Chapter Four
According to the reports from the man Elliot had paid to watch Mrs. Pennyworth’s front steps, no packages had been left after the two of them had attended the poetry reading. Tonight, he would accompany her to the assembly where, hopefully, he would meet many more people. The atmosphere would be much more conducive to watching men, and how they interacted with his client.
So far, nothing led him to the conclusion that Mrs. Pennyworth was in any sort of physical danger. Aside from the dead bird, there had been nothing else sinister. The man harassing her could merely be someone too shy to approach her on a normal, social basis. Although, leaving a dead bird hardly seemed conducive to romance.
He straightened his tie as he sounded the knocker on her front door. Bubbly and friendly Bridget greeted him. “Good evening, Mr. Baker. The mistress has requested we put you in the library, where you may avail yourself of some brandy while you wait.”
“Good evening to you, as well.” He removed his hat and followed the young girl down the corridor. The library led him to believe someone thoroughly enjoyed reading. The floor-to-ceiling shelves were almost 90 percent full. A quick perusal of the books showed them to be placed according to category, and then alphabetically by author.
He strolled to the sideboard and poured about two fingers of brandy, then, taking light sips, he wandered the room, pulling out a book, flipping through the pages. He turned at the sound of the door opening and inhaled sharply through his teeth.
Yes, this assignment would be the death of him. His client looked like a goddess in a deep-blue silk gown that clung to her upper form, creamy white skin visible above the lace neckline. Her hair was piled up in such a way that teasing curls escaped, resting against her smooth cheeks.
“Good evening, Mrs. Pennyworth.” He managed to get the words out, despite the sudden dryness in his mouth. “You look enchanting.” Enchanting was not the proper word, but he would find himself justifiably slapped in the face if he used the word that was actually on his mind.
“Thank you.” She seemed pleased, her smile gentle, her eyes sparkling, then she stiffened as if remembering something unpleasant. Raising her chin she said, “I am ready to depart.”
“Of course.” He crossed the room and followed her to the doorway where she accepted her cloak from a man Elliot had not seen before. She was out the door before he could offer his arm and attempted to maneuver the steps herself, until it became apparent her gown was not going to permit it.
Trying not to smirk, unaware of what game she was playing, he extended his arm. “May I be of assistance?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Once they settled in the carriage and he knocked on the ceiling to alert the coachman to proceed, he rested his foot on his bent knee and regarded her. “How many generally attend this event?”
Mrs. Pennyworth grabbed the strap hanging from the wall next to her as the carriage hit a nasty bump in the road. “Having been in mourning for a year, it has been some time since I attended, but if memory serves, I would say about a hundred people.”
“This should give me a good opportunity to observe the gentlemen attending. Please try to introduce me to as many as possible. I still believe the timing of the package arrivals is connected to your social life.”
“Yet nothing was left the morning after the poetry reading.” Her voice was muted in the dark light. With the fog swirling around the outside of the carriage, they seemed to be cocooned in their own world. Safe and protected.
“Perhaps your tormentor had not attended.”
“True.” She glanced away from him, then back again. “There is a matter I wish to discuss with you.”
He nodded for her to continue.
“Mrs. Blanchard informed me that you stopped by the other day while I was away from home.”
Since that was a statement and not a question, he merely continued to study her, no words requiring a rejoinder.
“In the future, I would prefer to be present when you question my servants.” Two red dots appeared on her lovely cheeks, and her small chin rose as she waited for his reply.
“Of course. I had not visited your home with the intention of questioning anybody, but I do need to know about your household, new servants, etc.”
“I agree. However, in the future, please direct your questions to me, and if you need to speak with one of my staff, I wish to be there.”
“Surely, it is not your intention to hire me for a job and then proceed to tell me how to conduct it?”
“No, I just feel that it is my prerogative to be at hand when you speak with my staff.” Her face flushed a delightful pink, and she refused to look him in the eye.
Bells went off in his head. What the devil is she hiding? Of course, she had the right to insist on being present when he questioned her staff, but something about her attitude put him on alert. He tried to tell himself it was because he was generally careful about new clients, but his more cynical side told him she was hiding something.
Like most women.
He did not want to get caught up in another debacle, and open himself up to becoming a fool. His lighthearted mood upon leaving the house vanished with their conversation. Then, he realized there was no reason to be disturbed.
What if she was hiding something? She had hired him to learn who was leaving packages at her door, and make them stop. That was all he intended to do. He had no reason to further entangle himself with Mrs. Pennyworth, and he was well advised to remember that.
The light from the assembly hall rose before them in the fog, like a welcome beacon guiding a ship to shore. The carriage rolled to a stop, and the door opened. Elliot stepped out first, then turned to assist Mrs. Pennyworth. She gave him a slight smile, as if to set a more pleasant mood.
The room was already full when they entered. Women in colorful gowns gave the space the look of wildflowers in a summertime field. A lively melody played from a small orchestra tucked into the northwest corner, with couples taking advantage of the music as they dipped and twirled around the floor.
After leaving their outerwear with a footman at the door, Mrs. Pennyworth smoothed her dress and took his arm as they entered the dance.
They both received small cards on which to enter names of dance partners. It didn’t surprise him that they barely took a few steps when Mrs. Pennyworth was swamped with hopeful partners. While she smiled and nodded, and wrote down names, he watched each gentleman—how close he stood to her, how he regarded her, and if he moved away to allow another gentleman to step forward.
Once her admirers had moved on to other women, he turned to her. “I hope you saved a dance for me.”
If she’d been as surprised by his request as he was, she didn’t show it. Why the devil do I want to dance with her? He was here to do the work for which he’d been hired: observe and take mental notes.
She held out her wrist where the dance card dangled from a small ribbon. “There are only two dances left.” He glanced at it. A waltz and a cotillion. He wrote in his name.
Her eyebrows rose. “You filled in the waltz.”
“Did I? I hadn’t noticed.” Of course he’d noticed and told himself it was a better idea to seize a waltz so they could speak without being overheard. Compare notes, and all that. He pushed aside the annoying voice reminding him they would have the carriage ride home to do just that. It is better to coordinate while they are still at the assembly, so I can instruct her, he told the annoying voice.
Just then a gentleman approached, his attention riveted on Mrs. Pennyworth. With the music starting up again, Elliot assumed he was her partner for the upcoming dance. He bent his head and murmured into her ear, dismissing the fragrance wafting from her. “Don’t forget to introduce me to every gentleman you encounter. Otherwise, I might be forced to attend one of my clubs to meet them outside of these events.”
“You belong to clubs?”
“Yes, although I seldom grace them with my presence. Not such lofty clubs as White’s and Boodles, but the ones I’m sure some of these gentlemen might frequent.”
“Mrs. Pennyworth, I believe this is my dance.” Her partner was tall and lanky, with a mustache and a slight scar running from the edge of his mouth to his jawline. Despite the scar, the man emanated cheerfulness and sincerity, but one could seldom assess what was in another’s heart by mere presentation.
Mrs. Pennyworth took Elliot’s hand and drew him forward. “Mr. Talbot, I am sure you remember Mr. Elliot Baker?” She glanced at Elliot. “Mr. Talbot was a dear friend of Mr. Pennyworth.”
The man nodded in Elliot’s direction. “My pleasure.” He glanced toward Mrs. Pennyworth. “And a dear friend of yours, as well, I hope.”
Mrs. Pennyworth blushed, and Elliot regarded Mr. Talbot a bit closer as the man extended his arm to Charlotte. Elliot watched them walk away, and join the queue to begin the country dance. Deciding it would look suspicious if he spent the entire evening watching Mrs. Pennyworth, and her various dance partners, he approached the few women he had met at the poetry reading, to request dances.
He had filled a couple of spots when he approached Miss Garvey, who had attended the reading with Mr. Talbot. “May I request the honor of a dance, Miss Garvey?”
She studied him for a moment, her features tight. “I am sorry, Mr. Baker, but my dance card is full. If you will excuse me.” She turned abruptly and walked off.
Elliot shook his head at her rudeness, then shrugged and continued on his way. There were plenty of other women he could request dances from in order to observe Mrs. Pennyworth.
Once he had a respectable number of names written on the card, and tucked away into his jacket pocket, he spotted two more men from the poetry reading, sipping from glasses, and having what appeared to be a lively conversation. Grabbing a drink of a suspicious nature from the refreshment table, he joined them.
…
An hour later, Charlotte released Mr. Glenmoor’s arm and joined the other ladies in the line of dancers. She’d forgotten how much she enjoyed the interaction with other people, while she’d been in mourning.
Hers was not a world occupied with many lords and ladies, but honest, hard-working people: merchants, solicitors, doctors. Some had inherited their wealth, but due to how it had been handed down, would not be received in the homes of the upper crust.
When she considered her beginnings—in service for years—she counted herself fortunate to be received by these people. Of course, marrying Gabriel had done a lot for her social position.
As the music began and she moved with the familiar steps, she noted several new faces in the crowd. She especially took notice of new men, since she doubted those she’d known for a while would suddenly begin behaving in such a bizarre manner as to leave unwanted, and disgusting, things on her front steps.
“Mrs. Pennyworth?” The woman alongside her touched her on the arm as they separated from their partners and joined the line once again.
Charlotte smiled at her. Another fairly new face, Miss Garvey had been at the poetry reading earlier in the week. “Yes, good evening, Miss Garvey.”
A slight woman, Miss Garvey appeared to be in her mid to late thirties. Brown hair with some gray had been pulled back in a bun at the nape.
“It is a pleasure to see you once again. I hope you are enjoying yourself.”
The woman smiled. “Indeed, I am. I don’t wish to appear presumptuous, but I wonder if I might ask a favor of you.” They moved away from each other to circle with their partners, then were back in the line again. “I had hoped to increase my social circle in London and heard you are just the person to help me in that quest.”
“I shall be delighted to help you adjust, Miss Garvey. I am having an afternoon tea next Tuesday if you are free.”
The woman’s face lit up. “I would love to come. What time?”
“I will send along a note with the information. If you have a card with you, just leave it with the man at the door, and I’ll collect it when I leave.”
Miss Garvey nodded. “Thank you so much. I will definitely do that.”
Charlotte had been approached before by women new to London who had found it difficult to find the correct social circle. She had become a one-person welcoming committee of a sort. Knowing how unhappy one could be with no social life or friends, she was always willing to help a newcomer adjust.
Just then, Mr. Glenmoor whisked Charlotte away to be joined with another couple as they moved in time, forming a small circle.
Once the lively dance ended, he escorted her back to where she’d left Mr. Baker, who was just then returning from a conversation with Mr. Melrose and Sir David. Mr. Talbot joined them and lingered, appearing to prevent Mr. Baker from getting too close. Surely the man didn’t think, as Gabriel’s close friend, he had some sort of obligation to “protect” her? The idea both humored and annoyed her.
“What line of work are you in, Mr. Talbot?” The snap in his eyes and the deep concentration he was affording the man, alerted Charlotte to his true intentions. It appeared poor harmless Mr. Talbot was coming under Mr. Baker’s scrutiny. As much as she wanted to dismiss the matter as utter nonsense, it did afford her the opportunity to study him further.
She’d always been comfortable in his presence, but Gabriel had invariably been there during Mr. Talbot’s visits to the house. Except for the time shortly after she’d been notified by the police that Gabriel had not survived the carriage crash. Her husband, along with several of his muddle-headed friends, had set up a race, driving large horse coaches, normally driven by experienced coachmen.
Mr. Talbot had stepped in to help with the funeral arrangements, stayed by her side during the horrific time, and had called on her at least once a month thereafter to ascertain her well-being. Could he now feel she owed him in some way, or that he was her champion with Gabriel gone?
But how would that fit into leaving her obnoxious things? To gain her attention? Make her feel unsafe so he could step in and aid her? Nonsense. She was now taking second looks at every gentleman she’d known for the past year and half. She hoped Mr. Baker was good enough at his job that he would find the culprit soon enough, and put a stop to such suspicious thoughts.
“I manage my investments,” Mr. Talbot said in answer to Mr. Baker’s inquiry. “I was fortunate enough to inherit property and such, which keeps me quite busy. And what is it you do, Mr. Baker?”
That question got Charlotte’s attention. Certainly, Mr. Baker had an innocuous answer at the ready, knowing Mr. Talbot would ask the same question in return.
“Solicitor.”
Well, that was indeed a good cover for his true profession, but something that anyone could easily investigate if one was apt to do such things. Once Mr. Talbot took his leave to fetch his next dance partner, Charlotte turned to him. “Was it wise to pretend to a solicitor’s profession? Perhaps someone might have cause to call you out on that.”
Mr. Baker smiled. “I am a solicitor.”
She startled. “I thought you were an Inspector with Scotland Yard before you began as a private investigator?”
“Indeed. However, I also studied law and passed the exams set by the Law Society.”
“Before you left Scotland Yard?”
He nodded, and the tightening of his lips and the stiffening of his body suggested there was a story he preferred not to divulge. She gave it a try, however. “Why did you leave Scotland Yard? The Inspector with whom I spoke didn’t say.”
“It was a complicated matter, but one that taught me to remember good is good and evil is evil, no matter how it is packaged.” He glanced, with seeming relief, over her shoulder. “Now, however, it appears your next dance partner is headed this way.” Mr. Baker nodded in the direction of the gentleman making his way across the room. Mr. Carter had been introduced to her this evening for the first time. He was a banker, and held himself in high regard. Almost to the extent that the short time she’d been in his presence, she felt as though he looked down upon her. Why he had requested a dance eluded her.
Her feet ached, and her head had begun to pound when the orchestra started to play the waltz that Mr. Baker had requested. Tempted to ask him to forfeit the dance and escort her home, she, nevertheless, took his extended arm as they made their way to the dance area.
He turned her in his arms, and tilting his head, studied her. “You appear a bit fatigued. Would you prefer to leave?”
Her shoulders slumped in relief. “As a matter of fact, yes. Would you mind, terribly?”
“Not at all. These are not my favorite type of events, and I believe I’ve gathered enough information to begin my investigation.”
She glanced at her dance card. “I still have three more dances promised.”
“I am sure whichever gentleman requested those dances will manage to survive without you.” His grin took the sting out of his words. They left the dance floor, and Mr. Baker asked the man at the door to have her carriage brought around.
Sinking into the comfortable velvet seat of the vehicle, she groaned with happiness to be off her feet. She reached down and used her finger to rub the side of her foot. Mr. Baker settled across from her, tapped the ceiling, then glanced at her hand. “I don’t mean to be forward, Mrs. Pennyworth, but you look as though you could use a good foot rub.”
She sucked in a deep breath. Yes, that was a forward suggestion, and she should have brought him up short, but the idea of someone rubbing her poor feet sounded too good to be lost to propriety. “I didn’t realize when I secured your services that foot rubbing was included.” She smirked when her words caused him to grin.
“Ah, but then I didn’t take the time to outline all the wonderful things I can do, besides find your tormentor.”
His eyes grew heated in the dim light from the carriage lantern, and Charlotte shifted at the sudden ache between her legs. “’Tis good to know.” She barely got the words out from between her dry lips, before pulling herself back from where she was afraid they were headed and added, “I don’t believe this is a good idea. However, my feet do pain me.”
He moved to the edge of the seat and patted his leg. “Here, put your foot up.”
Slowly, and holding her gown so the hem stayed secure right at her ankle, she gingerly placed her left foot on his leg. His warm, muscled leg. He leisurely slipped her shoe off as she watched mesmerized. When she looked up, he wasn’t looking at her foot, but directly at her face. If possible, the heat in his eyes had increased.
The slight chill in the carriage had disappeared, and a warm flush rose from where he touched her ankle, all the way up to her stomach. Slight butterflies danced to a merry tune in her middle as his thumb moved over the ball of her foot, rubbing in delectable circles. She closed her eyes and let out a soft moan, forgetting this man was her employee, and she should not be allowing this intimacy.
At that thought, her eyes snapped opened, and she attempted to tug her foot away, but he held fast. “No,” he spoke barely above a whisper, “just close your eyes and relax.”