Chapter Fifteen
Bloody hell. Rooney was dead, but the knowledge brought Benedict no sense of relief. Rather, it brought the menace he and Alex faced into sharper relief. Was a conspiracy at play? How had a killer gotten to the surly thug while he was under guard, jailed in an iron-barred cell?
Benedict reached for Alex, taking her hand in his. Matthew Colton’s harsh stare revealed his displeasure at the sight, but Benedict did not give a damn about the man’s opinion. Alex was shaken, her complexion paling, her mouth thinning with her distress. She desired reassurance, even if that consisted of little more than the touch of his skin to hers.
“He would not have killed himself,” Benedict said. “Rooney was murdered.”
“We cannot be certain,” Colton said, his tone grim. “But we suspect your theory is correct. Rooney had displayed no sign of remorse. No fear. Despite his remarks to you about the executioner, he’d boasted to his jailers that he’d soon be a free man.”
“Devil take it, Colton, how could this happen while the man was imprisoned?” Benedict demanded. “Obviously, one or more of the jailers is involved.”
“We are investigating that possibility.” Colton settled his attention on Alex. “I understand this must be upsetting to you. Trust me when I say you will be protected.”
“I have no doubt of that.” She held her chin firm despite the slight tremor in her voice. Benedict squeezed her hand, feeling her light response against his fingers.
“Come and stay with Jennie and me,” Colton said. “Jennie would be able to relax if she knew you were safe in our home.”
“You know I cannot do that.” Alex’s voice strengthened. “I would not dream of risking your safety. And are you forgetting the children? I cannot put Douglas and Sally in harm’s way.”
Colton nodded somberly. “I was afraid you would see it that way.”
“How could I live with myself if I brought danger to the children’s door?”
“I will explain your reasoning to Jennie,” Colton said. “Given this new development, I see two alternatives. First, we can arrange a stay on the Continent until we apprehend those responsible for the deaths.”
“Out of the question.” Alex sent Benedict a speaking glance. “He’s already made that argument, though he would take it a step further and see me on a ship crossing the Atlantic.”
Colton appeared to give the notion some thought. “All in all, not a bad idea. But I can see you’ve no taste for the notion.”
“Of course not.” Alex stiffened her spine. “Quinns do not run from a fight. Our father and mother did not raise us to flee at the first sign of danger.”
“I’d hardly say this is the first sign,” Benedict said, even though he knew it was futile. There would be no convincing Alexandra to leave London. The determination he found so appealing also worked against persuading her to flee the threat.
Damned if she wasn’t glorious when her eyes flashed with such spirit. How could he live with himself if anything happened to quash that vibrant energy, that conviction of spirit she displayed?
“I do take your point,” she said, softening her ramrod-stiff posture a bit. “But given the security measures that have been put in place and the fact that we have no way of knowing if the person behind these deaths might follow me out of the country, I see no point in leaving. I will be as safe here as I would be in Paris or New York. The threat is not tied to London, just as it was not tied to Egypt. Whoever is behind these murders either possesses the ability to follow those on his despicable list, or he has employed a network of hoodlums to do his bidding.”
“Your logic is sound,” Colton said, each word low and measured. “Jennie and I would prefer to see you far from this place. But the choice is ultimately yours. I will do whatever is necessary to intensify security.”
“I appreciate your concern. Truly, I do,” she said. “But we must keep our focus on how to bring the culprit to justice.”
“As we’ve discussed, your active participation in the investigation would be an asset to the case.” Colton slanted Benedict a dour glance. “Before we discuss this in more depth, do you care to explain why you sent for Marlsbrook in the middle of the night?”
The beautiful flush that had colored her cheeks following the pleasure they’d taken in each other’s arms had faded at Colton’s untimely arrival. If not for his intrusion, the look of desire in her eyes and the soft pink hue that highlighted her sculpted cheekbones would have answered Colton’s question without benefit of words.
As if she’d read his thoughts, a sly smile flickered over her mouth, only to be replaced by an appropriately serious expression. She turned to Colton. “I have deciphered a clue that I believe may be significant.”
“When were you planning to tell me about this?”
She pursed her lips, appearing to grow annoyed with him. “I hardly thought it appropriate to rouse an entire household from their slumber, but Benedict needed to know what I’d pieced together.”
Colton turned to Alex. “You have information as to the murderer’s identity?”
“Quite possibly.” She went to her desk and retrieved the photograph of the dead man’s message. “We’ve uncovered a clue to the murders. I believe the dying man referred to the victims, and possibly, the murderer.”
Taking the photograph in hand, Colton offered a cursory examination. “What have you learned?”
“Alexandra has worked out the meaning of the symbols,” Benedict said. “She’s deduced that the glyphs may indicate the victims. I presume your agency will be able to determine the dates of birth of the men who were killed both here and in Egypt.”
“Of course.” Colton handed the image back to Alex. “Might I ask why we should care about their blasted birthdates? Do you suspect a common thread between the men?”
“The symbols may refer to the position of a particular constellation on a specific date—the zodiac sign, if you will,” Alexandra explained. “If we can confirm the notations correspond to each man’s date of birth, we can determine the accuracy of the theory.”
Colton nodded. “I will assign the task to Mrs. Donahue in the morning. She should have the information you require by early afternoon.”
“Excellent.” A trace of enthusiasm colored her voice.
Alexandra’s long, dark tresses shimmied, the lamplight dancing gold and red over the strands. Benedict ached to touch the silken curls, but he steeled himself. God knew he didn’t need to raise Colton’s ire. He was no coward, but provoking Colton would be foolish. Alexandra had been through quite enough. She did not need to find herself immersed in a conflict.
Matthew Colton’s interest in Alex was brotherly and protective. That much was evident from the look in his eyes. His expression also clearly displayed his distrust. Perhaps the man was right to distrust Benedict where she was concerned.
Even now, he could not offer her a future. Alex would never approve of his pursuit of relics for the wealth they might bring. But he could not afford to spend weeks under the Egyptian sun searching for some long-dead royal’s possessions for the sake of preserving history.
But damned if he wouldn’t see her safe before he returned to Egypt. He’d find the map, but he’d wait to seek out the treasure. He needed those relics to settle his obligations, to guarantee a comfortable life for his mother in her silver years, and to provide the tin to live his life without the crushing yoke of debt.
She met Benedict’s gaze, then flickered her attention to Colton. “It is quite late, and I am so very weary. I would like to conclude our business and retire to my bed.”
Alone. The implication rang loud and clear in her words. Benedict nodded his understanding.
“We will continue this discussion in the morning,” Colton said.
“Of course,” she said. “Regarding the investigation, I am in favor of mingling with some Society types while Benedict draws them in with tales of his recent expeditions. Members of the Exploration Society are set to host a gathering in two days. It’s possible someone there might possess vital information.”
“An excellent idea. But there’s something you should know,” Colton said. “I take it you are acquainted with Raymond Stockwell.”
The professor’s second son. Surely Benedict’s ears had deceived him. “What in Hades does that dandy have to do with the investigation?”
“At this point, we cannot rule him out as a suspect.”
Alex frowned. “Professor Stockwell’s son is a playwright. Over the years, he has demonstrated no interest in the pursuit or acquisition of antiquities. What could we possibly glean from him?”
“Raymond Stockwell is hosting a ball at the Barrington Hotel tomorrow evening. It would be to our advantage if the two of you were in attendance.”
“Good heavens…so very soon after his father’s death?” Alex’s forehead furrowed in puzzlement. “How very odd.”
“As we understand it, he’d been planning the affair for months. His latest play has made its debut in the West End, and the event was intended as a celebration,” Colton explained.
“But the man’s father has died.” Alex’s cheeks colored as shock and indignation infused her voice. Her emotions were on full display, as if they’d been painted on the wall in vivid hues.
For his part, Benedict held his tongue. Professor Stockwell’s younger son had not even attempted to adhere to propriety and what seemed like common decency. Unsurprising, really. Far from it. Raymond Stockwell had shown little regard for his father, displaying thinly veiled contempt for the expeditions to which the professor had dedicated his interest in his later years.
Unexpectedly, a bleak sadness washed over Benedict. Since learning of the professor’s death, he’d kept his thoughts squarely on his vow to protect Alex. He had not given in to grief. After all those wasted years, he’d finally had a chance to bridge the chasm he’d created and reconnect with the man who’d been a mentor and a friend. For a time, their bond had felt akin to a father sharing wisdom with a son. But now, the chance to fully repair the wounds he’d inflicted on their relationship had been snatched away. The loss was brutal, akin to a physical blow.
Mentally, he shook off the barrage of memories. This was not the time to ruminate over the mistakes he’d made in his life. He had to focus on the most important challenge he’d ever faced—keeping Alexandra alive.
Benedict forged a bland facade. “Rather unusual, I’d say, though the father and son were never close.”
Alex frowned. A tiny vee formed between her brows. “Well, I cannot imagine that his brother approves. He would certainly insist on a proper mourning period.”
“Last I’d heard, Stockwell’s eldest was on an expedition in Africa,” Benedict said. “I do not know if he has even been notified of his father’s death.”
“I have it on good authority that Harold Stockwell has been duly informed,” Colton said, his expression unreadable. “The man was occupying a suite at the Barrington at the time—delivering the telegram was not a difficult task.”
The words were a dash of cold water in the face. Colton’s statement made no sense. Professor Stockwell himself had informed Benedict of his son’s most recent endeavor.
“A suite at the Barrington? Are you certain?” Benedict questioned. “The professor believed his son to be in West Africa. He’d spoken of him and the pursuit of a rare artifact shortly before I left Cairo.”
Colton shook his head. “I do not possess the specifics as to the precise timeline, but Stockwell’s eldest son arrived on a steamship little more than a week ago.”
“Perhaps he returned to be a part of his brother’s celebration,” Alex suggested.
“Not likely.” Benedict pictured the brothers in his mind. The siblings had little similarity in physical appearance, and even less common ground between their interests and temperaments. To say the men had never been close would have been an understatement.
“Why do you say that?” Colton asked.
“Professor Stockwell enjoyed some closeness with his oldest son. They’d shared an interest in archaeology, though Harold’s focus was not devoted to Egyptian antiquities. To my knowledge, the younger brother wanted nothing to do with their pursuit of artifacts. Within the family, Raymond was viewed as a bon vivant, leeching off his father’s funds to finance his theatrical pursuits.”
Colton seemed to take in what Benedict had revealed. “Given his son’s unusual response to Stockwell’s demise, the ball will prove an interesting experience, to say the least.”
“I don’t know if I can be party to a celebration…my heart aches at the mere thought of the professor’s death. The idea of watching his son enjoy a festive event while I am grieving may be more than I can stomach.”
“I understand, Alexandra,” Colton said. “Bear in mind that any information you glean during the ball may help us to solve the mystery surrounding Professor Stockwell’s death. I do not expect an answer tonight, but we must have a decision by the morning.”
“I presume you will obtain invitations for the two of us,” Benedict said.
Colton gave a nod. “Consider it done.”
Alex’s gaze locked with his. Confusion and concern marked her features. “Benedict, are you certain? It is so very soon…I cannot imagine attending this ill-timed celebration. I know how close the two of you were…how close we both were to the professor.”
Benedict carefully considered his words. God knew he understood Alex’s reservations. But he could not allow his own reluctance to keep them from a gathering that might well produce vital intelligence. After all, the champagne would likely flow in abundance. What better way to subtly question Stockwell’s sons than when their guards were down.
“That is of no consequence,” Benedict said finally. “It has been a very long time since I laid eyes on either of the brothers. The opportunity to speak with them and see what, if anything, they know, will be time well spent.”
“Do you really think that’s wise?” Alex’s brow furrowed with worry. “As I recall, the last time you were in the same room with Raymond Stockwell, the two of you resorted to fisticuffs to settle your differences.”
“I believe you are mistaken,” he said gently. “We did not engage in fisticuffs, as you termed it. I punched him in his smug face. To this day, I do not regret the action.”
She shot him a glare. “All the more reason to stay away.”
“You are afraid I will cause a scene?”
“In a word, yes.” She moved to the sideboard and poured sherry into a crystal tumbler.
Colton scowled. “I don’t give a damn about your past interactions with the man. If either of Professor Stockwell’s sons knows anything about his death, we need to find out.” His gaze softened as it settled on Alex. “I do not mean to pressure you. As I said, I do not expect an answer tonight. But I do ask that you sleep on the matter and inform me of your decision in the morning. This will be a crucial opportunity. I cannot allow it to go to rot.”