Authors: Jo Goodman
Stephen frowned. "You embrace peculiar notions."
Amalie's head tilted to one side. She raised her hands, palms out. "Just a passing thought. It occurs to me that you might be able to get your hands on her money through the Van Dyke Foundation."
"I could have all her money if I marry her."
"It would be better if she were to die in an accident soon after the wedding." Amalie could see by Stephen's reaction that the same idea had crossed his mind. "But we digress. To wed her, you must have her, and to have her, you must meet my price. I understand that the Van Dyke estate is valued in excess of twenty million dollars. Don't shake your head at me, Stephen. That's the figure you quoted to Maggie not so long ago. Caroline is yours for nine hundred thousand." She ignored the hiss of Stephen's angry, indrawn breath. "That is the interest on the one hundred thousand. You owe me—"
"One million," he said tersely. "That is an outrageous demand. I won't pay it, Amalie."
"Why don't you think on it," she said calmly. "There is no real hurry. I can be patient, oh, for three days or so. And I will do you the favor of not requiring reimbursement for her care."
Stephen took a step toward Amalie but stopped when John Todd drew a derringer from under his jacket. Stephen's hands hung uselessly at his sides. He would not come to Amalie's again without a weapon. "I cannot get any money to you before Wednesday. And there is no possibility that I will be able to bring anything close to what you've asked."
"Think on it, Stephen," she said again. "I'll accept real-estate deeds transferred to my name. Jewelry will suit as well. I want cash, of course, but I am prepared to be somewhat flexible. Get back to me in seventy-two hours with your answer. You have my word that I won't do anything until then."
Stephen held his jaw rigidly. His narrowed gaze remained on Amalie for a time before it turned to the gun John Todd leveled at his chest. "Very well," he said, nodding at them in turn. When he left, he was careful to close the door quietly behind him.
"How do you think that went, John Todd?" Amalie asked as Stephen's footsteps receded in the hallway.
Mr. Todd put away the gun. He slipped an arm around Amalie's shoulders and kissed her on the cheek. "He surprised me at the end," he said thoughtfully. "But as to everything that came before? Well, there he was predictable."
* * *
For the purposes of explanation and demonstration, Christian gathered everyone in Jenny's suite at the St. Mark. Mrs. Brandywine was there, sitting in the rocker with her ivory-knobbed cane resting at an angle on her wide lap. Wilton Reilly sat in the overstuffed armchair. His fingers tapped gently against brass tacks that dotted the curve of the arm. Occasionally his glance would dart solicitously to Mrs. Brandywine, but she had yet to spare him more than a tight-lipped smile. Susan Turner shared the chaise with Liam O'Shea. Christian had invited the copper because Liam had demonstrated he could be trusted. Christian suspected O'Shea would genuinely care what happened to Jenny Holland. Discovering that Jenny-with-the-crullers was Caroline Van Dyke had briefly set him back on his heels, but Liam decided he could like her in spite of her fortune. That announcement, delivered in the copper's lilting brogue, was responsible for the only smile the group had shared.
Scott had brought in a chair from the bedroom. He was sitting on it backwards, straddling the seat and resting his folded arms across the curved rococo rail. His chin pressed against the back of his hand. His features were grave, solemn with thought.
Christian stood by the fireplace. He leaned against the wall, his hands thrust deeply into the pockets of his black frock coat. A gaslight not far from his head brightened strands of bronze in his dark hair. The tight set of his mouth caused a muscle in his cheek to tick as regularly as the pendulum clock.
Except for the beribboned hatboxes that occupied chairs, tabletops, and the mantelpiece, the room was exactly as Jenny left it. Susan fingered the handkerchief, passing her thumb across the delicately embroidered J.
"It doesn't mean anything to me," she said finally. "It must belong to someone the Benningtons hired."
Liam O'Shea shook his head. "Not to be contradictin' you, ma'am, but I think I'd know if the Benningtons hired someone to do this. They never knew Jenny—er, Miss Van Dyke—was stayin' here."
"It's still Jenny," Christian told Liam. "I agree with him, Susan. I no longer think the responsibility for this rests with William or Stephen."
"Who else has a motive?" asked Scott.
Mr. Reilly stopped drumming his fingers momentarily. "Perhaps someone who knows how important the princess is to the Benningtons. That's what we have to hope for, isn't it? If no one contacts them about Miss Caroline, then our chances of finding her are very poor indeed."
Christian offered his reluctant agreement. "Mr. Reilly is right. No one has made any demands on me for ransom, and it's been some ten hours since she was abducted. No messages have been delivered here or to my home. I have to assume that whoever took Jenny plans to contact the Benningtons. It seems someone besides us knows that she is Caroline Van Dyke."
Scott nodded. "Perhaps the Benningtons know more now than they did when you spoke this morning."
"I hope so," said Christian. "In part, that is the reason I've asked all of you to come here. We have to keep Stephen and William in sight on the assumption they
will
learn something—if they haven't already. I am proposing teams. Mr. O'Shea and Joe Means will share responsibility for Stephen. Mr. Reilly, Mrs. Brandywine, and I will watch William."
"Me?" squeaked Mrs. Brandywine. "You know I want to help, but there's my leg to consider."
"That's why you'll be staying here. You will be able to watch William while he's at the bank. Mr. Reilly and I will be your legs."
The housekeeper smiled widely, satisfied with her contribution to the plan. "It is very good of you to include me."
Scott raised his eyebrows. "What about me?"
"Keep to your routine, or rather your lack of routine, at the hospital. Jennings is the best place for you to be. If Jenny's taken there, or if Morgan or Glenn are called to treat her, I'm confident you will learn about it."
Susan twisted a cloth-covered button on her bodice. "It seems you've thought of everything," she said. "Is there nothing at all that I can do?"
Christian pushed away from the wall and reached for the hatbox on the mantel. Without moving it, he straightened the section of black velvet ribbon at the front of the box. "There is something
only
you can do," he said.
Susan sat up straighter. Out of the corner of her eye she saw her husband frown. She avoided looking in his direction. "What is it?"
"I promised Jenny that she would have her evidence on William and Stephen," he said quietly. "No matter what happens, I plan to keep that promise. She placed herself at risk any number of times because it was important to her that the Benningtons be stopped. I think I know how to stop them, but I find I cannot do it all myself."
"Is this going to be dangerous for Susan?" Scott asked.
Susan's lips pursed to one side. She rolled her eyes. "Do you really think Christian would let me do something the least bit dangerous?" She turned back to Christian. "Go on. I'm listening."
"I want you to take the photographs of William and Stephen," he said.
Scott lifted a hand. "Now just a minute—"
"Will you please let him explain?" Susan said, cutting off her husband. "I suppose it has something to do with all these hatboxes." She indicated them in a sweeping gesture. "Do you have a camera in each one?"
"In a way," Christian said. "The hatbox
is
the camera. A pinhole camera." He glanced at the clock, then walked to the box resting on the table in the middle of their group and adjusted the ribbon on the front of it. "Jenny and I were talking about my brother Logan last night..." Christian stopped, collecting his thoughts. It was nearly impossible to believe that twenty-four hours ago he and Jenny had been together. "That is when I realized that a pinhole camera was the answer. The photograph will be coarse, not as sharp as if we were using a lens, but with a little luck, we'll get an image that will identify William and Stephen as thieves."
Susan held up one hand before he went on. "I know very little about photography, Christian. We have a stereoscope at home, but I know next to nothing about the technical points. How does one take a picture with a hatbox? Which side do you aim at your subject?"
One corner of Christian's mouth turned up in a faintly amused smile. "The side with the pinhole." He went to a third hatbox and adjusted the ribbon, covering the nearly invisible hole. "It works very simply," he said. "I could have used any type of box as long as it could be made light-tight. I chose a common hatbox because it would not call attention to itself if carried into the bank. The ribbon helps secure the lid against stray rays of light, and it serves the additional purpose of providing a shutter for the lens."
"I thought you said it doesn't have a lens," said Scott.
"It doesn't. Not really. It has a pinhole, which allows light to enter. The light rays will produce an image on the photographic paper I've secured to the opposite inside wall of the box." Christian looked at the blank faces of his audience and realized they only had a vague idea of what he was talking about. "Trust me."
They nodded in unison.
"I've painted the inside of all these boxes with flat black paint. That stops the light rays coming through the pinhole from bouncing in all directions and fogging the paper. As I said, the ribbon acts as a shutter... an eyelid, if you will, and keeps the light out until you are ready to expose the paper to your subject. While we've been sitting here, I've been experimenting with the exposure time. That's why I set up a number of hatboxes. I uncovered the pinholes when you sat down and I've been covering them up again at different intervals. The light in here is not so different from the light in the bank. I'll do some more bracketing of the exposure tomorrow as well. There will be some adjustments for daylight because William has that large window in his office. If it's a bright day the exposure time will be shorter."
"Do you mean you've been taking our picture?" asked Scott.
Christian nodded. He covered the last pinhole. "And I have to say that you've all been cooperative. One of the problems with using a pinhole camera is that the exposure time is even longer than if we were using a lens. I've made exposures from four to fifteen minutes. That can be a long time for a person to sit relatively still, but you've all more or less managed it. There is no way of knowing if William and Stephen will be so cooperative, but we have to get lucky sometime, don't we?"
"But they're not going to be stealing the money right in front of me," Susan said. "I am not certain I understand how this is going to be done."
"I admit that the odds are not in our favor. Not that it's risky," he said quickly, assuring Scott. "Timing is everything. We know the day they are likely to take the money. Because of the payroll schedule we even know the approximate hour when the safe is filled. From this room we can see almost all the activity. The increase in guards will let us know that a transfer of funds is going to take place. According to Jenny, William and Stephen are skimming the cream. In order to catch them at it Susan will go into the office on our signal, just minutes before we think they are preparing to take the money. She will play the dissatisfied customer and make enough noise so that William
has
to listen to her." He went on for several minutes, explaining in detail what it was that Susan would do. When he finished he looked at them expectantly. "Well?"
There was a long silence. "I suppose it could work," Scott said, his brow furrowed in thought. "I would feel better if I could see what sort of pictures these hatboxes are going to take. There is no sense in Susan doing any of this if we can't depend on getting a photograph good enough for our purpose."
Susan opened her mouth to protest, then thought better of it. Scott was right. They had to know there was at least some hope that the picture would be sharp enough to show what was happening.
"Give me twenty minutes," Christian said. He collected the hatboxes and disappeared into Jenny's studio and darkroom. It was actually thirty-five minutes before he returned. He passed the photographs around one at a time. The first one was underexposed. The next, overexposed. But two others, exposed to the light for intermediate periods of time, were clear enough to identify everyone in the room. One was sharp enough to detail the buttons on Susan's bodice. Because of the way Christian had secured the light-sensitive paper to the curve of the hatbox, the photographs gave a panoramic view of the room. The objects that had remained unmoving throughout the exposure time were clearer beyond anyone's expectations.
"Well?" Christian asked again, collecting the prints.
This time there were no objections.
* * *
All things considered, Jenny supposed she was being treated well. The only people she saw were Amalie and John Todd. In the three days Jenny had been at the parlor house, the door to her room was never opened by anyone save the madam or her guard dog. If there was interest in why Maggie was shut out of her own room, no one acted on it.
Amalie visited her frequently, always making polite inquiries into the state of her health. For her part, Jenny responded as she might at any social function in which small talk invariably came around to one's well being. She believed it was important to remain unaffected by anything that was said or done to her. She observed that her indifference served to make her captors exchange uncertain glances. Jenny was satisfied with that. She hoped her behavior underscored her conviction that Christian would find her.