Chapter 16
CHAPTER 16
T ilda was ready when Hadrian arrived at eleven the following morning. She didn’t want to waste a moment with him coming in to exchange pleasantries, though she knew her grandmother would be disappointed. Instead, she promised he would come in when he brought her back later in the day.
“Perhaps he will take tea with us,” Grandmama suggested.
“Perhaps,” Tilda said vaguely before kissing her grandmother’s cheek. Vaughn held the door for her as she exited the house and hastened to the coach.
Hadrian had climbed down only to stop short upon seeing her. “You’re ready to depart.”
“We’re eager to solve this case, aren’t we?” Tilda replied with perhaps a touch of jovial impatience.
“We are indeed.” Chuckling, he handed her into the coach.
When they arrived at the drapery shop, Hadrian removed his gloves before leaving the coach. “I will not miss an opportunity to perhaps shake Pollard’s hand or touch something inside the shop.”
They walked to the door of the shop and Hadrian knocked. Pollard answered, his mouth twisting into something between a frown and a grimace. “Why have you come again?”
“We have a few more questions,” Hadrian said amenably. “I promise we won’t take too much of your time.”
“I will hold you to that,” Pollard said as he opened the door for them to move inside.
Tilda immediately noticed a woman standing near an empty case with a glass top and recognized her as the woman who’d been sitting beside Pollard at the inquest.
Pollard closed the door and walked around them. “This is Mrs. Pollard. Joanna, I believe you will recognize Lord Ravenhurst and Miss Wren from the inquest. They’ve come to bother me again with questions about Louis. You may recall that Miss Wren is working for Mrs. Chambers as an investigator .” His tone seemed to indicate that he didn’t approve.
“Why does she need an investigator?” Mrs. Pollard asked. She was taller than average, nearly as tall as her husband, but with a far more curvaceous figure. She had dark-blonde hair and small brown eyes. “Aren’t the police investigating Louis’s death?”
Tilda smiled patiently. “They are. However, I have been employed to conduct an investigation.” She did not bother mentioning that Hadrian had hired her.
“Seems unnecessary,” Mrs. Pollard said with a tsking sound. “But then the Chambers like to spend money.”
There was another knock at the door, and Pollard went to open it. He returned a moment later with a card which he handed to his wife. “The funeral is on Wednesday.”
Mrs. Pollard perused the card and made a moue of distaste. “I suppose I should go with you.”
“You needn’t bother, if you’d rather not,” Pollard said. “I know you aren’t particularly fond of Mrs. Chambers.”
“Why is that?” Tilda asked.
Mrs. Pollard sniffed. “She doesn’t care much for the shop. I think she believes it’s beneath her husband to be so involved in the direct management. She thought he’d just give money to Edgar, and we’d run things. How I wish she’d been right.”
“Come now, dear,” Pollard said cajolingly. “None of that matters now that Louis is gone.” He shook his head. “I am sorry about that. We may have fallen out somewhat, but I would never have wished him dead.” A wistful expression passed briefly over the man’s features. “We had some good times together in the beginning. I hadn’t known then that he was such a wastrel.”
“Are you referring to his financial problems?” Hadrian asked. “Or his behavior with women?” He glanced toward Mrs. Pollard. “Pardon me for asking such a question in your presence.”
Tilda watched Mrs. Pollard closely. When Hadrian had asked about Chambers’ behavior with women, her nostrils had flared, and her lip had curled ever so slightly. Tilda was convinced the woman knew something. But would she volunteer the information?
“Both,” Pollard replied. “He was not content to remain faithful to his wife, as I am to Joanna.” He sent her a warm smile, and his love for her seemed evident to Tilda.
Joanna returned his gaze but didn’t respond in kind.
“Mr. Pollard, you mentioned Chambers didn’t want a wife,” Tilda recalled. “Was that because he did not wish to commit himself to just one woman?”
Pollard shrugged. “I am not sure of his reasons, but I suppose that could have been why.”
“I don’t suppose you were aware of any of his paramours?” Hadrian asked. “He didn’t tell you of a mistress?”
“No one specific.” Pollard wrinkled his nose. “He liked to visit brothels, but I never accompanied him.”
Tilda moved on to her next line of inquiry. “Louis’s death has allowed you to accept Oliver Chambers’ investment as a partner.”
Mrs. Pollard came toward them, her eyes blazing. “Don’t you dare insinuate Edgar had anything to do with that man dying.”
Pollard sent his wife an appreciative glance before returning his attention to Tilda. “I would have found a way to persuade Louis to permit his brother to invest. The man wasn’t making his payments, and I’d planned to speak with the solicitor.”
“Louis Chambers wanted so badly to be a successful businessman, but the truth was that he was terrible at managing financial matters. He was a prideful fool,” Mrs. Pollard said with considerable vitriol.
“Are you very involved in this business, Mrs. Pollard?” Tilda asked.
Mrs. Pollard lifted her chin and met Tilda’s gaze, her eyes glittering. “I am the head designer and oversee all the seamstresses. Furthermore, my husband wants me to be.”
“I am very impressed,” Tilda said, meaning it. “I admire an enterprising woman—and the man who supports her.”
Mrs. Pollard appeared to relax, her features softening slightly and her body losing a measure of stiffness that had been present since their arrival.
“Did either of you have occasion to visit the Chambers’ home?” Tilda asked.
The Pollards exchanged a brief look, which gave Tilda her answer.
“On occasion,” Pollard replied. “Louis often hosted dinner parties. We attended one a few weeks ago.”
Tilda inclined her head. “Who else was in attendance?”
Pollard shrugged. “A couple of gentlemen from the club and their wives.”
“Thank you, Mr. Pollard,” Tilda said with a benign smile. She looked over at Hadrian. “Do you have any questions?”
Hadrian inclined his head, then fixed his gaze on Pollard. “You’ve known Louis for quite some time. Can you tell me why he despised me? I truly have no idea as to the cause.”
Pollard blinked. “I can’t say that I recall. He was clear in his dislike of you—hatred, really—but I don’t know that he ever said why.”
Tilda was sure that answer disappointed Hadrian and shot him a sympathetic glance. Taking a step to her right, she looked about the shop. “How close are you to opening?”
“I’m not sure,” Pollard said on a frustrated sigh. “We don’t have enough inventory to sell yet.”
Mrs. Pollard sent him a heated stare. “That’s because there hasn’t been enough money to buy the supplies I need to sew. With Oliver investing now, I hope we can open within a few weeks.”
“I thought you were finished with your questions,” Pollard said curtly, though Tilda had not said that. “Neither my wife nor I had anything to do with Louis’s murder.”
“I didn’t say you did,” Tilda said patiently. “However, I’d say his demise worked out well for you.”
Pollard scowled, and Mrs. Pollard took a few steps toward Tilda. “Louis Chambers was most definitely a problem, and no, I can’t say we’re sorry that he will no longer cause us distress or financial hardship. We will open the shop of our dreams, in spite of him.” She sent her husband a confident look, and he nodded in response, his eyes crinkling with emotion.
“Thank you for your time,” Tilda said. “I’m sure we’ll see you at the funeral.” She pivoted and noticed that Hadrian had moved toward the case where Mrs. Pollard had been standing. His fingertips were pressed along the top edge.
Then he removed them and brushed his hand along his temple. He turned and bid good day to the Pollards before opening the door for Tilda.
Outside, she asked, “How is your head?”
He narrowed one eye at her briefly. “Aches a bit, but it should ease soon, I think.”
She paused before they reached the coach, so they were not within Leach’s hearing. “What did you see in the shop?”
“Something that will probably make you want to learn all you can about Joanna Pollard.”
“ I ’ll tell you in the coach,” Hadrian said.
Tilda’s eyes gleamed with anticipation. This was how she looked when her mind was turning over information and the thrill of investigation had a firm hold on her. “If what you’re going to say will prompt questions about Mrs. Pollard, we should see what we can learn about the woman. Do you recall Flanders mentioning that Mrs. Pollard had worked for someone called Madame Ousset?”
“I do,” Hadrian replied with a nod, delighting in Tilda’s excitement. “Shall we stop in at the millinery and ask where we can find her?”
Tilda grinned. “Precisely what I was thinking.”
They proceeded to the coach where Hadrian informed Leach of their next stop.
Once they were inside the vehicle and moving, Tilda looked eagerly toward Hadrian, waiting for him to describe his vision in the shop. It was moments like these, and the one outside the coach, that he enjoyed the most with her—the shared excitement of new information, the partnership of them working toward the same goal.
“As soon as I touched the display case, I felt overwhelming frustration and outrage. Then disgust.” He stopped. “I’m getting ahead of myself. The disgust came with something in the vision. I saw Louis Chambers—in the shop. His expression was seductive, similar to what I’d seen in the visions in his bedchamber.”
“I am very sorry you keep seeing that ,” Tilda said sardonically.
“As am I. Thankfully, this time it didn’t last long. He was advancing on the person whose memory I was seeing, but he stopped and his expression turned to anger. He said something, but of course I couldn’t hear him. Then he was pushed.”
“By you?” Tilda asked anxiously. “Rather, the person whose memory you saw.”
“Yes. I glimpsed the hands, and they were feminine. I did not see any rings on her fingers, but that doesn’t mean there weren’t any, for it all happened very quickly. Chambers moved toward her again, his features menacing. Then he abruptly turned and left in a huff.”
“Who could that have been?” Tilda asked.
“Since this happened in the shop, I suspect it was Mrs. Pollard. That’s why I thought you’d be even more interested in her.”
Tilda sat back against the squab, her expression contemplative. “I don’t want to assume it’s her, but it seems likely. I wonder what was happening. Was he trying to seduce her?”
“That is certainly something we can expect from him at this point,” Hadrian said wryly.
A shudder passed through Tilda, and she made a face. “What a horrid man. It’s bad enough he took advantage of his employees, but to attempt to seduce his partner’s wife? The man had no scruples whatsoever.”
Hadrian hadn’t possessed strong feelings for the man when he was alive, but he did now. He was sorrier than ever that poor Beryl had fallen for his charm, not that he’d ever seen the man display any. “More and more, it seems any number of people would have good cause to wish him dead.”
“I think Mrs. Pollard has now joined that group. She certainly seems to detest him, and I can see why. Not only had he caused disruption to their livelihood, but he also likely made advances toward her.” Tilda’s lip curled.
“Does this not also increase Pollard’s potential as the murderer?” Hadrian asked. “If I learned my business partner had tried to seduce my wife, I would be very angry.”
Tilda arched her brow at him. “Angry enough to kill?”
“I can’t say, for I do not actually have a wife.”
“You had a fiancée, and someone did seduce her,” Tilda pointed out. “And no, I am not saying I suspect you of murdering Louis Chambers. I am merely pointing out that there is a line between being angry and wanting to kill someone.”
“You make a valid point. There is a line, and I wasn’t even close to it. Perhaps that is because I didn’t love Beryl. If I had, would I have been closer to the line or even over it?” He couldn’t answer that. He hadn’t ever been in love. He’d yet to meet a woman who provoked such a visceral emotion within him.
Or had he? He recalled the ferocity of his need to protect Tilda when a murderer had lunged for her just over a week ago. There had been no line to cross. Hadrian simply would have done whatever was necessary to keep her safe.
“Pollard seems to love his wife,” Tilda said. “Perhaps that is motivation enough.”
The coach stopped in front of Flanders Millinery. Hadrian didn’t wait for Leach to open the door. He did so himself and climbed down, then helped Tilda to the pavement.
They were able to see Flanders and learn that Madame Ousset had a shop just a little farther down Regent Street.
“Shall we walk?” Tilda asked as they exited the milliner.
“It is no longer raining, so why not?” It had rained right up to when he’d arrived at Tilda’s house earlier. Hadrian informed Leach of where they were going, and the coachman said he would move the carriage to their location whilst they completed their errand.
“Do you suppose she’s as French as her name?” Tilda asked as they made their way along Regent Street.
“Probably not. At one time, a French modiste was all the rage for the aristocracy, even though we supposedly despised the French.”
“You upper-class types are strange,” she said with a laugh.
“Some of us even have odd, inexplicable powers.” He waggled his brows at her, and her mirth continued.
They reached Madame Ousset’s shop, and Hadrian held the door for Tilda. The interior was most elegant with bolts of fabric on display and a few seating areas where ladies sat perusing fashion plates.
A young woman approached them, and Hadrian summoned his most charming smile and demeanor. “May we please speak with Madame Ousset? It’s a matter of some importance.”
The woman, who was beautifully attired, looked Tilda over from bodice to hem. “I can see that. I am not sure Madame Ousset has an appointment today, however.”
Hadrian darted a glance at Tilda, hoping she was not offended by the woman’s perusal and comment. Whilst Tilda’s wardrobe was out of date, it was in good condition. To him, she always looked lovely.
“Perhaps Madame Ousset can find time for the Earl of Ravenhurst,” Hadrian said with the barest hint of a smile.
Bobbing a curtsey, the woman said, “Of course, my lord.” She hurried to the back of the shop, and Hadrian noted a pair of patrons looking in their direction.
“I think they heard you playing your earl card,” Tilda said with a lively look.
“I felt it was necessary,” he said in his defense.
“Oh, I agree. And I am grateful for it in these instances.”
The young woman returned and ushered them to a private sitting room. “Would you care for tea?”
“No, thank you,” Hadrian replied.
After dipping into another curtsey, the woman left.
Tilda looked at the closed door. “I believe she thinks we’re here to purchase a gown for me.”
Hadrian wasn’t sure how to respond. “Does that bother you?”
“Not particularly. My grandmother has been insisting I update my wardrobe, but it simply isn’t in our budget to do so.”
Whilst Hadrian wasn’t aware of the specifics of their financial situation, he’d thought she might be able to purchase a gown or two with the income she’d made from their last investigation along with the funds he’d supplied to her grandmother’s long-lost account. “Perhaps you’ll be able to do so after this investigation.”
“Grandmama says I ought to look like a successful investigator if I want to encourage people to hire me.”
Hadrian thought that argument would make sense to Tilda. “ Should you order a gown then?”
She shook her head. “Not here. I could never afford a place such as this.”
Their conversation ended as the door opened, and a woman nearing fifty entered. She wore a simple but elegant day dress, and her mostly dark hair—there were some gray strands here and there—was swept atop her head and adorned with a gold comb.
“Good afternoon, Lord Ravenhurst,” she said with a curtsey and, as Hadrian had predicted, without a French accent. Her gaze moved to Tilda. “Lady Ravenhurst.”
“Pardon, but I am not Lady Ravenhurst,” Tilda said firmly. “I am Miss Wren. I am a private investigator, and Lord Ravenhurst is my associate. We’d like to speak with you about Joanna Pollard.”
The modiste hesitated as she gave them a dubious look. “Why?”
“We are investigating the murder of Louis Chambers,” Tilda replied.
Madame Ousset’s eyes rounded briefly. “I read about that. I didn’t know him at all, but I knew he was Pollard’s partner in that new store. Did someone really kill him in his bed?”
“Yes,” Tilda replied.
“Do you think the Pollards are responsible?” Madame Ousset asked with a gasp. “I don’t know Pollard well, but he could be somewhat aloof. Joanna, on the other hand, is easily agitated. But to kill someone?” The modiste made a sound as she shook her head.
Hadrian looked to see Tilda’s reaction. She was watching Madame Ousset closely.
“Do you think she is capable of such a thing?” Tilda asked.
“I wouldn’t think so, no.” Madame Ousset pursed her lips. “Though Joanna left my employ some five years ago, and I have not kept in close contact with her. I couldn’t tell you what she is like now.”
Tilda continued to study the modiste. “Why did you not remain close with her?”
Hadrian was probably too focused on Tilda, but he couldn’t help himself. He loved to watch her work.
The modiste shrugged. “Joanna is exceptional with a needle and has a keen eye for fashion. However, she is not terribly friendly and has a short temper. At least, that was true when she worked for me. Honestly, it was a relief when she resigned her position,” Madame Ousset said, her shoulders dipping briefly. “She always wanted to be more than a seamstress. Her father was a tailor, and her mother had been a seamstress, though she died relatively young, leaving Joanna to care for her four younger siblings.”
“That is a great deal for someone to bear,” Tilda said. “Am I correct in assuming she and Mr. Pollard do not have children?”
“Not that I am aware of, but as I said, we have not maintained a friendship. I am happy to see her achieve what she dreamed of—that shop her husband is opening on Oxford Street. I hear she is designing the ladies’ garments.”
“I hope you won’t find this question indelicate, Madame Ousset,” Tilda said gently. “Mrs. Pollard married Mr. Pollard later than most women typically wed. Was she married before that? Or did she have any other sort of romantic relationship?”
“She was not wed prior to Pollard.” Madame Ousset cocked her head. “Indeed, I was surprised when she married him, as I’d always thought she preferred to remain a spinster. As one myself, I usually recognize a kindred spirit. However, I think Pollard offered her the life she wanted.” As Tilda had pointed out in the coach, Pollard also seemed to love his wife. Hadrian had sensed that too, though Mrs. Pollard had been harder to read.
Madame Ousset continued, “When Joanna resigned her position here, she set up her own business and a few of my clients chose to use her services.”
Tilda offered the modiste a warm smile. “Thank you for your time, Madame Ousset. If you think of anything else that may be helpful about Mrs. Pollard, or even Mr. Pollard, please let us know.”
Hadrian handed the modiste his card. “Thank you.”
He escorted Tilda back into the main area of the shop, then outside onto the pavement. “I think it’s time you have cards printed,” he said.
“That is not an expense I can afford at the moment.” She looked at him and quickly added, “Nor will I accept an offer from you to purchase them for me.”
“Not even as a loan?”
She pursed her lips at him. “No. I know you can’t possibly understand what it means to be frugal, but I do not purchase things I can’t afford.”
“Nor do I.”
Arching a brow at him, she gave him a sardonic stare. “ Is there something you can’t afford?”
She had him there, and he found it unaccountably irritating. Not her question, but the fact that he truly couldn’t relate to what she was saying. He used humor to mask his frustration. “I am fairly certain I couldn’t purchase Buckingham Palace.”
Tilda laughed. “That’s because the Crown wouldn’t sell it to you.”
“Probably not.” He helped her into the coach as Leach opened the door. “Any other errands today?”
“Not that I can think of,” she replied.
“It’s best we are done earlier today,” Hadrian said. “I’ve meetings I ought to attend at Westminster.”
Tilda arched a brow at him. “I have been wondering about your primary occupation in the Lords. You mustn’t let helping me with my investigations interfere with your responsibilities.”
“I won’t.” Though he sometimes did, if he were honest. He couldn’t help himself. He enjoyed working with her.
And perhaps it was a little more than just that.
After instructing Leach to return to Marylebone to take Tilda home, Hadrian joined her in the coach. “Did you find Madame Ousset helpful?”
“Yes, though I need to think through what we’ve learned today. It does seem as though Joanna Pollard might have had motivation to kill Louis Chambers, along with all the others.”
“I noticed you asked the Pollards if they’d been to the Chambers’ house,” Hadrian said. He’d meant to ask her about that when they’d left the Pollards’ store, but he’d been focused on his vision.
“I wondered if they may have had access to poison something. But it would have had to have been something only Chambers ingested since no one else was ill.”
As they neared her grandmother’s house, he offered to convey her to the funeral tomorrow.
“I would like that, thank you,” she replied. “Now, if I don’t invite you in for tea, I will be scolded. But don’t feel you must.”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” he said with a grin. “Your grandmother’s stories as the wife of a magistrate are most engaging.” She would relay tales of cases her husband had heard, mostly colorful characters that appeared before him repeatedly for disturbing the peace.
Tilda chuckled. “I’ve told her to write them down as I daresay they would make an interesting history. I’m glad you enjoy them. I know she enjoys sharing them with you.”
As he escorted Tilda toward the door, he found himself wishing they could continue like this, even if they weren’t investigating something. So far, murder had drawn them together, and he would hope that their deepening friendship would ensure their association continued—whether they were solving a crime or not.