Chapter Nine #2
Benedict started to respond but paused when he saw his sister-in-law in the doorway.
Marissa’s light brown hair was caught back in a simple knot at the nape of her neck.
The style emphasized her warm, gray eyes and pretty features.
Benedict had not seen her for a month and a half.
He was taken aback at the change in her appearance.
The flowing lines of a loose-fitting housedress could not disguise the advanced state of her pregnancy.
A quick calculation told him that she was now very nearly due to give birth to her firstborn.
It was all he could do not to stare at her.
There was a peculiar glow about her, he concluded.
The dramatic changes that pregnancy wrought upon a woman were nothing less than terrifying to a mere male.
“Marissa,” he managed. “Are you . . . well?”
“I’m in excellent health, thank you very much, Ben.” She smiled and gently touched her rounded belly. “Do not look so nervous. I assure you I am not going to deliver this babe here in Richard’s study.”
“Darling, you must sit down.” Richard was on his feet. He hurried across the room to take her arm and guide her to a large chair. “I’ll have Mrs. Streeter bring you a cup of tea.”
“Mrs. Streeter has been pouring tea down my throat all day,” she said. “I’m fine, Richard.”
Richard put a hassock under her feet. “Are you sure you shouldn’t be in bed?”
“Nonsense.” Marissa looked at Benedict. “I couldn’t possibly take a nap, at least not until I hear all of the exciting news. You must tell us everything, Ben. What in the world is going on? Are you and Miss Doncaster involved in a scandalous affair?”
“You needn’t look so thrilled with the notion, Marissa. As I was explaining to Richard, there has been some confusion regarding the nature of my relationship with Miss Doncaster.” Benedict paused for emphasis. “I am engaged to marry her.”
“That is wonderful news.” Marissa smiled with approval. “Your mother will be thrilled.”
“So Richard says.”
“You know very well that your poor mother has been anxious to see you wed. As her firstborn son it is high time you gave the Rose Necklace to your bride-to-be.”
Benedict wondered somewhat glumly what Amity would say if he were to give her the Stanbridge family necklace. He tried to cheer himself with the thought that most women adore exquisite jewels. But Amity was unpredictable.
It was odd, he thought. As an engineer he abhorred unpredictability.
Ever since the fiasco with Eleanor he had been searching for a predictable female, one who possessed all the qualities of a fine clock.
She would be reliable and dependable. She would keep his household on schedule and remind him of his appointments.
He would wind her up on a regular basis and she, in turn, would not surprise him by running off with a lover. Was that too much to ask?
“I have been reading the papers,” Marissa said. “I cannot begin to imagine what Miss Doncaster went through. She is lucky to be alive.”
Benedict propped himself on the edge of Richard’s desk and folded his arms. “Trust me when I tell you that there is no need to remind me of that fact.”
“You met on board ship?” Marissa asked.
“The story is somewhat more complicated,” Benedict said.
He gave Marissa and Richard a summary of events.
“Good heavens.” Marissa was horrified. “There wasn’t supposed to be any danger involved in that excursion to St. Clare. You were simply supposed to meet with that inventor and ascertain whether or not he had designed a truly revolutionary weapon.”
Richard’s jaw tightened. “You never informed us that you had been shot.”
“Why bother?” Benedict said. “There was nothing either of you could do, and as I survived the incident I saw no reason why the news could not wait until I got home.”
“So Miss Doncaster saved your life,” Marissa said. “That does explain some of the gossip about the two of you. Naturally she would have been seen coming and going from your cabin on board the Northern Star.”
Benedict cleared his throat. “We also spent a great deal of time in each other’s company after I was back on my feet.”
“I see.” Marissa’s brows puckered. “I wonder why we never heard that you had been shot. One would have thought that fact would have made it back to London.”
“Good question,” Benedict said. “But you know how it is with gossip. People tend to focus on the scandalous aspects, not the facts.”
“Very true,” Marissa said. “I must say, her bold actions are precisely what I would have expected from the Miss Doncaster who has been writing the articles on travel that are published in the Flying Intelligencer.”
Benedict smiled. “I take it you are a fan of her essays?”
“Absolutely,” Marissa enthused. “I can certainly understand why you are engaged to marry her. She sounds perfect for you. Indeed, I look forward to meeting her.”
“That will be quite soon,” Benedict said.
“Meanwhile, my chief concern is that she is still in danger from the man who attacked her. I have told her that I do not want her to leave the house unescorted. When I cannot be with her, someone else is to accompany her at all times. At night a constable will watch the house.”
Richard frowned. “You think the killer is still alive?”
“I must assume as much until his body is found.”
Marissa looked worried. “What if they don’t find him? What if he is alive but the police are not successful in capturing him?”
“Amity and her sister and I intend to give the police some assistance with the investigation,” Benedict said.
Marissa looked intrigued. “How on earth can you do that?”
“Amity gained several impressions about the killer yesterday,” Benedict explained. “Among other things she is convinced that he moves in Society.”
This time both Marissa and Richard stared at him, shocked.
Benedict related Amity’s description of the Bridegroom.
“Given the timing of events, we believe that he may well have attended the Channing ball a month ago,” he concluded. “Or, at the very least, he is acquainted with someone who was present.”
Marissa gave him a knowing look. “You will need the guest list.”
Benedict smiled. “As a matter of fact, Miss Doncaster’s sister has instructed Inspector Logan on how to obtain it.”
“You have set yourself an interesting task,” Richard said.
“Hunting killers is a job for the police. But I take your point. The sort of people who attend balls do not open their doors to inspectors from Scotland Yard. As you are well aware, Marissa and I prefer to ignore the Polite World for the most part, but we do have some connections. If there is anything we can do to help, you must not hesitate to ask.”
“Thank you,” Benedict said. “I appreciate that. I may be calling on you.”
Richard glanced at the black leather case Benedict had set on his desk. “What of the plans for the solar engine and the battery?”
Benedict picked up the case and opened it. He removed the leather binder that contained Elijah Foxcroft’s notes.
“After I leave here I will deliver it to Uncle Cornelius. Once that chore is accomplished, my very short career as a spy for the Crown will be concluded.”
“And your new profession as a consultant for Scotland Yard will begin,” Richard said. He eyed the binder with great interest. “I would very much like to take a look at Foxcroft’s notes and drawings.”
Benedict put the binder on the desk. “I am going to show them to you.”
Sometime later Richard closed the binder and sat back in his chair. There was an air of cool satisfaction in his smile.
“I understand now why you made that trip to California. The Russians very likely have the plans for the solar cannon, but you brought back the design for the engine system that is capable of powering the weapon. The cannon is of no use without it.”
“The thing about Foxcroft’s solar engine and battery that is so interesting is that they are just that—an engine and a storage device,” Benedict said.
“The system could power anything, not just weapons. One could use it to operate an oven, a vehicle, a ship or a factory—all using the free energy of the sun. The possibilities are unlimited.”
Richard grinned. “Better not let the owners of the coal mines hear you say that.”
“Mouchot is right, we are going to run out of coal eventually. At the very least it will become increasingly expensive to extract it from the ground. The French and the Russians have been funding solar research and development for the past few years. Several American inventors are working on solar devices. We need to catch up with the rest of the major powers or risk being left in the dust.” Benedict tapped the notebook.
“Foxcroft’s system is our chance to do that. ”
“I’m not arguing with you. Obviously Uncle Cornelius would not have asked you to go to St. Clare if the Crown was not interested in the potential for solar power.”
“My fear is that all the government will see is the potential to create a new kind of weapon with Foxcroft’s engine. Uncle Cornelius’s associates won’t understand the larger implications.”
“If anyone can convince them to take solar energy seriously, it will be Uncle Cornelius.”
“You’re right.” Benedict looked at the binder. “Before I deliver Foxcroft’s notes and specifications to him, however, I have a favor to ask. I have a plan and I need your help.”
Richard smiled. “You always have a plan. What is it this time?”
Benedict told him.
When he was finished Richard nodded, very thoughtful now.
“Yes,” he said. “That makes sense.”