Chapter Nine
Nine
Benedict went down the front steps of Number Five Exton Street filled with an odd mix of exhilaration and dread.
Both emotions were directly linked to Amity.
For the past few weeks, ever since he had left her in New York, she had been in his head.
The sense of anticipation he had experienced on the voyage back to London had been unlike anything he had ever known.
Discovering that she had very nearly been murdered and that the killer had become obsessed with her because of her connection to him had shaken him to the center of his being.
And now he was engaged to her. In a manner of speaking.
The thought of having an excuse to spend a great deal of time in her company—the thought of kissing her again—thrilled him.
But the reason for the enforced intimacy between them made it impossible to savor the exhilaration.
He would not sleep well until the killer was found.
He hailed a cab and went home to his town house.
It had been a month and a half since he had left, but he had telegraphed the news of his impending arrival to his butler.
As always, Hodges and his wife, Mrs. Hodges, the housekeeper, had everything ready and in order.
It was as if Benedict had just gone out to meet a friend earlier that morning and had returned somewhat later than usual.
As far as Benedict could discern, there was no force on earth that could shatter the aplomb of either of the Hodges.
“I trust your journey was satisfactory,” Hodges said.
“Yes, in more ways than one.” Benedict handed his hat, coat and gloves to Hodges. “But there were a few unexpected events. In addition to locating the inventor I had hoped to interview, I am happy to announce that I am engaged to be married to Miss Amity Doncaster.”
It took a lot to make Hodges blink. He blinked twice. Then something that might have been astonishment lit up his long, stern features.
“Would that be Miss Amity Doncaster, the lady globetrotter who writes travel reports for the Flying Intelligencer, sir?” Hodges asked. “The same Miss Doncaster who was very nearly murdered by the fiend called the Bridegroom?”
“One and the same. I see you are aware of Miss Doncaster.”
“I expect everyone who reads the papers is aware of her, sir.” Hodges cleared his throat. “And also that your name has been linked with hers in a romantic fashion.”
No wonder Amity and Penny were so concerned about the rumors that had been circulating, Benedict thought.
He was inclined to ignore gossip for the most part, so he sometimes forgot how quickly it could spread and how deep and wide it could reach.
Amity was right to worry that her publisher might cancel the publication of A Lady’s Guide to Globetrotting.
“Of course our names have been linked in a romantic fashion,” Benedict said. “As I told you, we are engaged. We were waiting to make a formal announcement until I returned to London.”
“She sounds like a very interesting lady,” Hodges said. “Mrs. Hodges is a great fan of her travel pieces. I do hope Miss Doncaster is recovering well from her recent ordeal.”
“I went to see her before I came here. I found her eating a hearty breakfast and reading the morning papers.”
“That is quite impressive, sir. A hearty breakfast, you say? I expect that most ladies would be subsisting on tea and toast after such an experience.”
“Miss Doncaster is unique, Hodges.”
Hodges did not actually smile but approval flickered in his eyes.
“Obviously, sir,” he said. “I would not have expected you to become engaged to a lady who was anything less than unique.”
“You know me better than I know myself, Hodges.”
“Will you be wanting breakfast, sir?”
“No, thank you. I ate it at the home of my fiancée and her sister, Mrs. Marsden.”
Hodges elevated his brows a fraction of an inch. “Would that be the Mrs. Marsden who is the widow of Mr. Nigel Marsden, the gentleman who broke his neck going over a fence in the hunt several months ago?”
“I believe so, why?”
“Nothing, sir.”
“Damn it, Hodges, what are you not telling me?”
Mrs. Hodges spoke from the doorway. “What Mr. Hodges is trying to say is that Mrs. Marsden is no doubt grieving very deeply. She inherited a tidy fortune from her late husband, yet according to the rumors, the first thing she did after the funeral was let all of the staff go. They say she has retreated from the world.”
Benedict studied Mrs. Hodges, who bore a striking resemblance to Mr. Hodges, except for her housedress and apron.
“You are well informed, Mrs. Hodges,” he said. “Anything else I ought to know about my future sister-in-law?”
“I don’t believe so, sir.”
Benedict started up the stairs. “In that case I am going to bathe and change my clothes, after which I must call on my brother and then visit my uncle.” He paused midway up the staircase. “I suppose it would be too much to hope that there has not been any recent word from Australia?”
Hodges picked up the silver salver on the console. There was a single envelope on the tray. “As a matter of fact, a telegram arrived this morning.”
“Damn and blast. I suppose that is no surprise.” Resigned, Benedict changed course and went back down the stairs. “If the gossip about my association with Miss Doncaster is all over London, then naturally it has reached my parents.”
“The invention of the telegraph was an amazing thing, sir,” Hodges said. “I believe the undersea cable that linked Australia to the rest of the world was laid more than a decade ago.”
“I’m aware of that, Hodges.” Benedict picked up the envelope, opened it quickly and read the short message.
RUMORS LINKING YOUR NAME TO THAT OF MISS AMITY DONCASTER HAVE REACHED US STOP YOUR MOTHER WISHES TO KNOW THE TRUTH OF THE MATTER STOP SHE REMINDS YOU THAT IT IS TIME YOU GOT MARRIED STOP
Benedict dropped the message on the tray. “It’s from my father. I’ll draft a reply before I leave the house.”
“Yes, sir,” Hodges said.
He exchanged a look with Mrs. Hodges, who smiled what Benedict thought was a distinctly smug smile.
An hour later Benedict went up the steps of an elegant little house situated in a quiet, attractive neighborhood. He was shown immediately into the study, where he found Richard seated at the desk.
Richard looked up from the architectural drawings he had been examining.
“It’s about time you got here,” he said. “I assume you are aware that you are the subject of some very interesting gossip linking your name with that of Miss Amity Doncaster?”
Richard was two years younger and somewhat taller. His red-brown hair and sea-green eyes had come from their mother. Richard had also inherited Elizabeth Stanbridge’s warm, outgoing, optimistic personality.
More than one person had remarked that the Stanbridge brothers were as different as night and day.
Benedict was well aware that he was the one cast in the role of dour, gloomy night: always ready to point out the drawbacks and the risks of a venture; always assessing the worst case and planning for that eventuality.
Richard, by contrast, was a bright, sunny morning. Although he was a truly gifted architect, his most valuable contribution to the firm of Stanbridge & Company was his ability to charm potential clients. He also had a very good head for business. The combination made him invaluable.
If the task of dealing with the clients were left to him, Benedict thought, Stanbridge & Company would no doubt be bankrupt within six months.
He was the first to admit that he had little patience with clients who did not comprehend the importance of sound engineering principles and the need to resist the temptation to cut corners when it came to the quality of materials and craftsmanship.
Most clients wanted to be dazzled by spectacular architectural details.
They just assumed the bridge or the building or the glass conservatory would not collapse.
“I have just this morning been made aware of the chatter about my relationship with Miss Doncaster,” he said. He set the black leather case on the desk and went to stand at the window. “One would think that people would have more important matters to discuss.”
“You can hardly expect people to ignore gossip that involves both a hint of scandal and attempted murder,” Richard said. He looked amused.
“Huh.”
Richard paused and then cleared his throat. “I’m aware that the bit about attempted murder is true. The news in the press has been remarkably consistent, if very likely exaggerated. I don’t doubt but that Miss Doncaster barely escaped the clutches of a killer.”
“Thanks to her bravery and self-defense skills,” Benedict said.
“They do say that travel is educational. What of the romantic aspect of the stories? Ben, tell me the truth. Are you involved in a liaison with Miss Doncaster?”
“Not a liaison.” Benedict turned away from the window and met his brother’s eyes. “I am engaged to her.”
He realized he liked announcing that he was engaged to Amity. It was as if the more frequently he made the statement, the more real it became.
Richard’s brows shot skyward. He lounged back in his chair and put his fingertips together. “Well, well, well. Wait until Mother finds out.”
“There was a telegram from Australia waiting for me when I walked through my front door today.”
“I’m not surprised.” Richard chuckled. “I got one yesterday. Mother sends her love, by the way. Evidently her painting has been inspired by the atmosphere of that artists’ colony where she and Father are staying.”
“And Father is no doubt enjoying his observations of the Australian flora and fauna. Nevertheless, they both apparently have time to keep up with the London gossip.”
“You can’t be all that astonished. You know as well as I do that after the disaster of your last engagement they have been desperate to see you married.”