Chapter Twenty-Four
Elliot looked up from his paperwork as the wood and glass door to his office flew open and banged against the wall. Bridget stood there, her eyes wild. “Mr. Baker, please. You must come. Quickly.”
Good God, had something happened to Charlotte? He stood and grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair. “What happened?”
He rounded his desk and sprinted to the door. The poor girl could hardly catch her breath as she waved him to Charlotte’s carriage, standing at the edge of the pavement in front of his office building. “It’s Mrs. Pennyworth.” She gulped as they climbed into the carriage, Bones snapped the reins, and the horses took off before the door was even closed all the way.
His heart was in his throat as he watched the girl attempt to speak. Had Charlotte fallen? Was she gravely injured? Was she dead? The last thought hit him like a sledgehammer, taking all the breath from his body. “Calm down, Bridget. Tell me what’s happened.”
“Mrs. Pennyworth got another of those things on the front steps.” She twisted her fingers in her skirts, her eyes pale, the freckles on her face standing out. “But this one was horrible.”
Another package? That was the last thing he expected to hear. Talbot was dead. Unless before he’d died he’d left instructions for something to be left there. “What was the package, Bridget?”
“Oh, sir, I can’t even say.” She burst into tears and dropped her head into her lap.
He obviously was not going to get any further information from the maid. The girl was beyond distraught. He had to know one more thing. “Has Mrs. Pennyworth been harmed?”
She shook her head and continued to cry into her skirts.
Elliot tapped his thigh and stared out the window, feeling as though he should just leave the carriage behind and run to her house. Every minute it took Bones to get them there brought up a new image of the horror to which Charlotte had been subjected.
Finally, they reached the block her townhouse was located on, and Elliot rapped on the roof. Before the coach came to a complete stop, he opened the door and raced down the pavement, and took the stairs to her door two at a time.
Thomas, who must have been watching for him, opened the door as Elliot’s foot hit the top step. “Oh, thank goodness you are here, sir. Mrs. Pennyworth is extremely overset.”
“Where is she?”
“In her sitting room, upstairs. Beatrice attempted to give her a tisane, but she refused.”
“Thank you.” He bolted up the stairs and burst into her room. Charlotte turned and gasped. “Elliot.” She flew across the room into his arms, almost knocking him off his feet.
His thudding heart slowed when he saw she was well. Yes, she was extremely agitated, but she did not appear to have any injuries, which eased his mind somewhat. “Charlotte, you must calm down, so you can tell me what’s happened. Bridget was of no use whatsoever.”
She pulled back and looked into his eyes. “Another package.” Her voice shook, and he feared she might faint. “How can that be?”
“Come, let’s go downstairs to the drawing room and get you a bit of sherry to drink.”
“Brandy, I think,” she said. “A double.”
Once they were settled on the settee with drinks in their hands, Elliot placed his hand over hers. “Tell me what happened.”
Charlotte took a rather large sip of brandy, coughed for a moment, then took a deep breath. “I had intended to go for a walk since it is so very nice outside today. We won’t have many more days like this one, you know. With winter coming, we will soon be unable—”
“Charlotte, love, you are rambling.”
She closed her eyes for a moment. “Pardon, you are correct. Forgive me. When I opened the door, I noticed something on the step. Needless to say, since Mr. Talbot is deceased, it never occurred to me that it was another one of those dreadful leavings.”
Elliot gestured to her glass. “Drink.” He placed his hand at the back of her neck and rubbed.
She took another sip and clutched the glass firmly between her two hands. “I bent down, and noticed it was one of my white satin gloves.” She chewed her lower lip and closed her eyes. “I picked it up. It seemed heavy to be only a glove. I turned it over…” Tears leaked from her eyes, and she shook her head. “I can’t say it.”
“Where is it now?”
She shook her head and opened her eyes. “I have no idea. I’m afraid I passed out, and when I came to, I was lying upstairs on the settee. I’m assuming Thomas did something with it.”
Elliot pulled her close and kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll speak with Thomas.”
He found the footman right outside the door. “Thomas, where is the glove Mrs. Pennyworth found on the front step?”
Even the footman turned pale when Elliot asked him for it. “I would have preferred to toss it into the fire, but I knew you would want to look at it. I wrapped it in a cloth and placed it on a high shelf in the kitchen.”
“Get it for me, please.”
The man was obviously uneasy with Elliot’s request, but he had to see for himself what they were all in a dither over. He paced the entrance hall while he waited for Thomas. How the devil had another package arrived? With the way Charlotte had described finding it, there had been no one lingering around for them to question. A niggling doubt prodded at him. Could he have been wrong, and it hadn’t been Talbot harassing Charlotte?
Thomas returned, holding the wrapped package. Elliot took it from his hands, and his heart thudded. This was not just a glove. It was much too heavy. “Thank you, Thomas.”
Not wanting to upset Charlotte again, Elliot took the package to the library, closing the door behind him. He placed the item on the desk and stared at it for a minute. Then, he removed the cloth, and studied the innocuous-looking white satin glove. But he knew, by everyone’s behavior, that there was more to it.
He picked it up. It was stiff, hard. Not just a glove. He turned it around, and immediately dropped it on the desk. His breathing increased, and he broke into a sweat. Dried blood had stained the edge of the glove, with a smear going up one side, the brownish red streak wrinkling the satin, pulling it together. The fabric had been stretched, breaking the threads on two of the fingers.
He closed his eyes, trying to erase the image from his mind.
Stuffed inside Charlotte’s white satin evening glove was a severed human hand.
…
Charlotte paced the Aubusson carpet in her sitting room. Her arms gripped her middle as if to keep herself in one piece. She might never feel safe again. The horror of finding that hand stuffed into her own glove brought bile up the back of her throat.
“Charlotte?” After a light tap, Elliot entered the room, thankfully not holding the glove. He held his arms out, and she walked into his embrace, wrapping her arms around his middle, and tucking her head against his chest. “What does it mean?”
He walked her over to the settee in front of the window. The sunny day made a mockery of the horror she had just witnessed. “I don’t know. I thought this would all end when Talbot died.”
“Do you suppose Mr. Talbot was not the one leaving the packages?” How could they have been so wrong? Everything had pointed to the man, even though she still had a difficult time accepting it.
Elliot leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his thighs, and ran his fingers through his hair. “One thing I can say for certain is Talbot did not arrange for that to be left on your doorstep.”
“How can you be so certain?”
He took her cold hands into his warm ones and rubbed them. She felt as though she would never be warm again. “I have every reason to believe the hand inside that glove belonged to Talbot.”
She reared back. “What?” The gasped words barely made it past her dry lips.
He nodded and stood. “When Talbot’s body was found, his hand was missing. Scotland Yard believed animals had gotten to him.”
“Oh God.” Charlotte jumped up and raced through the doorway to her bedchamber. She flew across the room to the chamber pot, leaned over, and brought up her last meal.
She fumbled in her dress pocket and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe her mouth. Blindly she stumbled to the dresser and poured a glass of water from the pitcher, rinsed out her mouth, and spit into the bowl. With a heavy heart, she walked back to the sitting room.
“I think you should take the tisane Bridget mentioned and try to lie down for a while.”
“I can’t,” she wailed then turned, her hands fisted at her side. “Don’t you understand? The monster was here in my room! Right here in my very bedchamber! He took one of my gloves!” Her knees gave way, and Elliot rushed forward to catch her before she hit the floor.
He carried her out of the bedchamber and brought her to the room he’d used when he stayed here, and placed her on the bed. “Thomas!”
The footman raced up the stairs. “Yes, sir.”
“Have Cook fix a tisane for Mrs. Pennyworth.”
“Yes, sir.”
Charlotte rolled to her side, bringing her knees up to her chest and moaned.
…
Elliot sat with her until she drank the tisane and fell asleep. When he was sure she was in a deep slumber, he made his way downstairs in search of Bridget. He found the young maid in the kitchen, sitting at the table, looking quite pale herself. “I placed Mrs. Pennyworth in the room I used a few weeks ago. She should not return to her own bedchamber until this is solved. I suggest you take a lie-down also. I am sure Mrs. Pennyworth would be fine with it.”
“Oh, thank you, sir. I believe you are correct. I am not feeling quite the thing right now.”
Elliot fetched the disgusting glove and left Charlotte’s townhouse, heading directly to Scotland Yard. Leaving human remains on someone’s doorstep was against the law, and he needed to report it.
“Talbot’s hand, eh?” Detective Finch leaned his chair back on two legs and regarded Elliot. “So that’s what happened. I thought for sure an animal got it.”
“I did, too, but this has to be his hand.” Elliot unwrapped the package and placed the glove on the detective’s desk.
The man blanched and sat forward, the front legs of his chair hitting the floor with a thump. “Nasty business. What with the Ripper fellow cutting up prostitutes and leaving their innards all around the place, and now this, it makes me wonder what the bloody hell is going on in London.”
He picked up the glove with two fingers and turned it in several different directions. “I don’t suppose your—fiancée, did you say?—wants the glove back.”
He offered the detective a grim smile. “No. While the entire thing disturbs me, what worries me more is Mrs. Pennyworth swears that glove, and its mate, has always been kept in the wardrobe in her room.”
“So, our fellow was in her house, eh?”
“Her bedchamber, actually.”
Finch shook his head. “We’ll dig up Talbot and see if this fits, although I’m sure it will, since you tell me you had reason to believe he was leaving strange offerings on her doorsteps.”
Elliot leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Now I’m not so sure it was him. Because things had been quiet since his death, Mrs. Pennyworth and I assumed it had been Talbot. For what purpose we were never able to ascertain, but now it seems a moot point because he certainly didn’t cut off his own hand, stuff it into a glove, and leave it with someone to place on her doorstep in the event of his death.”
“I’m thinking you’re right there, mate.” Finch pulled on the end of his mustache as he studied the glove.
Elliot stood. “I have things that need my attention, so I will leave that with you. If you come up with anything, I would appreciate hearing from you.”
“Yes. You can count on that. In the meantime, I suggest you keep a close watch on this fiancée of yours.”
“I intend to. Once I clear up a few legal matters, I will seek a special license and marry her, so I can see to her safety while we’re dealing with this mess.”
…
Four days later, Elliot sat at his desk in his office, clearing out the pile of correspondence and court documents so he could head over to Charlotte’s house. He had finally been granted the special license due to a high-ranking client’s intervention. Slowly, he’d been moving his things from his rooms to her house. At her tearful request, he’d stayed at her house the first night after she’d received the glove, but since then he’d been reluctant to do so.
He tried to convince himself that because she had received such a gruesome item, it didn’t necessarily follow that she was in physical danger, but the entire mess made him uncomfortable. Once they were married, he would take her on a wedding trip, as far away from London as possible.
Of course, the problem remaining was, who’d left the glove? He had examined the situation from every possible angle, and he was growing more confident every day that Talbot had not been the person responsible for everything that had happened to Charlotte. Now his primary focus was getting married and leaving this all behind them, hoping her marriage, and absence for a time, would make her tormentor step back.
The door to his office opened, and his secretary, Mr. Gleason, entered. “Mr. Baker, there is a man here who says it is most important he speak with you.”
Elliot dropped his pen to the desk and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I was hoping to make this an early day. However, since I plan on leaving town in the next couple of days, I should probably see the man.” He stood and shrugged into his jacket. “Send him in.”
He settled into his seat as the door opened once again. A small man, short, slightly bald, and wearing a suit of clothing that bespoke of moderate means, entered the room. He took small steps, almost as if he was afraid to commit himself to the interview. He clutched a large book to his chest.
Elliot waved to the seat in front of his desk. “Please have a seat, Mr.—”
“Davis, sir. My name is Malcolm Davis.”
Elliot reached across the desk to shake the man’s hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Davis.” The small man fumbled with the book he clutched, then shook Elliot’s hand.
Once they were both settled, Elliot pulled on the cuffs of his shirt and placed his folded hands on his desk. “What can I do for you, Mr. Davis? My secretary indicated you needed to speak with me on a matter of importance.”
The man nodded his head briskly, then wiped his upper lip with his finger. “You must understand, Mr. Baker, as an employee, I would never break such a confidence, but I felt it was in your best interests for me to see you, as soon as I found this.”
Elliot frowned, not sure he liked the way the conversation was starting off. In his best interests? It sounded almost like a blackmail scheme was about to be presented. He leaned back in his chair. “Is that right? What can you have that would be in my best interest?”
“Before I say any more I want to make it clear this is not something I would ordinarily do.”
“As you have already stated. I have other matters to deal with today, Mr. Davis, so may I ask that you please enlighten me? What information do you possess that would be in my best interest?”
Mr. Davis took a deep breath. “I am, or I should say, I was, valet to Mr. Talbot.”
His heart pounding, Elliot came alive, and sat up in his seat, his arms leaning on his desk. “Do tell. And what about being Mr. Talbot’s valet is of interest to me?” What sort of information could the man have?
“Only yesterday I was able to bring myself to begin to pack away Mr. Talbot’s things. He had no family, therefore, I had intended to give his clothing to the church, so they could distribute it as they saw fit. Mr. Talbot was a good man, and I know he would have wanted me to share any worthwhile things with the less privileged.”
Davis sighed and seemed to need time to compose himself. “Mr. Talbot had a will, and left a tidy sum to each of his employees.” He stopped and took out a handkerchief and blew his nose. “He was a most generous employer.”
Elliot gave him a moment, the man obviously quite distressed at the loss of his employer. He lowered his voice and asked, “What is it you came to see me about today? How do I figure in Mr. Talbot’s things?”
The man laid the book he had been holding on the desk, all business once again. “I would never think to read anything of a personal nature of my employer.” He tapped the book. “This is Mr. Talbot’s journal. He wrote in it every day.” He smoothed his hand over the cover. “He left the book open at the last page he wrote, which is why I was able to read his final entry.”
“Yes.” Would the man drag out his story forever?
“When I saw your name mentioned in here, and what Mr. Talbot wrote, I thought it was my duty as a good citizen to bring it to your attention.”
Elliot reached out. “May I read it?”
Mr. Davis nodded and flipped open the cover. He thumbed through the pages until he reached the one he wanted. He read it over and then turned the book around, so Elliot could see it. He pulled the book toward him and began to read.
Elliot frowned as the words began to make sense. Then he sucked in a breath of air as his eyes skimmed the page. His eyes grew wide, and he looked up at Mr. Davis. “Bloody hell. Bloody, bloody hell and damnation.”
Elliot jumped up, practically knocking his chair to the ground, and rounded the desk. “If you will excuse me, Mr. Davis, I must leave immediately. Thank you very much for sharing that with me. My secretary will see you out.” He raced from the room, whipping past Mr. Gleason. “Please see Mr. Davis out. I am on my way to Mrs. Pennyworth’s house.”
Dear God, how would I have ever guessed?