Chapter Seven
“Do you feel as though you learned anything tonight?” Charlotte settled herself in the carriage across from Elliot. The card party had been pleasant enough, but since she was now looking at every man who spoke to her with suspicion, the strain truly took a toll on her nerves.
“I know Talbot was a friend of Mr. Pennyworth, but how well do you know him? He seemed a bit unsettled when the baron fawned over you.”
“He hardly fawned over me. He was polite. And to answer your question, Mr. Talbot was my husband’s friend. He visited our home on a regular basis, but aside from that we had no contact, except when he assisted me during the funeral, and the few times he stopped by over the course of my mourning to ask after my well-being. I’m sure if he had dark intentions toward me, it would have come out before now.”
“You were in mourning for almost a year, so he had no reason to see other men paying you their attentions.”
“Why would that matter?”
“Because he might very well have intentions toward you, and seeing other men as competition could set him off.”
“But how would that figure into sending me dead animals?”
They were back to that again, but not in the mood to continue the vein of the earlier discussion, Elliot squeezed the bridge of his nose. “I don’t have all the answers. I’m merely trying to put together pieces of the puzzle. For now, he will stay on my ‘possibility’ list. Let’s discuss the baron.”
Charlotte sighed and looked out the carriage window. The dark circles under her eyes, illuminated by the pale sun coming through the window, reminded him how this matter was affecting her. So far, she’d come across as a strong woman, but even strong people were known to crack under pressure.
After a few minutes of silence, when Elliot thought he would need to repeat his question, she turned to him. “Truth be known, he made me uneasy.”
Elliot sat up straight and leaned forward. “How so?”
“Perhaps he did fawn over me. He held my hand longer than is proper, and when I tried to tug it free, he kept holding it for a few more seconds, as if to let me know he had some power or control over me.”
He had noticed that little byplay between Charlotte and the baron, which was why Elliot had kept his eyes on the man while he roamed the room, and even when he sat with other players at various tables. “He remained at your table the entire party, even though Mr. Talbot and Miss Garvey eventually switched to other tables. Did anything of note happen while you played cards?”
She shook her head. “No, that is the strange thing. After I was initially introduced to him, he never said another word. Not to me, nor to anyone else at the table, that didn’t relate to the game. But—every time I looked up from my cards, he was staring at me.”
Baron Van Braun shot to the top of Elliot’s list. He would ask his foreign office contacts about the baron first thing in the morning. Thinking it best to take her mind off the events, since it was his job to ferret out the scoundrel so Charlotte’s life could return to normal, he changed the subject. “I noticed on the list of events you provided me that a St. Jerome’s was mentioned for tomorrow. Is that a church you attend?”
“No. St. Jerome’s is an orphanage in St. Giles.” Her bright smile erased some of the strain on her face. “I go there two or three times a week to play with the children and read to them. I bring treats, clothing donated by friends, fresh fruit which they rarely get, and baked goods from my cook.”
His eyebrows rose. “St. Giles? I don’t think it is a good idea to venture into that part of town. Does anyone else go with you?”
“No.” She raised her chin. “I answer to no one. I can certainly move about freely without restraint. I have been going to St. Jerome’s since before Mr. Pennyworth and I married.”
“I don’t approve, and I will accompany you tomorrow.”
Her eyes snapped as she regarded him. “Don’t approve? Excuse me, Mr. Baker, but I hired you to find out who is leaving packages on my front doorstep, not to tell me how to conduct my life.”
“Things have changed, madam. Someone is haunting you, leaving horrid things on your doorstep. How do you know this person is not keeping track of your comings and goings? At the best of times, St. Giles is not a place for a gently reared woman to be, let alone one who is already in someone’s sinister sights.” When she didn’t answer, but still gave him a mulish look, he added. “I will accompany you tomorrow. Just tell me what time.”
The flush on her face told him she did not take his commands well, but nevertheless, he would not permit her to expose herself to danger. “I generally plan to leave at ten in the morning. If you wish to escort me, please be on time.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “I will not wait for you.”
Stubborn woman. Why had he allowed himself to get mixed up in this entire matter? It irritated him. Everything about Charlotte Pennyworth spelled trouble. She was beautiful. She stirred his loins every time he was near her. She was headstrong, and above all, she was hiding something. Something he intended to get to the bottom of.
“Tell me a little bit about your life before you married Mr. Pennyworth.”
Charlotte’s face flushed, and she immediately began to pick off invisible lint from her pelisse. “I worked at Drummonds on the West End.”
The distrustful monster in him reared its ugly head. “The bank that deals with the aristocracy, gentry, and wealthy lawyers?”
“Yes.”
“What did you do there?” While it was not unheard of for a woman to work at a bank, it was indeed rare.
“I was a file clerk, and on occasion I delivered papers to some of the bank’s customers. It was how I met Mr. Pennyworth.” Although she did not seem as fidgety, her terse words told him this was a conversation she wanted to end.
“Ah, yes. I believe you told me he was a lawyer.”
“Yes. A solicitor.”
“Have you always lived in London?”
Once more a flushed face. “I do not see the point of all these questions about me, Mr. Baker. I am certainly not the one placing these things on my front doorstep.”
He moved forward, his knees touching hers. “If you want me to investigate fully, I need to ask questions. For all we know, the person tormenting you could very well be from your past.”
“I have no past.” Her words were clipped as she turned her head to look out the window.
He leaned back again, every nerve in his body on alert. Everyone had a past. He would bet Mrs. Pennyworth not only had a past, but something onerous that she was reluctant to share.
She returned her attention to him. “Very well, if you must know, the answer is no, I have not lived in London my entire life. I was raised in a small village that I left when I was old enough to find my own way in the world.”
Acceding to her discomfort, he merely nodded his acknowledgment. There were easier ways to pry information from someone, and it appeared he needed to use those skills on his client, who was obviously not forthcoming. That alone should give him reason to bow out of the investigation.
However, he was not one to give up on an assignment, although he reminded himself to be careful of the strong attraction between them. Right now, he had the urge to reach across the space dividing them, haul her into his arms, and plop her rounded bottom on his lap.
The vehicle came to a stop. “We are approaching your house. I will arrive promptly at ten in the morning to accompany you to St. Jerome’s.” If it was not bad manners to roll one’s eyes, he was sure Mrs. Pennyworth would have done so. A slight grin tugged at his lips as he opened the door and stepped out of the carriage. Turning, he took her hand and helped her out of the vehicle.
Once they arrived at her doorstep, he gave her a slight bow. “Until tomorrow.”
“Do you need the carriage?”
“No. The omnibus will suit me just fine.” Feeling as though he needed to settle her ruffled feathers, he said, “Please understand that anything I do, or ask, is to further my investigation. It is quite possible someone from your past, especially since you have not been in London your entire life, has now arrived and decided to gain your attention. Just think on what I said, and if there is anyone who you think might be behind this, let me know.”
She still looked uncomfortable, and eager to enter her house. With a tug on the brim of his hat, he turned and made his way down the steps. The short walk to the omnibus gave him time to consider what had happened at the card party, in the carriage on the ride home, and his upcoming trip with Charlotte to St. Jerome’s.
Mrs. Pennyworth was turning out to be as much of a mystery as her problem.
…
Once a criminal, always a criminal.
Charlotte closed the door and leaned against it, her hands still shaking, and her knees barely holding her up. Elliot’s words from the other day echoed through her mind. Why in heaven’s name hadn’t she considered if she hired an investigator he would want to know her background? Of course, he would assume someone from her past could be the person they sought.
With a heavy sigh, she removed the pin from her hat and pulled it off her head. Beatrice hurried down the corridor, a bright smile on her young face. “Here, let me take those from you, ma’am.”
Charlotte shrugged out of her pelisse and allowed Bridget to take that and her hat from her. “Please inform Cook that I would like a light supper in about an hour or so. But now I would like some tea. I will be in the drawing room.”
The drawing room was her sanctuary. This room was where she wrote her correspondence, read her books, and embroidered. She felt secure inside these walls. All her pictures, knick-knacks, and decorations anchored her, reminding her she had a home of her own, where she could escape from the rest of the world.
Except she no longer felt as secure as she once had. She wandered the room, waiting for her tea. She dragged her fingertips over the furniture as her thoughts consumed her.
She’d been quite flattered when Gabriel had taken notice of her at the bank. He’d been tall with dark curly hair, and his commanding mien had drawn her from the first time he approached her. His flirting and flattery had certainly turned her head, and after a courtship of only a few months, he’d proposed, and they’d married.
And then a month later he died, and she was once again alone in the world.
…
The ride to St. Jerome’s with Elliot was much more pleasant than the ride the day before. He didn’t query her, and shared information gathered during conversations he’d had at various clubs. Based on some of those discourses, several men had been crossed off the list.
“Unfortunately, the baron is not known in my circles, which troubles me,” Elliot mused. “This afternoon I have an appointment with a friend who works at the Foreign Office, who I hope will have information on the man.”
“I must admit, I am a bit uneasy at investigating all these men. I feel as though we are invading their privacy.”
“Perhaps, but if someone is law-abiding, they have nothing to fear from me asking questions. Only those who have broken the law need worry.”
Charlotte nodded her agreement since her mouth dried up at his comment, and she doubted she could form any words. She had always been an upstanding, honest individual. Yet, if he uncovered the warrant for her arrest, she would look quite guilty.
Then she grew angry. Who was he to judge everyone by such a narrow definition of honesty? She’d never done anything dishonest in her life, but still she had that blot on her character.
Unfairly.
If anything convinced her that she was much better off not telling Elliot about Lord Barton, his black and white view of the world, and his opinions on lawbreakers solidified her decision. She would keep it all to herself, and pray he did not discover it.
The carriage plodded along, leaving behind the affluent neighborhoods, through the less prosperous, and finally, to the decrepit slums of St. Giles. Waste and garbage lined the streets, and small children in ragged clothes darted between buildings. Most of the urchins had been taught almost from the cradle to steal.
So many of them would die before they reached adulthood. The few who did survive would spend their lives on the noisy, dirty streets of London’s disgrace until they were knifed in the back or run over by a carriage as they stumbled home drunk.
The women walked the streets, offering their worn bodies for a glass of gin, or a piece of bread. Any children they had were left to take care of themselves. Only the truly lucky children made it to St. Jerome’s.
The familiar, dilapidated building of the orphanage came into view as the carriage rounded the corner of St. Giles Street. Although the rest of the street bore all the marks of poverty and hopelessness, the front of St. Jerome’s was swept clean, the steps washed.
Elliot looked around as they alighted the vehicle and, gripping her elbow, moved her toward the steps. Although she’d never felt unsafe before, truthfully, she was glad to have him with her today. Her current situation had her on edge, so that even something she’d done for months, and had always enjoyed, seemed sinister.
A small girl, no more than six or seven, with a torn, filthy dress, and bare feet, stuck a cluster of weeds at them. “Flowers for yer lady, sir?”
Elliot stopped and bent to the child. “Yes, I would like your flowers.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a coin that he placed in her small dirty hand. Taking the weeds, he bowed. “Thank you, miss.”
The little girl giggled, revealing small white teeth, with the front two missing, and ran.
“That was very nice of you, Mr. Baker.”
His lips tightened. “So many in need, with so few resources.”
Perhaps he wasn’t so rigid, after all, she mused. “I hope she buys something to eat with that money,” Charlotte said as they watched the child dodge pedestrians and carriages.
The pained expression on Elliot’s face, this big strong man so staid in his opinions, did something to her insides. “Chances are she’ll bring the money to a mother who will drink it up, and maybe, just maybe, buy a bun or biscuit for the girl.” Elliot shook his head, and they climbed the stairs.
The usual chaotic order greeted them as they passed through the door to the main room. Mrs. Robbins, the manager and main attendant to the children, waved a half of a biscuit in front of little Sarah, who had her arms wrapped around her middle. Charlotte hurried over to the poor girl, who was looking worse by the second. “What happened, Mrs. Robbins?”
Mrs. Robbins continued to stare at the little girl as she spoke. “This little one here ate something she wasn’t supposed to, and now she’s claiming a bellyache. Serves her right for stealing.” She gave the girl a swat on her bottom.
“Oh, no, don’t spank her, please. You can see she is in distress.” Charlotte kneeled and looked at Sarah. “Does your stomach hurt, poppet?”
Sarah nodded and winced. As Charlotte placed her hand on her forehead, Sarah moved her head to the side and brought up the contents of her stomach onto the floor. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Pennyworth, but I feel sick.” With those words, the little mite collapsed, with Elliot rushing forward to grab the girl before she hit the floor. Her face was covered in sweat, and her small body shook.
Charlotte stood and waved at Elliot, with Sarah in his arms, to follow her to the kitchen where they laid her on one of the small cots tucked around the perimeter of the room. “Get me a bucket, please.”
She grabbed a thin blanket from another bed and covered Sarah’s trembling body with it. “What did she eat, Mrs. Robbins? It appears whatever it was has upset her stomach something dreadful.” The poor child continued to moan and grasp her tummy. Elliot placed the bucket next to Sarah, who made use of it while Charlotte and Mrs. Robbins talked.
“This biscuit,” Mrs. Robbins said, holding out the half biscuit she’d been waving in Sarah’s face when they entered the house.
“Where did it come from? Is this one of the biscuits from the kitchen?”
The manager shook her head. “No, ma’am. That was why she was in trouble. It was one of your biscuits.”
“Mine?”
“Yes. Early this morning, a package arrived on the front steps with your card attached to it. I brought it in, and left it on the kitchen table.” She glared at little Sarah as the girl continued to hold her stomach and moan. “This one got into the box and ate half of one before I could stop her.”
Elliot moved so fast, he was almost a blur as he crossed the kitchen and picked up the box sitting on the table. He took out a biscuit, crushed it, and examined the crumbs on his palm. He smelled, and then tasted it. “Thank God she only ate a half. I can’t say for sure, but my guess is this box of biscuits has been poisoned.”