Night after night she told herself that she must put her foolish dreams back on the shelf. But night after night she found herself thinking of that magical time on board theNorthern Star. As Benedict recovered from his wound, they had walked together on the promenade deck and played cards in the lounge. In the evenings they sat across from each other at the long table where the first-class passengers dined. They had talked of many things long into the night. She had found Benedict to be a man of wide-ranging interests, but it was when the conversation turned to the newest developments in engineering and science that his eyes heated with an enthusiasm that bordered on true passion.
Mrs. Houston bustled in from the kitchen with a fresh pot of coffee. She was a handsome, robust woman of middle years. Her brown hair was lightly streaked with gray. Penny had hired her after moving out of the large, fashionable house that she had entered as Nigel’s bride.
Penny had set up her new home in a much smaller town house in a respectable but quiet and not particularly fashionable neighborhood. In the process she had dismissed the entire staff of the mansion. Now there was only Mrs. Houston, who had come from an agency.
Amity sensed there was more to the story. It was true, Penny no longer needed a great many servants. Nevertheless, her household staff had been trimmed to a bare minimum. When Amity had asked why Mrs. Houston was the sole live-in employee, Penny had said something vague about not wanting a lot of people underfoot.
“I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before they find the Bridegroom’s body,” Mrs. Houston declared. “I’ve read all the accounts in the papers, Miss Amity. The wounds you inflicted were clearly of a grave nature. Surely he cannot survive them. One of these days they’ll find him in an alley or the river.”
“Those accounts were written by newspaper reporters, none of whom were present at the scene,” Amity said. “In my opinion, it is entirely possible that the monster survived, assuming he got medical attention.”
“Must you be so negative?” Penny chided.
“Medical attention,” Mrs. Houston said. She appeared quite struck by the notion. “If he was badly injured, he would have been forced to seek out the assistance of a doctor. Surely any man of medicine called upon to tend such wounds would be aware that he was treating a violent person. He would report the patient to the police.”
“Not if the killer managed to convince the doctor that the wounds had been inflicted by accident or by a footpad,” Amity said. “May I have some more coffee, Mrs. Houston? I shall need a great deal of it in order to get through the interview with that man from Scotland Yard who sent a message asking if he could call this morning.”
“His name is Inspector Logan,” Penny said.
“Yes, well, we can only hope that he is more competent than his predecessor. The inspector who spoke with me after I escaped the killer was less than impressive. I doubt if he could catch the average street thief, let alone a monster like the Bridegroom.”
“According to Inspector Logan’s message, he is not due to call until eleven o’clock,” Penny said. “You do not look as if you slept well. Perhaps you should take a nap after breakfast?”
“I’m fine, Penny.” Amity picked up her cup. “I have never been able to nap during the day.”
The muffled clang of the door knocker echoed down the hall. Amity and Penny exchanged startled glances.
Mrs. Houston’s face set in disapproving lines. “Who on earth would be calling at this hour?”
Amity put down her cup. “I expect that will be Inspector Logan.”
“Shall I tell the inspector to come back at a decent hour?”
“Why bother?” Amity said. She crumpled her napkin and set it beside her plate. “I may as well get the conversation over now. No point postponing the inevitable. Perhaps Inspector Logan is early because he has some news.”
“Yes, of course,” Penny said. “Let us hope they found the body.”
Mrs. Houston went down the hall to answer the door.
A hush fell on the room. Amity listened intently as Mrs. Houston greeted the caller. A man’s voice—dark, gruff and freighted with impatience and command—responded.
“Where the devil is Miss Doncaster?”
Amity felt as if she had just been struck by a very large ocean wave.
“Oh, dear,” she whispered. “That’s not Inspector Logan.”
In spite of her sleepless nights and too much coffee—or perhaps because of those two factors—frissons of panic and excitement shivered through her. The little icy-hot tingles of awareness splashed across her nerves and caused her pulse to kick up. In all of her travels she had met only one man who had such an effect on her.
“Miss Doncaster is at breakfast, sir,” Mrs. Houston announced. “I’ll let her know you’re asking for her.”
“Never mind, I’ll find her.”
Boot steps echoed in the hall.
Penny looked at Amity across the table, a delicate frown crinkling her brows.
“Who on earth—?” she started to ask.
