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loss of so muchblood would prove deadly, the press insisted. It was only a matter of time before the killer’s corpse was discovered.
    Amity was not so certain. In the course of her travels abroad with her father she had sewn up the wounds of a number of people who had been injured by a variety of sharp objects, including shears, razor blades, hunting knives and broken glass. Even a small amount of blood could look like a great quantity if it was splashed around in a spectacular manner. It was true her new walking gown had been ruined by the blood of the Bridegroom, but she did not think that she had struck a death blow.
    “You must take a positive attitude toward this situation,” Penny said. “There is nothing the public loves more than a great sensation involving murder and an interesting lady. Your encounter with the Bridegroom certainly meets both requirements. I’m sure that when all is said and done it will inspire sales of your book. Mr. Galbraith is nothing if not pragmatic when it comes to publishing.”
    “I can only hope you are correct,” Amity said. “There is no denying that you are far more versed in the ways of Society than I am. You have a knack for navigating awkward situations. I am in your hands.”
    Penny surprised her with a knowing look. “You have hiked in the wilderness of the American West and the jungles of the South Seas. You survived a shipwreck and confronted a would-be thief in a San Francisco hotel room. You have ridden a camel and an elephant. To top it off you are now the only woman in London known to have survived an attack by a criminal who has killed three women thus far. Yet you quail at the very thought of having to deal with the social world.”
    Amity sighed. “I did not fare well the last time I went into Polite Society, if you will recall.”
    “That was a long time ago. You were only nineteen and Mama did not protect you properly. You are much older now and, I’m sure, a good deal wiser.”
    Amity winced at the “much older” and felt the heat rise in her cheeks. She knew she was flushing an unbecoming shade of red, but there was no avoiding the fact that at twenty-five she had crossed the boundary that separated marriageable young ladies from the doomed-to-spinsterhood crowd.
    The memories of the Nash Debacle, as she privately termed it, always made her cringe. Her broken heart had healed quite nicely but the dent in her pride was permanent. It pained her to acknowledge how naïve she had been. In the wake of the discovery that Humphrey Nash’s intentions were less than honorable, Amity had concluded there was nothing for her in London. The last letter from her father had come from Japan. She had packed her bags and purchased a ticket on a steamship bound for the Far East.
    “I am most certainly older now,” she conceded. “But I’m starting to wonder if I am cursed when it comes to London. I have been back for only a month and my name is on everyone’s lips. What are the odds that I would feature in not one but two scandalous situations. Speaking of which, I fear that it is only a matter of time before Mr. Stanbridge learns that his name is being dragged through the gutter press.”
    “If and when Mr. Stanbridge discovers that his name has been brought up in connection with an illicit shipboard affair, I’m sure he will understand that it was not your fault,” Penny said.
    “I’m not at all certain of that,” Amity said.
    Secretly she hoped that he might at least discover that hers was not the only name featured in the newspapers lately. It might even impel him to send a letter or a telegram informing her that he was less thanpleased. A message of any kind would offer her assurance that he was alive and well.
    She had heard nothing from Benedict since the
Northern Star
had docked in New York. The following day he had boarded a train to California. To all intents and purposes he had vanished. True, he had said something vague about calling on her when he