Chapter 3 #3
“And you believe Mr. Callister belonged to the same club?”
Teague nodded. “He mentioned visiting that place with Mr. Callister. I do not know any details other than those, Inspector.”
The valet’s voice had taken on an almost pleading quality, and Gideon could sense his eagerness to be done with answering questions.
And though there was no clock in Pennington’s dining room, Gideon knew the time must be near or beyond the time when he’d planned to collect Electra from Russell Square for their dinner.
“One last question for now, Mr. Teague.”
The breath of relief the young man let out was paired with a loosening of his shoulders.
“Did you have occasion to see calling cards that Mr. Pennington might have collected during the course of his day?”
Teague’s brow furrowed at the question. “Not often, sir. Burton would usually take Mr. Pennington’s overcoat and retrieve the calling cards he’d collected. And if I brushed his overcoat and found one in a pocket, I would give those to Burton too.”
“So they’d be retrieved immediately rather than remaining in his coat pockets for days at a time?”
Teague shrugged. He seemed a bit disappointed that the final question Gideon put to him had led to yet more. “That is my understanding, sir.”
“Are they retained by Mr. Burton?”
“Mr. Burton would know best, sir, but I suspect they are, at least for a time.”
If what the valet said was true, then Pennington had received Electra’s card during the day. Or he had retrieved it again after Burton removed it, which seemed less likely.
“Thank you, Mr. Teague. That will be all for now.”
The young man exited the room with as much alacrity as Miss McGuire had, leaving Gideon to mull the facts he’d collected so far.
He needed to speak to Gordon Callister and determine the man’s whereabouts earlier in the evening as soon as possible, but first he would visit Electra and explain his failure to arrive when expected.
He had questions for her too.
Outside the dining room, he found Mrs. Coyle waiting, as if she’d expected she might be called in next. The older woman looked fretful and exhausted by the night’s events.
Whatever they might have felt about Percival Pennington, the loss of the master of the house would, he understood, put the employment of all of them in jeopardy.
“Has Miss Faraday returned, by chance?”
“No, sir.”
“I’ll come back in the morning to speak to her and may have further questions for the staff.”
As if he’d been waiting for the cue, the footman, Spivey, approached with his coat and hat.
“Word should be sent to Mr. Pennington’s brother as well. I would like to speak to him when I meet with Miss Faraday.”
“Yes, sir.” Mrs. Coyle nodded. “It would do well for Miss Faraday not to be alone when she learns the news.”
“Indeed.” Gideon spied Burton at the end of the hall, observing their discussion. “Mr. Burton, where are the calling cards collected, particularly those that Mr. Pennington may have been given while out during the course of a day?”
Burton strode closer with a furrowed brow. “There is a box I keep them in and record the names, in case Mr. Pennington wishes to pay a visit or recall a name at some later date.”
“I’d like to examine them tomorrow.”
“I shall retrieve the box tonight, Inspector.”
“Thank you.” Gideon offered each of them a nod of leave-taking and then strode out into the drizzle to secure a hansom for the trip to see Electra.
His mind had already shifted into the focused, pensive mode he employed as he began collecting facts. Stepping back to look at them objectively. Sifting details and committing them to memory, all the while hoping a clear picture would emerge once more pieces of the puzzle were assembled.
But tonight, all of that was undercut by emotions he wasn't used to.
Disappointment and regret about his foiled evening with Electra.
And one emotion that he was becoming more used to of late: yearning.
He had wanted this night to go well and had been looking forward to seeing Electra for weeks, despite how much he disliked celebrating his birthday.
But Electra had always insisted it was something worth an acknowledgment, whether it be a gift, an outing, or simply time spent together.
The part of him that yearned wanted to believe it was merely a postponement, that perhaps they could have their dinner later in the week.
But it was impossible to predict how much time the Pennington case would consume.
It seemed Percival Pennington was connected to a member of Parliament, and as the man had been a Queens Counsel barrister, the chief inspector would, no doubt, consider it a priority case.
That meant late nights at work that brooked no leisure for a friendly dinner.
And, most crucial, there was the question of how Electra might be tangled up in the barrister’s death. Worry for her threatened to unravel his composure, but he took a steadying breath as he stepped up into a hansom cab and called up the Redmaynes’ address on Russell Square.