands of the Russians.”

  Logan’s brows rose. “Doing a favor for the Crown never hurts a man’s career prospects. Can I assume you are aware of the identity of this spymaster?”

  Benedict looked at Amity. “I think so, yes. We are looking for someone who arrived on St. Clare shortly before I did, murdered Alden Cork and stole the plans for the solar cannon. That same person was still in the vicinity when my ship docked. He watched me go to Cork’s laboratory and realized that I was very likely working for the Crown.”

  “Why try to murder you?” Amity asked. “After all, the spy already had the plans for the solar cannon.”

  “We may never know. But for whatever reason, Cork did not give him the name and address of the inventor with whom he was collaborating,” Benedict said. “Cork may have realized that he was dealing with a Russian agent at that point. Perhaps at the last minute he was struck with a burst of loyalty to his country.”

  “He refused to tell the agent about Foxcroft,” Logan said. “The agent killed him and then you showed up at the scene.”

  “He had no way of knowing that I had discovered Foxcroft’s letter to Cork, but he decided it would be best to get rid of me just to be certain I would not prove to be a problem,” Benedict said. “He must have been furious when he realized that Amity had managed to get me safely on board the Northern Star. At that point all he could do was hope that I succumbed to my wound. He booked passage on board another ship bound for New York and, ultimately, London.”

  “You survi
ved and headed west to California,” Declan said. “All the spy could do at that point was sit back and wait to see what you discovered.”

  “He assumed that I had found something useful when I returned with a certain notebook, which I delivered almost immediately to my uncle. Cornelius let it be known in certain circles that he had Foxcroft’s notebook and that it was the real secret to the solar cannon. As far as the spy knows, he possesses the correct version of Foxcroft’s design.”

  “So now we are looking for the Russian spy.” Penny said, “The puppet master who has been pulling the strings.”

  “I think it is safe to say that we know who he is,” Benedict said.

  Declan frowned. “Don’t keep us in suspense. Who is Inspector Logan going to arrest?”

  Benedict’s smile lacked any hint of warmth. “The one person involved in this affair besides Amity who possesses the ideal cover for a spy, a façade that allows him to travel anywhere in the world without raising questions.”

  Forty-three

  Humphrey Nash was waiting in his study. He rose and smiled politely when Amity was shown into the room but he made no secret of his impatience.

  “My housekeeper said that you wanted to see me immediately and that the matter was quite urgent,” he said. “Please sit down.”

  “Thank you for seeing me.” Amity perched on a chair. She gripped the satchel on her lap and looked around the room. “What lovely photographs. You really do possess great skill with a camera.”

  “Thank you.” He sat down at his desk.

  Amity glanced at the leather-bound volumes of the Inventors Quarterly that were neatly lined up on a nearby shelf.

  “I see you have an interest in scientific and engineering matters,” she said. “I don’t recall that you mentioned that six years ago.”

  “I have always had an interest in mechanical devices.”

  “I do remember that you were always obsessed with the very latest in photography equipment.”

  Humphrey clasped his hands on top of his desk. “I saw your name in the morning papers. I congratulate you on your second narrow escape from the clutches of the Bridegroom. According to the accounts in the Flying Intelligencer, the police arrived just in the nick of time.”

  “Thank heavens.” Amity shuddered. “If not for them my sister and I would both be dead by now.”

  “I am relieved to know that you are safe, of course.” Humphrey cleared his throat. “Dare I hope that you are here today because you have changed your mind about collaborating on a travel guide?”

  “Not exactly,” Amity said.

  Humphrey dropped his smile. “What is it, then? As it happens, I am in the midst of packing for a trip to the Far East to do another series on the monuments and temples.”

  “Yes, I saw the trunks in the front hall.” She smiled. “I assume that in addition to the odd monument or temple, you will also photograph various harbors and fortifications while you are abroad?”

  Humphrey went quite still. But in the next instant he managed to appear utterly bewildered. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Come now, there is no reason to be coy, sir. I am aware that you are in the pay of the Russians.”

  Humphrey stared at her. “My dear, Amity, I have no idea what you are talking about.”

  “I am also aware that you are in possession of a certain notebook. It’s missing a few vital pages, by the way.”

  “Amity, are you by any chance prone to bouts of female hysteria?”

  “No. I am, however, in need of a healthy dose of revenge. I believe you can be of some assistance to me in that regard, sir.”

  “You are making less and less sense,” Humphrey said.

  “Perhaps you have not heard the most recent gossip about me.”

  He frowned. “What do you mean?”

  She clenched her fingers around the satchel. “There is no point keeping it a secret. The word will be all over town by nightfall. Mr. Stanbridge has ended our engagement.”

  Humphrey looked bewildered.

  “I see,” he said.

  “After all I did for him.” Amity whipped out a hankie and blotted her eyes. “I saved his life. If not for me he would have died in an alley on St. Clare. And how does he repay me? By compromising me on board the Northern Star. Within days after arriving in London my reputation was in tatters.”

  “I see,” Humphrey said again. He sounded cautious now.

  She choked back a sob. “I was so relieved when he announced our engagement. I believed that he had done the gentlemanly thing and saved me from ruin. But I have discovered that he was only using me for his own ends.”

  “Uh, what ends would those be?”

  “He and his uncle, who is connected to certain parties in the government, were searching for a spy, if you can imagine. They did, indeed, find her—with my assistance, I might add. And what is my thanks?”

  Humphrey ignored the last bit. “What is the name of this spy, Amity?”

  “Lady Penhurst.” Amity flicked the hankie, waving the details aside. “I’m sure you heard that she took her own life last night. In the middle of a ballroom, no less. But that is neither here nor there. What matters is that last night Mr. Stanbridge informed me that he no longer requires my assistance in the case. He terminated our engagement and demanded that I return the Stanbridge family necklace. By tomorrow my reputation will have been destroyed beyond repair.”

  Humphrey cleared his throat. “About this notebook you mentioned.”

  “Yes, of course. I brought the missing pages with me.” She opened the satchel and removed two sheets of paper covered with drawings, symbols and equations. “Mr. Stanbridge doesn’t know that I took them, not yet. But by tomorrow he will have discovered that they have vanished. I cannot wait to see the expression on his face when he realizes they are gone.”

  Humphrey eyed the pages. “What makes you think that I have any interest in those pages?”

  “Lady Penhurst told me everything last night. She was delighted to chat about her Russian contact. But all she really wanted was the Rose Necklace. I was to bring it to the masked ball. Of course she did not realize that the notebook that one of you stole is missing the crucial pages detailing certain specifications for Foxcroft’s solar engine and battery.” Amity smiled. “I can see by the expression on your face that you were not aware of that fact until now yourself. But, then, you probably haven’t had time to take a close look at the notebook.”

  Humphrey was starting to appear alarmed. “Are you certain that those pages are from the Foxcroft notebook?”

  “Yes, of course.” Amity waved the hankie again. “Mr. Stanbridge explained the plan to me when he asked me to assist in the capture of the spy. They hoped to catch her at the costume ball. But that effort failed because Lady Penhurst took her own life rather than hang as a traitor. Personally, I suspect you are the one who murdered her, but I don’t care a jot about that. I never did like the woman.”

  “The only thing you want is revenge, is that what you are saying?”

  “Well, I don’t mind telling you that a small financial gesture of gratitude would also be appreciated. We both know how expensive it is to live the globetrotting life.”

  “Indeed.” Humphrey did not take his eyes off the pages in her hand.

  “I am rather low on funds and my sister refuses to part with any of the money she inherited from her late husband,” Amity continued. “She does not approve of my globetrotting. I was hoping that my travel guide for ladies would prove successful, but given the disaster to my reputation it is unlikely to ever see the light of print.”

  “May I examine those pages, Amity?”

  “What? Oh, certainly. Not very interesting, really. Just a lot of drawings and calculations. Oh, and a list of materials for something called a photovoltaic cell.”

  She rose and set the pages down
on the desk. Humphrey examined them intently for a few minutes. His frown tightened with each passing tick of the clock.

  “What makes you think that these pages are from the Foxcroft notebook?” he asked.

  “Aside from the fact that Mr. Stanbridge told me, do you mean? Well, there is the rather obvious matter of the signatures.”

  “What signatures?”

  “At the bottom of each page,” Amity said. “Evidently Elijah Foxcroft was obsessed with the fear that his drawings would be stolen. So he signed and dated every page in the notebook just as an artist signs his work. See for yourself. Lower right-hand corner.”

  Humphrey stared at one of the pages. Disbelief warred with uncertainty on his face. Then anger took hold, tightening his handsome face into a dangerous mask.

  “That son of a bitch,” he rasped very softly.

  “Whom do you refer to?” Amity asked politely. “Elijah Foxcroft?”

  “Not Foxcroft. Stanbridge. The bastard tricked me.”

  “Very untrustworthy, our Mr. Stanbridge. As I have learned to my great cost.”

  “Bloody hell.” Humphrey opened a desk drawer. “I don’t give a damn about the damage to your reputation, Amity.”

  “How very open-minded and modern of you.”

  “Tell me, does Stanbridge or his uncle know that Leona and I were associated?”

  “No. I intended to tell him but what with one thing and another last night, I did not get the opportunity until after the police had rescued me from the clutches of the Bridegroom. By then I was so upset because of my ordeal I completely forgot that Leona had told me she was connected to you. I was going to inform Mr. Stanbridge first thing this morning, but he arrived on my sister’s doorstep early today to announce that he was ending our engagement. I was so upset I decided not to give him any more information.” She wiped her eyes with the hankie. “He was just using me.”

  “My sympathies and my apologies, Amity. I’m afraid I am going to use you, as well.”

  She lowered the hankie and saw that he had a gun in his hand.