Chapter Seven
Seven
The summer rain had stopped and the sun had emerged, but the garden was still damp.
Amity whisked her skirts above her ankles to avoid the wet flowers and shrubs.
She made for the little gazebo at the far end, very aware of Benedict following close behind her.
The gravel of the path crunched beneath his boots.
She stepped up onto the floor of the gazebo and rounded on him.
“You appear to have recovered quite nicely from your wound,” she said.
He touched his right side in the vicinity of his rib cage somewhat gingerly and immediately lowered his hand. “Thanks to your medical skills.”
“As I told you at the time, it was my father who taught me some elementary field medicine.”
“I will be forever grateful to his memory.” Benedict looked at her. “And to you.”
She knew she was flushing again. A wistful longing swept through her. It took a firm act of will to suppress the emotion. She did not want his gratitude, she thought.
“Well, sir?” she said. “What of the outcome of your journey to California. Was your mission successful?”
“My mission?”
“You need not be coy. Did you think that I was not aware that you are a spy for the Crown?”
“Damn it, Amity, I’m an engineer, not a spy.”
She glanced meaningfully at the black case he was holding. “Very well, I understand that you are not allowed to tell people that you are involved in the Great Game. But can you at least assure me that your venture, whatever it was, ended successfully?”
He braced one hand against a nearby pillar and loomed over her. “The answer is, yes, I was successful.”
She smiled, pleased in spite of her irritation. “Excellent. I am delighted to know that I was able to contribute in some small measure to that success—even if I will never know exactly what happened.”
He tapped one finger against the pillar while he contemplated that comment. Then he appeared to come to a decision.
“I don’t see any reason not to tell you a few facts now that the affair has been concluded.
But first, let me be clear, I am not a professional spy.
I did a favor for my uncle who happens to have connections in the government.
Those connections asked him for his assistance in a certain project and he, in turn, asked me to help because of my knowledge of engineering.
The mission, as you call it, was my first and very likely my last experience in that sort of thing.
I don’t appear to be particularly adept at the business.
It nearly got me killed, if you will recall. ”
“I’m hardly likely to forget.” She hesitated. “Do you have any notion of who tried to murder you on St. Clare?”
“No. Presumably the same person who killed the inventor I went to see while I was on the island.”
“Good heavens, someone else was murdered on St. Clare? You never mentioned that.”
“I found his body in his laboratory,” Benedict said. “He had been killed shortly before I arrived.”
“Who was he?”
“Alden Cork. He was an eccentric but quite brilliant engineer who was working on a new weapon that certain parties in the government believed would revolutionize battleship armament. According to their sources, the Russians are also very keen to get their hands on the device.”
“What is so revolutionary about it?”
“Cork called it a solar cannon. It is designed to be powered by the energy of the sun.”
“Fascinating. Mr. Cork set up a laboratory on a Caribbean island?”
“He had a number of reasons for going to the Caribbean,” Benedict said.
“The first was that he was trying to conceal his activities from the various interested governments until he could perfect his solar cannon. He had intended to sell it to the highest bidder when it was completed. In addition, for obvious reasons, he needed a sunny climate to carry out his experiments. He also required a destination that was on regular steamship routes so that he could obtain the supplies and equipment that he required.”
“Yes, of course, a Caribbean island would be an ideal location.”
“As I said, someone, presumably an agent in the pay of the Russians, got to Cork before I arrived. The laboratory had been ransacked. There was no sign of the plans relating to the development of the weapon. One of the servants who had assisted Cork from time to time told me that an important notebook containing Cork’s drawings and specifications was missing.
I think that it was stolen by whoever killed him. ”
“And that same person then tried to murder you?”
“I assume so.” Benedict paused. “I must have been one step behind him. But before I left Cork’s laboratory I found a letter.”
“The one you entrusted to me in the event you did not survive.”
“Yes,” Benedict said. “As soon as I read it I knew that it was far more valuable than Cork’s design for the weapon.”
“Why?”
“It was written to Cork by another inventor working in California, Elijah Foxcroft. When I read it, I immediately realized that the two men had been carrying on a correspondence for some time. It was clear that what made Cork’s weapon a potentially devastating battleship gun wasn’t the design of the solar cannon itself—that was fairly conventional—but rather the engine by which it was to be powered. ”
“A solar engine?”
“Yes.”
She smiled. “Well, I suppose that does explain why we had so many interesting conversations about the potential of solar energy on board the Northern Star.”
“The subject was on my mind,” he admitted.
Alarm spiked through her. “Wait a minute. You said Cork’s plans for the weapon were gone when you arrived. Does that mean that the Russians now possess them?”
“Presumably, for all the good it will do them.”
She beetled her brows at him. “Explain, sir.”
“The letter made it clear that Cork had been unsuccessful in creating a suitable engine for his cannon. Without a practical system capable of converting sunlight into energy in an efficient manner and a means of storing it for use when needed, his weapon was just another engineering fantasy.” Benedict looked out over the sunny garden.
“Rather like da Vinci’s flying machines and his fantastical weapons. ”
“But Elijah Foxcroft has designed such a solar engine and storage device?”
“Right. The letter made it plain that Cork believed that it was capable of powering his weapon. He and Foxcroft planned to work together on the project.”
She glanced at the leather case again. “You found Foxcroft, I take it?”
“I did.” Benedict exhaled deeply. “Sadly, he was near death.”
“Good heavens, someone murdered him, too?”
“No. He was ill with cancer. He knew he was dying. He was most anxious that his design for the solar engine and battery not be lost to history. He gave me his notebook.”
“You have it in that case that you are carrying?”
“Right. I will deliver it to my uncle today and then my small role in the Great Game will be concluded—not a moment too soon, as far as I am concerned.”
“I see.” She studied him for a beat. “This is all quite interesting, sir. I understand your need for secrecy on the Northern Star.”
“At the time I assumed the less you knew, the safer you would be. It was possible that the Russian agent was also on the ship.”
“How did you know that I wasn’t the agent?”
He looked amused. “You saved my life, if you will recall. It would have been easy enough to let me die there in that alley after I gave you the letter. That was all the proof I required to know that I could trust you.”
Well, what had she expected him to say? she wondered. That he had looked into her eyes and somehow known that she would never betray him? The man was an engineer, for heaven’s sake. Engineers liked to have proof.
“Well, it is not as if you had a great deal of choice in the matter.”
“No,” Benedict agreed. “There was some risk involved in giving you the letter, but it soon became apparent that you were not an agent for the Russians. Nevertheless, I did not tell you anything more about my objectives because—”
“Because you did not want to take the risk that I might accidentally let something slip out in casual conversation with the other passengers,” she concluded crisply. “I do understand that, sir. You need not belabor the point.”
“I was afraid that if there was an agent on board and if you did say something about the solar cannon or the letter you might be in danger.”
She drummed her fingers on the railing. “Is that why you never bothered to contact me after we parted in New York?”
“I thought it best to keep my intention to visit Foxcroft a secret, as well.” Benedict frowned. “Damn it, Amity, I was attempting to protect you as much as possible.”
She gave him a thin smile. “I can assure you that ignorance is not necessarily bliss. As it happens, I was attacked because of my connection to you and I doubt very much that the Bridegroom is a Russian agent.”
“I am sorry.” Benedict’s jaw hardened. “I seem to be apologizing a lot this morning. In attempting to protect you from a Russian spy I put you squarely in the sights of a monster.”
She relented. “It’s not your fault.”
“On the contrary. It is obvious that if we had not been seen together on board the Star, the killer would not have singled you out as prey.”
Amity realized that she was becoming more irritated by the minute. “Mr. Stanbridge, I refuse to let you take responsibility for what happened to me here in London. You were not even in town at the time.”
He ignored her to look toward the kitchen door. “Your housekeeper is trying to gain your attention.”
She turned and saw Mrs. Houston waving from the doorway.
“Mrs. Marsden sent me to tell you that the man from Scotland Yard has arrived,” Mrs. Houston announced.