Otherwise Engaged (18 page)

Amity smiled. “So Eleanor wasn’t such a bad sort, after all.”

“No. Just very young. Trust me, Lady Penhurst would have kept the necklace.”

Amity thought about the vindictive expression she had detected in Leona’s eyes. “I think you’re right. Does anyone know what happened to Eleanor and her lover?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. They got married. Probably lived in a garret for a time. Isn’t that what young runaway lovers do? But in the end Eleanor’s family accepted the marriage. It’s not as if they had a choice. And eventually Eleanor’s husband obtained a respectable position as a clerk in a firm of solicitors. The husband made a few investments that turned a very nice profit and now the family lives a comfortable life. Last I heard they have a house in the country and another here in London.”

“So there was a happy ending for Eleanor and her lover.”

“Oh, yes,” Marissa said. “They have three children, I believe.”

Amity pondered that and then smiled. “How fortunate for all concerned that Eleanor’s husband got the post as a clerk and that he had the insight to make those very good investments.”

A secretive, amused smile edged Marissa’s mouth. “Very fortunate, indeed.”

“Benedict recommended Eleanor’s husband for that post at the firm of solicitors, didn’t he? He probably also suggested those investments that turned out well for the couple.”

Marissa laughed. “You do, indeed, know Ben very well—far better than most people know him. Yes, he gave the couple considerable assistance at a time when they desperately needed it. When I heard the tale, I was surprised at his generosity. But as Richard pointed out, Ben quickly realized he’d barely avoided what would no doubt have been an unhappy marriage. It’s Richard’s opinion that helping Eleanor and her husband financially was Ben’s way of expressing his gratitude and relief.”

At long last Benedict and Richard walked out of the study into the sunlit garden. They headed toward the bench where Amity sat with Marissa.

Amity watched Benedict for a moment and then she smiled again.

“No,” she said. “He helped Eleanor and her husband because he felt sorry for the couple. He realized that Eleanor had been pushed into the engagement in the first place and that it was not her fault she had wound up in such a disastrous situation. And because she had left the Rose Necklace behind.”

“As I said, you seem to know Ben well,” Marissa said softly.

Benedict and Richard arrived at the bench. Benedict had his small notebook in his hand. There was an air of barely suppressed anticipation about both men.

“What is it?” Amity asked.

“Did you discover something of interest?” Marissa asked.

“Perhaps,” Benedict said. “Richard made inquiries at his club. He has learned some information about the recent travels of several of the men on the Channing guest list.”

“There were a handful of men on the list who were out of London for extended periods of time during the past year,” Richard said. “Only to be expected, of course. Most were said to have traveled to their estates to see to business matters. A couple claimed to be traveling abroad. Those stories can no doubt be verified by Logan.”

“Between us, Richard and I drew up a time line,” Benedict said quickly. “It is cross-referenced with the time line that Inspector Logan provided. It tells us which of the men were away from London in the interim between the first murder and the more recent killings.”

“The list is quite short,” Richard said.

“I will give it to Inspector Logan so that he can begin making inquiries from his end,” Benedict said.

“Meanwhile, I will continue my inquiries at my club,” Richard said.

“Uncle Cornelius will also continue to assist us,” Benedict added. “It is the least he can do since he is in part responsible for this situation in the first place.”

“That’s not fair,” Amity said.

“It’s perfectly fair, as far as I’m concerned.” Benedict’s voice hardened. “Besides, Cornelius is well positioned to gain precisely that sort of information. His reach extends into every club in London.”

“The killer would have needed medical attention and time to heal,” Marissa said. “If he is alive, someone must know how badly he was injured.”

Benedict looked grim. “Richard and Uncle Cornelius have made inquiries along that line. Thus far no one is aware of a gentleman who was attacked or injured in a so-called accident.”

Amity thought for a moment. “Perhaps we are searching for someone who took a cure for a certain unspecified illness a few months ago and has now returned to the same spa for another round of therapy.”

Benedict, Richard and Marissa looked at her.

“That is a brilliant notion,” Marissa said softly.

“Excellent strategy,” Richard added. “What better excuse could the killer use to conceal his wounds than to let it be known that he was taking a cure at an unnamed spa?”

Benedict smiled a slow, cold smile and looked at Richard. “You do see now why I am so happy to find myself engaged to Miss Doncaster.”

Richard chuckled and slapped Benedict on the shoulder. “She does appear to be the perfect one for you, brother.”

M
ay I ask what you and Marissa were discussing out in the garden?” Benedict asked.

They were in the carriage and on their way back to Exton Street. She told herself that at least this time they had pressing matters to discuss. The investigation was moving forward at long last. But instead of focusing on the next step in the inquiry, Benedict wanted to know what she and Marissa had talked about.

“I congratulated her on the forthcoming birth of their first child,” Amity said. “She is naturally quite excited.”

“I saw the expression on your faces when I came out of the study with my brother,” Benedict said. “Marissa told you about Eleanor, didn’t she?”

Amity looked down at her folded hands. “I’m sorry, Benedict. I know it is none of my business.”

“Of course it’s your business. We’re engaged.”

She raised her chin. “In the eyes of the world.”

“In my eyes, as well,” he said very deliberately.

“Because of last night.” She waved that aside. “Yes, I understand, but I assure you there is no need to feel honor-bound to actually marry me just because of what happened in the Gilmore stables. Indeed, I will not allow you to marry me for such old-fashioned reasons. I told you, I am not some innocent young woman who cannot take care of herself.”

“I believe I have heard this lecture before. It grows tiresome.”

She tightened her hands together in her lap. “Does it, indeed, sir? Forgive me for boring you.”

“Never mind. This is not the time for an argument. We shall save it for later. What did Marissa tell you about my engagement to Eleanor?”

Amity took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “She merely mentioned that Eleanor was quite young and that she had been pushed into the engagement by her parents, who were rather desperate to repair their finances. Eleanor abandoned you at the altar and ran off with her lover.”

Benedict smiled somewhat ruefully. “That’s about all there was to it.”

“Not quite. Eleanor was a very honest young lady. She left the Stanbridge family necklace behind. And in return you helped the young couple get established financially. It is really a rather endearing tale—except for the bit about your heart having been broken, of course.”

Amusement gleamed in Benedict’s eyes. “Did Marissa tell you that my heart had been broken?”

“No. But I know you well enough to be certain that you would never have asked Eleanor to marry you if you were not in love with her.”

Benedict exhaled deeply. “It was a long time ago and I was so much younger.”

“You are hardly in your dotage now,” Amity said.

“Thank you.” Benedict smiled slowly. “That is good to know. You’re right. At the time I certainly believed myself to be in love. Eleanor was quite pretty, very gentle and sweet. But the young man she loved was far more dashing and reckless and he read poetry.”

Amity blinked. “Poetry?”

“I don’t read much poetry,” Benedict said. “Not if I can avoid it. I prefer the latest copy of the
Journal of Engineering
and the
Inventors Quarterly
. I can assure you that whatever I felt for Eleanor went up in smoke when I realized that she did not reciprocate my feelings.”

“I see,” Amity said.

She suddenly felt a good deal more cheerful.

D
r. Jacob Norcott took the last shirt out of the wardrobe drawer and dropped it into the small traveling trunk. His precious medical satchel was already packed and latched.

He was about to close and lock the trunk when he heard the carriage out in the street. He went to the window and looked down. He was relieved to see that the cab he had sent for a short time ago had arrived. Soon he would be at the railway station and safely on his way to his brother’s house in Scotland.

He turned away from the window and hurried back toward the bed, intending to close up the trunk. It was small enough that he could manage it on the stairs. He did not like to think about all of the plump fees that he would miss by taking this impromptu holiday, but there was no help for it. In any event, the money that he had received for saving the patient’s life and arranging for him to be transported quietly to Cresswell Manor again would keep him in
reasonable comfort for at least a year. He would not be a financial burden on his brother.

He was halfway to the bed when his gaze fell on the letter on the nightstand. It had arrived an hour ago and was dated the previous day. Each time he read it, his pulse fluttered and a terrible sensation of dread threatened to shatter his nerves.

Sir:

This is to inform you that the patient whom you referred to Cresswell Manor some three weeks ago and who entered this hospital under an assumed name departed this establishment in the company of his mother today. I tried to discourage the lady from taking him back to London, but my advice went unheeded.

I was informed that upon his return to London, the patient would be under your close supervision. I have nothing but the highest respect for your medical knowledge, as I’m sure you are aware. However, I feel it incumbent upon me to tell you that in spite of the progress the patient made while in my care, I do not feel that he is at all ready to resume his normal routine. Indeed, I am convinced that under certain circumstances, he might prove quite dangerous.

I trust that I have not given offense by offering this warning and that you will take this note in the spirit in which it is intended.

Sincerely,

J. Renwick
Cresswell Manor

“No offense taken, Renwick. I just wish you had sent me a telegram yesterday instead of using the post to warn me that the devil has escaped. I could have used the extra time, damn you.”

Norcott put on his hat, pulled on his gloves and checked his pocket watch. Plenty of time to make it to the station. He took one last look around the bedroom to make certain that he had not left anything of value behind. His medical instruments and supply of drugs were his most important possessions. They were all safely stowed in the satchel. With the tools of his profession he could make a living somewhere other than London should it prove necessary.

Satisfied that he had packed everything he could reasonably carry, he closed and locked the trunk and hauled it off the bed. He hoisted the satchel with his free hand and went out the door.

He could feel his pulse pounding now. He wasn’t accustomed to so much exertion, he thought. He labored to carry the heavy trunk and satchel down the stairs. But he knew it was not just the physical effort that was affecting him. His nerves were jangling wildly. He had to get out of the house as quickly as possible.

If only Renwick had sent a telegram yesterday instead of a letter.

If only I had gone to the authorities instead of agreeing to make arrangements for the bastard to be incarcerated at an asylum.

He consoled himself with the thought that he’d made the only choice he could under the circumstances. The patient’s mother would have protected her precious son from the police. The scandal would have been unbearable for her. Rumors of insanity in the bloodline would have guaranteed that her son never made a respectable marriage. And Norcott knew that his own career as a doctor to the elite of Society would have been ruined.

The chances that the bastard would have been taken up on murder charges were almost nonexistent. Better to have him locked up at
Cresswell Manor, Norcott thought. Or so he had told himself at the time.

If only he had let the devil die of his wounds.

He reached the foot of the stairs, went past the closed door of his surgery and paused a moment to catch his breath. He set the satchel down and tried to fumble the key out of his coat pocket so that he could lock the door behind him. His state of near panic made things even more complicated.

He had just got the key in his hand when he heard the door of the surgery open behind him.

“I’ve been waiting for you, Dr. Norcott,” the patient said. “I know that as a modern-thinking man of medicine you’ll be thrilled to learn of my astonishing progress.”

“No,” Norcott whispered.
“No.”

He dropped the trunk and started to turn around. Simultaneously, he opened his mouth to scream for help, but it was too late. The cold blade of one of his own scalpels sliced across his throat.

He barely had time to realize that the patient was wearing one of the leather aprons from the surgery. It was now spattered with fresh blood.

My blood, Norcott thought.

And then he knew no more.