Chapter 9
CHAPTER 9
A fter fetching her hat and gloves from her chamber on the first floor, Tilda went downstairs to await Hadrian. The inquest would begin at one o’clock that afternoon, and he would arrive to fetch Tilda at eleven. Tilda wanted to be sure they had time to answer any questions or soothe anyone’s nerves at Beryl’s house before they went to the Crown and Sceptre, the pub where the inquest would take place.
Tilda’s grandmother was seated near the window in the parlor at the front of the house, taking advantage of the morning light to read a magazine. Half-moon glasses perched on her delicate nose. She looked up when Tilda walked in and smiled, the lines around her mouth deepening. “Lord Ravenhurst is due to arrive shortly?”
Last night, Tilda had told her grandmother about Louis Chambers’ death and that she’d been hired to investigate the matter. However, she did not reveal that Hadrian was her client because she didn’t want to share that he was a suspect. Instead, she’d explained that Hadrian was once again assisting her, which was true.
“Yes.” Tilda set her gloves on a table and pinned her hat to her hair. “Did I get that right?” she asked her grandmother. Sometimes when she donned a hat without the aid of a mirror, she set it off-center or too far forward. Or too far back. Tilda was not as adept with feminine tasks as someone like Beryl probably was.
Grandmama removed her glasses and surveyed Tilda. “A little to the left. Your right, I suppose,” she added with a chuckle. Pursing her lips briefly, she ran her gaze over Tilda once more. “You really do need a new gown or two. I know you say we can’t afford that right now, but I believe you must prioritize your wardrobe, particularly since you are working with the earl again. What a coincidence that is.”
Tilda made the adjustment to her hat whilst ignoring her grandmother’s comments about purchasing new garments. They probably could afford at least one gown, but she did not need to spend the money.
Instead, she responded to her grandmother’s comment about Hadrian. “It is somewhat of a coincidence, yes.” She had not told her grandmother that Hadrian had once been betrothed to Beryl. Rather, she’d offered the explanation that Hadrian had used on several occasions—he and Beryl were old friends.
“Well, I am glad for it,” Grandmama said with great satisfaction. “I like the earl very much. I’m quite looking forward to seeing him again. As is everyone, I think. Look, here’s Mrs. Acorn waiting for his arrival.” She sent the housekeeper, who’d just entered the parlor, a cheeky grin.
“I came to see if you wanted tea,” Mrs. Acorn said, smoothing her hands over her apron.
Tilda hid a smile. She knew everyone in the household liked Hadrian. Just as she also knew that her grandmother and Mrs. Acorn, in particular, hoped there might be something more than a professional partnership between Tilda and Hadrian, despite Tilda assuring them both there was not.
There was friendship and nothing more. Except the recurring feelings of anticipation and excitement Tilda experienced when she thought of him, or the jolts of heat and attraction that shot through her, such as when he’d taken her hand yesterday.
She was rescued from further contemplation by the arrival of his coach outside on the street. “He’s here.”
“I’m coming,” Vaughn called from the entrance hall. The butler was just a year younger than Tilda’s grandmother, but a lifetime of service had hunched his back. However, since he was exceedingly tall, he still towered over most people. He moved more slowly than Grandmama, his shuffling gait now a familiar sound. He worked hard, finding endless things to do to contribute to the household since joining them just a fortnight or so earlier. He’d been butler to Tilda’s grandfather’s cousin, whose murder she and Hadrian had solved. Instead of retirement, he’d made it clear he preferred to continue working. And so he was.
Tilda suspected it wasn’t so much a desire to work but to be a part of something akin to a family, a place where he was needed and appreciated. She could understand that. After her father had died and it was just her and her mother, Tilda hadn’t felt like she belonged. She’d never been as close to her mother, and when she decided to remarry, Tilda had jumped at the chance to move in with her grandmother instead of joining her mother and her new husband in Birmingham. Now she had only to tolerate visits with her mother and stepfather once or twice each year.
“Good morning, Lord Ravenhurst,” Vaughn greeted from the entrance hall. “It’s a delight to see you.”
“I’m very pleased to see you as well, Vaughn,” Hadrian replied. Tilda could hear the warmth in his voice from the parlor. “No lasting ill effects from that knock on your head?”
Vaughn had been the victim of a housebreaker before relocating from his former household to Tilda’s grandmother’s. He’d suffered a mild concussion, but he hadn’t managed to remain in bed for the prescribed week.
“None at all,” Vaughn said proudly.
“Glad to hear it.” Hadrian appeared in the doorway. His gaze landed on Tilda first, and he smiled, then he looked to her grandmother and the housekeeper. “Good morning, ladies. I hope I am not disturbing you too early.”
“Of course not,” Grandmama replied. “We were expecting you.”
Tilda kept from rolling her eyes. Hadrian wasn’t here to see all of them.
“I trust you are doing well?” Hadrian asked. He shifted his gaze to the housekeeper next. “And you, Mrs. Acorn.”
“Yes, thank you, my lord,” Mrs. Acorn murmured with a faint blush.
Tilda realized he had them all under some ridiculous spell that only a handsome member of the peerage could cast. For some reason, this bothered her today.
Or perhaps it wasn’t that at all. Perhaps she was still faintly annoyed from yesterday when she’d walked into Chambers’ study and seen Hadrian and Beryl together. They’d appeared intimate, and Tilda felt as though she were intruding. Seeing them like that had provoked an agitating twist in Tilda’s gut.
Hadrian said he was relieved to have avoided marrying Beryl, but perhaps his sentiments were changing. Tilda did not have time for such ridiculous meanderings in her mind. She needed to focus on the investigation at hand.
She realized Hadrian was chatting idly with her grandmother. Pulling on her gloves, Tilda waited for a break in the conversation, then suggested they should go. She looked to her grandmother. “I am not sure when I will return.”
“I hope all goes well,” Grandmama said. “I won’t worry, especially since you are with his lordship.” She sent a grateful smile to the earl.
Now Tilda did gently roll her eyes. She did not need the earl to protect her, especially not when she was only going to an inquest.
So far. Who knew what the rest of the day would hold? Yesterday had taken them on quite a quest.
Everyone bade goodbye to Hadrian. Tilda’s grandmother encouraged him to return any time for a social call. Hadrian said he would.
Hadrian sat across from her in the coach instead of beside her. Was that because he didn’t want to be close to her? Perhaps things were changing between him and Beryl.
Tilda pushed the irritating thought aside. “I hope you are feeling better today.”
“I am, thank you,” he said with a smile. “I had a much-needed glass of brandy and restorative bath when I returned home. A wonderful dinner and a restful night’s sleep has put me back to rights.”
“Perhaps you should only allow yourself to have one vision per day,” Tilda suggested. She didn’t like him suffering.
“How will I manage that?” he asked with a light laugh. “This ability is beyond my control.”
“Can’t you simply put your gloves on after you have a vision? Then you won’t have another.”
He blew out a breath. “I suppose I could, but I don’t like the notion of not seeing something that might be helpful. If I’d put my gloves on yesterday after the first vision, I would not have seen the killer enter the dressing room.”
Tilda didn’t like that part either, but she didn’t want him to cause damage to himself. “It is helpful, but at what cost? Your health and well-being are vitally important.”
He smiled. “Your concern is well-received. How about I agree to be careful going forward? If my head is troubling me overmuch, as it was yesterday, I will don my gloves.”
“You must do what you think is best,” she said. “Just know that I am paying attention.”
Hadrian touched his chest. “I am thrilled to have you watching over me.”
Tilda wanted to speak with him about Clara. “I think it’s important that Clara’s past intimacy with Chambers is revealed at the inquest. Clara is worried how Beryl will react to this information and fears she’ll be dismissed. Have you any idea what Beryl will do when she finds out?”
“I don’t. It happened before Beryl married him, so perhaps she won’t be too upset,” Hadrian said. “Not to mention the fact that Clara was preyed upon by Chambers. I’m not sure I would blame her for what happened.”
“I promised I will help her if Beryl throws her out. Clara doesn’t have any family.”
Hadrian frowned. “That’s a shame. I will help too, if necessary. Speaking of family, I wondered if you might want to search for the other maid’s father in Stepney after the inquest.”
Tilda smiled. “I do, in fact. You know me too well.”
“I think I may.” He winked at her, and Tilda’s insides did a joyful flip. “Should you tell Beryl about this before the inquest so she isn’t surprised?”
“I suppose that would be best. Do you mind being with me when I tell her?”
“Not at all. I am eager to be of assistance to you.” He leaned slightly forward as he met her gaze. “That is my job.”
They arrived at Beryl’s house. Leach opened the door and Hadrian stepped out. He then assisted Tilda to the ground. She’d grown accustomed to him touching her, always with his gloves on, in this perfunctory manner. But since he’d grabbed her bare hand yesterday—neither of them wearing gloves—this somehow felt different. She felt a brief frisson, a reminder of the electricity that had arced between them.
When they reached the door, Teague opened it.
Tilda blinked at him in surprise. She couldn’t imagine why he was acting as butler. Where was Oswald? “Has something happened?”
“Come in,” Teague said rather somberly. “Everyone is downstairs in the kitchen, including Mrs. Chambers. She’s gone down to deliver the bad news I just gave her.”
Tilda had stepped into the entrance hall whilst Teague held the door, and Hadrian had followed.
“What news is this?” Hadrian asked.
Teague closed the door. “We found Martha Farrow—the maid who resigned her post here about a fortnight ago.”
Tilda tensed for the bad part of that news and feared the worst. “I don’t suppose she’ll be attending the inquest today?”
Shaking his head, Teague frowned. “She fell over a stair rail last night, tumbling three stories to her death.”
H adrian exchanged surprised looks with Tilda before frowning at Teague. “That is rather shocking. Where did this happen?”
“At the house where she was lodging in Spitalfields,” Teague replied. “Her death was reported to the local branch, and I learned of it this morning.”
“That is unfortunate,” Tilda said softly. “Was she murdered?”
“As in pushed? She doesn’t appear to have been,” Teague said. “But there were no witnesses. Still, I have asked for a coroner to review her body and decide if there should be an inquest. I find it suspicious that she worked in this household where a murder was committed until recently when she resigned suddenly.”
Tilda nodded. “I agree. I was hoping to find her after the inquest. Clara told me that Miss Farrow’s father is a solicitor in Stepney. I’d intended to start there.”
Teague’s brows lifted. “Is he? All I know so far about Miss Farrow is that she has been lodging with a family called Jefford in Flower and Dean Street since leaving the Chambers’ household. I haven’t had time to speak with the lodging house owner yet, but I’ve sent a constable to conduct interviews as he can.” He fixed his gaze on Tilda. “What were you hoping to learn from Miss Farrow?”
“Primarily, why she left. It seems that no jewelry has gone missing since her departure.”
“You think she was stealing Mrs. Chambers’ jewelry?” Teague asked.
Tilda lifted a shoulder. “I’m only collecting information at this point. I have not yet made any deductions. There is something else you should know. Louis Chambers was intimate with Clara Hicks, the maid, when she began working here six years ago. That continued until he wed Beryl.”
Teague’s mouth twisted into a brief expression of disgust. “Does Clara harbor ill will toward Chambers?”
“Not with regard to their relationship, as far as I could tell,” Tilda replied. “However, Clara was upset to learn of Chambers’ abuse of Beryl. She said Beryl was better off without him.”
“Well, I think many of us can probably come to the same conclusion. Chambers was not a pleasant man. The number of people who wouldn’t mind his death continues to grow.” Teague blew out a breath. “Thank you for sharing that with me. I don’t suppose there is anything else you learned that you think I should know?”
In the interest of moving himself further down the list of people who weren’t upset about Chambers’ death, Hadrian would have liked to tell Teague what he’d seen in his visions, but he could not. Instead, he and Tilda would work to find evidence to support what he’d seen. He could, however, share what he’d learned from the ledgers. “I looked through Louis Chambers’ ledger yesterday.”
“Ah, yes, so did one of the constables,” Teague said with a nod. “I’m aware of the payments to Pollard and then lack of payments.”
“And of the payment of twenty pounds to Oliver Chambers?” Hadrian asked.
“Yes. He is the new investor in Pollard’s drapery shop.”
Hadrian exchanged a look with Tilda. “Did Pollard tell you that yesterday?”
“Reluctantly,” Teague said wryly. “When I asked why he was hesitant to share this news, he said he was worried it would cast suspicion on Oliver. Pollard went on to say that Oliver had approached him weeks ago with an offer to join in the business. Oliver knew his brother wasn’t holding up his financial promises—Pollard explained that Louis hadn’t been keeping up with his investment.”
“I am most curious as to why Chambers was suddenly unable to continue his payments to Pollard,” Tilda remarked.
“And why did he give his brother Oliver twenty pounds?” Hadrian mused. “Beryl thinks it was perhaps due to Oliver leaving his job as a curate. Louis may have just wanted to help him.”
Teague stroked his jaw. “How did Louis Chambers even come up with twenty pounds when he was failing to meet his financial commitment to Pollard?”
“I think I know where he was getting the money,” Tilda said. “Mrs. Chambers is missing nine pieces of jewelry. They began to disappear in December. She believes her husband stole them.” Frowning, Tilda added, “Though if he was stealing them and selling them, why wasn’t he then paying Pollard?”
Teague inclined his head. “A very good question. Presumably, he partnered with Pollard knowing he had the money to invest.”
“Unless he didn’t. Perhaps he was gambling to make money?” Hadrian suggested.
“That is possible,” Tilda said vaguely. “I would like to better understand Chambers’ financial situation—how he spent money and how much he had to begin with.”
“His father founded a successful engineering firm,” Hadrian said. “He was the second son of a large landowner in Hertfordshire. From what I understand, they have considerable wealth.”
Teague scrutinized him a moment. “How do you know all that?”
“I was curious who my fiancée chose to marry instead of me,” he responded with more derision than he probably ought.
“If Chambers’ family has a great deal of money, why was he struggling to pay Pollard?” Teague asked. “I’ll speak to his brothers. I have not yet interviewed them as thoroughly as I would like. The elder brother, Daniel, was too upset. And now the inquest is upon us. I should get to the pub. I’ll see you there soon.”
Teague departed, leaving Tilda and Hadrian in the entrance hall. “That’s a shame about the maid,” Hadrian said quietly.
“Yes,” Tilda agreed. “I am most eager to visit the lodging house where she died.”
Beryl walked into the entrance hall. She wore a modest black gown. “I didn’t realize you’d arrived.” Her nose and eyes were red.
“Teague let us in,” Hadrian said. “We’re so sorry to hear about your former maid.”
“It’s so shocking, especially after Louis.” Beryl dabbed a handkerchief to her nose and sniffed.
Tilda looked at Beryl with sympathy. “I wonder if we might move to the parlor. I’m afraid I have more news to share.”
Beryl blinked away tears. “I’m not sure I can withstand anything else.”
“You will hear it at the inquest,” Hadrian said gently. “We thought it may be best if you learned of it beforehand. No one has died,” Hadrian added, hoping to reassure her.
They went into the parlor and Beryl sank onto the settee. Hadrian sat beside her and gave her an encouraging smile, then looked to Tilda who took a chair opposite them.
Tilda fixed her attention on Beryl. “When I spoke with Clara yesterday, she told me she and your husband had an intimate relationship before he married you.”
Beryl stared at her. “Before?”
“Yes, and not since,” Tilda said firmly. “Still, she is worried you will dismiss her.”
“I’m—” Beryl shook her head. “I don’t know what I am.”
“Clara is quite loyal to you,” Tilda said.
“Is she? I always thought she admired Louis.” Beryl scoffed. “She seemed to.”
“She may have, but when she learned of his abuse toward you and saw it for herself, she became your staunch supporter. She told me you are better off without him.”
Beryl sniffed again. “I suppose that’s nice.”
There was a knock on the door. Beryl looked toward the entrance hall.
“I haven’t seen Oswald return,” Hadrian said. Their settee faced the entrance hall, and Hadrian hadn’t noted the butler at all. “I’ll answer the door.”
Hadrian stood and made his way to the front door. Opening it, he was surprised to see a constable. Hadrian recognized him as one of the men who’d been at Beryl’s house the previous day with Teague.
“Lord Ravenhurst, I’m to inform you and everyone in the household that the inquest has been postponed until Monday. Same time and place.”
“Why?” Hadrian’s blood was suddenly pumping faster. This seemed a significant change.
“I can’t say, my lord. Will you deliver the message?”
“I will, thank you.” Hadrian closed the door and returned to the parlor. Pressing his lips together, he met Tilda’s gaze. “That was one of the constables who was here yesterday. The inquest has been postponed until Monday.”
Tilda shot to her feet. “I heard you ask why but nothing else. What did he say?”
“That he couldn’t say why.”
Frowning, Tilda rushed to the entrance hall. Hadrian followed her, watching as she opened the door and stepped outside. She looked down the street where the constable was striding in the direction of the pub where the inquest was to be held.
“Do you want to go after him?” Hadrian asked.
“No.” She exhaled, then turned back and stepped into the house.
Hadrian closed the door. “Why would they postpone the inquest? Does that happen often?”
“I don’t know the answer to either of those questions. I’m inclined to seek Teague out and ask him, but we’ve other matters to investigate first.” She looked up at him with firm determination.
It seemed to Hadrian she had a plan. “The lodging house in Spitalfields?”
She nodded. “Let us be on our way.”
“We need to inform the household about the inquest,” Hadrian noted.
Beryl appeared in the doorway to the parlor. “I’ll tell everyone about the inquest being postponed. Though I don’t know where Massey is. I don’t believe he slept here last night, and no one has seen him.”
“Does anyone know where he goes when he has his free nights?” Tilda asked.
Hadrian wished they’d been able to hear that part of Massey’s conversation with Teague yesterday.
“He always said he was visiting family, but I don’t know who or where that is,” Beryl replied. Her expression turned sad once more. “Farrow would have known. They were rather friendly.”
But Farrow was now dead. Her demise was proving to be a problem for their investigation, and Hadrian had to think that made her death even more interesting, if not suspicious.
Another knock on the door prompted them all to turn. Hadrian moved to answer it once more. This time, it was Beryl’s elegant neighbor, Mrs. Styles-Rowdon. She smiled at Hadrian. “Lord Ravenhurst, how lovely to see you.” She carried a round tin with a landscape on the lid.
“Gillian, the inquest has been postponed until Monday!” Beryl said with some distress.
Mrs. Styles-Rowdon’s features collapsed into a pout. “How stressful.” She moved past Hadrian and gave the tin to Beryl. “It’s good I brought cinnamon biscuits. Why has it been moved?”
Beryl’s features smoothed slightly as she clutched the tin to her chest. “We don’t know.”
“And here, we rushed to alter your gown,” Mrs. Styles-Rowdon said with a tsking sound. “Ah well, you look beautiful anyway, and that is something to be thankful for,” she added with a warm, encouraging smile.
Hadrian was glad Beryl had such a good, supportive friend.
“If we hear why the inquest was postponed, we’ll let you know.” Hadrian suddenly recalled that they hadn’t yet asked for a description of Martha Farrow. “Beryl, can you tell me what Martha Farrow looked like?”
Beryl’s brow creased. “She had blonde hair and was very pretty. When I hired her after marrying Louis, he said she was too beautiful to be a maid. Why did you want to know that?”
Hadrian was certain the woman he’d seen in the vision from the chair was Martha Farrow. And she was probably the maid who’d been in Louis’s bed, then had to scramble beneath it.
“I was only curious,” he said vaguely. “We will take our leave now.”
Beryl gave him a faint smile. “Thank you, Hadrian.”
“Yes, thank you, Lord Ravenhurst,” Mrs. Styles-Rowdon said enthusiastically. “You are a bright light in this dark time.”
Hadrian opened the door for Tilda, and they departed.
As they walked toward his coach, she glanced over at him, murmuring, “A bright light in a dark time.”
“That was a trifle amusing.”
“She was flirting with you, I think,” Tilda said.
“What? No. That would be inappropriate. It’s a … dark time.”
Tilda arched a brow at him, her eyes glinting with a hint of mirth that quickly disappeared as her features sobered. “Do you think Martha Farrow was the maid you saw in your visions?”
“I do.”
“Let us be on our way to Spitalfields.” Tilda pressed her lips together. “I’m not at all sure Martha Farrow’s fall was an accident.”