Chapter Nine
“I cannot remember the last time I attended church.”
Charlotte smiled at Elliot’s confession as he glanced up at the bell tower and winced. The big, brave private investigator looked almost frightened.
“Hopefully, the roof will not cave in when you step through the door.” She handed him the bowl of pea salad before she exited the carriage and linked her arm with his. “Although from what I understand, there was an occasion when that did happen. The story goes that the man had spent his life in debauchery and sin, and was attending church for the first time in years.” She sighed and shook her head. “The floor collapsed. They say the devil came up from Hades and welcomed him with open arms.”
Elliot smirked, then leaned in close to her ear. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll watch the ceiling, if you watch the floor.”
They followed the steady stream of congregants into the hall adjoining the church to drop off her food contribution.
“Good morning, Mrs. Pennyworth, Mr. Baker.” Miss Garvey stood at the entrance to the hall with Mr. Conrad and Mr. Talbot.
“Good morning to you, as well, Miss Garvey, Mr. Conrad, Mr. Talbot.”
Mr. Talbot immediately stepped forward. “Mr. Baker, if you would be so kind as to take Mrs. Pennyworth’s offering to the table, I will be happy to escort her to church.”
A stunned silence fell at the man’s machinations, but with a smirk, Elliot stepped into the building. Mr. Talbot moved forward and offered his arm.
“Thank you very much, Mr. Talbot, but I will wait for Mr. Baker. But, please, do go on ahead to church. I don’t wish to delay you.” She offered a polite smile, but Mr. Talbot’s possessive attitude was beginning to concern her.
He bowed. “As you wish.” He turned to Miss Garvey and offered his arm. The three of them followed the pebbled path from the hall to the church.
Within minutes, Elliot joined her. “Talbot seems to think he has some sort of a claim on you.”
“Yes, I know, and it’s quite trying. I know what you’re thinking, but I cannot honestly see Mr. Talbot leaving decapitated animals on my front steps.”
Their conversation ended as they entered the church. This was to be the first service conducted by the new vicar, Mr. John Spencer. The parishioners had been waiting for weeks since the last one had passed away. They’d had several visiting curates conduct services, but a community as large as St. Michael’s needed a full-time vicar.
Mr. Spencer had been living in the cottage connected to the church for two weeks but had insisted he was not yet ready to guide the flock. Rumors had spread of him lecturing the women who came to welcome him on what he’d considered improper behavior. The church members so far had not been impressed, and the service this morning could change minds, or solidify prior opinions.
As he took the pulpit, all eyes were on the new man. He was short, with a full beard and mustache. While not exactly obese, the threads of his jacket strained to keep the vicar clothed. He had a sharp, pointed chin—perhaps he hoped the beard would hide it—and dark eyes very close together, with round spectacles perched on his nose.
“The devil waits in glee to welcome all those who live in debauchery and sin.” The vicar slammed his fist on the pulpit, and a bit of spittle escaped from between his lips.
The congregation stiffened as a group and shifted uncomfortably. Much to Charlotte’s dismay, the rest of Mr. Spencer’s sermon was all fire and brimstone. He even had the audacity to criticize, from the pulpit, a young woman’s attire. It was a shame because St. Michael’s had always been a lively, happy place to worship, very welcoming. If this was the sort of service to expect, Charlotte would be forced to find another church.
Finally, the painful service ended, and they all trooped to the church hall. Mr. Spencer made a point of visiting each table, sitting for a while. When he settled next to Elliot, Charlotte braced for criticism. She was not disappointed.
“Mrs. Pennyworth, how lovely to finally meet you. I have heard so much about you from the ladies who have visited.”
“It is nice to meet you as well, Vicar. Welcome to St. Michael’s.”
“Thank you.” He leaned in, his breath strong, and patted her hand, his palm damp with sweat. Charlotte swallowed the bile that rose from the back of her throat. When he continued to hold onto her hand, she eased it out from under his as he spoke. “I wanted to visit with you at length, my dear, but I believe another time would be more suitable. Perhaps you may call at the vicarage one afternoon?”
“Perhaps.” Not a chance.
“I see you decided to come out of mourning, although your husband has recently passed to his final reward.”
The man seemed to know a bit too much about her. She offered a tight smile. “A year.”
He shook his head and tsked, his eyes boring into hers. “You young woman are so very anxious to cast off your widow weeds and move onto the next man.” He turned to Elliot. “And are you Mrs. Pennyworth’s young man?”
Oh, good grief. She nudged Elliot with her foot, hoping he would take the hint and merely ignore the man. The look on his face was not encouraging. “I am sure you did not mean to ask such a personal question, Mr. Spencer, so I will forgive your lack of manners.” He turned to Charlotte. “Are you ready to leave?”
She scrambled for her belongings and followed him out of the building, noticing that most of her friends had already left. If it had been Mr. Spencer’s intention to close down the church she had been married in and had enjoyed for the past year, he was certainly on the right path.
She felt as though her head would burst as they settled into the carriage. “The nerve of that man! I can’t believe he has been approved by the bishop for this post. I shall write to him this very afternoon and demand he remove him. He is vile, self-righteous, and opinionated. I have never encountered such a rude man of the cloth in my life!”
“I agree, but more than that, I am interested in the fact that he arrived only a couple of weeks ago. He seemed to have a great deal of information about you, yet this is the first time you met him, correct?”
“Yes, and believe me, once is enough.” She took a deep breath in an effort to control herself. Suddenly, she realized Elliot was staring out the window, deep in thought. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking I could easily see Mr. Spencer placing a decapitated rodent on your doorstep.”
Air whooshed from her lungs as she sat back. “I am afraid I agree, but what would be the purpose since he doesn’t know me? And where would a vicar get the kind of money to buy an expensive bracelet?”
Elliot nodded. “That’s a good point about the bracelet, but for motivation, his sermons and interaction with you reveal a lot about his character, and his ideas about what a woman should, and should not, do.” He leaned back against the squab and rested his foot on his bent knee. “Let’s just say Mr. Spencer is worth investigating. Since you are writing to the bishop, ask about Spencer’s credentials. I can’t imagine a bishop approving someone such as he for this post. Or any other, for that matter.”
The rest of the trip continued with them both lost in thought. Charlotte gathered her things when the carriage came to a stop. “Do you wish to come in for tea? I feel as though I could use a bit.”
“Yes, tea would be nice.”
As soon as they stepped on the first stair, Charlotte’s heart gave a thump. “Is that something by the front door?”
Elliot narrowed his eyes. “Stay here.” He took the steps two at a time until he reached the top. He picked up what looked like flowers and a piece of paper. “You can come up now.”
Slowly, Charlotte made her way to the top. “What is it this time?”
“Very innocuous. Let’s go inside.” Just then the door opened, and Bridget stepped back. “Good afternoon, Mr. Baker, ma’am.”
Elliot gave her a smile. “Did you see or hear anything this morning by the front door?”
The girl shook her head, her red curls dancing alongside her head where they’d come loose from her lace cap. “No, sir. But I haven’t been by the door except when I heard the carriage pull up just now.”
He stepped aside to let Charlotte enter and followed her down the corridor to the drawing room. She got as far as the center of the room, and turned. “What is it?”
Elliot handed her a bouquet of flowers. Roses. Red and perfumed. Nothing at all the matter with them. They were wrapped in paper, tied with a ribbon. She looked up at him, her brows furrowed. “Did I see you pick up a piece of paper?”
He held out a sheet of very expensive vellum. Charlotte opened it.
From your admirer
She sank into one of the chairs and laid the flowers and note on the table alongside her. “What do you make of this?”
…
Elliot rested his hands on his hips. “I don’t know. Either our mystery man is extremely clever, or this is not from him, but someone who is actually an admirer.” Truth be told, this rattled him more than the other packages. Could Charlotte have an actual, shy admirer who would now complicate the investigation, or was their man so clever he was attempting to thwart their course of inquiry with the flowers?
Charlotte rubbed her arms and cast a furtive glance at the flowers. “I don’t want them.”
Without comment, Elliot moved to the bell pull and summoned a maid. Nothing was said until Bridget appeared. He retrieved the flowers and brought them to her. “Please dispose of these, and bring tea.”
She bobbed a curtsy, casting an uneasy glance at Charlotte. “Yes, sir.”
“I think after the morning you’ve had, a bit of sherry before tea would be a good idea.”
“I believe you are right.”
He headed to the library, then poured a brandy for himself and a healthy dose of sherry for Charlotte. When he returned and handed her the small glass, she took it from him with shaky hands.
He settled across from her, swirling the brown liquid before taking a sip. “If this is an actual admirer, it is certainly poor timing. If, on the other hand, the flowers and note came from our villain, he has made a mistake.”
Charlotte placed the glass on the table in front of her. “What is that?”
He gestured toward the glass of sherry. “Drink that.” Once she had taken a sip, he continued, “We have his handwriting. Up until now there has been no correspondence, except for the card that was left with the box of biscuits.” He picked up the note once more and studied it. “I have a handwriting expert I work with on occasion. He should be able to tell us something about the man from these words. Also, if I can get several people we are looking at to write a few words, I can compare it to this note.”
It bothered him how much Charlotte had changed from when she’d first appeared at his office. Now, there seemed to be a perennial crease in her forehead, and the dark circles under her eyes spoke of sleepless nights. Even though it had only been a few weeks, her clothes seemed looser, and her hands never stilled. Like now, as she picked at the folds of her dress.
Thinking of the schedule of her social engagements she’d given him, he asked, “Are you still expecting callers this Tuesday afternoon for your monthly book discussion?”
Before she could answer, the door opened and Thomas entered, pushing a tray with tea, small sandwiches, and pastries. He rolled it to Charlotte who thanked him with her ever-present gracious smile. Which disappeared as soon as the man turned to leave.
“Thomas, did you see anyone lurking about the house this morning while Mrs. Pennyworth was away from home?”
Thomas came to a halt and faced him. “No, sir. Since Mrs. Pennyworth gives us Sunday afternoons off, we are all generally busy getting things done before we leave. I asked the others when Bridget showed me the flowers, but no one heard anything.”
“Thank you.” Elliot turned toward Charlotte and accepted the tea and plate of apple tarts.
“To answer your question, yes, this Tuesday afternoon is my monthly book club meeting. I am expecting twelve people.”
He grinned as he swallowed a bit of pastry. Attempting to lighten the somber mood the church service and the arrival of the flowers had caused, he said, “Hopefully, not the good vicar, Mr. Spencer?”
“Heavens, no.” She offered a genuine smile for the first time all morning. “Definitely, no.”
After departing her home, Elliot walked the few miles to his house, preferring the sunny fresh air to the crowded omnibus, believing it would help clear his head. The image of an edgy Charlotte kept intruding into his thoughts. She was showing the strain of these disturbing events. It had taken all his control not to gather her into his arms and comfort her, tell her it would be all right. Sometimes she appeared so fragile, as if she might shatter into pieces.
To maintain his sanity and the temptation she posed, he needed to solve this case quickly. At least having the man’s handwriting helped. If, indeed, it was the culprit who sent the flowers, and not an actual admirer.
Why did the thought of Charlotte having an actual admirer annoy him? Since he was not a stupid man, he knew exactly why it annoyed him, and that annoyed him even more.
…
Elliot’s senses went on alert as soon as he entered Charlotte’s drawing room the following Tuesday. Her cheeks were flushed, and her voice high-pitched as she flitted from group to group. He recognized most of the guests: Mr. Talbot, Baron Von Braun, Miss Garvey, Mr. Conrad, Lord and Lady Monroe, Mr. and Mrs. Glenmoor.
And the good vicar, Mr. John Spencer. Bloody hell.
Now he understood Charlotte’s disquiet. The vicar sat in the corner, holding a forgotten cup of tea, the beady eyes behind his spectacles following every move Charlotte made. Elliot strode across the room, nodding to those he knew, forging a direct path to the vicar. “Good afternoon, Mr. Spencer. How nice of you to honor Mrs. Pennyworth with your presence.”
Startled, the vicar looked up, his eyes narrowed and his poor attempt at a smile not quite making it. “Indeed. I thought to visit some of my congregants’ homes to see how I may assist them in their daily lives. However, until I arrived, I had no idea Mrs. Pennyworth has a book discussion each month. I am anxious to hear what books they are reading.” Apparently, the idiot hadn’t heard the sarcasm in Elliot’s voice.
He could well imagine the glee Mr. Spencer would experience when the book discussions began. He doubted there were any books of which the man approved, which would give him the chance to berate everyone in the room at once. Taking the opportunity to move his investigation forward, he sat in the comfortable chair next to the vicar. “There is something you may assist me with, vicar.”
The man’s eyes glowed with righteous fervor at the opportunity to bring judgment down on another sinner’s head. He placed his tea on the table in front of him and rubbed his hands together. Elliot got the distinct whiff of some sort of liquor from the good man’s breath. “I would be happy to help you in any way, Mr. Baker.”
Elliot pulled a small notepad and pencil from his pocket and handed them to the vicar. “You may assist me by noting a few of your favorite Bible passages.”
Spencer’s brows furrowed. “Oh, but there are so many, it is hard to choose. I find sin in so many places, that I have a long list of quotes to cover all of the commandments and deadly sins.”
The man was serious. Elliot was sure his selection would have nothing to do with love and forgiveness, and everything to do with condemnation and the damnation of one’s soul. “Perhaps just one or two to begin with?”
Nodding his approval, the vicar bent to scribble on the pad. Elliot would take the writing, along with the note left with the flowers, to Mr. Drovers at the Foreign Office, the next morning. Elliot had sent around a message to request a meeting with the handwriting specialist, and had been granted an appointment at ten on Wednesday.
While the vicar scribbled, Elliot observed the other guests. His time spent with Drovers tomorrow would be better served if he had several specimens to offer him. He glanced at the vicar who had already filled one page, and was flipping to begin another. Elliot placed his hand over the man’s. “That is plenty, sir. I am sure that will keep me busy for quite a while.”
The vicar reluctantly closed the notepad and handed it to Elliot. “Yes, that should give you a good start on the path to righteousness.”
“I am sure it will. Thank you.” He tucked the notepad and pencil into his jacket pocket and nodded as he rose and made his way through the guests to join Charlotte, chatting with Mr. Conrad, Miss Garvey, and the baron.
Now he only needed to figure out how to get Talbot and Von Braun to scribble in his pad, too. Three men who had come to his notice as possible suspects. His gaze roamed the room. Everything seemed perfectly normal, with perfectly ordinary people visiting in anticipation of discussing books.
But one of them was dangerous. Which one?