Chapter Thirteen
Elliot bade Charlotte a good night, checked the area outside her house, refused her offer of the use of her carriage, and began the walk home. He needed the fresh air to clear his head and calm his body.
What the devil was wrong with him that he kept kissing her? He’d never found a woman irresistible—except Annabelle—and look how that had turned out. Keeping his hands off Charlotte was nearly impossible.
What he should be doing is narrowing down his suspects to put an end to this terror she was living under. Mr. Spencer, with all his spouting of righteousness and Bible thumping, could certainly believe he was punishing Charlotte for what he perceived was a wanton life. The packages had begun arriving at her doorstep around the same time he’d settled in at St. Michael’s.
The main problem with Mr. Spencer as their suspect was his lack of wealth. The vicar could not have afforded the expensive jewelry that had been left on the front steps.
Then there was the ever-solicitous Mr. Talbot, a close friend of Charlotte’s deceased husband. Mr. Pennyworth had died in an accident after racing in a carriage—acting on a dare from one of his friends. Not the sort of behavior he would expect from Talbot, who seemed meek, and even fussy, in some ways.
Nevertheless, after time spent together this evening, he was no longer convinced that the pleasant and somewhat banal man would do such a thing. Unless he left the items to frighten her—which they had—so she would turn to him for help—which she hadn’t. And furthermore, were either the vicar or Talbot of a mind to hire someone to threaten his life, if he didn’t leave Charlotte alone?
That brought him to Von Braun, the newly arrived, mostly unknown, member of the social circle. He was hard to figure since he kept to himself but seemed to spend a great deal of time studying Charlotte.
What bothered him the most was the niggling belief that none of those men were tormenting Charlotte. Could there be someone so elusive that Elliot had completely overlooked the true culprit? On the other hand, was his assumption that it was someone in her social circle completely off?
The man he’d hired to discreetly speak with Charlotte’s neighbors and the tradesmen she saw on a regular basis had discovered nothing of interest. Again, he was stumped by the expensive jewelry. There were not a lot of people who could afford such luxuries.
So far, he had interviewed a number of jewelers in an attempt to unearth the purchaser of the bracelet. What he’d found thus far was a reluctance on the part of the horologists to reveal the names of customers.
Elliot sighed and waved down a passing omnibus. The walk had not cleared his head but had, at least, taken his mind off how enticing he found his client. Best to get the matter cleared up, and move on to another project that didn’t involve a beautiful damsel in distress.
The next morning, he spent more than an hour listing his suspects, and the reasons why, and why not, each one could be the antagonist. As he studied the names on the list, he was left with the feeling that he was missing something.
After cleaning up correspondence with Mr. Gleason that had piled up during this investigation, he took time to speak with three more close-mouthed jewelers. Frustrated at his lack of progress, he headed back to Charlotte’s house to escort her to a card party. Von Braun was expected to be present, which would give him time to study him further. He would also begin looking at other suspects.
Charlotte was descending the stairs to the entrance hall as he entered her house. Despite the errant curl dangling on the side of her head, and the flattering dark-green two-piece suit with black piping down the front that hugged her body, he promised himself he would keep his hands off her.
“Good evening, Mrs. Pennyworth.”
She smiled, no doubt amused at the formality since the last time he saw her, their lips had been locked together, and their bodies pressed against each other.
“Good evening to you, Mr. Baker.” She smirked, seemingly to confirm her memory at their last meeting. “It appears we are both early. Would you care for a brandy before we leave?”
“Yes, I would.” He pulled his timepiece from his vest pocket. “We have about a half hour to spare.”
Once they were settled in front of the fireplace, glasses in hand, he said, “I find I am stymied in my investigation, which annoys me quite a bit. Today, I made a list of my primary suspects, and while each of them have reason to be on that list, I feel as though there is something I am missing.”
“I assume Mr. Talbot and Baron Von Braun are on it?”
“Yes, as well as Mr. Spencer.”
The golden light from the fireplace emphasized her burnished curls and raised eyebrows as she viewed him over her sherry glass. “Do you believe a man of the cloth could do such vile things?”
“Perhaps this man of the cloth could, but what keeps me from considering him as a serious contender is a lack of money. Very few vicars can afford the type of bracelet that was left on your steps.”
“True. Mr. Talbot certainly does come across as my unwanted guardian—for lack of a better word—which does concern me. However, I have reason to believe Miss Garvey has a tendre for him. Perhaps him for her, as well? Another thought. You must admit, after his genuinely warm manner last evening, it is difficult to cast him into the role of tormentor.” She shifted in her seat, turning so her knees brushed his leg. “I have always thought of him as a friend—not one to wish anyone ill.”
Elliot contemplated her words for a minute. “He does present himself in that light, but if we rule out him and Spencer, we are left with Von Braun, who has nothing more to land him on my list other than he is new to your circle of friends, and watches you a great deal.”
…
They finished their drinks and left the house, settling into the carriage. Deep in thought, Charlotte stared out the window at the misty evening. The gaslights along the way loomed in front of them to brighten a small area on their passage, then the carriage was plunged back into darkness once more until the next light appeared.
She felt as though her life followed the same path. She had wonderful friends, an active social life, and enough money to provide her with the essentials and even some luxuries. Then the first disturbing package had arrived, plunging her into darkness.
She turned her head to view Elliot, who studied her closely. “I do not think of myself as a coward, although I am not foolishly brave. Nevertheless, I have been considering leaving London, and possibly finding a small house in Bath, or the countryside.”
He seemed to consider her words as his fingers tapped a cadence on his thigh. “I can certainly understand your desire to put this all behind you. However, there is no guarantee that whoever is harassing you will not follow you to the next town.”
She gasped. “Do you think this vile person is so determined to frighten me that he would pick up and move to another town, merely to keep this up?”
“Charlotte, at this point we have no idea who this is, and therefore, no solid idea of his motivation. Can you once again assure me there is nothing in your background that would precipitate this? No one who has a grievance against you? A past lover whom you scorned?”
She continued to dismiss the idea of Barton. He would never be so subtle—not that dead animals fell into the subtle category.
If only she could tell Elliot about the incident in Melbourne Station, even to merely assure herself that Lord Barton was not the person behind this. But, given his history, she had no reason to trust Elliot with that information.
“No. Nothing,” she answered. “And as to your statement about a scorned lover, please remember, I am not free with my affections. There have been no lovers in my past, scorned or otherwise. Only my husband.”
Maybe every widow he knew was taking lovers, but no man had appealed to her in that way. Her heart gave a thump when she realized the man sitting in the carriage with her could very well be the first man she would consider. But lovers needed to trust each other, and she didn’t trust Elliot, and she was certain, based on his questions, that he did not trust her.
The vehicle came to a stop, and as she took Elliot’s hand to step out, a few raindrops landed on her face. Bones opened an umbrella over them, and they hurried up the pathway to Mr. and Mrs. Glenmoor’s house.
The townhouse, set on Grosvenor Road, sat nestled among a row of townhomes belonging to London’s upper crust. This house sported a red front door, with a black and gold knocker.
A staid butler let them into a tasteful entrance hall, with a highly polished wooden floor, covered by a red print Aubusson carpet. Dark red wallpaper covered the area, leading to an oak staircase.
A maid took their coats and hats and directed them toward the drawing room where several tables had been set up. Charlotte spotted a handful of friends standing around, drinking lemonade. The table along the wall was arrayed with drinks and tidbits of food for the guests.
“Thank you so much for coming out on this nasty night.” Mrs. Glenmoor bustled across the room, a smile on her cheerful face, her hands extended. A pleasant, plump woman, she and Charlotte had been friends since before she’d married Gabriel. Her husband was a retired globetrotter and had held the group captive many a night with tales of his adventures, and the places he’d visited.
Charlotte had always desired to travel, but first she couldn’t afford to, then she was grieving her short-lived marriage. Now that she was free to enjoy her independence, perhaps once this messy business was cleared up, she would take a trip to the continent. Or even, perhaps to America.
Mr. Glenmoor joined his wife, giving Elliot a slap on the back. “The ladies have lemonade set up, but I have a fine French brandy, or a Scotch whisky. What’s your favor?”
“The idea of brandy on this cool fall evening sounds like just the thing.” Elliot followed Glenmoor as he led the way, waving his hands about, no doubt with another story.
Mrs. Glenmoor watched them walk away. “Mr. Baker is such a pleasant man. We are all so happy for you to have found companionship since dear Gabriel is gone.”
Charlotte felt a bit of a fraud since Elliot was not a companion, as such, but someone she hired. Although, given the kisses they’d shared recently, it had become hard for her to remember she was merely his client.
Does he kiss all his clients?
She stifled a giggled, thinking since most of his clients were surely men, she doubted Elliot had kissed any of them. While sipping her lemonade, she had the opportunity to examine the men in the room as more guests arrived.
Perhaps neither Mr. Talbot nor Mr. Spencer nor Baron Von Braun were the culprits. If not, who else here would hate her so much as to leave such horrible things? Was it possible that one of her female friends had harbored feelings for Gabriel, and was just now playing the woman scorned? More than a year after they’d married?
Then again, she could not imagine any woman doing such a dastardly thing, and Gabriel was deceased. Her attention was drawn to the room’s doorway where Mr. Talbot entered the room with Miss Garvey.
After greeting their hostess, they made a beeline for her. “Is Mr. Baker not with you this evening? I thought for sure we would see him.” Mr. Talbot offered his usual warm smile.
“Yes, he is here.” She turned to where she’d last seen them, but both Elliot and Mr. Glenmoor had disappeared.
…
Elliot took a sip of his brandy and studied the portrait of the distinguished-looking man that Glenmoor had just identified as his great-uncle, Colonel Richard Foxworth, who had fought under Wellington during the Napoleonic wars.
They had left the drawing room when Glenmoor asked Elliot to take a walk with him before the rest of the guests arrived. The room he’d taken him to was two doors down from where the others had gathered, and where the hum of conversation reached their ears. For all intents and purposes, it seemed to be a library, but one wall was taken up with portraits, rather than bookshelves.
“Yes, sir, he was a great soldier. He was my inspiration to join the military, don’t you know? I found I greatly enjoyed the travel involved in the military life, and that is how I became a wanderer.” Glenmoor continued to stare at the likeness of his relative. “Most of the men in my family were in service to the Crown in one way or another. I was raised to believe in duty to my country. ’Twas drilled into me it was the proper thing to do. But nothing inspired me more than the tales about this man.”
Glenmoor cleared his throat a few times, and then as they continued to stare at Colonel Foxworth, he said, “I brought you here for a purpose, Baker. There is a matter I would discuss with you, seeing as how you are a good friend of Mrs. Pennyworth.”
Elliot was caught off-guard by the man’s abrupt change of subject. “What is that?”
Glenmoor turned to him, a slight frown on his face. “Against my better judgment, Mrs. Glenmoor invited that new vicar for dinner one night last week.” He shook his head. “There is something odd about him. I know he is a man of the cloth, but he strikes me as not the forgiving or loving type of vicar.”
“I must agree with you. The few times I have been in his presence, he appeared judgmental and an opinionated arse. Please excuse me for denigrating a vicar, but he insulted Mrs. Pennyworth the last time I saw him.”
“That is what concerns me. He spent much too much time that night asking questions about her. Wanted to know all about Mr. Pennyworth, how long ago he had died, and what her relationship to you was. Things that I was most uncomfortable speaking about.”
Elliot frowned, his senses going on alert. “Did he indicate to either you or your wife what his interest in her was all about?”
“No. Both my wife and I changed the subject several times, but eventually he was back to asking about Mrs. Pennyworth again. It was quite disturbing. I just thought you should know since I did not want to distress Mrs. Pennyworth with this information.” Glenmoor backed away from the portrait and waved his arm. “I think we had better join the others.”
“Yes.” Elliot followed him out of the room and down the corridor. Before they entered the drawing room, Glenmoor stopped once again. “What confuses me about Spencer is why he is even in the church. With his money, he need not earn a living, and he certainly does not seem the type of person anxious to comfort his flock.”
“Money?”
“Yes,” Glenmoor said as they entered the drawing room. “He comes from a very wealthy family. Shipping, I believe. The man is probably worth close to fifty thousand pounds.”
Fifty thousand pounds? That kind of money could buy quite a few diamond bracelets.