Chapter Eight
M sat on a comfortable chair, sipping a sherry, staring out the window at the annoying neighbor, Mrs. Gearing, tending her garden, wearing that ridiculous hat with the brim slowly unweaving. She was extremely nosy, and something would have to be done about her soon.
Another sip, another thought. The box of biscuits brought a smile, although at first, the thought of dead children had threatened a change of plans. Children were truly the only innocent creatures on earth. Then, the reminder of the ultimate prize, Anne’s return, fortified the decision, and the biscuits were on their way.
Hopefully, several of the brats at St Jerome’s would eat them and die a terrible death. Guilt for beloved Anne to bear, since with her giving nature, she would share the treats with the urchins. And it was a reminder to Anne that she needed to behave herself and get rid of that man who followed her about.
…
“Of course we have to call in the police, a crime has been committed!”
Charlotte backed up, her stomach twisting as Elliot shouted the words, his hands fisted at his hips.
“No. No police. We discovered the poison before anyone was seriously harmed.” She cast a guilty glance at little Sarah who was resting peacefully after emptying her stomach several times. Mrs. Robbins had given the child something to help her rest after her ordeal.
Why, oh why had she ever involved Elliot in this mess? She should have known she was treading on unsafe ground as far as her past was concerned. If they brought in the police, questions would be asked, answers demanded, backgrounds investigated, and shortly thereafter, she’d be on her way back to Melbourne Station.
Why she hadn’t thought about that when she’d first approached the police amazed her.
Not for the first time, she considered selling her comfortable home and moving away. Far away. Disappearing somewhere no one knew her. Yet, except for her hurried exit from Lady Barton’s house, ’twas not like her to run away.
Then her resolve kicked in. No, she would not give in to this menace and run and hide. She had a lovely home, good friends, and an active social calendar. She loved her life and did not want to give it up because some deranged man was wreaking havoc.
“Charlotte, be reasonable. You cannot keep this from the police. That child”—he gestured toward Sarah—“could have died if she’d eaten the entire biscuit before Mrs. Robbins found her. A crime has been committed, and it needs to be reported.”
She could think of no good reason to deny what he said. A crime had been committed, and while little Sarah had not been killed, she’d been hurt. If she continued to object to his reasonable demand, it would only encourage him to ask more questions, demand answers. Perhaps the police would not focus on her background, and only on what was happening now. She sighed and glanced at the box of biscuits on the table. “Yes, I must agree. The police should be notified.”
He nodded and picked up the box. “I think we should visit Scotland Yard now. There is no reason to delay.”
A fine sweat broke out on her forehead. This time a constable would not dismiss her with comments about secret admirers, but ask questions she would prefer not to answer. But there was nothing to be done for it. Elliot was not going to allow this to pass, and the more she held back, the more suspicious he would become. Best to get it over with.
“Yes. We should go now.” She reached for her reticule and pelisse. Elliot took the pelisse from her and helped her into it. With a fond glance at Sarah, and a nod toward Mrs. Robbins, they left the foundling home and climbed into her carriage.
Too soon, the large gray building, its rear entrance located on a street named Great Scotland Yard, stood before them, housing the constables and inspectors who made up the Metropolitan Police.
With a knotted stomach and shaky legs, Charlotte held onto Elliot’s arm as they climbed the stone steps worn to a slight dip in the center from decades of both the good, and the evil, shuffling up and down. The inside was cramped, with men busily going through papers at their desks. A couple of Inspectors interviewed individuals, scratching notes on pads of paper.
Precariously leaning boxes of files took up a great deal of the cramped space. Men, minus jackets, with sleeves rolled up to their elbows, moved from one box to the next, extricating papers, challenging the tilting columns to remain steady. The entire scene was one of noise and confusion, leaving Charlotte to wonder how they ever solved crimes. From a woman’s point of view, the entire place needed cleaning and organization.
Once they were spotted, it became apparent Elliot was well-liked by his former colleagues. There was a great deal of teasing and backslapping as they wended their way through the maze of desks. They were stopped every few steps for greetings. More than a few glanced in her direction, curiosity plainly written on their faces.
An Inspector was summoned, and introduced to her as Inspector Morgan. After additional teasing and more backslapping, he directed them to a private room where they settled into chairs, with the ominous box of biscuits placed on a table between them.
“I must say I never expected to see you sitting on the other side of the table from me,” Inspector Morgan said with a wide grin. The man was huge, built like a tree trunk. The seams of his jacket stretched in protest as he leaned forward, placing his hands on the table. His mustache covered a great deal of his face, with the ends curling up, stiffened with some type of pomade. His piercing blue eyes twinkled with humor, redeeming his broad features.
Elliot offered Inspector Morgan a tight smile. “I never expected to be here, either.” For all his insistence that they involve the police, Elliot had been tense from the time they’d exited the carriage. The teasing seemed to make him more uncomfortable.
The Inspector pulled out a pad, dipped his pen into the inkwell, and nodded. “Tell me why you brought a box of biscuits, and why I don’t think it’s a present for me.”
As Elliot gave the Inspector a run-down of what had happened at St. Jerome’s earlier, Charlotte took the time to consider this latest development. So far, all the packages left for her had been frightening, but nothing that would endanger her life. The box of biscuits fell into a different category.
Another matter that neither she nor Elliot had discussed was the fact that the biscuits had been delivered to St. Jerome’s with her calling card attached. Whoever was harassing her knew of her connection to the home, as well as what day she would be there. An alarming thought, because now she needed to worry about being followed when she was out and about.
Her musing ended when the room grew silent, and both men turned to look at her. Apparently, one of them had asked her a question. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I was woolgathering.”
The Inspector cleared his throat. “I asked if you knew of anyone who might wish you harm? Or since the biscuits were delivered to the orphanage, would wish the children harm?”
“No one, except for whoever it is leaving packages on my front doorstep.”
Morgan leaned back in his chair and twirled the end of his mustache. “How is the investigation going on that, Baker?”
“Slow. Mrs. Pennyworth has a large circle of friends who need to be considered. I have managed to eliminate several over the past few days, and I attend events with her to see if we can draw the man out.”
“Indeed? Well since I’ve now met Mrs. Pennyworth, I am certainly not bemoaning your job. Spending time with an attractive woman is no hardship.” Morgan smiled at her, and she blushed.
He continued, “So, you think this stems from a rejected admirer’s jealousy?”
Elliot hooked his thumbs into his waistcoat pockets, and tilted his chair back. “It fits the pattern. The man obviously wants to gain her attention, and the flowers and jewelry tell me somewhere in his twisted mind, he imagines he is courting her.”
“Mrs. Pennyworth, have you rejected any suitors of late?”
“I have recently come out of mourning, Inspector. My husband passed away a year ago, and I have avoided most social events. So, to answer your question, no, I have not spurned any potential suitors.”
Morgan nodded. “One more thing. Your calling card is attached to this box. Who would have access to your card?”
Charlotte smiled. “Everyone. I leave them with shopkeepers, and when I call on friends. Most women do. It is not hard for someone to get their hands on one of my cards.”
The Inspector thought for a moment, then directed his comments to Elliot. “I assume you’re doing a good job of covering this, Baker. With the men chasing this Ripper fellow, and everything else going on, your investigation will produce more than we can right now. Just keep me informed.”
It appeared they were being dismissed, which allowed Charlotte to take a deep breath. The police would not be investigating her.
They all rose, with the two men shaking hands, and indulging in more backslapping. Elliot took her elbow and escorted her out of the building, and into her carriage.
Charlotte rested her head against the velvet squab and closed her eyes. Now that the tension from the morning had left her, she was tired to the bone, and in possession of a raging headache.
“Are you not well, Charlotte?” Elliot’s deep, soothing voice rolled over her. She opened her eyes, once again reminded what a handsome man he was.
“I have a headache. It has been a trying morning.”
“Yes, I know.” He reached his hand out. “Come here.”
…
Elliot really hadn’t expected Charlotte to do his bidding, but she stood and moved to the space next to him. “I just feel so weary. And upset that Sarah was sickened by the biscuits that were sent in my name. The poor child.”
“Here, lean back against me, and I will rub your temples. That will help.”
Again she surprised him by doing just that. She turned her back to him, and once he shifted so his knee was bent on the seat, he gathered her firmly against his chest, and said, “Close your eyes.” His fingers began to massage her temples.
His desire for Charlotte grew each time he saw her. He’d been fighting it, but with her lush body resting against him, and the flowery sent of her hair drifting to his nostrils, his awareness of her was wreaking havoc with his blood supply. He was finding it more and more difficult to keep his hands above her neckline when she sighed as he rubbed her head.
“Elliot?” The sound of her silky voice murmuring his name stirred him further.
“Yes?”
“Why did you leave Scotland Yard? It seemed as if everyone there liked and respected you.”
When he didn’t answer right away, she turned and studied him with raised brows. He moved her head back into position and continued his ministrations. “I made a serious error in judgment, and it caused a constable to be crippled. His wife was forced to secure employment to provide for their children.” It felt strange to speak those words, because he’d never told anyone about it before. He’d always kept his disgrace to himself.
“What happened?”
He lowered his voice, as if to prevent her from hearing him. However, this was something he had to do. “I was courting a woman who, unfortunately, blinded me to her real character.” He continued rubbing Charlotte’s temples but felt her stiffen at his words.
Interesting, that.
“I assume she was beautiful, charming, and in possession of a lovely form?” Despite the humor in her tone, the lightness she most likely attempted to convey fell flat.
“Yes, all those things.” He paused for a moment, once again picturing Annabelle, the beauty and charm surrounding such evil inside. “I had been assigned to meet a ship at the London docks and travel with the courier to the room in the Tower of London where the Crown Jewels were housed. An extremely valuable piece was being sent there.”
Charlotte waited patiently as he again paused. “Annabelle wanted to attend the theater that night. When I explained to her I was unavailable to escort her, she became upset. I realize now what a fine actress she was.”
“Women sometimes are,” Charlotte said.
He grunted. “When I continued to refuse, she threatened to attend with another gentleman who I knew was trying to secure her favor. I foolishly pushed the assignment off onto a constable, who was unable to handle the attempted robbery of the jewel. He was shot in the back during the scuffle, paralyzing him from the waist down.”
Charlotte turned to him, his hands dropping to her shoulders. “Oh, Elliot, how horrible. I can’t imagine how you felt.”
“Had I been thinking rationally, I would not have chosen the man, but he was the first constable available. Unfortunately, the best choice would have been for me to ignore Annabelle’s threats and do my duty.” Without conscious thought, he pulled Charlotte to his chest, and she wrapped her arms around him.
“What happened with Annabelle? Was she remorseful after what happened?”
He winced at having to tell her the end of the story. “No. No remorse. It turned out she was part of the group of men who had tried to rob the jewel.”
Charlotte sucked in a deep breath, and he tightened his hold on her. Keeping her from looking into his eyes at his disgrace? “She had been allowing my attentions while one of her partners in crime had a contact at Scotland Yard who made sure I was given the assignment.”
“Because they knew she would talk you out of it.”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
They remained silent for a minute, Charlotte’s head resting on his chest. “Were Annabelle and her partners arrested?”
“Yes. I was the one to put the handcuffs on her and escort her to jail.”
Charlotte drew back and studied him. “You are not the first man to be fooled by a woman. And, most likely, not the last.”
He looked directly into her eyes. “Which is why I will never allow that to happen to me again.”
Something flickered in her eyes, but before he could consider it, she asked, “Were you fired?”
“No. The Chief Inspector tried to convince me it was a mistake in judgment, but I insisted on resigning. I no longer felt as though I had the right to call myself Inspector after that.”
“Oh, Elliot, you are so hard on yourself. The Chief Inspector was correct. It was a mistake in judgment, and horrible that the man was injured, but there’s no guarantee it would have turned out any differently if you were there instead of the constable.”
“Except I would have been the one with the injury, and not the constable.”
“I hate to sound callous, but isn’t that part of the job? I’m sure the constable knew being injured was not unheard of among policemen.”
He shook his head. “It was still my fault he was injured.”
“No, I disagree. It was the robber’s fault the constable was injured.”
“Things are either right or wrong. I was wrong.”
It was hard to believe Charlotte wasn’t appalled at what he’d just told her. He had confessed to a dereliction of duty, and she only felt sympathy for him, not the injured constable. Is it possible I’ve been too hard on myself?
He brushed back the hair that had fallen on her forehead. Something seemed to shift between them with his confession. She seemed comfortable in his arms, warm, and gently scented. This close, he could see the flecks of gold in her hazel eyes. Before he could change his mind, he dipped his head and brushed his lips over hers.
She sucked in a sharp breath but didn’t recoil. He pulled her closer and covered her mouth with his. Her light gasp allowed him to sweep his tongue past her teeth to taste the fragrance of her mouth. After a slight hesitation, she joined him, their tongues tangling, probing, savoring.
He took the kiss deeper, gripping her head and angling it for better access. She moved her hands up to link behind his neck, her fingers playing with the hair hanging over his collar. He’d just confessed to allowing a woman to cloud his judgment to another’s peril, and what was he doing, but the same thing. He had to stop this madness.
Pulling back with the intent of gathering his senses, his eyes lighted on the silky, white skin where her neck and shoulder joined. He leaned in and feathered kisses along the tempting spot, then nibbled and soothed her silky flesh.
The carriage came to a slow roll, and then a stop. He pulled back, his breathing heavy. Charlotte’s face was flushed, and she covered her mouth with her fingers. “That should not have happened.”
Despite his dry mouth and pounding heart, he said, “Yes. I agree, and I apologize.” Taking a deep breath, he stepped out of the carriage, grateful for his great coat which covered the part of his body he did not want her to see. He turned and reached out. Uneasiness in her eyes, she accepted his hand and allowed him to help her down, and up the steps to her front door.
Attempting to return things to normal, he stopped her as the front door opened. “When is your next social event?”
She hesitated, and he could only think she was as rattled by their kiss as he was. “I’m not sure if you would consider it a social event, but many of my friends are at church Sunday mornings. This week there is a luncheon following the service. We all contribute a dish.”
“What time shall I stop by to escort you?”
“The service begins at ten, so nine-thirty would give us enough time to arrive and place my food offering in the hall.”
“Nine-thirty on Sunday, it is.” He bowed and hurried down the steps, hoping he could outrun the hounds of hell nipping at his heels.