Chapter 5
CHAPTER 5
T ilda remained in the coach as Hadrian dashed into Ravenhurst House to fetch the letter from Beryl. Hadrian’s home was jaw-droppingly large. She’d visited him once before and had done her best to keep from goggling at the stateliness of his home. Set back from the street, it boasted six columns across the front of its gleaming white facade and a tidy garden with sunny daffodils, which Tilda adored.
It was a stark reminder of their difference in station, just as their conversation prior to arriving had been. Tilda hadn’t asked for the specifics regarding the scandal surrounding his broken betrothal, but she could imagine there had been a great deal of gossip. Had it affected his work or his social life? Had he been evicted from his club? Perhaps the news had appeared in the paper. Or multiple papers.
How awful to have one’s life sensationalized.
She’d meant what she’d told him about solving the case as quickly as possible and keeping the scandal at bay. She didn’t want to think what would happen if people knew that Scotland Yard considered him, the Earl of Ravenhurst, a suspect in the murder of the man who’d stolen his fiancée.
Hadrian returned to the coach, and he offered her a folded piece of parchment. “Do you want to read it?”
“I suppose.” Tilda opened the letter and read the brief scrawl of handwriting.
My dear Hadrian,
Beryl’s use of “my dear” made Tilda want to roll her eyes.
I hope this letter finds you well. I am sure you are surprised to receive this, but I didn’t know where else to turn. I am in dire need of your advice and perhaps assistance with an urgent matter. Please call on me tomorrow. If you ever cared for me, you will come.
Most sincerely,
Beryl
“I’m not surprised you did as she asked,” Tilda said, refolding the letter and handing it back to him. “This sounds rather desperate.”
Hadrian slipped the parchment into an inner pocket of his coat just over his breast. “That was the word she used.”
“I’m surprised you aren’t angry with her for dragging you into this.”
“She couldn’t know that her husband would be killed. Anyway, I’m glad it allows me to work with you.”
Heat unfurled in Tilda’s belly. She looked out the window and tried not to think of the deepening connection between her and Hadrian.
Instead, she addressed what he’d said about Beryl not knowing her husband would be killed. “What if Beryl did know her husband would die?”
“Because she was planning to kill him?” Hadrian asked.
Tilda looked back at him. “It’s possible. It’s also possible she wrote you that desperate letter in order to involve you—a likely suspect—in the matter.”
Hadrian sucked in a breath. “I do not like thinking that is possible.”
“At this point, we must assume anything is,” Tilda said gently.
A deep frown etched his features. “I hope that does not include me as the murderer.”
“No, I don’t assume that.” Tilda could not. But why was she allowed to discount him as a suspect because of what she thought she knew of him, yet he wasn’t supposed to do the same with someone he knew and had once cared about?
A short while later, they arrived in Leicester Place. Leach opened the door, and Hadrian climbed out and then helped Tilda to the pavement. They’d stopped in front of the druggist.
The shop appeared small and somewhat dingy. The front window could have benefitted from a thorough cleaning, as could the sign which read F. Newbold, Druggist .
Hadrian opened the door, and she preceded him into the dim interior. A counter stretched across the shop. Behind it were shelves teeming with bottles of various size and shape. Surveying the labels—those she could make out—Tilda noticed he sold poisons in addition to medicine, which was not unusual.
A small, thin man shuffled from the back of the shop. Wispy white hair covered the sides of his head while the top was bald.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Newbold?” Hadrian asked.
“Yes,” the druggist replied. “May I help you?”
“I hope so,” Hadrian said affably. “I’ve come to fetch a sleeping tonic for my friend, Mrs. Louis Chambers. I’m Lord Ravenhurst.”
Newbold’s nostrils flared, then he flicked a glance at Tilda. “Is this Lady Ravenhurst?”
“No,” Tilda said quickly. She did not want to be mistaken as anyone’s wife, not even Hadrian’s. More importantly, she didn’t want to be anyone’s wife. “I am also a friend of Mrs. Chambers. We’ve come in her stead because there’s been a terrible tragedy.” She looked to Hadrian so that he could reveal the news.
The druggist shifted his gaze to Hadrian in expectation.
“I’m afraid Mr. Chambers has died,” Hadrian said with a grimace. “Mrs. Chambers requires the tonic so that she can be assured of sleep tonight.”
The lines in Newbold’s face had deepened. He shook his head. “How terrible for her. Please convey my condolences. I have the tonic she prefers just over here.” He shuffled to a shelf and moved a stool so that he could stand on it and retrieve the bottle. It was one of many just like it. Looking at the quantity compared to other items, Tilda would say the tonic was a popular product.
Newbold returned to the counter and set the bottle down in front of Hadrian. “Will you be paying for that?”
“Mrs. Chambers said she has an account,” Hadrian said. “Can you add it to that?”
“Of course,” Newbold snapped, seeming aggrieved by the question.
“He asked because it is our understanding that Mrs. Chambers may have a debt with you,” Tilda said with a benign smile. “Perhaps you could tell us how much so that we may convey that to her.” Tilda wanted to know how much Beryl owed.
The druggist’s nostrils flared. “That is none of your concern. My clients rely on my discretion.”
“I am assisting Mrs. Chambers with her finances,” Hadrian put in. He spoke with authority, sounding very much like an earl. “I’m sure you understand what a tragedy this is and how deeply she is affected. We are merely trying to support her in every way we can.”
“I’ll send a bill to her, and then she can decide who to share it with,” Newbold said stubbornly.
Hadrian picked up the bottle of tonic. “That would be most helpful. Thank you, Mr. Newbold.”
“Thank you,” Tilda added before preceding Hadrian from the shop.
When they were both outside, and the door had swung closed, Tilda threw a glower toward the shop. “‘Thorny’ was an accurate description that Beryl provided.”
“Indeed it was. I’m sorry you weren’t able to learn anything.”
“Hopefully our visit to the milliner will be more helpful,” she said as they walked to the coach.
Hadrian directed Leach to the milliner on Regent Street, and they were shortly on their way once again. “I am anxious to look at Chambers’ finances,” he said. “Was he really struggling, or was he trying to control his wife’s spending?”
“Just to be controlling, you mean?” Tilda asked, thinking that aligned with the man she’d met briefly the day before.
“That or Beryl is a spendthrift as the valet indicated.”
“It could be both,” Tilda noted. “I think the one thing we can say for certain is that their marriage was not a happy one. I witnessed that myself yesterday. He spoke harshly to Beryl, and she did the same to him, though less so. Then, as he left the room, he walked by Beryl and used his arm to bump into her. I don’t think he hurt her, but it was a physical message. Seeing that and the bruises on Beryl’s arms, I have no trouble believing he was violent toward her.
Hadrian’s features darkened. “I hate thinking that is how things ended up for her after choosing him over me.”
“And yet you’re relieved that she did so,” Tilda pointed out.
“Yes, and that makes me a little uncomfortable because she would have been better off with me.” Hadrian leaned back against the squab.
“What drew you to her in the first place?” Tilda had given in to her curiosity which had been piqued during their conversation on the way to Ravenhurst House, but she worried she was being intrusive. “You don’t have to answer that. I understand it may be unpleasant for you to discuss that time.”
“Not unpleasant, but perhaps a bit embarrassing, which is how I felt with Teague earlier. With you, however, I am not bothered at all.” His eyes met hers, and Tilda felt that surprising warmth again. When would it stop surprising her?
“I am not sure I could have offered to help someone who had treated me so poorly.” If Tilda’s fiancé had carried on with someone else, she would have been furious and doubted that emotion would lessen over time.
Hadrian shrugged. “I met Beryl at a ball. She was somewhat of a wallflower, and I made a point of dancing with one or two on such occasions. Honestly, they were usually far more interesting than the young women who were more popular. I liked Beryl because she seemed genuine. She found London Society intimidating but wanted to make her parents proud by securing a good marriage.”
“She’s also very pretty,” Tilda noted.
“Yes. I can admit that an attractive woman will usually draw my notice,” he said sardonically.
Tilda wondered if he saw her that way but quickly put the thought from her mind. Why would she want him to find her attractive? That would only complicate their association. Never mind that she found him arrestingly handsome.
Hadrian continued, “Beryl was young, and her family was pushing her to wed me, I think. She never proclaimed to love me, nor I her, so it wasn’t as if we were a romantic match. She did say she loved Chambers, however, so that is why I feel badly for her. She married for love and things turned out quite poorly.”
Further proof that marriage was a risk that often didn’t meet one’s expectations. Tilda was glad for Hadrian that he’d avoided it. She also admired his support of the woman who’d caused him considerable aggravation. “You are a very kind man.”
The coach came to a stop, and Tilda looked out the window to see they were in front of Flanders Millinery. They departed the coach and went into the shop, which was much larger than the druggist’s. It was also far tidier, and the front windows were filled with fashionable accessories on display.
There were a few ladies in the shop perusing the items. A girl of sixteen or seventeen greeted them with a pretty smile. She was dressed smartly and wore a small, charming hat despite being indoors. Tilda presumed she was wearing something made in the shop.
The girl perused Tilda’s unfashionable gown, one of her brows ticking gently upward. “Welcome to Flanders.”
“Good afternoon,” Tilda said, ignoring the flash of self-awareness that came from knowing her dated wardrobe could not compare with that of her companion—an esteemed earl. Her lack of current fashionable clothing hadn’t ever bothered her much. Until she’d begun moving about with Hadrian. Now she felt out of place. She did not care for the sensation and pushed it away. “Is Mr. Flanders available? We would like to speak with him about a delicate and urgent matter.”
The girl’s brown eyes rounded slightly. “He is my father. I’ll fetch him.” She hurried behind the counter and through a doorway.
“Should I remove my gloves and try to touch something?” Hadrian whispered.
Tilda turned her head toward him. “It might be strange for you to do so. I suppose if you can see an opportunity, you may as well. Though I have to think you’ll see visions from any number of customers.”
“That is certainly possible. Perhaps I’ll have the chance to shake Mr. Flanders’ hand and that may reveal something about Beryl.”
Tilda noted there was another woman working in the shop, at least she appeared to be as she spoke with a pair of women much older than her. They all wore hats, but the younger one didn’t carry a reticule, leading Tilda to believe she was an employee and not a customer.
“Flanders seems to run a very nice shop,” Hadrian observed. “Not that I have much experience with millinery.”
“It’s lovely,” Tilda agreed. “Though I have never been here. Shopping on Regent Street is above my economic ability. Even if it wasn’t, I have never been one to thrive on shopping.”
“You are a most efficient person,” Hadrian observed with a faint smile. “I can’t imagine you buying anything you don’t specifically need.”
“Indeed. Why bother?” she asked with a shrug. Though sometimes need and want were intertwined. One might need something but also want that something to be of a certain quality that one could not afford. Tilda was used to settling. Still, perhaps it would be nice to purchase something at a place like Flanders someday.
Miss Flanders returned and said her father would see them in the private sitting room. She guided them to a doorway beside the counter, opening the door so they could move into a well-appointed room with a settee and several chairs. There was also a tall mirror in one corner, and Tilda thought he must use this room for certain customers who wished to shop in privacy.
A man came in through the other door, his narrow features drawn with concern. “Good afternoon, I am Flanders. My daughter said you needed to speak with me. Would you care to sit?”
Tilda and Hadrian exchanged a glance, then sat together on the settee. Mr. Flanders took a chair opposite them, and his daughter lingered near the door she’d closed that led to the shop.
Hadrian looked to Tilda who gave him a slight nod. “I’m Lord Ravenhurst, and this is Miss Wren. We have come on behalf of Mrs. Louis Chambers, our dear friend.” Tilda winced inwardly at the word dear , for that wasn’t remotely true. Still, saying that could help their cause. “I’m sorry to report that her husband has died. We are here to obtain mourning accessories for her.”
Miss Flanders let out a sob before clapping her hand over her mouth. Tears ran down her cheeks as her shoulders shook. Tilda felt sorry for her. She must know Beryl very well.
“How can that be?” Flanders said, aghast. He was not crying, but he looked stricken, his face going pale. “We just saw Mrs. Chambers a few days ago, and all was well. At least, she didn’t mention that her husband was ill.”
Hadrian glanced at Tilda again and she gave him another nod. May as well tell them the truth. It wasn’t a secret, though it was distressing, which was why she hadn’t told the druggist Chambers had been murdered. But the druggist also hadn’t seemed this affected.
“I’m sorry to be indelicate,” Hadrian said gently, casting a sympathetic look toward Miss Flanders. “I’m afraid Mr. Chambers was murdered.”
As Miss Flanders’ sobs grew louder, Mr. Flanders sent her a worried glance. “Please forgive my daughter. She is rather fond of Mrs. Chambers, as she comes in about once each week. We’ve come to know her well. I’m most distraught to hear of this misfortune. How is Mrs. Chambers?”
“In shock, as you can imagine,” Tilda said. “Which is why we’ve offered to take care of certain things for her, such as ensuring she has appropriate mourning accessories.”
Mr. Flanders sniffed. “You are good friends. I know just what she needs. Please allow me to fetch some items from the shop. My daughter can bring tea if you’d like.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Tilda replied. “But thank you for your kindness.”
Nodding, Mr. Flanders stood and then went to his daughter. He whispered something, then dropped a kiss on her head before going into the shop and closing the door behind him.
The simple act of a father consoling his daughter made Tilda’s heart clench. She missed her father so very much. Being without him these past eleven years had been difficult, but she’d managed to persevere. However, seeing Mr. Flanders and his daughter together reminded her of just how much she’d lost. Emotion surged in her chest, and she took a deep breath to keep it at bay.
Hadrian angled himself toward Tilda. “I forgot to ask if I should pay for the items.”
“Mrs. Chambers has an account,” Miss Flanders said as she dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “Though she hasn’t made a payment in some time, and my father told me just yesterday that we really oughtn’t let her purchase more items without doing so.”
“I can certainly pay for the accessories,” Hadrian said with a comforting smile. “You like Mrs. Chambers a great deal, don’t you?”
Miss Flanders nodded. “She has a wonderful eye for fashion. My mother died a few years ago, and Mrs. Chambers has given me good advice about … womanly things.”
Tilda was glad Beryl had been helpful to this young woman. She was also eager to see what else Miss Flanders might share. “Did you also know Mr. Chambers?”
“No.” Miss Flanders’ nose wrinkled. “Mrs. Chambers said he wasn’t very nice. She was always telling me to be careful around men, that I must not fall for their pretty words or excessive charm. She said she wished she’d never married him,” the young woman added in a whisper as if she were imparting a secret.
Tilda and Hadrian exchanged another look. “We will be sure to convey your condolences to Mrs. Chambers,” Hadrian said.
“Oh, yes,” Miss Flanders said with a jolt. “I should have said that immediately. I’m terribly shocked by this news. Please tell her that I am thinking of her and hope she is well.”
Mr. Flanders returned then, coming through the door where his daughter stood. He looked to her. “Elinor, I’ve set some things behind the counter. Will you box them up for Lord Ravenhurst and Miss Wren?”
“Yes, Papa.” Miss Flanders disappeared through the door, and her father closed it behind her.
“I can pay you for the items,” Hadrian said. “How much?”
Mr. Flanders waved his hand. “I wouldn’t hear of it. These are gifts to Mrs. Chambers, as one of our best customers. Please tell her how sorry we are for her loss.”
“We will do that,” Tilda said, rising from the settee. Hadrian stood beside her.
“I am curious what will happen with her husband’s new shop,” Mr. Flanders said. “Without one of the partners, will it even open?”
Tilda jumped on the opportunity to discuss Chambers’ business venture. “I wondered the same thing. Do you know where the shop is located?”
“Not far from here. Just west of Regent’s Circus on Oxford Street. They’ve done a great deal of refurbishment. It looks to be most elegant. I have stopped in a few times.”
“You are acquainted with Mr. Chambers then?” Hadrian asked.
“Somewhat. He was eager to show off the store. I could see he was quite proud of it. But his partner, Pollard, is a bit of an ass, if you’ll pardon me for saying so.” Flanders’ features pinched in distaste. “I’ve known him for some time. His uncle owns a drapery warehouse in Cheapside, and I’ve purchased from him on occasion. Pollard worked there—or used to. I’m not sure he has time for that now that he’s opening this shop with Chambers. Also, his wife worked for a friend of mine, Madame Ousset, as a seamstress for many years. Until she married Pollard.”
“What has influenced your opinion of Mr. Pollard?” Tilda asked.
“Do you mean, why do I think he’s an ass?” Flanders snorted. “He saw me as a competitor, which I found surprising at first. I thought they were just opening a clothing store, but Pollard said it’s to be much larger with a wide array of offerings. I believe he’s modeling the shop after Harding, Howell & Company.” Flanders moved closer to them and kept his voice low, though it wasn’t as if anyone would overhear him. “I sensed conflict between Pollard and Chambers over the shop. When you said Chambers had been murdered, my first thought was that Pollard must have done it. Did he?”
“The police have not yet arrested anyone for the crime,” Tilda said.
“There is to be an inquest tomorrow,” Hadrian added.
Flanders’ thin, dark brows climbed his forehead briefly. “Indeed? I may try to attend, if only to find out what happened. So devastating.” He clucked his tongue and cast his eyes toward the floor.
“We thank you for your time,” Hadrian said. “And for your generosity.”
“It’s the least I can do,” Flanders said with a brief smile. He moved to open the door to the shop for them. “Elinor will have Mrs. Chambers’ things for you at the counter.”
“Thank you,” Tilda said before making her way to the counter where Miss Flanders was boxing up the rest of the items.
The young woman looked over the counter at Tilda with a sad expression. She gestured to the round box tied with ribbon. “Those are two hats, one with a thick veil that she can remove if necessary.” She set another box next to it. “Here are three pairs of black gloves as well as some handkerchiefs. Those are white, but they are embroidered with black designs. Please tell her I will pray for her every night.”
Hadrian picked up the boxes. “We will. Thank you, Miss Flanders.”
“Yes, thank you.” Tilda gave the young woman a warm smile. “Your kindheartedness will serve you well.”
They took their leave, and Tilda immediately asked if they could go to the drapery shop next to hopefully speak with Pollard. Hadrian grinned in response, saying he was eager to do so, then gave Leach the direction to the shop.
Inside the coach, Hadrian set the boxes next to him on the rear-facing seat.
“You could sit beside me if you are crowded,” Tilda suggested as the coach began moving. “Or if you would simply prefer to face forward. There is plenty of room.” She understood why they’d sat opposite each other for the entirety of their acquaintance, but now that they were friends, did it matter? Then again, it was sometimes easier to conduct conversations facing one another.
“I am fine where I am for now,” Hadrian replied. “But I will keep your kind invitation in mind.” His eyes glowed with something she couldn’t define and decided she was probably better off not discerning.
“It’s too bad you weren’t able to shake Flanders’ hand,” Tilda noted.
“Perhaps I’ll have more luck at our next stop.”
Tilda was still pleased with what they’d been able to learn from the milliner. “Mr. Flanders’ comments regarding Pollard and the shop he was to open with Chambers were most interesting,” she noted.
“Yes. It was very helpful of him to offer such information.” The coach stopped, and Hadrian met her gaze. “Shall we see if Pollard is a murderer?”