When Logan had eventually appeared, he had been surprised to see Benedict and the hansom in the street. But he had accepted the offer of a ride without hesitation.
“I must call on Mrs. Warwick before I go home,” he said.
“I will go in with you if you like,” Benedict said.
Logan nodded once, his face grim. “I would be glad of your company. I’m not sure what to say to a mother under these circumstances.”
In the end, however, the meeting with a stoic Charlotte Warwick had been mercifully short. Benedict knew from the shadows in her eyes that she had been braced for the news they had brought her. They had left her alone in her library, tears glittering in her eyes. Benedict had gotten the odd impression that they might have been tears of relief as well as grief, but he could not be certain.
He opened the door of his house and moved into the dimly lit front hall. Hodges appeared in his nightcap and dressing gown.
“Tea or brandy, sir?” he asked.
“Brandy,” Benedict said. “But I’ll see to pouring it.”
“Yes, sir.”
Benedict led the way into the study, turned up the lamps and splashed healthy doses of brandy into two glasses. He handed one of the glasses to Logan and motioned him to sit down. He watched Logan lower himself into the chair with a familiar ease that indicated he was as comfortable in a gentleman’s study with a brandy glass in his hand as he was drinking tea in a lady’s drawing room.
“When did you take a notion to become a policeman, Logan?” Benedict asked.
The question clearly caught Logan by surprise but he recovered readily enough.
“Shortly after I found my father dead from a self-inflicted pistol shot to the head and discovered that he had died bankrupt after a series of disastrous financial investments.” Logan swallowed some brandy and lowered the glass. “It was either take up gainful employment here in London or emigrate to Canada or Australia. I haven’t ruled out the last two possibilities, by the way. In fact, I am giving both countries a great deal of consideration at the moment.”
Benedict took the Rose Necklace out of his pocket. He studied the brilliant jewels in the lamplight for a moment and then set the thing on the desk. The heavy gold links clinked on the polished wood.
He crossed the room and lowered himself into the chair across from Logan.
“You are not the only one who is considering his prospects in Canada or Australia tonight,” he said. He drank some brandy. “And for similar reasons, I suspect.”
Logan glanced at the necklace. “She gave it back to you?”
“Yes.”
“But you did not ask for it to be returned.”
“No.”
“Well? Did you tell her you wanted her to keep it?”
Benedict frowned. “There was no opportunity to discuss the matter. She simply dropped it into my hand before she closed the door. I thought the gesture rather telling.”
“We are men, Stanbridge. We are not always very good at comprehending women.”
“You are in no position to lecture on the subject,” Benedict said.
“Is that right?”
“Bloody hell, man, even I can see that you and Penny—Mrs. Marsden—have warm feelings for each other.”
Logan’s jaw hardened. He drank some more brandy. “At the moment I am in no position to propose marriage to her. I have made a few small investments but none have proved to be especially lucrative. Perhaps in time.” He raised one shoulder in a small shrug. “For the most part I am obliged to survive on an inspector’s salary, at least for now.”
“Well, at least she hasn’t flung a damned family necklace back in your face.”
Logan scowled. “I can’t imagine Miss Doncaster actually flinging the necklace at you.”
“I may have exaggerated slightly on that point, but there is no mistaking the fact that she gave the thing back to me.”
