Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
The facade of the townhouse on Charlotte Street was whitewashed and flowers, drooping after being drenched by the summer rains, teemed in flower boxes below its ground-floor window.
Gideon gave her a glance as they approached the front door, but Electra couldn't determine whether it was wariness at her accompanying him, or perhaps a warning that she should allow him to take the lead. She didn’t require that reminder.
He'd given it frequently on the two previous cases they’d worked on together.
He reached up and rapped thrice, and several moments later, a rather harried-looking young woman, wearing a mobcap that sat askew on her brown hair, pulled the door open.
She took in Gideon's clothing, which was elegantly tailored to his tall, broad-shouldered frame. His fashionable togs seemed to satisfy the young woman, and her gaze softened when she looked at him again. She barely spared Electra a glance.
“What might I do for you, sir?”
“We are looking for Miss Eleanor Mahoney or Mrs. Jane Wilson. Is one or both of them in, by any chance?” Gideon wielded his deep voice at moments like these. Today, he sounded charming, almost cajoling.
The young lady’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t know any Jane Wilson.”
Electra was somehow not surprised by that revelation. Something had been off about Mrs. Wilson, but now she was an utter mystery.
“Miss Mahoney resides here,” the maid said, “but you don’t have an appointment with her, I take it.”
“We do not,” he said smoothly, “but it’s most urgent that we speak with her.”
The housemaid assessed him a moment longer, then seemed to relent. “And your name, sir?”
“Gideon Pierce, and this is Miss Electra Poole.”
The maid stepped back, ushered them inside, and then bid them to wait in the house’s foyer. She took a few steps down the hall and slid a pair of pocket doors open just enough for her to slip inside.
Electra could detect a discussion, muted by the wood panels, as she took in the house’s details.
Art cluttered the walls, but in a pleasing way.
All the color seemed to blend harmoniously with the pale-yellow wallpaper, the polished oak banister, the vase of flowers on a half-moon table.
Every surface was neat, and the entryway smelled of lemon wax.
When the maid emerged, she waved them closer. “Miss Mahoney says she’ll see you, but she can only spare a quarter of an hour.”
“That’ll do,” Gideon told her. “Thank you.”
After the maid took their coats, she pointed toward the pocket doors. Inside the room, the scent changed to one of roses. A bouquet of them sat on a table near the doors. It captured Electra’s senses, as it was a scent that reminded her of her mother, who’d always favored rosewater.
The room itself was cluttered with furnishings.
A set of chairs sat facing a velvet settee, but another settee sat back-to-back with that one.
The second settee faced a massive dark-wood desk, mahogany perhaps, with a black leather blotter and a lovely stained-glass oil lamp dominating the edge of it.
The rest of the desk was littered with ledgers.
Behind it, a lady with bright red hair stood to greet them. She peered at them from over gold spectacles, as if cataloging everything she could in that single glance.
“This is unexpected.” Her voice was husky and had a faint Irish lilt to it.
“I am not in the habit of receiving visitors with whom I am unacquainted. Or haven’t explicitly invited.
” Coming out from her behind her desk, the tall, lean woman crossed her arms and squared her shoulders, almost defensively.
“Who are you and what is the reason for your visit?”
Gideon strode forward. “Miss Mahoney, thank you for seeing us. I have a few questions for you regarding the death of Percival Pennington.”
The lady jolted back, as if unable to conceal her shock. “Are you an investigator? Has the family hired someone?”
“Not the family, Miss Mahoney. I am a detective inspector with Scotland Yard, which I failed to tell your maid. Forgive me. I thought it might prevent you from wishing to speak with me.”
A slow smile spread across her full lips, making her look suddenly younger. Electra judged her to be in her mid-thirties.
“I have no battles with Scotland Yard, Inspector, and I trust it has none with me. But it does necessitate a change in the nature of our conversation.”
“Oh?” By his tone, Electra sensed Gideon’s interest was piqued. “In what regard?”
“Well,” Miss Mahoney said with a coy smile, “I may be a bit more circumspect in my answers.”
“I would urge you to tell me the truth, Miss Mahoney. That will help me a great deal.”
The lady gave no response to that, just regarded him with an amused look, then turned her attention to Electra.
“And you? Are you a lady investigator? I didn’t know Scotland Yard allowed women to attain such a role, but I suspect they’d be better off if they did.
” She said the last with a glance at Gideon.
“My name is Electra Poole. I’m not a Scotland Yard investigator, I’m afraid.”
But the lady knew that. She knew who Electra was. There was a palpable sense of recognition in her expression.
“I’ve read about you in the newspaper and saw a sketch of you.” Miss Mahoney took a few steps closer. Her pale blue eyes glinted behind her spectacles. “You’re a seer.”
“Yes,” Electra admitted.
“I would very much like to speak to you one day. Privately.” She tipped a look at Gideon. “Do you accept a fee for what you do? I would insist on paying you, Miss Poole.”
“I do, Miss Mahoney.”
The lady turned back to her desk and plucked a calling card from a gilded tray on her desk, then handed it to Electra. “You could call on me, or I could call on you, if you prefer.”
Electra reached into her reticule and pulled out one of her own calling cards. “If you write to me at this address, providing a time and your preference of date, we can arrange something.”
Miss Mahoney took her card, gave it a cursory glance, and smiled. “Thank you, Miss Poole. You shall be hearing from me soon.”
Gideon had stood by patiently during the exchange, but he shifted on his feet when they were done.
“Forgive me,” Miss Mahoney said, “I'm being rude. Please, let us all have a seat.”
Thinking she intended for them to sit at the settee facing her desk, Electra took a step closer and noticed two napping cats occupying the cushions.
They were Siamese with silky brown ears and tails and lovely cream fur.
One seemed to sense her regard, lifted its head, and blinked its pretty blue eyes.
“By the fireplace, I think,” Miss Mahoney called.
Electra joined Gideon on the settee adjacent to the unlit fireplace, while Miss Mahoney took a chair across from them.
“I could have Alison bring some tea, if you like.”
“I don't intend to take up much of your time,” Gideon said.
“Good. Time is precious.” Miss Mahoney took a breath, as if bolstering herself. “Ask your questions, Inspector.”
“You are acquainted with Gordon Callister, I’ve been given to understand.”
“I am.” She gave a tight smile.
“Mr. Callister says he was with you on the evening of July 28, from the early evening until quite late.”
Electra noted how the lady’s hands tightened in the folds of her skirt.
“He was indeed.”
“And you are acquainted with Mr. Pennington too, I take it.”
“I am. Both the late Mr. Percival Pennington, God rest his soul, and his brother.”
Gideon tipped his head, seemingly intrigued by that revelation. “And how are you acquainted with them?”
“I own an establishment that they sometimes visit.” She swallowed and added. “Well, that Mr. Percival Pennington used to frequent. His brother visited less often.”
“Is that the Rosebud Club?”
“Yes.” Miss Mahoney’s tone had flattened, and she sounded suddenly wary.
Electra sensed fear, but another emotion rolled off of her too. Something like affection, but Electra couldn’t sense for whom she might be feeling the emotion. For whatever reason, the mention of the club had brought it to the fore.
“You are Mr. Callister’s…paramour?” Gideon asked.
The lady let out a light burst of laughter. “Yes, at times.”
“Are you currently? He visited you only nights ago.”
“He did, and, yes, I suppose we are currently paramours. We have not ended our arrangement, but I had not seen him for weeks prior to that night.”
“Is there a reason?”
“Not that I'm aware.” Miss Mahoney shrugged as if the matter troubled her not at all. “He sees me when he wishes to. He avoids me when he wishes to, which suits me. As you can see”—she gestured to the pile of ledgers—“I have quite a lot of work to do to keep me busy.” She had the temerity to wink at Gideon. “Idleness is the devil’s playground, as they say.”
“What work do you do, Miss Maloney?”
She swallowed visibly and her smile turned into something more cunning. “I am an entrepreneur, Inspector.”
“You own it,” Electra murmured. The truth of it had come to her as she fixed on Miss Mahoney, trying to sense her thoughts, her feelings. When Gideon had asked her about her work, Miss Mahoney’s thoughts had strayed to the Rosebud Club, and Electra sensed an enormous swell of pride.
Gideon flicked his gaze between the two of them.
“I do,” Miss Mahoney admitted with a surprised look at Electra.
Gideon didn’t react, didn’t jot down any notes on his pad, merely looked between them and then held Miss Mahoney’s gaze as if in acknowledgement.
“I sensed your pride when you spoke of it,” Electra admitted.
“I am proud of it,” the lady admitted in a near whisper.
“Both Penningtons came to your club?” Gideon finally asked.
“Yes, Percival came first as a guest of Gordon’s. Then later he brought his brother, Lancelot, as a guest. Funny names, I thought. Both named after Arthurian knights. Their mother was whimsical, apparently.”
“You knew them well enough to call them by their given names?”
“Well, yes. I'm quite familiar with all the gentlemen who attend the club. They are vetted quite stringently.”