The Secret of the Forty Steps by K.B. Owen

Author:K.B. Owen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: K.B. Owen

Chapter 14

Instead of the dark, sleepy cottage I’d expected upon my return, lights in the front parlor shone in the windows, and as I approached I could see Papa’s stout form pacing between them. I hurried to the front door. Was he waiting up for me? I’d told the maid I’d be out and would let myself in. There should have been no cause for alarm.

Of all the possibilities I’d entertained in those moments before I walked into the parlor, seeing my estranged husband, Frank Wynch, standing by the hearth was certainly not one of them.

“Frank! What are you doing here?”

He came toward me. We hadn’t spoken in months—since my last case took me to Washington—but the sight of his tall, lanky frame, hazel eyes, and the strong, determined jaw brought back the familiar, conflicting sensations I’d experienced when he’d moved out four years ago.

“Pen.” He clasped my hand, his fingers warm through my gloves. He leaned down toward me—he’s one of the few men taller than I—and gave me a searching look. “Thank heaven you’re all right. Pinkerton and I have been worried about you.”

Pinkerton? I blinked and withdrew my hand. “I beg your pardon?”

“You’d better sit down, dear,” Papa said, leading me to a seat beside my mother, who moved over with a chilly sniff. “We’ve been awaiting your return. Where have you been? Cassie said you had an appointment.”

“At this ungodly hour,” Mother chimed in.

“Never mind that now.” I sat. “Just tell me what’s going on.”

“There’s quite a lot to sort out.” Papa nodded towards Frank. “Begin again. I’m still trying to make sense of it all.”

Frank leaned against the fireplace mantel and propped his foot on the fender. “Monday afternoon, Mr. Pinkerton received an urgent long-distance telephone call from James Gordon Bennett in regards to you.”

“Bennett?” I echoed. “How did—? Oh. He must have remembered Lady Ashton’s gossip about me. Finally.” I glanced over at Mother. “I’ve been trying to deflect his suspicions for days. I’d counted upon him having been in the throes of an alcoholic haze when he’d first heard it.”

“Apparently it was not enough of a haze,” Mother shot back, turning her hooked nose and sharp eyes my way. “Your questions about Eunice Collinsworth were too pointed and obviously gave you away.”

“There was no mention of a lady by that name,” Frank said. “I’ve been trying to explain, Mrs. Hamilton—Bennett telephoned about another matter entirely.” He turned back to me. “Have you been associating with a sneak-thief lately? A blond-haired man, slightly built?”

I recalled Bennett’s glare as I parted ways with Shaw outside the sandwich shop. He hadn’t known, of course, that Shaw was a private detective rather than a sneak thief. Seeing us together—amicably—must have re-kindled his suspicions about my involvement in the break-in at his estate and had prompted him to act.

“Pen?” Frank prompted.

“Yes I have, but there’s an explanation.” I looked at my parents. “You two should retire. Frank and I can go over the details in private.”

Mother shook her head vigorously.

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