Chapter Six
Charlotte stared at Mr. Baker, his question echoing in her ears.
Are you keeping something from me? Is there anything at all in your background you need to tell me before I continue with my investigation?
The fear was always present in the back of her mind that perhaps Lord Barton had found her and was the one behind the leavings, but that was not his style. Had he unearthed her location, he would march right up to her front door with a constable in tow and have her dragged off to jail. “Certainly not.”
He studied her for a minute, then leaned back in his chair. “Since I am here, I would like to interview your staff. I have a man watching your front door, and he reported this morning that nothing had been left. Obviously, that was not true, and I will address that issue with him when I leave here.”
“Do you wish to speak with just the men?”
“No. Any one of the female staff may have seen something that might help us.”
Charlotte sighed. “Very well.” As much as she would like to drink the sedative the doctor left and retire, it was necessary for her to help in any way she could.
She rose from the settee and pulled the brocade cord. Within minutes, Bridget hurried into the room. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Please ask Mrs. Blanchard to gather all the staff and direct them to the drawing room. It will be necessary for them to speak with Mr. Baker.” She did not employ an immense amount of people. Just Cook, Mrs. Blanchard, Bridget, Beatrice, Thomas, her coachman Bones, and Malcolm, the groom. Certain times of the year she hired a gardener, but there had not been one on staff for a few months.
Bridget gave a quick dip. “Yes, ma’am.” As she turned to go, Charlotte said, “One minute.” She turned to Mr. Baker. “Have you had luncheon, Mr. Baker?”
“No, I was on my way home from my morning activities when your coachman delivered your message.”
“Bridget, please have Cook send in a light luncheon for Mr. Baker.”
“And Mrs. Pennyworth.” His deep voice right behind her made her jump. When had he crossed the room? He was so quiet. His stealthy movements battered her already stretched nerves.
She tried hard to quell her pounding heart, and turn her unease into anger at him practically ordering her to eat. “I am not hungry.”
“It matters not. You must eat something, or you will faint again.” He placed his warm hand on her lower back and escorted her back to the settee.
Well, then.
He was now directing her life? Even though she agreed with him, it was hard to allow him to command her. “I believe I am adult enough to know when I need to eat.”
His raised brows were his only answer. With their eyes locked almost in combat, she relented, thinking she could probably eat a little bit, if that would move this along so she could put the dreadful morning behind her. “Yes, Bridget, I will have something, as well. Mrs. Blanchard can begin sending in the staff one at a time when we are through with luncheon.”
“I know you have a sedative from your doctor, but given your paleness, I believe a small sip of either sherry or brandy might help steady your nerves.”
Why in heaven’s name did this man sound as though he was ordering her around, and at the same time offering practical suggestions? It would not do for her to allow him to assume he could take such liberties.
He grinned. “I can see you trying very hard to disagree, but you know it is for the best.”
Pulling her skirts close, she moved around him, her chin in the air, and headed for the library.
“Stay here, and I will get it for you.”
He returned with a half-full glass, and in a fit of defiance, she gulped the entire thing and was overtaken by a fit of coughing that negated her cheekiness. A soft chuckle from Mr. Baker annoyed her even further.
After they consumed a luncheon of bread, cheese, cold beef, fruit, and tea, the stream of servants to be questioned began. The first one, Bones, stood in the center of the room, twisting his cap in his hands, looking decidedly uncomfortable.
Never having had reason to examine him so closely before, she hadn’t realized how very slender the man was. Apparently, his slight frame had something to do with his name. He shifted from foot to foot, nervously licking his lips.
“It is all right, Bones. Mr. Baker will merely ask you a few questions, and then you may return to your duties.” Charlotte didn’t bother offering him a seat since she knew he was quite anxious to get the interview over with. Bones was not comfortable in the house.
“How long have you worked for Mrs. Pennyworth?” Mr. Baker drew his pad forward on the small desk he had moved from the corner of the room to the middle. Charlotte sat on the edge of the settee, eyeing her empty glass, wishing she had the nerve to excuse herself to fetch another one.
“Since Mr. Pennyworth bought the house, back in ’78,” the coachman answered.
Mr. Baker nodded and made a notation on the pad. “What are your duties?”
Bones scratched his head, no doubt wondering about this strange man who asked what a coachman’s duties were. “I drive the missus carriage.”
“Yes, and what else?”
“Keep the vehicle clean, and in good repair.”
“Do you tend to the horses?”
“No, sir. The groom does that.”
Charlotte saw no rhyme or reason for the questions Mr. Baker asked, but since she was not an investigator herself, perhaps there was something necessary in his line of questioning.
Mr. Baker leaned back in his chair and tapped his lips with his pen. “Have you noticed anything unusual in the neighborhood in the last few weeks? The presence of a previously unknown individual? Someone who seemed to stop and watch the house?”
“No, sir. Nothing any different than the way things have been forever.”
“Thank you, then. If you think of anything that might be of help in finding the man who is leaving these distasteful items for Mrs. Pennyworth, please contact me.” He reached in his pocket and withdrew a small white card that he handed to Bones.
Once the door closed, Elliot turned to Charlotte. “What do you know of your coachman’s background?”
“Not much. He had already been in place when I married Mr. Pennyworth. Why?”
“He bears a strange tattoo on the back of his left wrist, right above his glove that could denote nefarious activities somewhere in his past.”
“Indeed?” She had never noticed the tattoo, but then again, she was not a private investigator. “Does that mean something?”
“Only that I don’t trust him.” Mr. Baker gazed at the door the man had just left.
“Why?”
He shrugged. “It could represent some sort of gang. Once a criminal, always a criminal.”
Charlotte sucked in a deep breath at his callous statement. “Can you not believe that things are not always as they seem?”
“No. I would be a fool to believe that.” He looked down at his pad. “Who is next?”
Still reeling from his words, she consulted the list Mrs. Blanchard had sent in. “The groom, Malcolm.”
“How many staff members do you employ?”
Charlotte ticked off on her fingers. “Mrs. Blanchard, Bridget, Beatrice, Cook, our footman, Thomas, Bones, and Malcolm.”
Just then the door opened, and Malcolm, with dirt, and possibly some other interesting matter on his shoes, and looking as uncomfortable as Bones, stepped into the room. He stood before Mr. Baker as if facing the executioner. Despite the man’s demeanor, she had doubts the poor man, who had also been with the house since Gabriel bought it years ago, had anything to do with dead animals and expensive jewelry appearing on her doorstep.
She leaned back and regretted saying it was necessary for her to be present when Mr. Baker questioned the staff. Fighting a yawn, and wishing the afternoon over so she could rest, she listened as Mr. Baker cleared his throat and addressed Malcolm.
…
The following Monday, Charlotte tugged her kid gloves on and checked her appearance in the mirror. She moved her hat a bit to the right, and re-anchored the hatpin holding the lovely deep green confection that matched her pelisse firmly on her head. Mr. Baker would be arriving shortly to escort her to the card party at Lord and Lady Danford’s townhouse.
Her memories returned to the last time she’d seen Mr. Baker. After a few hours of awkwardness on the part of the servants, he’d dismissed the last one and looked up at her from his pad. “I wish I could tell you all of this had some effect on our search for your nemesis, but unfortunately, nothing presented itself as important.”
“Except for Bones’s tattoo.” She’d felt the need to add that, since in her mind, Mr. Baker’s reaction to that had been excessive.
“Yes.”
He’d then went on to assure her it had been a necessary process, and there was a chance one of her servants would remember something that his questions prompted, and contact him. She had walked him to the front door where he’d hesitated for a moment, and then suggested she get some rest. Once again annoyed at his tendency to overstep his bounds, she merely nodded before he strode down the stairs and away from the house.
The sound of the front door opening and Thomas greeting Mr. Baker brought her back to the present and urged her to pick up her reticule and join him downstairs.
Once again, she was taken by the man’s looks. He certainly filled out his jacket quite well. His eyes studied her as she descended the stairs, something in their depths causing a light flutter in her middle. His slightly crooked grin only increased the sensation until she had to look away before her knees failed her.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Pennyworth.” His deep voice undid her determination to calm her body. For goodness sake, the man was her employee. She was paying him to deal with her problem. Them being together was no more than a necessary part of his plan to discover who was tormenting her. There was absolutely no reason for her heart to be pounding, or for her breathing to hitch.
“Good afternoon to you, Mr. Baker.” She quickly looked away and smoothed out the front of her pelisse, then regarded him with a bright smile, telling herself she was now in control. As if he understood her inner turmoil, he grinned at her and extended his arm. “Shall we?”
Yes, we shall. And no, we shall not.
…
Elliot linked Charlotte’s arm in his, and they made their way down the stairs. The deep green of her pelisse and matching hat intensified the hazel in her eyes until they almost seemed the color of spring grass. He breathed deeply of the charming scent that always surrounded her. Why was it every time he laid eyes on her after an absence, she affected him in a manner he preferred not to admit?
She is your client, and a woman, that is all. Women are not to be trusted and can be devious when appearing innocuous. Continue to remember it, and all will be well.
They settled onto the softly padded benches across from each other. “I suggest, since this will be the third time we appear at one of these events together, we stop with the Mr. Baker and Mrs. Pennyworth.”
Charlotte eyed him carefully, biting her lower lip, where he wanted to place his own lips. “I’m not sure if that is appropriate.”
She looked adorable, and he had to glance away before he scooted over to her side of the carriage and took that delectable mouth in a kiss she was not likely to forget. “If we are to be a believable couple, which means no one will question why I am at these affairs since they are not my friends, we need to act more…”
“More what?”
He leaned forward and lowered his voice, as if to keep the outside world unaware of his words. “Like lovers.”
Her head snapped back, and she stiffened, while he waited for a well-deserved slap across his face at his suggestive words. “I have no intention of allowing people to believe that I am behaving in such an improper manner.”
Unable to keep from teasing her at her self-righteous fury, he said, “You don’t wish to be seen as my lover, or as any man’s lover?”
She fussed with her reticule, her face flushed, obviously having a difficult time composing herself.
He should drop the matter, but something inside him rebelled. He wanted to know. “Come now. Surely you are aware that most widows take lovers, if they don’t remarry.”
“I am not most widows! And this is an extremely inappropriate conversation.” The anger in her voice and the red dots on her cheeks made him wonder what it would be like to have all that passion directed toward him. In bed.
“I apologize. You are right. I have no reason to speak to you in that manner, or believe you would be the type of woman who would take a lover.” He leaned back once more, pondering what had possessed him to even bring up such a subject. The conversation had gotten far from where it had started, and not in a good direction.
Although she had not answered his question, it was time to let it go. “However, I stand by my suggestion that we adopt Elliot and Charlotte when we are around your friends. Besides which, if we intend to draw out the man harassing you, we need to give him reason to show his cards.”
“I don’t understand what you mean.”
“Has it not occurred to you that the man leaving the packages, and gaining your notice, might be acting out of jealousy?”
She sniffed. “Jealousy? That is absurd. I have given no one a reason to be jealous.”
“Charlotte.” He paused, seeing how her given name felt on his tongue. “You are a very attractive woman who is at the end of her mourning period. I am sure there are a number of men in your circle of friends and acquaintances who would be quite pleased to enter into a relationship with you.”
The startled look in her eyes made him wonder about her sincerity. Could it be she was so naive as to be unaware of her appeal to men? Did she not know she was not only beautiful, and possessed a figure every man under four score would love to run his hands over, but her sweet, genuine personality, wit, and intelligence was a draw of its own?
Or did he have it all wrong, and this was another game she was playing, pretending ignorance while she plotted and planned something? Was it possible she was using him and his investigation into these packages as a cover-up for some nefarious deeds?
He shook his head at the fanciful thoughts running away with him like a prized thoroughbred nearing the end of the race. He wanted to believe she was sincere, and if he had not previously been made an arse of by a beautiful woman, he would not be questioning her at all.
“I suppose there might be someone interested in me in that manner, but he would hardly earn my favor by leaving dead animals on my front steps.” Her lips turned up in a slight smile.
Happy that her anger at him had subsided, he said, “’Tis true. I must admit whenever I courted a woman, I never thought to offer her dead animals.”
“So narrow-minded, Mr. Baker? No dead birds or rodents for your sweethearts?” Her smile had turned into something else. Her face lit up, and the banter they enjoyed had obviously relaxed her.
“Perhaps you are right. But then a fine steak dinner could fall into that category as well.”
She shuddered. “Oh, dear. I shall never look at a steak the same way again.”
Sorry to see her good humor vanish with his careless words, Elliot glanced out the window of the carriage as the vehicle came to a stop. “It appears we have arrived.” He moved forward on the seat and reached for the door handle. “Although I am hardly a great romantic, even I know that whoever is doing this is misguided in how to gain a lady’s favor.” He hoped his smile restored the geniality they’d shared during the few minutes of silly repartee. As he helped her out of the carriage, he added, “I still credit jealousy as your tormentor’s motivation, so let us give him reason to reveal himself.”
The room to which they were directed was large enough to hold a dozen card tables. A few of the tables were already in play, the competitors serious in their game, while several groups of guests clustered together, chatting and sipping from glasses. Elliot and Charlotte entered the room and were immediately approached by Mr. Talbot, who seemed a bit possessive of Charlotte, and Miss Garvey with the full dance card. The other man was unknown to him.
Talbot greeted them and turned to the other man. “May I introduce you to Mr. Elliot Baker and Mrs. Pennyworth?” He waved in their direction, then placed his hand on the man’s shoulder. “This is Baron Von Braun, from Austria. He has recently relocated to London.”
“A pleasure, Baron,” Elliot said, studying him carefully. The baron was somewhere in his mid to late forties. Most of his face was covered by a well-trimmed beard and mustache, with a monocle wedged in his left eye. Tall and bulky, he stood straight as a soldier, his smile never reaching his eyes.
The man made a curt turn away from him, bowed from the waist, and took Charlotte’s hand in his, brushing his lips over her gloved fingers. “Mrs. Pennyworth, may I offer my condolences on the passing of Mr. Pennyworth.” He patted the hand he held.
Charlotte’s eyebrows rose. “You knew my husband?”
“Indeed. We conducted business several years ago. I did not know of his death until I arrived from Austria.”
“Oh.” She seemed to be trying to tug her hand loose, but the baron did not let go.
“If there is anything I can do for you, please send word. I am at your service.”
“Yes, I will.” Finally able to retrieve her hand, she moved it behind her back and gave him a strained smile.
Watching the exchange between the baron and Charlotte, Mr. Talbot’s smile faded, and he frowned, which added two men to Elliot’s list of potential suspects—Von Braun and Talbot.
“Is anyone ready to play cards?” Miss Garvey’s rough voice broke the spell that seemed to hold the group transfixed.
“Yes, of course.” The baron waved to a table near the door that held four seats. He turned and looked directly at Elliot. “It appears we are one too many. Who would like to sit out?”
Happy to have a good excuse to wander the room, Elliot immediately volunteered. He wanted to keep an eye on the baron as well as Mr. Talbot, and at the same time be free to speak to some of the others at the party.
However, it might have been his imagination, but Charlotte looked a bit anxious at his imminent departure. He reached out and squeezed her hand, a reminder that he was watching, and she had nothing to fear. “May I fetch you a drink, Miss Garvey, Charlotte?”
“No,” Miss Garvey said. “I have no need to have anyone fetch me what I am able to obtain myself. I have just finished a lemonade.”
Silence followed her comment as they all stared at her. Oblivious to their regard, she took her seat.
“Yes, please, Elliot.” Charlotte seemed to stumble over his name, but he doubted anyone noticed. “I would like a lemonade.”
After bringing her the drink, Elliot wandered the room, speaking to various people, joining in on games with other groups.
But the entire time, his eyes kept returning to Charlotte’s table, keeping Baron Von Braun and Mr. Talbot under close scrutiny.