The Daring Exploits of a Runaway Heiress (6 page)

“Come, now, Phineas, surely you have something I can use?” Cam stared hopefully at his old friend. “Something I can write for the
Messenger
as well as expand for a book.”

“Nothing I can think of. Besides . . .” Phineas Chapman leaned back in the chair behind his new desk. A desk that was half the size of his previous one, necessitated by the fact that there was now yet another desk in the corner of the front room of his flat, the room that served as his main living quarters, library, and office. “You know full well my reputation rests on my discretion.”

“I’m not asking you to tell me anything about an actual client.” Cam scoffed. “I would never wish to jeopardize your business.” He leaned toward his friend and lowered his voice. “But you and I both know you hear all sorts of things that have nothing to do with whoever is paying your fee at the moment.”

“Which has served you well in the past.”

“And I am most grateful.” This wasn’t the first time Cam had turned to Phineas for an idea.

Although Phineas was a few years older, the two men had been fast friends since their school days. Both were the youngest children of prominent families, which was perhaps what drew them together in the first place. Phineas too had had a period of trying to find his place in the world. He had flirted for a time with a life of scholarly pursuit and, even though he was unquestionably the most intelligent man Cam had ever met, he found the life of an academic too sedate and dull for him. Quite by accident, he had turned his brilliance to investigation, to the ferreting out of secrets or the locating of that which was missing, be it a person or an item of value. Phineas’s reputation was such that he was now the investigator much of society turned to when time was short and discretion was called for.

“I know.” The corners of Phineas’s mouth curved upward slightly in the superior smile that was as much a part of him as his dark hair and sharp green eyes. “But I fear nothing of interest comes to mind at the moment, old man. You’re the writer. You think of something.”

“If I could think of something, I wouldn’t be here asking you.” Cam pushed himself up from the upholstered wing chair, one of two that sat before Phineas’s desk. “I am trying. While I have any number of ideas, none of them are developed enough to be of any use. And I don’t have time to waste on idle thought.”

“No, we wouldn’t want that,” Phineas murmured.

Cam clasped his hands behind his back and paced the room. “One can’t just pluck an idea out of the air, you know. It needs to simmer as it were, in the back of your mind.”

“Until it blossoms into literary brilliance?”

“Something like that.” He resumed pacing. “I haven’t the time to fabricate a story completely from nothing. All I need is a fact or two that I can build a work of fiction from. Kindling as it were. Something I can nurture and . . .” Cam paused in midstep and looked back at the chair he’d been sitting in. His gaze slid to its mate. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but weren’t those chairs mismatched and extremely worn the last time I was here? And hadn’t the leg on one been replaced with a stack of books?”

Phineas heaved a resigned sigh. “They’re new.”

“You’re not overly fond of new,” Cam said slowly, glancing around the room and wondering that he hadn’t noticed the changes upon his arrival. But then he’d had other things on his mind.

It had been no more than a few weeks since Cam’s last visit, but he now noted a startling change in Phineas’s sanctuary beyond the replacement of the decrepit wing chairs. The walls were still covered by floor-to-ceiling shelves, but while they were usually crammed to overflowing with books and papers and anything Phineas thought of interest to himself or to an investigation, all the shelves were now tidy and well organized. The shabby, faded velvet drapes of a nondescript hue that had long hung on the tall windows at the front end of the room had been replaced with fabric of a rich wine color. The rug on the floor was either new or had been thoroughly cleaned. Regardless, it did not look the same. Indeed, there was much more floor to be seen, which in and of itself was shocking as Phineas’s reading materials, research, and collections of whatever struck his fancy, along with everything else he happened upon, were usually in disorganized drifts piled here and there. In spite of the fact that Phineas had a woman, a Mrs. Wiggins, who came in daily to clean and cook, she was forbidden to touch anything in this area. The room had always looked to be exactly what it was—the domain of an unencumbered bachelor who was more concerned with comfort than appearance. The very fact that Cam was now able to pace without dodging constant impediments should have signaled something out of the ordinary had taken place, although Cam was too caught up in his own problems to notice. At once the answer struck him. “And where is the lovely and charming Miss West today?”

“You mean the meddlesome, annoying, persistent creature I have been so foolish as to allow into my life?” Phineas snorted. “I’ve gotten rid of her, but only for the moment.”

“She doesn’t strike me as either meddlesome or annoying. And persistence can be something of a virtue.”

“One would think,” Phineas muttered.

“One would also think persistence is a good quality to have in a partner.”

“She’s not my partner,” Phineas said a bit quicker and sharper than was necessary. “She is more in the manner of, oh, an employee, I would say.”

“An employee who has invested in your business, who is not paid unless you are, and receives a percentage of your fees rather than a specific salary sounds very much like a partner to me.”

“I’m still not sure how that came about,” Phineas said under his breath.

“Would you like me to remind you?”

“As the fault can be placed entirely at your feet, that’s neither necessary nor desired.”

Cam bit back a grin. He had been looking into a story about an alleged haunting and had met Miss West, a friend of the owner of the building in question. At Cam’s suggestion she had then engaged Phineas’s services. While the two strong-willed individuals had clashed immediately, they had also found a commonality of purpose and an odd meshing of their intellects. In fact, they had worked surprisingly well together. Phineas said Miss West had one of the finest minds he’d ever encountered—male or female. The rest of her, Cam had pointed out, was every bit as impressive as her mind. A detail that Phineas appeared to ignore.

Cam wasn’t entirely sure what had transpired between them, but the next time he visited his old friend, he found Phineas’s enormous, beloved, battered desk had been replaced by something more in proportion with the room, a second desk installed, and Miss Clara West diligently examining and reexamining Phineas’s haphazard records. She was apparently quite good with figures. That was several months ago, and it seemed the lovely and clever Miss West had proven helpful to Phineas on every investigation he’d undertaken since then. He may deny that the woman was his partner all he wished, but the simple fact of the matter was that they made an excellent team. And Phineas knew it.

Now it appeared she had been setting to rights more than his receipts and records but this room and possibly the rest of his life as well. Interesting, as Phineas did not like change, and one did have to wonder why he was permitting it. In spite of his complaints about Miss West, if he didn’t want her around, she wouldn’t be. His old friend might well be smitten with the lovely blonde but, as Cam had never seen Phineas smitten with any woman, it was hard to tell. He would wager Phineas had no idea either.

“On a case, is she?”

“Not exactly.” Phineas heaved a resigned sigh. “I was recently contacted by a client I have worked for in the past who wanted to hire me to keep a watch on an unmarried American heiress on her own here in London. Surveillance is one thing, but this was something else altogether. I am not a nursemaid nor do I have any intention of becoming one. However, the lady who approached me has been an excellent client in the past and has recommended my services on more than one occasion.”

Cam grinned. “So you didn’t want to offend her by refusing this commission.”

“And, as I am not an idiot, I didn’t.” Phineas smiled a slow, smug smile. “Nor did I accept it.”

Cam raised a brow.

“My client had no interest in actually knowing the day-today activities of the American, she merely wanted to make certain the woman was kept from harm. I told her I would make a few inquiries to see if I could find someone willing to take the assignment.”

“And?”

“And it might have slipped my mind because, as it happened, she was also charged with arranging for a companion. I told Miss West about it and . . .”

“And you’ve turned Miss West into a lady’s companion?” Cam stared.

“Temporarily. The American is only expected to be in England for a few months. There is no one I know, and certainly no female, in whose hands she would be safer than Miss West’s. She is a woman who can take care of herself.” Phineas shuddered.

“Oh?” There was obviously much Cam didn’t know about his old friend and his new partner.

Phineas ignored him. “It was Miss West’s idea actually, and I did think it was brilliant.”

“Because it removes her from your life?”

“Only briefly, but yes.” Phineas drew a deep breath. “Do you smell that?”

“There was a vague hint of garlic in the hallway when I arrived, which I assumed was coming from another flat.” Cam sniffed. “But no, I don’t smell anything out of the ordinary.”

“That, my friend, is the smell of freedom.” Phineas smirked. “Freedom from female interference.”

Cam retook his seat. “If you find her that unpleasant, I daresay you could sever your association, tell her her services are no longer needed.”

“I didn’t say she was unpleasant. Indeed, there are moments when she’s quite palatable. She is impressively efficient and she does have an excellent mind, you know.”

“Yes, you’ve mentioned that.”

“She has proven to be most beneficial. She has put all my records to rights, posted invoices to clients I had forgotten to bill, and she’s been a surprisingly great help in every case I’ve had since she invaded my life. No.” Phineas shook his head. “She is an asset I would be foolish to discard. However . . .” He smiled in satisfaction. “She began her employment with the American yesterday and I feel as if I am on holiday.”

Cam chuckled. “For now.”

“One doesn’t need to be on holiday permanently. I would think that would be dreadfully dull after a time.”

“Yes, I suppose.”

“But for the moment, I shall revel in my newfound freedom and—” He straightened in his chair and stared at Cam. “That’s it. That’s your idea.”

“A never-ending holiday?”

“Don’t be absurd. I said that would be boring.”

“Then—”

“Sometimes, I don’t know what I see in you.” Phineas rolled his gaze toward the ceiling. “I’m talking about the heiress. It’s perfect for you. And the
Messenger
will love it. It will practically write itself.”

“I don’t think—”

“Come now, Effington. I can see the title now.” Phineas waved in a grand gesture. “
The Absolutely True Adventures of a Runaway American Heiress in London
.”

“That’s rather long.” Cam drew his brows together. “You didn’t say she had run away.”

“That makes it more interesting, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, I suppose it does.”

“However, as far as I know, she hasn’t. Run away, that is.” Phineas shrugged. “But she certainly could have. It would explain why she’s here in London alone.”

“It would at that.” Cam thought for a moment. Phineas had a good point. What was an American heiress doing on her own in London? It was unusual to say the least and well worth looking into. Perhaps this idea did have potential. “
Adventures
might not be the right word though. We don’t know that she is having adventures.”

“A wealthy unmarried American on her own in London? Surely just her presence here could be called an adventure.” Phineas scoffed. “I know my imagination is already churning up any number of possible scenarios. First of all, one has to wonder why she is unmarried. It’s my observation that wealth in a woman overcomes a great many other flaws, like age or appearance.”

“Old and ugly is not what one usually looks for in the heroine of a story.”

“Might I point out, you’re trying to write a work of fiction as well as something for your paper. The
Messenger
has never been overly concerned with accuracy.”

“There is that.” While Cam did prefer not to outright lie, much could be done with implication and innuendo. He had long ago learned the difference between saying a crowd was comprised of nearly a hundred people and saying a crowd was not even a hundred strong. Both were correct but gave an entirely different picture of the proceedings. He ignored the tiny pang of conscience that jabbed him at moments like this, but then he did work for the
Messenger
and not the
Times
or the
Gazette
. Regardless, he was not going to fail at journalistic pursuits any more than he was going to fail at writing a book.

“I don’t wish to use the word
Adventures
though,” Cam said thoughtfully. “What about
The True Deeds of a—
”

“No, no.
True
is a mistake and I shouldn’t have suggested it. Eliminating
True
leaves you a great deal of room for oh . . . creativity.
The Deeds of a Runaway American Heiress in London
.”

“Daring Deeds,”
Cam said. “Better yet—
Daring Exploits.
I like it but—”

“The Daring Exploits of a Runaway Heiress.”
Phineas grinned. “You have to admit, that’s perfect.”

“It does have a nice ring to it. Still, we don’t know that she’s run away or that she’s having exploits, daring or otherwise.”