Chapter 28 #2
Gabriella’s shoulders curled against the biting cold.
It would be so nice to finish this errand so she could get home to the fire that burned in her parents’ parlor.
Mama would have tea waiting, as had become a habit since Gabriella had started working at Bow Street.
Papa would enjoy a glass of port instead.
Supper would follow, and since it was Thursday, there was baked salmon in parsley sauce to look forward to.
Lewis stepped up to the front door and knocked.
It took a while before it opened. The woman who greeted them was unexpectedly young. Curiosity filled her gaze. “Yes? How may I help you?”
“We’re here on behalf of Chief Constable Kendrick,” Lewis said. “We’ve been informed that there’s a lodger here by the name of Mr. Kipling. It’s important we speak with him right away.”
“I’m afraid Mr. Kipling has yet to return for the evening,” said the woman.
“Do you have any idea where we might find him at this hour?” Anderson asked.
“No. Sorry.” The woman looked at them each in turn, then said, “You’re welcome to leave him a message, if you like.”
Lewis glanced at Anderson and Gabriella, then said, “The matter that needs discussing is rather urgent, I’m afraid. Do you mind if we come in and wait?”
The woman frowned. “It’s a bit inconvenient, to be honest. I was in the middle of cooking supper.”
“I’m happy to help,” Gabriella spontaneously offered. Even though they could wait in the carriage, it was probably warmer and much more comfortable inside the house, no matter how modest it might prove to be.
The woman bit her lip, uncertainty showing in her expression.
And then Anderson told her, “The law allows us the right to enter any premises in order to ensure the safety of those present. Since we believe Mr. Kipling may be in danger and that your connection to him could put you at risk too, we must insist that you let us inside.”
“Wha…what sort of danger?” the woman asked, her eyes now wide with alarm.
“The sort that’s best avoided,” Lewis told her.
She swallowed. Increased wariness made her retreat a little. “I’ll need to see some credentials first.”
Wise woman, Gabriella decided. Some would have taken three strangers’ word for it that they were who they claimed to be. She offered a reassuring smile, which seemed to ease the tension in the woman’s strained features.
Lewis reached inside his coat and withdrew a folded piece of paper which he handed to her. “Please forgive us for not introducing ourselves. I’m Mr. Lewis, this here is Mr. Anderson, and the lady is Chief Magistrate Hastings’s daughter, Miss Gabriella Hastings.
“I see. Well… I suppose you’d best come in then, though I cannot say when Mr. Kipling will be back.” She pulled the door wider. “I’m Mrs. Rivers, by the way.”
“Is your husband here too then?” Anderson asked as Gabriella followed him and Lewis into the small foyer.
“No. Unfortunately he died last year.”
“I’m so sorry,” Gabriella told her. At least the woman had been left with the house, so she could make ends meet by renting out rooms. “How many tenants do you have besides Mr. Kipling?”
They filed into a sparsely furnished parlor while Mrs. Rivers told them, “Two. It’s only Mr. Kipling who’s here at the moment, however. My other tenant is travelling for a few days.” When no one commented, she said, “I ought to check on the meat before it burns.”
“As I said, I’m happy to help,” Gabriella told her.
The woman responded with a weak smile. “Thank you, but there’s really no need. Do make yourselves comfortable though. It could be a while before Mr. Kipling puts in an appearance.”
She hastened from the parlor, shutting the door on her way.
Gabriella stared at the door for a second, then proceeded to scan her surroundings.
A pair of comfortable looking armchairs near the fireplace offered a place in which to relax, while a table surrounded by four chairs provided a spot for more practical endeavors.
Gabriella dropped her gaze to the table where a garment, some needle and thread, along with a discarded pair of scissors suggested it had most recently been used for some mending.
Finished with her observations, Gabriella turned to face her colleagues. “I wouldn’t have minded some tea but I was reluctant to ask. Didn’t want to impose.”
Anderson grunted. “Have a seat, Miss Hastings, and I’ll build us a fire.”
Gabriella sat but Lewis remained standing, his expression contemplative while he stared toward the closed door. “She’s not very hospitable, is she?”
Gabriella shrugged. “We’ve inconvenienced her. If I were in the middle of cooking, I’d not want to entertain unexpected guests either.”
Lewis sighed and looked toward Anderson. “I hope you meet with success so we can warm ourselves properly.”
“Just give me a second,” Anderson grumbled. And then, “There we are. We’ll feel the heat from the flames soon enough.”
Gabriella stood and crossed to the fireplace, then stuck out her hands. Blessed warmth began curling around her frozen fingers. She sighed as it spread up her arms and began filling the rest of her body.
A hot drink would really have been an added help. She made her decision and turned for the door. “I’m going to ask if tea is an option.”
“Please do,” Lewis said.
“I’d like a cup too,” Anderson added.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Gabriella told them as she left the room. Turning away from the front door, she moved toward the back of the house where she expected to find the kitchen.
Another door to her left stood ajar, providing her with a glimpse of an extra space containing a bed. This was likely where Mrs. Rivers slept, so her tenants would have the upstairs.
Gabriella continued past, toward the door that stood at the end of the hallway. The floorboards, old and worn, creaked beneath her feet. A strange sensation swept through her, settling deep in her conscience.
Something wasn’t quite right. And then it struck her. There were no fragrant smells of cooked meats or vegetables. No sound of someone bustling about with kitchen utensils either. Just absolute silence.
She nudged the door open. It creaked on its hinges and swung to one side. Gabriella swept her gaze around the murky space it revealed. One side contained a hutch, the other a counter beside a small oven. Directly ahead was an open window. The curtain that hung in front of it flapped in the wind.
“Lewis. Anderson.” She shouted their names while approaching the window. It was almost too dark to see what lay beyond it, though she was able to make out what looked like a narrow lane.
“What is it?” Lewis asked, arriving behind her. “What’s happened?”
Gabriella blinked, then turned to face him. “I think we’ve been duped.”
He stared at her, then seemed to realize the kitchen showed no hints of recent activity, that Gabriella was alone, that there was no sign of Mrs. Rivers anywhere.
Without another word, he rushed back into the hallway, nearly colliding with Anderson who was coming the opposite way. Lewis pushed past him and ran to the stairs.
“What’s going on?” Anderson asked.
Gabriella tried to make sense of it. The situation wasn’t complicated, but it did make her feel incredibly stupid. She stared at Anderson, then repeated what she’d told Lewis. “I think we’ve been duped.”
“By Mrs. Rivers?”
“Or whoever that woman truly is,” Gabriella informed him.
He swung away from her and went in pursuit of Lewis, who was already descending the stairs by the time Anderson and Gabriella arrived at the foot of them.
His expression was bleak.
“I believe I’ve located Mr. Kipling,” he said in a rush. “Same modus operandi as with the previous victims.”
“He’s dead?” Anderson asked, eyes wide.
“Very much so.” Lewis spun to face Gabriella. “Since the front door is bolted from the inside, she must have fled through that window. She’ll be on foot so she can’t have gotten too far.”
“We should go after her then,” Gabriella declared.
“Anderson and I should. You stay here.”
“But I—”
“Not up for debate,” Lewis said as he unlocked the door and pulled it open. “We’re sending the carriage back to Bow Street for Kendrick. Someone should be here when he arrives. In case we’re not back by then.”
His reasoning made sense and arguing was impossible now anyway since he was already gone. Anderson disappeared after him. Gabriella heard Lewis shout instructions to the driver. The carriage drove past within the next second. Then Lewis ran by with Anderson on his heels.
Rain blew in from Gabriella’s left. It swept across her face and sprayed her cheek. She shuddered and retreated inside. Her gaze slid toward the stairs as she pushed the door shut, the horror of what she would likely find at the top of them turning her stomach.
Best wait for Peter. Until he arrived, she’d simply pretend all was well. Perfectly normal. Nothing for her to fret about.
Taking a breath, she started toward the parlor. It would be nice to take comfort in the fire Anderson had made. As much as she wanted to help him and Lewis, she didn’t regret not having to spend extra time outdoors at the moment.
She reached the doorway, prepared to enter the room, when she registered a soft creaking sound. It came from the bedroom she’d passed on her way to the kitchen.
Apprehension shivered across Gabriella’s shoulders.
She barely dared breathe even though she knew she was probably being silly.
If the woman who’d killed Mr. Kipling had stolen the real landlady’s identity, chances were the true Mrs. Rivers had been incapacitated somehow and that it was she Gabriella had heard.
In which case the lady would surely require assistance.
Reassured by this logic, Gabriella straightened her spine and did what she could to quiet her nerves. She then carefully asked, “Mrs. Rivers? Is that you?”
No one responded and Gabriella began second-guessing herself. Perhaps she’d imagined the sound. Or maybe it had been caused by a cat? The only way to know for sure was to check.
Gabriella swallowed and glanced toward the vase that stood on the entryway table. Having it at the ready, in case she needed a weapon, would bolster her confidence.
Intent on grabbing the item, she took a step forward. But then a movement somewhere to her right made her turn.
Gabriella’s heart slammed into her breast. The blood in her veins froze and reality tilted as she stared toward the woman who entered the hallway.
Her sharp gaze met Gabriella’s. An assessing look followed.
And all Gabriella could think to say was, “You’re not really Mrs. Rivers, are you?”