“Time flies, doesn’t it?” Amity said. She gave him a serene smile. “Are you acquainted with my fiancé, Mr. Stanbridge?”
“I’m afraid not.” Some of the warmth evaporated from Humphrey’s eyes. He gave Benedict a short, assessing look. “Stanbridge.”
“Nash,” Benedict said.
Humphrey immediately switched his attention back to Amity. “I have enjoyed your occasional pieces in theFlying Intelligencer.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I must say, your photographs are quite brilliant, as always.”
“I am delighted to know that you approve of them, especially since you have actually visited some of the locations and subjects that I have photographed,” Humphrey said. “You are in an excellent position to judge the quality of the images.”
“They are spectacular,” she said. It was the truth, she thought. “You have a talent for capturing the particular essence of each scene—the beauty of a desert setting, the artistic elements of a temple, the glory of the view from a mountaintop. Indeed, sir, your work goes far beyond a mere recording of images. You are an artist with your camera.”
“Thank you,” Humphrey said. “I would very much enjoy discussing some of our mutual observations. Perhaps I might call on you sometime in the near future?”
“Sorry to interrupt,” Benedict said. He took out his pocket watch and flipped open the gold lid. “But I do believe it’s time for us to take our leave, Amity. We have another appointment this evening.”
Amity glanced at him, frowning. “What appointment is that, sir?”
“Perhaps I neglected to mention it earlier,” he said smoothly. “It is with an aging uncle. I want you to meet him. I will give you the details when we are in the carriage. Mrs. Marsden, are you ready to leave?”
“Yes, of course,” Penny said. She looked amused.
Benedict took Amity’s arm and paused long enough to give Humphrey one last look. “Interesting photographs, Nash. What type of camera do you use?”
“The latest model Presswood,” Humphrey said shortly. “It was especially modified by the manufacturer to suit my requirements. Are you a photographer, sir?”
“The subject holds some interest for me,” Benedict said. He turned to Amity and Penny. “If you ladies are ready?”
“Certainly,” Penny said.
Amity inclined her head toward Humphrey. “Good evening, sir.”
“Good evening,” Humphrey said. Once again his eyes heated a little.
Benedict escorted Amity and Penny away before anyone could say anything else. Amity was quite sure that Penny was struggling to suppress a smile, but she was too annoyed at Benedict to ask her sister what she found so humorous.
When they reached the entrance of the hall, Amity and Penny collected their cloaks. The three of them went out onto the front steps. There was a slight chill in the summer night but at least it was not raining, Amity thought.
Benedict spoke briefly to the porter, who sent a runner to summon the carriage.
There was a short pause while they waited for the vehicle. Amity looked at Benedict. In the glary light of the gaslight his face was shadowed in a grim chiaroscuro.
“Do not, for one minute, try to tell me that you think Mr. Nash might be the killer,” she said.
“He’s a professional photographer,” Benedict said.
“Trust me, I would know if Mr. Nash was the one who kidnapped me,” Amity said crisply.
“My sister is correct,” Penny said in low tones. “She would have recognized Mr. Nash as the killer if he were the man who tried to abduct her.”
Benedict contemplated Amity with an unreadable expression. “You know Nash well, then?”
“We encountered each other here in London when I was nineteen,” Amity said briskly. “But shortly afterward he set out to photograph the monuments of Egypt. I have not met up with him in the past six years. For all that our careers take both of us around the world we never seem to be in the same location at the same time.”
“That is no longer the case, is it?” Benedict said. “By some astonishing coincidence you both happen to be here in London at the moment.”
She glared at him. “What on earth do you mean?”
