Chapter Five
Elliot silently agreed with his client. Rubbing her foot was probably not a good idea, especially given the seclusion of their surroundings. The faint light from the lantern alongside Mrs. Pennyworth cast her features into a golden glow, emphasizing her plump lips, rounded chin, and high cheekbones. She truly was a lovely woman, and given his history with the fairer sex, someone to stay as far away from as possible.
Instead he sat, rubbing her delicate foot, inhaling her sweet feminine scent, and admiring her face and form. The slight mewing sounds coming from between those luscious lips, suggesting a woman being pleasured, had his cock hardening. Was that how she sounded with a man’s hands on her breasts, tweaking her nipples, kissing the tender skin beneath her ear?
He would never know, nor would he want to. Mrs. Pennyworth was his client. He was her employee, and any contact they had was only for professional reasons.
And now I am a professional foot rubber?
Elliot shoved that thought away and continued his ministrations. Instead of concentrating on what his hands were doing, he went over the evening, thinking of the various men he’d met, and those who had interacted with Mrs. Pennyworth. They all seemed to be regular, pleasant fellows, but he’d memorized the names of each man so he could explore their backgrounds.
He slipped her shoe back on. “Give me your other foot.”
“You really don’t have to do this.” Her face was flushed, leaving him wondering if embarrassment, or something else, made her blush.
“I don’t mind.” But his feeble attempts to concentrate on the list of men he needed to investigate no longer kept his thoughts from what his hands were doing. Or from what his ears were hearing. The devil take it, but she made the most interesting sounds!
Thankfully, the carriage rolled to a stop in front of Mrs. Pennyworth’s house. She pulled her foot from his grasp and bent to put her shoe on. The light hit the neckline of her gown in a perfectly wonderful way, and he got a delightful view of the tops of two creamy breasts, looking as though they were eager to escape their bindings.
He broke into a sweat and hurriedly exited the carriage, then turned to assist her. The sooner he got Mrs. Pennyworth into her house, with the door closed between the two of them, the better for his sanity. Else, he would grab her and devour that enticing mouth, and then discover if light kisses on her jaw, down her neck, and under her ear would produce the same lovely little sounds she made when he rubbed her foot.
God, he was in a bad way. Perhaps he needed pay a call on Mrs. Byrd, a widow who supplemented her meager income by entertaining men. It had been a while since he’d been there, and his reaction to Mrs. Pennyworth tonight suggested it was time for a visit.
He checked their surroundings as they mounted the steps. “When is the next event that you plan to attend?” Taking deep breaths and concentrating on the business part of their relationship should help calm his body. Although, there was no other relationship with his client that existed.
And it was best to remember that.
“Sir Danforth and Lady Danforth are hosting a card party on Monday afternoon. Do you play?”
“Yes, I do. I have a few items to move around on my calendar, but I will be prepared to escort you. What time shall I call?”
“The invitation is for two o’clock, with tea at five. Perhaps about fifteen before the hour? It is not a long ride to their house.”
He studied her wan expression, and pale face. “Are you unwell, Mrs. Pennyworth?”
“I do have the beginnings of a headache.”
“Please get sufficient rest tonight. I am afraid this is going to be a lengthy process to ferret out the man annoying you.”
She nodded, and the door opened by the man he’d seen earlier. He did not want to trouble her now, but he needed to speak with all the men she employed. “Well, good night then. I will see you Monday afternoon.”
…
Charlotte trudged up the steps to her bedchamber, feeling weary to the bone. Perhaps she’d returned to a social life too soon. Not that she felt as though she still needed to mourn Gabriel, but the stress of wondering if every man who approached her was the one leaving those disgusting objects was taking its toll.
Truth be told, Mr. Baker was also weighing on her mind. After the glowing recommendation she’d received about his services from the Inspector at Scotland Yard, she had no doubt if anyone could uncover the man responsible, it would be him. On the other hand, her attraction to him disturbed her.
She should never have allowed him the liberty of rubbing her feet. Whatever had she been thinking? The man was too handsome for her own good. And he had a way of looking at her that made parts of her body tingle and hum a snappy tune. Aside from the fact that he was her employee, she had no desire to foster a relationship with a man. Any man.
A husband was certainly not on her list of desired acquisitions, and becoming a mistress was not to her liking at present, either. Many widows in her social circle, as well as among the nobility, found widowhood an escape from the confines of marriage. With a thoughtful lover, who took the necessary precautions, widowhood could be a very enjoyable time of life.
She had no faith in men, and no reason to trust them. Depending on herself sat very well. Thank heaven—and Gabriel—for leaving her in a position where she did not need to marry again to keep a roof over her head, and food on her table.
All these thoughts raced through her mind as she stripped off her clothes, adding tension to her already pounding head. She placed her clothes neatly on the chair next to the wardrobe and took out her nightgown.
Once the velvety cotton hit her bare skin, she immediately relaxed. Cook’s special tea would go well, but she had no desire to venture to the kitchen to prepare it. Taking a huge yawn, she climbed between the covers, and before long was fast asleep.
…
The next morning, she felt immensely better and lay there deciding what she would wear for her Friday visit to St Jerome’s. No outfit that could be spoiled by sticky little hands. It occurred to her when Mr. Baker had asked her about her next social event, she’d forgotten her promise to elderly Mrs. Fenster to stop in after St. Jerome’s to share tea.
That would hardly count as a social event he needed to be aware of, however, since the poor older woman was certainly not harboring a man who was leaving things on her front steps.
Refreshed, and anxious to start her day, she climbed from the bed and rang for Beatrice. A long, leisurely soak was just what she needed.
“Good morning, mum.” Beatrice burst into the room, all smiles and sunshine. She and her sister Bridget were both sweet girls, hard workers, and as far as she knew, both sent the bulk of their wages to their parents in Ireland, where the family still lived with eleven children at home.
Charlotte shook her head at the thought of so many children in one family. Their poor mother must be worn out. That, of course, led her to thoughts of the children at St. Jerome’s. Life for them was so much worse with no family members who cared enough to work hard so they could eat and have warm clothes.
Once dressed for her visit, she ate a light breakfast of toast, jam, and tea. She allowed herself time to peruse the newspaper while she ate, a luxury she enjoyed almost more than any other in her life. As a child growing up, there had never been money for newspapers, and the brief time she’d been married to Gabriel, the newspaper had belonged to him.
She had been welcomed to it when he was done, but by then she’d already finished her breakfast. True independence was reading the newspaper at her own table while she ate breakfast.
A quick look at the clock told her it was time to go. She sent word for Thomas to ask the coachman to bring her carriage around. Her small basket of treats for the children hooked over her arm, she tied the bonnet ribbons under her chin.
Satisfied at her appearance, she smiled at Bridget as she opened the door. The toe of her half boot struck something, and she looked down.
And sucked in a deep breath.
A large, brown dead rat lay on the step, its throat cut ear-to-ear, its poor head hanging off by a thread, its glassy eyes staring straight at her. A pool of drying blood had begun to gel under its body. A metallic stench rose from the puddle, turning her stomach. The rodent’s thick tail was wrapped around a velvet cloth with a huge pink bow from a jewelry seller. Her stomach roiled at the incongruity of the pairing. Liquid flooded her mouth, and she swallowed several times to keep her breakfast down. She gripped the doorframe to hold herself up, but with a slight moan, darkness claimed her, and her knees gave way.
…
Elliot stepped from the omnibus and walked toward his house. He’d spent the entire morning checking into several men’s backgrounds. He’d visited bankers, tradesmen, and clubs, asking questions. So far, none of the men on his list had anything suspicious to note, which was no surprise since all of them had been friends or acquaintances of Mrs. Pennyworth from the time she’d married her deceased husband.
He still expected the man leaving his unique calling cards to be someone new to her, but every man had to be investigated so he could narrow the possibilities.
Lost in thought as he turned the corner and entered his street, a fancy carriage parked in front of his boarding house slowed his steps. As he drew near, it appeared to be Mrs. Pennyworth’s vehicle. He needn’t ask the coachman why he was there, since he was almost sure she had received another package.
“Good day, Mr. Baker. Mrs. Pennyworth asked that you call upon her.” The man shouted from the top of the carriage.
“Yes. I will be happy to. Please give me a moment to fetch a few things from my rooms.”
The coachman nodded, and Elliot hurried up the steps. He left the notes he’d made that morning on the desk and picked up a new pad of paper. This would be a good time to interview her servants and possibly even some of the neighbors.
The sun was peeking out from the clouds by the time they arrived at Mrs. Pennyworth’s house. He bounded up the stairs, and the door was opened immediately by one of the maids. She nodded at him. “Mrs. Pennyworth is in the drawing room, sir.”
“Thank you.”
Just as he started down the corridor, an unfamiliar man stepped out of the drawing room. “Are you Mr. Baker?”
“Yes, sir.” The man did not have the demeanor of a servant and carried a small bag. “And you are?”
“Dr. Blakely. I was summoned by Mrs. Pennyworth’s lady’s maid a bit ago. It seems she had a fright and needed something to calm her nerves. She mentioned you were employed by her to clear up a rather nasty business she has been dealing with.”
“That is correct. How is she now?”
“I gave her a sedative, but she refused to take it until she’d spoken with you.”
Elliot nodded and walked around the man into the drawing room. Mrs. Pennyworth reclined on a settee with a cold cloth on her head. He cursed himself at the sight of her paleness. The young man he’d employed to watch the house had left word that nothing had arrived. Either he had been lying abed while writing that note, instead of on the job, or the package had arrived after Stephen had checked and left.
“I assume another package has arrived?” He pulled up a dainty stuffed chair that he worried would not hold his large frame and sat, taking in her tightened lips and fearful eyes.
“Yes, it was horrible.”
“What was it this time?”
Mrs. Pennyworth struggled to sit up, and he immediately rose and helped her. “It was a dead rat, its head practically cut off.” She closed her eyes and shuddered. “Next to it was a parcel, a gift-wrapped package.”
“Where are the items now?” She looked dreadful, and he hoped to gain as much information from her before she was forced to take the sedative the doctor had left.
“Bridget was at the door when I found it. I apparently fainted, and my footman, Thomas, was summoned to carry me here. I believe someone took the dreadful items to the back courtyard.”
Elliot ran his fingers through his hair. “There are several things that must be done. I need to see the objects, and then I need to speak with your staff. One by one. I know you did not want me to interview them without you present. Do you feel up to it?”
She nodded, twisting a lace handkerchief in her hands. “Yes. Honestly, I feel better with you here.”
…
Charlotte took a deep breath. Mr. Baker’s mere presence calmed her frazzled nerves. She hated more than anything to depend on a man to make her feel secure, but there it was. This was by far the worst parcel she’d received yet, and she had an awful feeling they would only get worse.
“Can you please pull the cord to summon a maid?” She nodded in the direction of the brocaded rope hanging near the door. “I need to send notes to St. Jerome’s and Mrs. Fenster, who is expecting me for tea after my normal visit to the orphanage.”
Mr. Baker did as she bid and waited. Beatrice appeared, and after instructing her on sending the notes, Charlotte asked her to show Mr. Baker the items.
She rested her head against the cushion and closed her eyes. Her lovely, peaceful life was spinning out of control. Must she now hide in her house? Afraid to leave lest she meet this man who tortured her so?
Within minutes, Mr. Baker returned, carrying the beribboned velvet bundle. She had no desire to ask what had happened to the dead rat. He laid the package on the table in front of the settee. “We need to see what is inside. Do you wish for me to open it somewhere else?”
She viewed it as if it would jump up and bite her. “No, you can open it here.” She had to stop being so lily-livered. Mr. Baker was sitting right across from her. He began to untie the bow, and she had the urge to cover her eyes but kept her hands in her lap.
Mr. Baker put the ribbon aside and opened the flaps of the cloth. Charlotte gasped. Sun streaming through the drawing room window reflected off a beautiful gold bracelet, with diamond and ruby stones. The workmanship on the piece was exquisite, each stone set perfectly. Nothing she owned came close to the beauty of the bracelet.
“Dear God, who would leave something like that on the front steps?” She looked up at Mr. Baker. “With a decapitated rat alongside it?”
She ran her hands up and down her arms. Hysterical laughter and the urge to scream overwhelmed her. “This man must be deranged.” Her shaky hand tucked the loose curl that had escaped her topknot. She turned her eyes from the table. “Throw it away.”
“If you wish to eventually throw it away, that is up to you. However, we might have our first solid clue here.” He reached out, tucked his knuckle under her chin, and turned her face toward him. “If we can track down the store that sold this, we have our man.”
Her chin shook as the tears gathered in her eyes. “Do you think so? Do you think this could possibly be over?”
Mr. Baker moved from his chair and joined her on the settee. She shifted forward and considered bolting for her bedchamber, but before her thoughts turned into action, he put his arms around her and pulled her to his chest.
The tears fell lightly, at first, then the fear and shock of finding the grisly rodent let loose, and she sobbed on the man’s jacket. It felt so good to be held, to be comforted. There had been no one when she’d escaped from Lord Barton, and no strong arms to hold her when Gabriel had died.
He rubbed circles on her back and murmured soothing words that made no sense, but comforted her, nevertheless. The rumble of his chest against her ear as he spoke, the warmth of his body, the scent of something spicy, mixed with starched linen, wafted over her, carrying her to places far away from where she sat.
“You have been under a great deal of stress. We will catch this person, and return your life to you.” Mr. Baker fumbled in his pocket, and then handed her a handkerchief. “Yours is a bit soggy.”
A light laugh escaped her, and just like that, her tears dried up. She dabbed her face with the handkerchief and pulled away, casting her eyes from him, embarrassed. “I must apologize for my lapse in manners, Mr. Baker. I will pay to have your jacket cleaned.”
He waved dismissively. “No need to concern yourself.” After a moment, as she tried to regain her dignity, he said, “Mrs. Pennyworth?”
“What?”
“Look at me.”
Taking a deep breath, she turned her head in his direction. This handsome, virile man sat here in her drawing room, ready to uncover who was distressing her. Yes, she was paying him, but she doubted foot rubs and holding a sobbing client were part of his services.
“I will find the person doing this to you, be sure of that. But there is one thing I must ask you, and I insist you answer me honestly.”
She wiped her nose. “What is that?”
“Are you keeping something from me? Is there anything at all in your background you need to tell me before I continue my investigation?”
…
M sat in the large chair by the window, sipping sherry, thinking about the latest gift to Anne. Hopefully, the reminder left with the bracelet would impress upon her that she was being watched. She knew when her lover was not happy, and she would certainly know it now. Allowing that despicable man to escort her to the assembly! What was she thinking? Did she imagine M didn’t know? Didn’t see?
The piece of paper resting on the table next to the chair held the schedule of Anne’s events. Next would be a card party. M would be ready.