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  “I assure you the matter was resolved in mere minutes,” she said briskly. “I simply jumped out of the carriage.”

  “I can only imagine how it must have been for you, pinned beneath that brute, his hands on your maidenly body, your nightgown tumbled about your waist, his trousers no doubt open.”

  “Good heavens, sir, I do believe that you are as mad as a hatter.”

  Amity whirled on her heel intending to depart the scene. She collided with a large, immovable object.

  “Benedict.” Jolted, she stopped short. The little green cap that was angled over her left brow came free of its pins. “Oh, for pity’s sake.” She managed to grab the cap before it landed on the floor. “I didn’t see you standing there, sir. Must you sneak around like that?”

  “Who was he?” Benedict asked.

  The low-voiced question was laden with a dark, fierce, decidedly dangerous threat.

  Amity popped the cap back on top of her head and peered up at Benedict. He was not looking at her. His attention was fixed on the crowd behind her. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Arthur Kelbrook disappearing into the throng.

  “Mr. Kelbrook?” She shuddered in disgust and turned back to face Benedict. “A very unpleasant man with a decidedly warped imagination.”

  “In that case, why the devil were you talking to him alone in this alcove?”

  She was startled by his tone. Surely Benedict was not jealous? No, of course not. His only concern was for her safety. She should be grateful. And she was grateful. Very grateful.

  “I assure you, he was properly introduced and our initial conversation was quite harmless,” she said. “Mr. Kelbrook expressed a deep interest in my travel articles. But then he started to ask for details of my encounter with the killer. When I declined to provide them, he resorted to inventing a few outrageous particulars.”

  Benedict yanked his attention away from Kelbrook and pinned her with a feral gaze. “What the hell do you mean by invent?”

  She cleared her throat. “I believe he was nurturing some dark fantasy that involved me being assaulted by the Bridegroom.”

  “You were assaulted.”

  “Mr. Kelbrook was enthralled by the notion that I had been assaulted in a more intimate fashion, if you comprehend me.”

  For a split second Benedict looked confused. Then cold rage lit his eyes. “He imagined you were raped? He wanted you to describe such a scene to him?”

  “Something along those lines, yes.”

  “That son of a bitch,” Benedict said much too softly.

  The icy fury in his gaze alarmed her.

  “I assured him that there had been no time for that sort of thing,” she said quickly. “I told him that I had escaped unharmed. I had just informed Mr. Kelbrook that he was as mad as a hatter and I was about to leave his company when you arrived.”

  “I will deal with him,” Benedict vowed in that same too-quiet voice.

  In spite of her alarm, Amity experienced a rush of warmth. Benedict really was determined to protect her. She was so accustomed to being on her own and obliged to take care of herself that she was not entirely certain how to respond.

  “I appreciate the offer, sir,” she said. “But it is entirely unnecessary for you to take any further action.”

  “It was not an offer,” Benedict said.

  “Benedict,” she said very firmly, “you must not do anything rash. Do you understand?”

  “Mad,” Benedict said, going abruptly thoughtful.

  She frowned. “Eccentric, certainly, and cursed with an unwholesome imagination, but I’m not sure one can label Mr. Kelbrook mad. He is not the killer if that is what you are thinking.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “Absolutely. Everything about him was different—his hands, his physical stature, his voice—everything.”

  “You said that he was as mad as a hatter.”

  “It was a figure of speech.”

  “Logan and the press are convinced that the Bridegroom is quite mad,” Benedict pointed out.

  “Well, surely no sane man would go about murdering women. What are you getting at, sir?”

  “It just occurred to me that we might be overlooking a rather obvious clue. If the killer is truly mad, it is quite likely that someone who knows him well—a member of his family, perhaps—is aware of his unnatural behavior.”

  She considered that briefly. “You may be right. But you know how it is when there is a streak of insanity in the family. People will go to great lengths to conceal it. Rumors of madness in the bloodline can destroy a high-ranking family. The other members of their social circle will refuse to allow their sons and daughters to take the risk of marrying into a clan that is perceived to be tainted by madness.”

  “On the other hand,” Benedict said evenly, “a host of eccentricities and extremely odd behaviors can be overlooked.”

  “Well, there is no doubt but that what some might call madness has been passed off as merely eccentric behavior,” she said. “A tendency toward cold-blooded murder, however, can hardly be labeled an eccentricity.”

  “Such a tendency cannot be called insanity, either.”

  “What would you call it?”

  “Evil.”

  Memories of her brief moments in the carriage with the human predator swept through Amity’s mind. She was aware of a tightness in her chest. She reminded herself to breathe. Instinctively she touched the tessen. She could take care of herself. Damn it, she had taken care of herself. She was safe now.

  Except that the monster was still out there in the shadows.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Whatever the doctors might say about the state of his mental faculties, there is no doubt but that at his core the Bridegroom is evil.”

  “The bastard will go on killing until he is stopped. It is the nature of the beast.” Benedict paused, frowning. “Is your sister trying to signal us, by any chance?”

  Amity glanced around and saw that Humphrey Nash had joined the small group of women that included Penny. At that moment Penny caught her eye and tipped her chin ever so slightly.

  Amity took a deep breath and braced herself.

  “Yes,” she said. “I do believe Penny is trying to gain our attention.”

  “Nash is with her.”

  “So he is.”

  Humphrey followed Penny’s gaze and smiled his charming smile when he saw Amity. She summoned up a polite smile in return.

  “I think Nash is angling for an introduction to you,” Benedict said.

  “There is no need for that,” Amity said. “Mr. Nash and I are already acquainted.”

  Benedict looked as if he had more to say on the subject but he held his tongue. Taking a firm, proprietary grip on her arm, he escorted her across the room. When they reached the small group, Penny manipulated the niceties with her customary grace.

  “There you are, Amity,” Penny said. She blinked. “What on earth happened to your hat?”

  “My hat?” Amity reached up to touch the clever little cap. “It’s still there.”

  “It has come unfastened. Never mind, we’ll deal with it later.” Penny reached up and plucked the cap from Amity’s hair. “I believe you know Mr. Nash?”

  “We’ve met,” Amity said. She was proud of the cool manner in which the words came out of her mouth. Benedict’s hand tightened on her arm as if he was prepared to pull her out of Humphrey’s reach should it become necessary to do so.

  “Amity, what a pleasure to see you again,” Humphrey said. His eyes warmed. “What has it been? Six years?”

  “Time flies, doesn’t it?” Amity said. She gave him a serene smile. “Are you acquainted with my fiancé, Mr. Stanbridge?”

  “I’m afraid not.” Some of the warmth evaporated from Humphrey’s eyes. He gave Benedict a short, assessing look. “Stanbridge.
”

  “Nash,” Benedict said.

  Humphrey immediately switched his attention back to Amity. “I have enjoyed your occasional pieces in the Flying Intelligencer.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “I must say, your photographs are quite brilliant, as always.”

  “I am delighted to know that you approve of them, especially since you have actually visited some of the locations and subjects that I have photographed,” Humphrey said. “You are in an excellent position to judge the quality of the images.”

  “They are spectacular,” she said. It was the truth, she thought. “You have a talent for capturing the particular essence of each scene—the beauty of a desert setting, the artistic elements of a temple, the glory of the view from a mountaintop. Indeed, sir, your work goes far beyond a mere recording of images. You are an artist with your camera.”

  “Thank you,” Humphrey said. “I would very much enjoy discussing some of our mutual observations. Perhaps I might call on you sometime in the near future?”

  “Sorry to interrupt,” Benedict said. He took out his pocket watch and flipped open the gold lid. “But I do believe it’s time for us to take our leave, Amity. We have another appointment this evening.”

  Amity glanced at him, frowning. “What appointment is that, sir?”

  “Perhaps I neglected to mention it earlier,” he said smoothly. “It is with an aging uncle. I want you to meet him. I will give you the details when we are in the carriage. Mrs. Marsden, are you ready to leave?”

  “Yes, of course,” Penny said. She looked amused.

  Benedict took Amity’s arm and paused long enough to give Humphrey one last look. “Interesting photographs, Nash. What type of camera do you use?”

  “The latest model Presswood,” Humphrey said shortly. “It was especially modified by the manufacturer to suit my requirements. Are you a photographer, sir?”

  “The subject holds some interest for me,” Benedict said. He turned to Amity and Penny. “If you ladies are ready?”

  “Certainly,” Penny said.

  Amity inclined her head toward Humphrey. “Good evening, sir.”

  “Good evening,” Humphrey said. Once again his eyes heated a little.

  Benedict escorted Amity and Penny away before anyone could say anything else. Amity was quite sure that Penny was struggling to suppress a smile, but she was too annoyed at Benedict to ask her sister what she found so humorous.

  When they reached the entrance of the hall, Amity and Penny collected their cloaks. The three of them went out onto the front steps. There was a slight chill in the summer night but at least it was not raining, Amity thought.

  Benedict spoke briefly to the porter, who sent a runner to summon the carriage.

  There was a short pause while they waited for the vehicle. Amity looked at Benedict. In the glary light of the gaslight his face was shadowed in a grim chiaroscuro.

  “Do not, for one minute, try to tell me that you think Mr. Nash might be the killer,” she said.

  “He’s a professional photographer,” Benedict said.

  “Trust me, I would know if Mr. Nash was the one who kidnapped me,” Amity said crisply.

  “My sister is correct,” Penny said in low tones. “She would have recognized Mr. Nash as the killer if he were the man who tried to abduct her.”

  Benedict contemplated Amity with an unreadable expression. “You know Nash well, then?”

  “We encountered each other here in London when I was nineteen,” Amity said briskly. “But shortly afterward he set out to photograph the monuments of Egypt. I have not met up with him in the past six years. For all that our careers take both of us around the world we never seem to be in the same location at the same time.”

  “That is no longer the case, is it?” Benedict said. “By some astonishing coincidence you both happen to be here in London at the moment.”

  She glared at him. “What on earth do you mean?”

  “Nash sought you out in the crowd tonight because he wants something from you.”

  “Yes, I know. You heard him. He wants to discuss our mutual observations on the places we have traveled.”

  “No,” Benedict said. “That is an excuse, I’m sure of it.”

  Penny smiled coolly. “Do you two think that you might continue this charming conversation at some other time? Perhaps when you are alone? While I will admit that it is entertaining on some level, it is one of those discussions best conducted in private.”

  Amity suppressed a sigh. “Good heavens, Mr. Stanbridge and I were arguing over an utterly insignificant matter. I do apologize, Penny.”

  “And so do I,” Benedict said. “Not like we haven’t got more important things to deal with.”

  “I agree,” Penny said. “Ah, here comes the carriage.”

  “About time,” Benedict said. “We are going to be late as it is. The traffic is rather heavy tonight.”

  Amity raised her brows. “You mean we actually do have an appointment? You didn’t invent it as an excuse for leaving early?”

  “A short time ago I received a message from my uncle,” Benedict said. “He wants to interview both of us this evening.”

  “Us?” A flicker of excitement flashed through Amity. “Does that mean you intend for both Penny and me to accompany you?”

  “No, only you need go with me. We shall take Penny home first.”

  “But why does your uncle wish to see me?” Amity asked.

  “I don’t know yet but I suspect that he wants to interview you in depth concerning our experiences on St. Clare and on board the Northern Star. I confess that my own memories of the first few days of the voyage to New York are rather hazy. In addition, I was confined to my cabin for some time. Even if you are not aware of it, you may have information to give him about events that I don’t possess.”

  “I see,” Amity said. “I imagine he is trying to identify the person who shot you.”

  “He very much wishes to learn the identity of the Russian spy who murdered Alden Cork on St. Clare. I wouldn’t mind meeting up with that particular agent myself.”

  “I doubt if I can assist your uncle but I will certainly do my best,” Amity said.

  “Excellent,” Benedict said. He looked at Penny. “We will take you home, Mrs. Marsden. Then Amity and I will continue on to my uncle’s house.”

  “Very well,” Penny said. “But I trust that neither of you will continue to quarrel about the nature of Mr. Nash’s intentions.”

  Amity smiled what she hoped was an airy, unconcerned smile. “There will be no further arguing about that little matter because there is nothing to argue about.”

  “Nash wants something,” Benedict said. “Mark my words.”

  Penny sighed. “I fear it will be a long trip back to Exton Street.”

  Astonishingly, peace reigned inside the cab until the vehicle stopped in front of Penny’s front door. Amity was surprised to see a hansom waiting in the street. She could just make out the shadowy form of the passenger. An uneasy tingle of alarm whispered through her.

  “Someone is here,” she said. “I cannot imagine who would be calling at this hour of the night.”

  “Neither can I,” Penny said.

  Benedict already had the door open. He stepped down to the pavement. Amity was astounded to see him take a gun out from under his coat. She wanted to ask him when he had started carrying a firearm but there was no opportunity.

  “I will deal with whoever is in that hansom,” he said. “Go on into the house, both of you, and lock the door.”

  “Benedict, please do not confront whoever is in that cab on your own. There is supposed to be a constable keeping watch tonight. Let him handle this.”

  “The house,” Benedict repeated. “I would take it as a great favor if you would move with some speed, Amity.”

  �
��He’s right,” Penny announced.

  She led the way out of the carriage and started up the steps. Amity followed but she reached beneath her cloak and unhooked the tessen from the chatelaine.

  All three of them watched in astonishment as a man emerged from the cab of the hansom and descended to the pavement.

  “Inspector Logan,” Penny said. She smiled, her relief plain. “How nice to see you again.”

  “Good evening, Mrs. Marsden.” Logan nodded at Amity. “Miss Doncaster.” He glanced at the gun in Benedict’s hand. “You won’t be needing that tonight, Mr. Stanbridge. Constable Wiggins is standing guard in the park across the street.”

  “What the devil are you doing here at this hour?” Benedict made the gun disappear inside his coat. “Have you some news?”

  Logan reached inside his own coat and withdrew an envelope. “What I have is the guest list for the Channing ball.” He smiled at Penny. “You were right, Mrs. Marsden. I was able to obtain it from the reporter at the Flying Intelligencer who covers the social news. He was a veritable font of information. I shall keep that in mind for future investigations.”

  In the lamplight Amity could not be certain but she thought Penny actually blushed.

  “I’m glad I could be of service, Inspector,” Penny said. “Won’t you come inside? We can go over it together tonight. My sister and Mr. Stanbridge have another appointment this evening. Isn’t that right, Amity?”

  Amity hastily collected herself. “Yes, indeed.” She smiled at Inspector Logan. “I am to be introduced to one of Mr. Stanbridge’s elderly relations.”

  “Uncle Cornelius keeps odd hours,” Benedict added.

  “I will see you later, then, Amity,” Penny said.

  She went up the steps and took out her key. Logan followed her into the dimly lit front hall. The door closed.

  Amity looked at Benedict. “Since when do inspectors from Scotland Yard call on witnesses at ten o’clock in the evening?”

  Benedict contemplated the closed front door. “I have no idea.”

  Eleven

  Do you suppose Penny and Inspector Logan will find some suspects on that guest list?” Amity asked.