A study in scandal (3 page)

“I see,” he said, continuing to make notes. “Do you keep a log or record of these visitors?”

“No, we’ve never kept such a thing. But that is a lovely idea.”

“I’ll need a listing of anyone who has passed through this room in the last six months.”

“It might take me some time to compose such a listing.”

“As soon as you can get it to me, I’ll be able to start a proper investigation.” His tone was even, with only a hint of a bite to it, but what puzzled her most was his obvious aversion to looking at her when he spoke. “I need to have as much information as possible if I am to assist in the retrieval of your father’s artifact. Unless, of course, this is not a priority.”

“No, it absolutely is a priority. I’ll get to that list immediately. Inspector,” she said, and put her hand on his forearm. He glanced at her hand, then slowly raised his gaze until he met her eyes. Brown. His eyes were brown. A lovely brown. Rich and warm like freshly tilled earth.

What had she been about to say?

He pulled his arm away. “Miss Watersfield, do you have something more to add?”

“Yes, well, I simply wanted to say that I am pleased you’ll be handling this investigation. I worry so about my father, but I have confidence you will be able to find Nefertiti.”

He nodded, but did not thank her. “I want to finish examining this room, and I might want to see the rest of the house.”

“Of course.” She offered him a smile.

He did not smile back.

Curious man. Everyone smiled at her when she smiled. She had friends in every corner of London. Most people she met liked her, or at least had a passing fondness for her. But this man seemed perfectly immune to her charms.

Colin clenched his teeth and mentally counted to ten. There was no reason to smile at her. She was interrupting his investigation, had yet to be helpful, and she was incredibly distracting.

Oddly enough, he found he wanted to return her smile. Which was ridiculous, because he simply wasn’t the sort of person who smiled. There wasn’t all that much to smile about when one spent one’s life dealing with criminals and miscreants.

“Is it possible to have this room closed off?” he asked her.

“Closed off? We can close the doors.” He watched her wide mouth wrap around each word. She had nice teeth. White. Even. Feminine.

Feminine? How could teeth be feminine? He stopped himself short of rolling his eyes and settled
on jotting something nonsensical in his notebook. This was not boding well for the investigation. His concentration was scattered, which rarely, if ever, happened.

“What I meant was, can you prevent people, any people, from coming in and out of this room until I can collect evidence?”

There was that smile again. So easy how it slid right into place and lit her eyes. He’d known naturally cheery people before, and he’d always assumed they smiled out of stupidity or lack of something else to do rather than actual amusement or joy. But Miss Watersfield did not appear to be ignorant. What, then, kept that smile on her face?

“You wish to collect evidence.” She clasped her hands together. “That’s so very exciting.”

He cracked his knuckles, relishing the uncomfortable pop of each finger. “It is fairly routine. But I need to keep the room free of disturbance.”

“I shall alert the household immediately. If you will excuse me.” She gave him a small curtsy, then left the room.

He exhaled loudly. Perhaps now he could get some actual work done. Clearly Lord Watersfield and his daughter enjoyed a good bit of drama. A missing statue amid a sea of other antiquities. Had the piece not had such a prominent display in
the room, they might not have even noticed. The bookshelves lining the study walls were riddled with vases and busts and other pieces of pottery.

Surely the full-sized statue in the corner behind the desk was worth more than the missing bust. No doubt this was simply a bored father and daughter looking for an adventure. The two obviously thrived on melodrama.

It was money, though. They had offered him a handsome sum before he could even give them his price. And he needed the money. Desperately. Without funds, he would have to cease his research. He hadn’t walked out of the Yard only to forsake his research for lack of funding. So despite his pride and snobbery at working a silly case, he would give the Watersfields what they were willing to pay for.

He was an inspector for hire and he would solve this case. Or at least he would appear as if that were what he was doing. If they found this sort of thing entertaining, he could work slowly and give them their money’s worth.

On to the investigation. He retrieved his lens from his bag and went first to the table from which the missing statuette had been stolen.

There was nothing that indicated that a priceless artifact had once resided here. No outline in
dust or glass cover. Which meant it was probably handled regularly—the servants would have to pick it up daily to wipe it and the stand free of any settled dust.

He glanced around the room to see if anything seemed amiss, but it was hard to tell if something was truly out of place or not. Books and papers were scattered about the desk. A few more books, all on ancient Egypt, sat opened on an occasional table, indicating a recent read.

The office was cluttered, one could even say messy, a far cry from Colin’s own pristine environment, where everything was in its place. Rather, this office looked to be a part of a home—every inch occupied by the owners.

A bit of scarlet caught his eye, and he walked toward the door to get a closer look. Bending to investigate, he found it to be a small piece of red fabric caught in the doorframe. He dug in his bag to retrieve his tweezers, then knelt in front of the door to remove it. No sooner had he gotten in position than the door flew open, whacking him in the head and knocking him flat onto his backside.

He looked up to find a wide-eyed Miss Watersfield standing above him.

“Oh, Inspector Brindley, I’m so very sorry. How clumsy of me. Oh, dear.” She covered her mouth
with her hand. “I didn’t realize you’d be right there,” she said through her parted fingers.

He looked up at her, simply disbelieving his current position.

“Can you hear me?” she said loudly, leaning down farther.

He rolled his head to the side and caught sight of her ankle, and he nearly forgot to breath. Why a stocking-clad ankle could be breath-stealing, he wasn’t certain, but there it was, the most attractive ankle he’d ever seen. More than likely the only ankle he’d ever seen save his own, but that mattered not. Must be the door to the head that had him so addled.

“Yes, I can hear you,” he finally said.

She released a loud breath. “Thank heaven. I was certain I’d knocked you senseless.”

It was a distinct possibility.

“Can I assist you?” she asked, holding her hand down to him.

Brilliant
.
Simply brilliant
.
Get off the floor
.

“No, I believe I can manage. Thank you.”

He got to his feet and took several steps away from her. Standing too close to her, he was certain to notice how delicate she seemed next to his overly tall self.

She was attractive in an unassuming sort of
way. Certainly not the type of woman to garner stares on a public street, but handsome nonetheless. It was her smile, he decided. It was easy and engaging and rather constant. Too constant to ignore her wide mouth and perfect teeth.

She was distracting with that smile of hers, not to mention those ankles. Ironically enough, if it turned out that Amelia Watersfield was indeed the perpetrator, then he could certainly give a detailed description of her to the authorities.

He rolled his eyes. It was no wonder women generally ignored him. He was an idiot.

“I informed the servants that no one is to enter this room without permission,” she said.

“Excellent. Servants. Ah, right, I will be wanting to question them.”

She frowned, and he watched in fascination as tiny lines furrowed her brow. “I understand your thoroughness, Inspector, but I can assure you our servants would never steal from us.”

“Duly noted, Miss Watersfield, but I insist. Let me give you a scenario. Let us say that—what is the name of the servant who cleans this room?”

“Penny.”

“Very well. Let us say that Penny is in here cleaning, and while she is dusting the artifact, she accidentally knocks it to the floor, and it breaks. Now,
Penny, being the loyal servant she is, knows how dear this piece is to your father, and she loathes the thought of revealing such wretched news to him. So instead, she takes the piece. Tosses it in the dustbin, or perhaps takes it to her room to try and repair it.”

The frown dissolved from her face and a slow smile crept in. She narrowed her eyes playfully. “Inspector, I believe you have a knack for creating fiction.” She pointed one dainty finger at him. “Are you a reader, sir?”

“I beg your pardon? It was not fiction, but rather a possible scenario.”

“Hmmmm…I’m not so certain about that.”

She was toying with him, and he had the sudden urge to tease back. Enjoy a bit of whimsical banter. But he did not engage in banter of any sort, and now was certainly not the time.

“The servants, Miss Watersfield. Can we set up a time when I can come and question them?”

“Why not allow me to ask them if they took it? That will work the same, wouldn’t you agree?” she asked.

“No, I would not agree. They will lie to you,” he said flatly.

She actually looked affronted, as if he’d accused them of something absolutely unspeakable. “They would do no such thing.”

“Everyone lies, Miss Watersfield.”

“I do not lie, Inspector.”

She looked quite serious, not to mention insulted that he’d even suggested such a thing. She did not lie. That was quite unlikely. It was his experience that everyone lied. Even honest peopled lied if it served their purpose. He would not even entertain the possibility that she might be different in that regard.

“I insist on being present when you question them.” She tilted her chin up with a notch of defiance.

She was not budging on this issue. Perhaps they would save the actual questioning for another day. In the meantime, he would play the insistent inspector. “Your presence could make it a futile exercise. It is likely that if one of the servants is guilty, he or she will not freely admit it if you are in the room.”

“But you believe they will admit it to you, a stranger, if I am not?” He would have taken those words with a heavy dose of sarcasm had he not glanced up to see her face. Her eyes were wide with surprise.

“There are ways of encouraging people to talk. Even to strangers.”

“You do not harm them, do you?”

“No.”

She gave him a thorough once-over. “Well, it’s only that you’re such a large man,” she said quietly, as if alerting him to a fact of which he was unaware. “You could certainly do considerable harm to some people. Although I wouldn’t have pegged you as a man of violence.”

He shook his head. People rarely assumed anything about him, but no one ever claimed to know anything about him.

She made him dizzy.

Her circuitous logic. Her frank inspection of him. Her smile. Her scent.

What was that fragrance? It was…sweet, similar to fruit. It mattered not what her scent was or of what fruit specifically it reminded him. He needed this case. He needed the money. Therefore he needed to keep his focus where it belonged.

Which was on the case of the missing Nefertiti and earning his hefty retainer. Not how Miss Watersfield smelled, smiled, or tantalized him with her ankles. It made no sense that he even would have noticed her, much less allowed her to distract him. She was entirely too chatty and much too cheerful.

More than likely his scattered thoughts were only nerves. This was his first client since opening his agency, and he’d only been called in because
Lord Watersfield knew his father. Well, that and the fact that the police had not been interested in the case since there was no real evidence of a disturbance. So he’d answered the summons because the funds were badly needed for his research.

This job was crucial to funding his research. So despite his current distraction, he would take this case, give them the portrayal they wanted, take his money, and then be able to work on his research.

“I will schedule a time later this week to question your servants. In the meantime, work on compiling that listing of visitors for me. And do not forget to keep people out of this room.”

“I will get that listing done as soon as possible. And I will ensure that no one enters this room. I shall sleep in the hall if necessary,” she said. She stood up taller and gave him a serious little frown. He almost expected her to salute.

He nearly laughed. Nearly.

“It is part of the settled order of nature that such a girl should have followers.”

The Adventure of the Solitary Cyclist

M
eg was the last to arrive, not an entirely unusual occurrence, and ordinarily Amelia would not mind, but today she was impatient to begin the impromptu meeting. It took a few more minutes for everyone to settle into their favorite spots—Willow in the walnut armchair, Meg folded up in the cushioned wingback chair, and Charlotte lounging on the brocade settee.

“I called this special meeting because something has happened. And I might need your help,” Amelia said.

“What about the oath?” Willow asked.

Charlotte shot a glance at Willow. “Must you remind her? I was quite content that she seemed to have forgotten.”

“I merely pointed it out because it was her decision that it become a part of each meeting,” Willow said.

“And we mustn’t break from tradition or deviate from the rules,” Charlotte snipped.

“Honestly, it was a mistake, that I forgot,” Amelia said. “But we can skip it today. No sparring, you two. We’ve work to do. Now, then, we have a mystery afoot in this very house. One of my father’s antiquities is missing.”

“Gracious,” Willow said. “That’s terrible.”

“Which one is it?” Meg asked.

Amelia sighed. “That’s the worst part. It’s Nefertiti.”

“Is your father well?” Willow asked.

“He’s quite concerned. I worry if she’s not found soon, he’ll become ill. The good news is,” Amelia continued, “we’ve hired a private inspector to find her. I met with him yesterday, and he seems rather competent. I’m certain he’ll be able to solve the case.”

Meg leaned forward. “What a perfect situation.”

Amelia eyed her in confusion, then checked the
other girls’ faces to see if they understood what was so perfect. Willow was frowning, and Charlotte simply shrugged and looked away.

“I’m sorry, Meg, but precisely why is this perfect? It was one of my father’s most prized possessions. I admit the mystery is exciting, but it does feel rather selfish to enjoy that at my father’s expense.”

“That’s not what I meant. It seems to me that you have an inspector at your disposal. You can assist him in solving the case, which is fun and exciting for you…well, for all of us, but primarily for you.” Meg nodded enthusiastically, her red curls bobbed. “This is your opportunity to do some authentic investigating. This will give you the experience you’ve felt you lacked in order to write your own adventure stories.”

“That’s right,” Charlotte said. “Now you’ll have no more excuses not to write. It is perfect.” She smiled at Meg.

“Exactly,” Meg said.

“I don’t think I follow,” Amelia said.

“It’s simple.” Meg propped her elbows on her knees, her green eyes twinkling with excitement. “Follow the inspector around. See what he does, the kinds of questions he asks, the conclusions he draws from those questions. It will be like living
in a Sherlock story. You always decipher those mysteries before the end of the story. This will be no different. And I would imagine the inspector would welcome the assistance. After all, Sherlock has his Watson.”

And that’s when it hit her. He’d seemed familiar because he’d reminded her of Sherlock himself. It was as if he’d walked off the page into her home. But she couldn’t tell the girls that. They already teased her for fancying a man who wasn’t real. Admit to this and they’d think she’d gone mad.

Meg’s words seeped into her head. She could be Inspector Brindley’s Watson. Her stomach bubbled with excitement. Although he hadn’t seemed too keen on her helping him yesterday. In fact, he’d seemed rather annoyed by her mere presence.

“Suppose this particular inspector has an aversion to my assistance? What, then, shall I do?”

“Why would he do a silly thing such as that? You know more about your father’s antiquities than even your father. You can’t afford not to help. The inspector will need your help. Surely he’ll recognize that.” Meg nodded once with authority.

“What is he like?” Charlotte asked.

“Younger than I would expect an inspector to be, perhaps five and thirty,” Amelia said. “And taller.” She frowned, trying to remember precisely
how tall he’d been. When he’d turned around and nearly bumped into her, he’d stood a few heads above her. She’d definitely had to look up to see his eyes.

“Very tall,” Amelia settled on. “His hair is thick and brown and his eyes are the color of chocolate. He didn’t talk too much, but his voice is pleasant. He was precise and tidy—I could tell by his movements and dress. And he smelled clean, as if he’d recently bathed. I must admit, he was rather dashing.”

She could instantly recall his image simply by closing her eyes. Amelia remembered in great detail every last feature in Colin Brindley’s face. She opened her eyes to find the rest of the girls openly staring at her. How humiliating. She gave them a sheepish smile and shrugged.

“Oh, no,” Willow said.

“Oh, no, what?” Charlotte asked.

“Did you not hear her specific description?” Willow asked.

“She’s aware of precise details?” Meg offered. “It’s what makes her good at solving those stories.”

“A dashing inspector? That sounds like a recipe for disaster,” Willow said, sounding worried. “I think it would be highly indecorous for you to assist him with the investigation.”

“Of course you would,” Charlotte said. “But enlighten us, Willow, why would it be indecorous?”

“Because Amelia obviously fancies this inspector, and spending time alone in his presence will lead to nothing but trouble. We certainly should not encourage such behavior.”

Spending time alone with Colin Brindley. It sounded rather delicious to Amelia, but that was precisely Willow’s point.

“With Amelia, it will all be harmless. Work and nothing more,” Charlotte said.

Yes, work and nothing more. She could do that. She might find the inspector intriguing, but she certainly would not do anything indecorous with him.

“But I must say, tall and handsome,” Charlotte continued. “Sounds a bit like Sherlock himself. I should like to meet this inspector.”

Amelia’s hopes shrank a little. She wasn’t precisely harboring dreams of Colin Brindley falling in love with her, but once he met Charlotte, any chance of that happening would be ruined forever. Every man that met Charlotte fell instantly in love with her.

She was exquisite. Beautiful where Amelia was plain, confident where Amelia was unsure, and bold where Amelia was shy. No man would ever choose her over Charlotte. Amelia had accepted
that years ago. In fact, the only reason Charlotte was unmarried, as the rest of them were, was simply because she chose to be. It was certainly not for lack of men asking for her hand, as the current count for proposals sat at twenty-seven. Amelia doubted she herself had danced with that many men in her entire life.

Other women frequently considered Charlotte cold, but Amelia knew her abrupt nature resulted from the fact that Charlotte, unlike most women, knew precisely what she wanted in a man. Whether or not he existed remained to be seen, but she had the courage to wait and see.

Amelia was not that confident she would find the right man. She knew it was far more likely that she would either remain unmarried or end up wedded to an old widower looking for a bed companion. Neither option was her first choice, but so far it didn’t appear that she would have a wide selection of suitors to choose from.

“Amelia will not allow anything improper to ensue,” Meg assured. “This would be strictly research. Even
you
”—she pointed at Willow—“can’t argue against that. Isn’t that correct, Amelia?”

Amelia’s head snapped up. She cleared her throat. “Yes, of course. Strictly research,” she repeated. She wasn’t so certain that was convincing,
but she honestly meant it. Besides, Inspector Brindley had made it abundantly clear that he held no interest in her even speaking in his general direction. She knew her virtue would be safe with him.

Willow pushed her spectacles farther onto her nose. “I will not agree that this is a good idea.”

“Fair enough. But will you agree that, despite an unlikely chance of impropriety, this is the perfect opportunity for Amelia to start on her own writing? What has she been saying for years?”

“You don’t have to talk about me as if I’m not in the room.” Amelia crossed her arms over her chest. “You simply cannot write about something without any firsthand knowledge or experience. How am I to write about solving mysteries if I’ve never done so in my everyday life?”

“I’ve always found that reasoning faulty.” Willow straightened in her chair. “You cannot tell me that Mr. Doyle has murdered someone merely for the experience so he could write about it.”

“He was a physician. Or perhaps he knew someone who had done the killing,” Meg offered.

“Exactly,” Charlotte said. “This is precisely the same thing. Amelia, you can work side by side with this inspector, learn all his methods, and be able to use them in your own stories. Perfect idea, Meg.”

The petite redhead smiled broadly. “Thank you.”

“Then it is settled,” Charlotte said.

It wasn’t completely settled. There still remained the tiny matter of the inspector not wanting her assistance.

“I still don’t think Inspector Brindley will want my help,” Amelia said.

“That’s preposterous,” Meg said. “You’re delightful to work with. I’m sure he’ll recognize that.”

She hadn’t felt so delightful yesterday. She’d felt rather like a nuisance. As if he’d have preferred she not be in the same room. Perhaps he didn’t realize she had some experience when it came to solving cases. She could certainly prove her worth to him. She had thought of several people to talk with regarding the investigation, and the list he’d requested was well on its way to completion. Yes, he would be pleased to have her assistance, and in return he could answer any questions she had regarding investigative methods.

She would visit him at his office. See where he worked, perhaps that would put him more at ease. Yes, Meg had been right, this was the perfect plan.

Amelia double-checked her bag to ensure the list remained safely tucked inside. If she was to assist Inspector Brindley in this case, she needed to
prove herself a worthy partner, which meant she needed to appear clever.

She’d worn her sharpest dress. A black and chartreuse striped confection that molded nicely to her body, giving her a straight, put-together look. She tugged on the hem of her jacket, then straightened her bonnet. Remembering one last tip from Charlotte, she bit down on her lips to pinken them, then rang the buzzer.

His office was in a part of town with legitimate businesses, though not exactly one she’d want to frequent in the evenings. But the sidewalk was clean enough and no street urchins had bothered her as of yet.

No answer.

She took a step back and peered up toward the windows to check for signs of movement. None, but she thought she spied the reflection of a light. Surely he wouldn’t leave a lamp burning if he’d stepped out.

She buzzed the door again. Twice for good measure. Not a moment later, she heard footsteps, and then muttering.

The door flew open to reveal Inspector Brindley wearing tweed trousers and a shirt. No jacket. No vest. No tie. And his sleeves were rolled to his elbows revealing well-muscled forearms dusted
with dark curly hair. She resisted the urge to fan herself.

Heaven’s gate, he was handsome. She’d never seen a man, save her father, in only trousers and a shirt. It seemed so…intimate. Her cheeks burned.

“What!” he said, then took a look at her and straightened. He brushed a hand across his hair. “I beg your pardon, Miss Watersfield, I didn’t realize it was you.”

She smiled. “Obviously.”

He raised his eyebrows and paused as if waiting for her to say more. “Yes, well, what can I do for you?”

“I brought the list you requested.”

“List?”

She waited for him to remember his request, but when he did not, she offered, “The list of visitors.”

“Ah, yes, the list of the people who’ve seen the antiquities. Many apologies, I’m afraid my mind is elsewhere this morning. You compiled the list quite quickly. Excellent.” He held his hand out to retrieve said list.

He wouldn’t get rid of her that easily. “I thought we could go over it. So I might give you more details. Answer any questions you might have.”

“My office isn’t exactly designed for entertaining, Miss Watersfield.”

“This is a business meeting. It could hardly be construed as entertaining.”

He took a moment to deliberate, then stepped aside and held the door for her. “It’s right up these stairs.”

He led her up a half stairway and through a door on the left. His office was the very picture of masculinity, richly colored in dark hues with the smell of tobacco and ink hanging in the air.

Precisely how she’d imagined Sherlock’s office. Chills skittered up her arms and prickled the hairs at her neck.

“How perfect,” she said.

“Pardon me?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Nothing.” She certainly couldn’t admit the truth behind her comment.

The room was large, and aside from the two windows, the walls were covered floor to ceiling with dark mahogany bookcases. Filled with books, no less. Leather-bound, and varying in size and color, they dominated the space.

She held her breath for a moment in sheer awe. She had plenty of books at home, but they did not have as grand a display, as her father had taken over the bookshelves years ago to exhibit his antiquities.

“Do you like books, Miss Watersfield?” he asked.

“Yes.” She gave him a broad smile. “Very much.” She stepped closer to a shelf. Philosophy, science, nature. She ran two fingers down the length of one spine, reveling in the smooth feel of the leather. “You must have a book on every subject. Your collection is somewhat breathtaking.”

“These are not only mine. My father was a collector for a while, but he left them with me when he moved to the country. The medical books are all his.”

“Oh, yes, he’s a doctor. I had forgotten.” She shook her head. This needed to be about the case, about finding Nefertiti for her father’s sake. “I apologize for my distraction. That is certainly not why I’m here. Obviously my father’s situation is more pressing than your books. I was momentarily overcome, but I am feeling quite right now. My apologies.”