Chapter Twenty-Six
Her hands covering her mouth, Charlotte stared at the still form of Miss Garvey.
“Charlotte?” Elliot returned the gun to his pocket and walked slowly toward her. He placed his arm around her shoulders. “Sweetheart, it’s all over.”
She didn’t move, just kept staring at Miss Garvey. “Come.” He moved her forward. She stumbled as if in a dream.
“She was going to kill me.”
Elliot opened the door and walked her through. “Thomas, send for Scotland Yard. Don’t let anyone into the drawing room until they arrive.”
Wide-eyed, Thomas nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Also, have Bridget meet Mrs. Pennyworth up in her bedchamber.” He wrapped his arm around Charlotte’s waist and helped her upstairs. She was obviously in shock, and he was trying to decide if he should send for a physician. They entered her room, and he walked her over to the bed, where he eased her down.
She had been through so much in the last few weeks, he worried for her mind. She looked up at him, gripping his hands. “She tried to kill me.”
He sat alongside her and pushed the hair back from her forehead. “You’re safe now.”
Bridget entered the room. “Oh my, Mr. Baker. I had no idea what was going on in the drawing room. How terrible.”
“Yes, Bridget. It was terrible, but now I need you to take care of Mrs. Pennyworth. She needs to be helped out of her clothes, and into nightclothes.” He had thought of having a tisane made up but decided a good shot of brandy would be better.
He left the two women in the bedchamber with instructions for Bridget to summon him when they finished. He then went to the library, poured two healthy doses of brandy, and left the room to speak with Thomas and await Bridget’s summons.
“Sir, Scotland Yard has been notified, and someone will arrive within the next couple of hours.” Thomas looked a bit ghastly as he imparted the information.
“Thank you. I suggest you and the rest of the staff finish up your duties and retire for the day. I will see to Mrs. Pennyworth. Just ask Cook to leave something cold that Mrs. Pennyworth and I can eat later.”
“Yes, sir.” He bowed slightly and left the room.
Elliot took a sip of the much-needed brandy and stared out the entrance hall window at the beckoning dusk. Who would have thought it had been a woman all this time? He shook his head and took another swallow, watching the sun set, taking with it memories of the very strange day.
Later that evening, after Scotland Yard had retrieved the body, and took their statements, Elliot crawled into bed beside Charlotte—to hell with propriety!
He made love to her slowly, and with a gentleness that showed her how very much he loved her.
With his arms wrapped around her, her back snug against his chest, they fell into a deep slumber.
…
A week later, Charlotte opened her eyes to a room with bright sunlight peeking through the slit in the pulled curtains. Her spirits were even higher.
Her wedding day. With all the issues surrounding the shooting of Miss Garvey, their wedding had been moved back, but today she would once again become a wife. Of the man she dearly loved.
Men from Scotland Yard had visited Miss Garvey’s rooms and found numerous items that had incriminated her. They’d obtained the name of the man she’d hired to beat and shoot Elliot, and then kill Mr. Talbot before removing his hand. Charlotte shuddered at the type of person who would consent to do such a thing. Whoever he was, he now called Newgate his home.
From reading Miss Garvey’s journal, it was obvious she had been a sick woman, who had thought Charlotte was the reincarnation of a woman named Anne with whom she’d had a sexual relationship two years prior. A woman she’d killed to thwart her lover’s plans to run off with a man. Among her belongings, the detectives had found a tintype photograph of Anne, and they all agreed Charlotte resembled her.
“Good morning, Mrs. Pennyworth.” Bridget bounded into her room, her enthusiasm almost as high as Charlotte’s. “Oh my, this is the last time I will address you as such.” She covered her mouth with her hands and giggled. “After today you will be Mrs. Baker.”
Beaming at her young maid, Charlotte whipped the quilt off and stepped onto the chilly floor. “Yes, that is true.” She moved to the window and drew the curtain aside. “Is it not a glorious day, Bridget?”
“Yes, ma’am. It is a glorious day, indeed.” The maid opened the door to Charlotte’s wardrobe and removed the pink silk gown she’d pressed the night before. Even the fact that Mr. Spencer would be conducting the ceremony in his church did not damper her spirit.
She enjoyed a leisurely bath, followed by a breakfast tray of toast and tea before dressing in her lovely gown. Bridget fixed her hair in a chignon, surrounded by tiny roses, sent by Elliot that morning.
He was to meet them at the church for the ten o’clock service. Charlotte glanced at the small china clock on her dresser. “We must hurry, Bridget. I don’t want to arrive at the church all flustered and in disarray. Can you please check to make sure the carriage has been brought around?”
The girl hurried from the room, and Charlotte took one last glance at herself. A woman in love stared back at her. She’d lost the frightened look, and had put on a few of her lost pounds.
A slight scratch at her bedchamber door drew her attention. “Yes?”
Thomas stood at the door. He looked somber, and not at all like himself.
“What is it?” For some inexplicable reason, her heart began to thud. Had something happened to Elliot? God, please not another package.
“There are two men downstairs asking for you.”
“Two men? Did they say where they were from?”
“Yes, ma’am. They are from Scotland Yard.”
She let out a sigh of relief. Botheration, was she to be plagued by the Garvey situation even on her wedding day? “All right, Thomas, I will be there in a moment.”
He left, and she moved to her dressing table and dabbed a bit of cologne on her neck and wrists. Then, taking a final look in the mirror, she left the room.
Two men stood in the hall entrance. One of them she recognized as the man who had come to her house the day Miss Garvey had been killed.
“How may I help you, gentlemen?” She tugged on her pink silk gloves.
“Good morning, ma’am. I am Inspector Longforth. I am sure you remember me from our investigation a week ago.” She gave him a curt nod, and then he gestured to the man alongside him. “This is Inspector Osbourne.” He took out a piece of paper from his inner pocket. “You are Mrs. Charlotte Pennyworth?”
She didn’t care for the tone of the man’s voice, and all of a sudden, she wished Elliot were with her. “Yes, I am, as you well know from our prior meetings.” Her voice had turned to ice from the fear that was creeping up her spine.
He ignored her sarcasm and continued. “You are formerly Miss Charlotte Reading, who once resided at the home of Lady Barton of Melbourne Station and worked as her companion?”
“Yes.” She breathed out the word, her mouth suddenly dry.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but we have a warrant for your arrest.” He held out the paper. She studied it with wide eyes but refused to take from his hand.
A loud buzzing began in her ears, but she fought that, along with the churning in her stomach. “You are mistaken. I never took the jewelry. Lord Barton only claimed I did.”
“Ma’am, we are not here to adjudicate the matter, we are acting on an outstanding warrant. I’m afraid you will have to come with us to Scotland Yard and await transportation back to Melbourne Station to stand on these charges.”
Oh dear God. It was bad enough her past had caught up with her, but on her wedding day? Couldn’t God shine his light on her just this once? “I am about to be married. In fact, we are on our way to the church. Can this not wait?”
“No, ma’am, this warrant is almost two years old. I’m afraid we must take you in.” Inspector Longforth regarded her with sympathy, but she was afraid that little bit of compassion was not going to save her.
With shaky hands she gripped Thomas’s forearm. “Please go to the church, and ask Mr. Baker to come immediately.” She took a deep breath as Thomas left the house. “I assume we can at least wait until my fiancé arrives? It will only be about fifteen minutes.”
The detectives looked at one another, and Osbourne shrugged. “I guess another fifteen minutes won’t matter.”
If she didn’t sit soon, she would surely collapse. Her mind was in a whirl, and all she could think about was Elliot’s arrival. He would get this all straightened out, and her day would go as planned. “Let us retire to the drawing room.”
She led them there on shaky legs.
…
Elliot checked his timepiece again and slid it into his vest pocket. Charlotte should arrive any moment. He was excited and ready for this marriage. Charlotte was everything he ever wanted in a wife and mother for his future children. She possessed a loving spirit and a caring nature. Images of her body swollen with their child, and nursing the babe at her breast, brought a smile to his face as he tapped his foot, anxious for her arrival.
He loved her deeply and truly and wanted to take care of her for the rest of her life. They were well-suited, liking and disliking the same things. Without a doubt, his desire for her was beyond anything he’d ever felt for a woman.
All the nonsense with the gruesome packages was finally cleared up, her nemesis was dead, and they had a life together to which he looked forward.
Ten o’clock on the dot the door to the church opened, and Thomas rushed in. “Mr. Baker. You must come quickly. Mrs. Pennyworth needs you.”
Elliot stepped down from the platform where he and Mr. Spencer awaited the bride. The few guests who had gathered, along with their two witnesses, Lord and Lady Monroe, turned as Thomas strode down the aisle.
“Is everything all right? Is Mrs. Pennyworth ill?” He reached Thomas at the first pew.
The footman glanced around and lowered his voice. “Just come quickly. Please.” He turned and hurried from the church, Elliot on his heels.
They climbed into Charlotte’s carriage, but no amount of cajoling on Elliot’s part satisfied his curiosity, except for the fact that Thomas assured him Charlotte was not ill. Had she changed her mind? Did she decide she did not want to marry him and wanted to relay that information privately rather than leave him standing at the altar?
All sorts of horrible thoughts raced through his mind as they made their way to her townhouse. With knots in his stomach, he jumped from the carriage before it even came to a complete stop and hastened up the steps. He burst into the entrance hall. Bridget stood there, wringing her hands. “Oh, thank goodness you are here, Mr. Baker. They are in the drawing room.”
They?
He walked into the room. Inspector Longworth, and another man whose name he did not know, both rose from the chairs they sat in across from Charlotte. She sat on the settee, white as new snow, her hands in her lap. He walked to where she was seated and settled next to her, taking her ice-cold hands in his warm ones. “Gentlemen. Please have a seat and tell me what is so important that you must detain my bride on her wedding day.”
“I’m sorry to tell you there will be no wedding today.” Longworth withdrew a paper from his pocket. “I have here a warrant for Mrs. Pennyworth’s arrest.”
“Her arrest? Surely there must be some mistake.” He turned to Charlotte. “Do you know what this is about?”
She raised her eyes to him, tears standing in the lids, her mouth working as she tried to form words. “Yes. I do.” Her answer was barely above a whisper.
Fear of what she would say gripped him. “What is it about, sweetheart?”
When her eyes swung to Inspector Longworth, he turned in his direction. “Longworth?”
The detective held the paper out to Elliot. “Mrs. Pennyworth is wanted in Melbourne Station to answer charges of jewel theft.”
Elliot reared back as if he’d been slapped. “Jewel theft?” Memories of Annabelle washed over him, almost bringing him to his knees. Would fate be so cruel as to once again repeat the agony of falling in love with a thief? He almost laughed at the irony of it.
He withdrew his hands from hers and walked to the window, staring out at the beautiful, sunny day that was supposed to be his wedding day. “Charlotte, would you care to explain? Or is there no other explanation than what that warrant says?”
The rustle of skirts caught his attention, and then Charlotte stood next to him. She drew herself up and looked him in the eye. “Yes, there is an explanation, but will you listen to it, and give it credence, or have you already made up your mind?”
She was twisting a handkerchief in her fingers, her eyes were red and swollen, and she looked scared to death. But he had been through this before. Women had a way of twisting a man until he believed just about anything they said. He had always guessed Charlotte was hiding something. This was one time in his life he did not relish being right.
He tried hard to keep the bitterness out of his voice, but wasn’t sure if he succeeded. “Try me.”
“Very well.” She glanced over at the two inspectors and leaned in closer to him, and lowered her voice. “Two years ago, I was employed as a companion to Lady Barton in Melbourne Station. She has a son, Lord Barton, who became enamored of me.” She stopped and licked her lips.
“Go on.”
“He wanted me to…you know.”
He raised his eyebrows. “No, my dear, I don’t know. You must tell me exactly what happened.”
“All right. He wanted me to become his mistress. I refused. He planted a very expensive necklace in my room. One of the maids found it. He told me if I did not agree to warm his bed, he would have me arrested for theft.” She was breathless by the time she finished.
“That’s it? That’s the explanation?”
She frowned. “Yes. That is what happened.”
He rubbed his eyes. Women were always ready with an explanation that turned out to be false. Was he a fool again? What must Longforth think, since he was aware of his history with Annabelle? He must think Elliot the greatest ninnyhammer in all of London.
He regarded her as she stared at him with hope in her eyes. Just like Annabelle had when she’d given him her bogus story. “If that is the case, why did you not tell me before now? Haven’t I asked you if there was something you were hiding from me?”
“Don’t you understand, Elliot? You see everything in black and white. Once a criminal, always a criminal. You would not have believed me. I was afraid to tell you.”
“Perhaps I don’t believe you now, either.”
She sucked in a breath and raised her chin. “You don’t believe me?” Her voice shook.
He studied her for a few moments, his heart crumbling into pieces. He wanted to howl out his frustration and pain, like an animal with its foot caught in a trap. He had so many dreams wrapped up in Charlotte. He loved her. But he did not trust her. There could be no marriage without trust.
Suddenly, he could not breathe. He had to leave this room, this house. He had to get as far away from her pleading eyes as he could. Craving distance between them, he stepped back, needing space. From her, from the shock in her eyes.
“No. I’m afraid I do not believe you.”
…
Charlotte gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. “You don’t believe me? I thought you loved me.”
“Ah, yes. I love you, but do I know you? I think not.” He turned from the window and walked toward the drawing room door.
She stared at his retreating back, frozen where she stood. Her world tilted, and her heart broke. No pain she had ever suffered, not Lord Barton’s betrayal, not Gabriel’s death, not even Miss Garvey’s torture, could compare to the soul-shattering destruction at his departure.
He was actually walking out on her. Abandoning her, after all they’d been through, after all the words of love and caring he’d spoken to her.
“Wait.” On unsteady legs, she crossed the room, tugging on the diamond ring he’d placed on her finger three weeks before. She held it out to him. “Take this. I have no need for it.” She backed up and turned to the two detectives. “I am ready to go now.”
As she climbed into the carriage the detectives escorted her to, her last glimpse before they closed the door was of Elliot walking briskly away from the house, his back straight, his steps determined.
They took her to Scotland Yard where they asked her a number of questions, filled out numerous forms, and told her since there was still another train to Melbourne Station that day, she would not be sent to Newgate, but instead be returned there.
She nodded when they told her. She should be happy she wasn’t going to Newgate, but truth be known, she didn’t really care. She was numb. The man who’d said he loved her, and wanted to make a life with her, believed she was a jewel thief. After all they’d been to each other, and everything they’d been through together, he didn’t trust her.
After two hours of watching the activity in Scotland Yard, she was approached by a slender man in his mid-forties. He had a full beard that he tugged on as he spoke to her. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Pennyworth. I am Officer Kline, and I will accompany you to Melbourne Station.”
She nodded.
“Have you had luncheon?”
Charlotte shook her head. “No. But I’m not hungry.”
He viewed her with sympathy, his eyes running over her expensive gown, the small roses in her hair, and the misery on her face. “Well, then, we should probably head over to the train station. I prefer not to handcuff you if you promise not to run away.” He grinned.
“I’ve nowhere to go.” She stood and allowed him to grasp her elbow and head out of the building. Almost as if to mirror her change in mood, the day was no longer sunny, and low hanging clouds had moved in. She shivered and rubbed her hands up and down her arms.
“Did you have a coat with you?” the police officer wanted to know.
“No.” She began to laugh, trying hard not to become hysterical. “This is my wedding gown.” She held out the sides of the garment. “It is lovely, is it not?”
Officer Kline viewed her with furrowed brows, probably thinking she was losing her mind. Ah, if only she could lose her mind. Then maybe her heart wouldn’t hurt so very much.
…
Two days passed as Charlotte sat in a cell in the Melbourne Station jail. No one had spoken to her, or told her what was happening. She’d been sent two meals each day and had turned back more than half.
Most of the time she’d spent curled up on the small cot. The cell reeked of smells she did not wish to identify. It was cold and damp, and she had to share the space with a family of mice. Since she did not even have the energy to cry, tears leaked from her eyes, dropping like a steady rain on her beautiful silk wedding gown.
She never should have allowed Elliot to get close to her. Hadn’t she learned from Lord Barton that men could not be trusted, and from Gabriel’s foolish and needless death that men could not be counted on? When would she learn to only rely on herself?
“Mrs. Pennyworth.” The man who brought her meals stood at the front of her cell. “You have a visitor.”
For a moment her heart lifted and she thought it was Elliot, coming after her. She wiped her cheeks and sat up. “Who is the visitor?”
“Lord Barton wishes to speak with you.”
“Lord Barton?” If only she had enough moisture in her mouth she would spit out his name. “I do not wish to speak with him.”
The jailer inserted a key in the cell. “I’m afraid you have no choice, Mrs. Pennyworth. Since he is the one who has charged you with the theft, he can request an audience with you.”
“And I have no right to deny him?”
The door creaked open. “No.”
She sat on the cot and crossed her arms. “I refuse to leave.”
The man sighed. “Please, Mrs. Pennyworth. Lord Barton has a great deal of influence, and if he wishes to speak with you, he will not be deterred.”
Didn’t she know that? His great deal of influence had gotten her into this situation to begin with. The man practically owned Melbourne Station. There were very few residents who did not owe him for one reason or another.
She would hear what he had to say, and then she would turn her back on him and demand to be brought back to her cell. She uncrossed her arms and stood. “Fine. I will see him.”
The man looked relieved and smiled. She pulled her skirts close to her body to avoid touching him and swept past him. She turned to him and waved her hand, her head held high like the queen. “Lead the way.”
She followed him down the dank corridor into a room that wasn’t much better than the cell she had just left. Lord Barton sat on a chair, leaning back against the wall. When she entered, he jumped up from his chair, walked toward her and held out his arms. “Charlotte, my dear. How wonderful to see you!”