Chapter Thirty-seven #2
Leona laughed. “Dear Roger suffered from a very severe case of gastric distress.”
“Brought on by steady doses of arsenic.”
“Heir powder, I believe the French call it. It is also very popular with women who wish to become widows.”
“When you discovered that your first husband had not left you nearly as much money as you had expected—”
“Not nearly as much as I had earned.” Leona’s cheeks blazed with sudden fury. “Do you know what it is like to be married to a man who is old enough to be your father? It is a living hell.”
“So you got rid of him and set out to seduce Benedict. But that plan failed, didn’t it? You seem to have much better luck with gentlemen who are in their dotage.”
A wild rage flashed in Leona’s eyes. “It is Benedict’s fault that I was forced to marry that old fool Penhurst. He proved to be a cheap bastard. He actually changed his will shortly after we were married. When he dies I will be left with nothing—only a fraction of his estate.”
“Ah, so that is why he is still alive. I wonder if he realizes how fortunate he is.”
“The Rose Necklace should have been mine,” Leona said, her voice raw and tight. “It will be mine. You should have been dead by now. Virgil was supposed to make you one of his brides.”
“Why take the risk of using your unstable brother to try to murder me?”
Leona smiled. “Because I knew that Benedict would feel responsible for your death. After all, if it wasn’t for the gossip about the two of you, the Bridegroom would never have selected you as his victim. I wanted Benedict to pay a price for the hellish marriage he forced me into.”
“Why do you need the necklace? Surely you have earned a nice income working for the Russians.”
“Not nearly enough to allow me to live in the style I deserve. But the Rose Necklace will change all that.”
“Where will you go?”
“Who knows?” Leona shrugged. “Perhaps I shall take some guidance from one of your essays in the Flying Intelligencer. What was it you wrote? ‘In the American West, there is no past, only the future. One is free to reinvent oneself.’”
“I don’t think that’s going to work for you, Leona.”
“It will work. Give me the bloody necklace.”
“Or you’ll shoot me? Don’t be silly. Benedict is out in the hall. He will hear the shot and come at once.”
“But that will be much too late to save you.”
“Very well.”
Amity reached up slowly to unfasten the long, sweeping cloak. She pulled the folds of the domino aside at her throat, revealing the spectacular necklace.
Leona’s eyes widened. “It is even more amazing than I imagined.”
Amity reached up slowly to unclasp it.
The door opened behind her. Benedict walked into the room. Logan and Cornelius, dressed in black dominos like so many others at the ball, were directly behind him.
“I think we’ve heard enough, Inspector, don’t you?” Benedict said.
“Yes,” Logan said. “With your testimony and that of Miss Doncaster there will be no problem sending Lady Penhurst away to prison.”
“No.” Panic and fury lit Leona’s eyes. She edged toward the door behind her. “If you arrest me you’ll never get the Foxcroft notebook.”
“Actually, the notebook isn’t all that important,” Cornelius said. “What I was really after tonight was the Russian agent. That would be you, my dear.”
“It’s over, Leona,” Amity said. “Put the gun down.”
“No, stay away from me,” Leona whispered. She leveled the gun at Amity. “Stay away or I’ll kill her, I swear it. She deserves to die. This is all her fault.”
No one moved toward her.
Leona was at the door. She opened it with her free hand, revealing the dimly lit hall. At the last instant she whirled and fled, the folds of her domino whipping out behind her.
Her footsteps rang in the hall and then grew faint.
Amity looked at Benedict.
“You’re sure this plan is going to work?” she asked.
“It was the best I could do on the spur of the moment,” Benedict said.
“We knew it was unlikely that she would deliver the notebook in exchange for the necklace. But now that she hasn’t got the jewelry, the only thing of value that she has left is that notebook.
She will try to retrieve it and attempt to sell it to the Russians. ”
“She will escape into the street and hail a hansom,” Logan said. “There are three waiting. She will have her choice. My men are driving all three of the cabs. They have been directed to accept no fare unless the customer is a lady who is alone.”
“Leona is a clever woman,” Amity warned.
“Yes,” Cornelius said, “but now she is a very desperate woman. I am convinced that she will get the notebook and lead us to her Russian contact. As Benedict said, whoever that person is, he or she is Leona’s only hope now.”
A crack of muffled thunder sounded in the distance. For an instant they all froze.
Cornelius frowned. “Odd. There was no sign of rain earlier.”
“Gunshot,” Logan said.
“The ballroom, I think,” Benedict said.
A woman screamed somewhere in the distance.
Both men broke into a run, heading down the hall toward the ballroom. Cornelius followed.
Amity found herself fighting the long folds of the domino and the skirts of her gown. In addition, she had a great fear of losing the Rose Necklace so she kept one hand clamped on it beneath the costume. It made for awkward sprinting.
She caught up with the three men at the edge of the shadowy ballroom. The music had come to a crashing, discordant halt. The dancers were milling about in confusion. An earthquake of exclamations—shock, horror and confusion—rumbled through the crowd.
“Police,” Logan called out in a voice that rang with great authority. “Stand aside.”
No one argued with him. The crowd fell away to reveal the body on the floor. The domino had fallen open, displaying skirts and petticoats.
Logan and Benedict crouched beside the figure. Cornelius loomed above them, looking down as Logan removed the victim’s mask.
Astonishment reverberated throughout the room. Amity heard the whispers around her.
“It’s Lady Penhurst.”
“Shot herself in the middle of a ballroom. It’s unbelievable.”
Amity stopped at the edge of the scene. A number of people were already hurrying discreetly away, heading for the front door and their carriages.
Benedict, Logan and Cornelius were not paying any attention to the murmurs of the crowd or the retreating onlookers.
They were conducting a quick search of the body.
She was about to move closer when she caught the stale odor of cigarettes scented with exotic spices.
She felt something sharp press against the back of her neck.
“I have your sister,” Virgil Warwick said into her ear. “If you call out or try to run I will vanish into the crowd. No one will see me. I will escape but your sister will die. Get rid of your nasty little fan. Do it now or I will leave here without you and pretty Penny dies.”
Amity reached beneath her domino and removed the tessen from her chatelaine. There was so much commotion in the room that no one heard the fan when it fell to the floor.