Chapter 6
CHAPTER 6
H adrian and Tilda walked to the door of the shop, but it was locked. The windows were covered so they could not see inside. He knocked loudly.
“I hope someone is here,” Tilda said, her lips pursing briefly. “I’ve a good many questions for Mr. Pollard.”
So did Hadrian. He knocked again for good measure.
After a long moment, the door opened to reveal a man of slight stature and dark, wiry hair. He wore glasses and an extremely harassed expression, his mouth set into a deep frown, and his hazel eyes narrowed. “Yes?” he snapped.
“Good afternoon,” Hadrian said pleasantly. “I’m Lord Ravenhurst, and I’m looking for Mr. Pollard.”
“I am Pollard,” the man said, his features relaxing only the slightest amount. “What can I help you with?”
Hadrian inclined his head toward Tilda. “This is Miss Matilda Wren. We’ve come to speak with you about Mr. Louis Chambers. Have the police been here today?” Hadrian wasn’t sure if Teague would have had time to come yet due to all he was busy with regarding the murder.
Pollard’s brows shot up as his eyes rounded for a scant moment. “Why would the police come?”
He seemed surprised, Hadrian noted, though he could be pretending. “May we step inside to speak with you? It’s a rather sensitive matter.”
“I suppose.” He still sounded annoyed, though less so as he opened the door wider to allow them entry.
Tilda took her hand from Hadrian’s arm and preceded him into the shop. It was quite large with several distinct areas. They couldn’t even see the entirety of the store as it appeared to continue upstairs given the wide staircase at the center.
Pollard closed the door. “Please get right to the point of your visit. I’m very busy, and my partner has decided not to show up again this morning. Hopefully you know where he is since he is the reason you’re here.”
Again? Was he often missing?
Hadrian glanced at Tilda, and she wordlessly encouraged him to deliver the news. “I’m sorry to tell you that your partner, Mr. Chambers, was found dead this morning. He was stabbed.”
“Bloody hell,” Pollard muttered, his jaw dropping briefly before he snapped it closed and put his hand over his mouth. He shook his head, blinking. Then he paced away from them and back. “He’s dead? That is … shocking. Who killed him?”
“The police have not determined that yet. There is to be an inquest into the death tomorrow, but I’m certain it will be declared a murder.” Hadrian looked for an opportunity to surreptitiously remove his glove in the hope that he could touch something in the shop. He should have tried to shake the man’s hand when they arrived.
Pollard fixed his gaze on them. “How terrible for his wife. Is she all right?”
“She is in shock, but she is managing,” Hadrian said.
“Is she a suspect?” Pollard asked. “They were both quite unhappy. Chambers told me on several occasions he wished he’d never married her. In fact, just a few days ago, he said he was considering divorce.”
Hadrian exchanged a look with Tilda, but before they could say anything, Pollard went on.
The man’s dark, thick brows gathered as he studied them with a dubious expression. “How do you both know Mr. and Mrs. Chambers, and why are you delivering this news instead of the police?”
“I am an old friend of Mrs. Chambers,” Hadrian said.
Before Hadrian could explain that Tilda was investigating the matter, Pollard nodded vigorously. “Of course. Ravenhurst. I’d forgotten you were once engaged to marry Mrs. Chambers. I’m surprised you’ve maintained your friendship.”
There was a sarcastic edge to his tone that Hadrian didn’t care for. Indeed, his initial impression of Pollard was not favorable.
Tilda gave the man a cool smile. “I am investigating the murder. How did you know about Lord Ravenhurst?”
Pollard sized Tilda up briefly, as if he were trying to determine whether she was capable of investigating a murder. “Chambers has mentioned him several times.” He sent an apologetic look to Hadrian. “He didn’t have anything particularly nice to say, I’m afraid.”
“How odd since we hardly knew each other at all.” Hadrian didn’t bother cloaking his irritation.
Standing beside him, Tilda inched closer so she could gently jab him with her elbow. “How will Chambers’ death impact your shop opening?” She looked about the space.
“Honestly, it will make things much easier.” Pollard shook out his shoulders and nearly smiled. “He was not as engaged as he ought to have been—as he once was. And he was not able to provide the financial support that he promised.”
“In what way?” Tilda asked.
“We have a written agreement for our partnership, and he’s required to provide certain monetary amounts at various stages. He’s been late in making those payments the past several months, which has delayed the work that needed to be done. We should be opening the shop next week, but we are still several weeks away.” Pollard spoke bitterly, his eyes flashing. The contention that Flanders had mentioned was evident.
“Do you have the entire investment now?” Hadrian asked.
“No, and I suppose I never will.” Pollard put his hands on his hips and looked about the not-quite-finished shop. In addition to work that needed to be done, the cases were mostly empty of items to sell. “It’s good that I have been speaking with another potential investor, though Louis didn’t want me to do that. He was very angry.” Pollard locked his eyes with Tilda. “Do not think I killed him over our disagreements. I did not.”
“I am not making any conclusions,” Tilda said evenly. “I am merely collecting information, and I greatly appreciate your candor. What else did you disagree about besides finances?”
“That was the prime reason for our conflict, though we ultimately had different visions for the store. I have always said I wanted a department store that would expand. Louis never thought big enough.” Pollard scoffed. “He imagined we would simply sell dresses and add men’s clothing later. I want customers to walk into Pollard and Chambers and be able to meet every one of their clothing needs, including shoes and boots.”
“How did you and Mr. Chambers decide to go into business together?” Tilda asked.
Pollard exhaled. “Louis had been looking for a way to distinguish himself. His older brother inherited their father’s engineering firm, and Louis didn’t have the skill for that anyway. His younger brother is a curate. Louis didn’t have anything, and then he suddenly had a wife, which I don’t think he really wanted.” He shrugged. “We were friends at our club, and one night after drinking too much, I told him of my dream to open a department store. My uncle owns a drapery warehouse, and I’d been working for him. He would be able to supply the materials for the shop at an exceptionally reasonable price, and my wife is an accomplished dressmaker.”
“Is she making everything for the store?” Tilda asked in astonishment.
“Of course not. She has hired seamstresses, tailors, and milliners who are already working on items that will be here in the store when we open. We’d hoped to hire a cobbler, but there hasn’t been money for that.” Pollard’s eyes narrowed with anger again. “This is why it was so important for Louis to make his payments on time, and he did not.”
Tilda nodded sympathetically. “I can understand your frustration. Are you in debt with the store?”
Pollard frowned at her. “I think you are overstepping now.”
“I’m sure the police will ask the same question, and you’ll be obliged to answer them,” she said with a placid smile. “No matter.”
“Yes, my uncle has loaned me money as well as provided material in advance of payment,” Pollard said tersely. “I was expecting a payment from Louis this week. It was already late, but he promised that he would have it by yesterday.”
“Which he did not,” Hadrian said, thinking that another nonpayment of funds Chambers was obligated to pay was as good a motive for murder as anything else.
“Was he missing again yesterday?” Tilda asked Pollard. “You indicated that happens often.”
“He was here, but he came in late, which he does most days recently. He says he is ill.” Pollard’s lip curled slightly. “I suspect he’s just drinking too much. I deeply regret partnering with him.” He shook his head.
“You mentioned you were speaking to another investor,” Tilda noted. “Will he be taking Chambers’ place in the partnership now that he is dead?”
Pollard thought for a moment. “I suppose he could. I am sorry Louis is dead, but this is a boon for me. Perhaps now I can launch the store as planned, albeit late.”
“Who is this new partner?” Hadrian asked.
“I’d rather not say, as nothing is in writing yet,” Pollard said, notching his chin up. “I’ve already helped you enough, I think. If the police want to come calling, let them.”
The door to the shop opened, and Detective Inspector Teague entered along with two constables. Hadrian stifled a smile at the man’s impeccable timing.
Teague looked from Tilda to Hadrian. “I should be surprised to find you here, yet I am not.” He settled his gaze on Pollard. “I’m Detective Inspector Teague from the Metropolitan Police.”
“Lord Ravenhurst and Miss Wren told me what happened to Louis,” Pollard said. “I’m sorry to hear it.”
Teague looked around the shop. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to repeat whatever you told them.”
“I’m happy to help.” Pollard gestured toward the stairs. “I’ve a sitting area in my private office where we can speak if you prefer. Though it’s on the second floor.”
“Wherever is convenient to you,” Teague said. “First, however, excuse me for a moment whilst I have a word with Ravenhurst and Miss Wren.” He inclined his head toward the door.
The detective inspector led them outside and closed the door, leaving the constables inside with Pollard. He focused on Tilda, his mouth tipping into a slight frown. “I thought you said you were not investigating this matter.”
“Ravenhurst has hired me to find the murderer,” Tilda said. “I am eager to prove his innocence.”
Teague addressed Hadrian. “I dispatched a constable to Ravenhurst House to speak with your retainers about when you returned home last night and your activities overnight.”
Hadrian hoped none of the neighbors observed the constable arriving as that would generate curiosity and speculation. Already, the possibility of becoming gossip fodder was present. “Splendid.” He didn’t bother keeping the sarcasm from his tone.
“Since I’ve encountered you here, I hope you’ll allow me to ask about something that came up in my interview with the valet. Perhaps you already know what I’m going to ask.”
Because Hadrian and Tilda had eavesdropped, he had a good idea. “No, I am not having an affair with Beryl.” The notion was repellent. “I would never behave in that manner with someone who is married.” Or betrothed.
“If I ask my next question as to whether you may have plotted with Mrs. Chambers to kill her husband, you would answer in the negative?”
Hadrian glowered at Teague. He liked and respected the man, but he could not help feeling offended. “Unequivocally.”
Tilda sent Hadrian an encouraging glance before fixing her attention on Teague. “I would share information as we did in our last case, but I understand you may not wish to do that since you are officially assigned to this.”
Teague had not been assigned to the matters that Tilda and Hadrian had investigated surrounding Hadrian’s stabbing. Another, almost certainly corrupt, investigator had tried to bury the investigation into Hadrian’s attack, likely paid by the man who’d been behind it, though they hadn’t been able to prove that. That investigator, Padgett, had retired from the police.
Though he hadn’t been directed to work on those matters, Teague had suspected something was awry and had worked on his own time to aid Tilda and Hadrian with the investigation. He’d also been instrumental in helping them capture the criminal. But this was a different situation, and Hadrian wasn’t sure what the man would do.
Teague exhaled. “I can’t work with a private investigator. However, between us, I will gladly accept your assistance.”
“And will you aid my investigation?” Tilda asked, her brow arched.
The inspector grimaced. “I’m sure you’re aware that the Metropolitan Police would not approve of that, particularly since you are a woman.”
“Never mind the daughter of a highly respected sergeant who died in uniform,” Hadrian said with a measure of heat.
Tilda deeply appreciated Hadrian’s defense of her father. But she knew the police did not care who she was. Keeping her attention on Teague, she said, “I understand. My primary goal is ensuring Hadrian’s innocence is proven and that his involvement in this situation is not sensationalized. I know you must investigate all suspects, but Hadrian does not have a strong motive. You’d do better to focus on Beryl Chambers or even Mr. Pollard. He has much to gain from Louis Chambers’ death, which you will learn when you conduct your interview.”
Hadrian stifled a smile. She would make Teague work to learn the specifics.
“I’d prefer that nothing to do with this investigation is sensationalized,” Teague said. “Let us work to solve the crime as quickly as possible, shall we?”
Tilda nodded in agreement. “That is precisely what brought me here to Pollard’s shop. I would appreciate if you would share who Pollard’s new partner may be. He wouldn’t tell us that.”
Teague’s brows climbed. “A new partner? I am most anxious to speak with him. I will see you tomorrow at the inquest.”
Hadrian removed Beryl’s letter from his coat pocket and handed it to Teague. “Here is the letter Beryl sent me yesterday.”
“Thank you, Ravenhurst.” Teague tucked it into his own coat. A faint grimace creased his features briefly. “I hope you understand that I am only doing my job by investigating your connection to Louis Chambers.”
“I do,” Hadrian said. “I don’t have to like it, however.”
“Can’t imagine I would either.” Teague waved at them before returning to the shop.
Hadrian frowned at the door. “I should have shaken Pollard’s hand when I arrived. And I didn’t have a chance to remove my gloves to touch anything.”
“Perhaps you can try the door,” Tilda suggested.
Quickly removing his right glove, Hadrian stepped to the door and put his hand to the wood. Nothing came to him, so he moved his hand around slowly. He focused his mind on seeing or feeling something and wished he had some control over this power.
A vision rose, foggy at first, but then Hadrian recognized the shop. There were two men talking together—Pollard and someone Hadrian had never seen before. He was younger than Pollard, and younger than Hadrian. Hadrian could only see him in profile, but he had dark hair and a long nose. The image dissolved, and Hadrian moved his hand slightly, willing it to return. How he wished he could hear what was happening in his visions, but that had never happened.
Withdrawing his hand, he turned with a frustrated grunt.
Tilda was watching him intently. “You saw something?”
“Briefly. Pollard was in the shop speaking with a dark-haired young man, but I’ve no idea who.” He pressed his fingers to his temple as a dull ache spread across his forehead. “They were talking, but I can never hear anything, which is bloody annoying.”
“I’m sorry. But at least you saw something. Perhaps we’ve yet to meet this young man. Will you be able to recognize him if we do?”
“I’m not sure. I only saw his profile. He had a long nose, so perhaps that will help identify him.” He glanced toward his coach. “Shall we be on our way to Beryl’s?”
“I suppose we should, though it’s too bad we can’t listen to Teague interrogate Pollard.” She walked with Hadrian to the coach. “There are times I sincerely wish I was a member of the Metropolitan Police.”
Leach opened the door, and Tilda climbed inside. Hadrian confirmed with Leach that they were going to Beryl’s house next, then followed Tilda into the coach. He decided to take her suggestion and sat next to her on the forward-facing seat.
Her features registered surprise.
“You don’t mind?” he asked, though she’d invited him to do so earlier.
“I encouraged you, if you recall,” she replied with a smile. “It only makes sense with Beryl’s items on the other seat.”
Did that mean he should only sit next to her if they were transporting items? Hell, why was he dwelling on this so much? It was a seating arrangement not a declaration of affection.
And yet perhaps it was. Or at least the deepening of their friendship.
He certainly felt different sitting beside her. The coach felt … smaller. More intimate. Did she sense that too? He wasn’t going to ask. Instead, he would simply enjoy this shift.
Perhaps, though, he ought to inject a bit of levity. “You don’t plan to elbow me again, do you?” Hadrian smiled.
The coach moved forward as Tilda looked over at him, a glint of humor in her gaze. “I was afraid you were becoming upset, or at least bothered by Pollard’s disclosure about what Chambers said about you. I didn’t want you to prevent Pollard from talking to us.”
“I admit I was irritated.” Hadrian looked straight ahead. “I should not have been. I just don’t understand Chambers’ hatred of me.”
“It does seem as though he had strong feelings against you,” Tilda mused. “And what did Pollard mean about Chambers not really wanting a wife?”
Hadrian turned his head toward Tilda. “That was interesting, wasn’t it? I wonder if Beryl knows that.”
“Do you think Chambers would have confessed that to her?” Tilda sounded dubious.
“Perhaps in the heat of an argument. But I’m not sure I want to ask her about it in case she doesn’t know.”
Tilda lifted a shoulder. “It’s entirely possible Pollard was mistaken or exaggerating.” She was quiet a moment, her gaze fixed across the coach as she pondered something. Finally, she said, “If it’s true that Chambers didn’t want to marry Beryl, and she knew, it would explain the conflict in their marriage.”
“It also strengthens her motive to kill him,” Hadrian said with a frown.
“Perhaps, but it doesn’t make sense to me that she would pursue a divorce whilst also planning to kill him. Unless she was trying to make it look as though she hadn’t killed him.”
Hadrian blew out a breath as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I suppose that’s possible. If so, she’s a very accomplished liar and actor. I quite believed her distress today. And I was persuaded by her letter.”
“I believed her too,” Tilda said. “Though her upset could be due to the fact that she killed her husband in a fit of passion. But she would have had to fetch a knife from the kitchen—if the missing knife is the murder weapon—and stab her husband in his bed, and that does not support a sudden, uncontrollable rage that could lead to murder. Perhaps it was a little of both—unplanned and then quickly executed.”
“She certainly had plenty of reason to be angry with him, let alone outright despise him.”
Tilda was quiet a moment, then said, “You are right that she had several reasons for hating her husband. She thinks he stole her jewelry, he’s said awful things to her and has treated her violently, and she believes he is having an affair.”
“We know all that to be true, except the jewelry,” Hadrian remarked.
“Thanks to your visions, yes. Would you mind having a vision about the missing jewelry so we can confirm that?” she asked with a smile.
Hadrian chuckled. “I shall endeavor to do so. How many pieces went missing?”
“Nine in total,” Tilda replied. “A set of three pieces disappeared before Christmas and the last ones in recent weeks.”
“That’s a long stretch of thievery,” Hadrian remarked. “I suppose Chambers may have had to continually sell things of value in order to make the necessary payments to Pollard for the shop.”
The coach slowed as they approached Beryl’s house.
“You think Chambers sold Beryl’s jewelry to a pawnbroker to gain the funds he needed? If so, I hope that the pawnbroker will see the published list and come forward with information that will help us.”
Us. Hadrian smiled at how they were a team once more.
The coach came to a stop, and Hadrian grabbed the items they’d fetched for Beryl from the opposite seat. He followed Tilda from the coach, and Hadrian noted that a yew wreath dressed with black ribbon had already been placed upon the door of the house.
Oswald greeted them quite soberly. “Mrs. Chambers has a guest at the moment.”
“We’ll wait to speak with her,” Hadrian said.
“This way, if you please.” The butler led them into the parlor they’d occupied earlier in the day.
“Thank you,” Tilda said to the butler before he departed. She waited a moment before turning to Hadrian. “It’s too bad we can’t just go ‘wait’ in Chambers’ bedchamber. I should like to look at it closely myself.”
“What do you hope to find?”
“Any number of things, but a clue as to the identity of his paramour would be most helpful. As would any clues having to do with Beryl’s missing jewelry.” Tilda removed her gloves and tucked them into her reticule. “There, now you can remove your gloves, and it won’t look strange.”
Hadrian set the boxes and sleeping draught on a table, then he removed his gloves. “You don’t think it odd that we would call on someone without our gloves on?”
Tilda shrugged. “Perhaps, but we are ‘dear’ friends of the person upon whom we are calling, aren’t we? Rather, you are anyway.”
“Clever,” Hadrian replied with a chuckle.
Voices carried into the parlor, and both Tilda and Hadrian turned toward the doorway into the entrance hall from whence they’d come. A moment later, Beryl appeared. A gentleman was with her. He was tall, dark-haired, and his nose was rather long.
The man turned his head slightly toward Beryl so that Hadrian saw his profile. Hadrian sucked in a breath and, without thinking, grasped Tilda’s hand.
The contact of her skin against his sent a delicious tremor through him. And it had absolutely nothing to do with a vision. Touching her felt altogether different than that. It was … invigorating.
He was only sorry that the timing wasn’t different, for it was the first time he’d touched her like that, and he wanted to savor it. Instead, he was overcome with a rush of excitement at the identity of the man with Beryl.
Tilda swung her head to look at him, her brows dipping and her eyes bright with curiosity.
“That’s him,” Hadrian whispered. “The man I saw in the vision—in the shop with Pollard. What the devil is he doing here?”