Chapter 10
CHAPTER 10
F lower and Dean Street in Spitalfields was a noisy, run-down street that immediately put Hadrian on alert. He’d known it wasn’t a nice area, but he hadn’t been prepared for the filth and stench.
He looked over at Tilda as the coach slowed. “How do you suppose the daughter of a solicitor who’d worked as a maid in the west end found her way here?”
“Perhaps she didn’t have much money when she left the Chambers’ household. Though, if so, why would she resign in the first place? I wonder if it was not her choice to leave.”
“Everyone in the household said she resigned,” Hadrian noted.
Tilda met his gaze. “Everyone but her and Louis Chambers, neither of whom we can ask.”
“Good point.” Hadrian wondered why they had slowed. He rapped on the roof, and Leach pulled to the side of the road and stopped.
A moment later, the door opened to reveal Leach standing outside the coach.
“Why were we moving so slowly?” Hadrian asked.
“There are a few goats in the lane, my lord.”
“Goats?” Tilda asked with a faint smirk. “I suppose we can get out here. We need to find the Jeffords’ lodging house.”
“I don’t suppose you have your pistol with you?” Hadrian asked her.
“I do not.” Her golden brows lifted. “I thought I would be spending my day at an inquest.”
“Take mine, my lord,” Leach said before disappearing for a moment. When he returned, he handed Hadrian the pistol he kept beneath his seat.
“What if you need it?” Hadrian asked.
Leach lifted a shoulder. “I’ll manage. Better for you and Miss Wren to have it.”
“Thank you, Leach.” Hadrian tucked the weapon into his coat, then stepped out of the coach. He helped Tilda down and looked about. “Now what?”
“We ask someone where the Jeffords’ lodging house is located.” She surveyed his clothing and frowned. “I wish you didn’t look so wealthy.”
Hadrian barked out a laugh. “Perhaps I should keep a threadbare coat in the coach.”
“Not a bad idea,” Tilda said, surprising Hadrian.
“I was joking.”
“Were you? Well, you should consider it. Let me do the talking. Just arrange your expression into something unpleasant.”
“What does that mean? Should I appear angry?”
She surveyed him, cocking her head. “Forbidding, I think. Is there anything you can do to make yourself unattractive?”
His blood heated because she found him attractive. He stuck his jaw out and narrowed his eyes. “How’s this?”
“There’s no hope of making you hard to look at,” she said with a sigh. “But this will do. Cross your arms over your chest and try to appear intimidating.” She spun about and began walking.
He hurried to fall into step beside her. Before he could ask what she meant to do, she approached a pair of women standing in a doorway.
Tilda grinned at them. “Afternoon, ladies,” Tilda said in her Cockney accent, which Hadrian had heard a couple of weeks ago when they’d gone to a tavern in the east end in search of the man who’d stabbed him.
The two women eyed her dubiously. Their clothing was worn and shabby but also revealing. Their upper bosoms were quite exposed. Hadrian supposed they were prostitutes.
“I’m lookin’ for the Jeffords’ lodgin’ ’ouse,” Tilda said. “You know it?”
“Aye, it’s up there, mayhap five or six ’ouses. It ’as a ’ook, because it used to be a butcher,” one of them said with a nod of her head in the direction of the lodging house. “What do you want with it?”
“Someone died there last night,” the other one said with rounded eyes.
Tilda stepped toward them. “I’d ’eard that.” She’d lowered her voice. “What do you know of it?”
“She were a lodger,” the first woman said. She sniffed and wiped her hand over her nose. “Might know more if you want to pay for it.” She looked toward Hadrian with a glint of interest. Then she raked him with her gaze before licking her lower lip. “Though I might tell you in exchange for a tumble.”
Had she just offered to give them information if Hadrian would lie with her? He would do as Tilda had said and let her speak, but it was difficult not to decline the woman’s suggestion.
Tilda handed the woman a coin. “’E’s not for barter. Besides, ’e’s a clumsy dolt. Stole those clothes off a drunken gent and nearly got ’imself caught.”
Hadrian quashed a smile. She was really too good at this.
“What do you know of the lodger?” Tilda prompted.
The woman squinted at the coin before tucking it into her bodice. “Showed up ’ere a fortnight ago or so. Kept to ’erself, but I could see she was carryin’.”
Tilda’s nostrils flared. “She was with child?”
“Looked to be. I can spot ’em.” The prostitute tapped her face next to her right eye. “I see everythin’.”
“What else did ye see?” Tilda asked. “Anyone visit ’er?”
The prostitute put her hand on her hip and her gaze turned skeptical. “Why do you want to know?”
“She worked with a friend o’ mine, and I said I’d try to find out what ’appened to ’er.” Tilda spoke casually, as if she weren’t hungry for every piece of information she could gather. But Hadrian knew differently.
“Told you everythin’ I saw,” the prostitute said, her focus moving past them. “Fancy coach you got there.” She narrowed her eyes at Hadrian. “You steal that too?”
“Belongs to me employer,” Tilda snapped. She grabbed Hadrian’s arm and turned, stalking quickly to the coach.
She paused at the door and spoke to Leach. “We’re going up the street about five houses. You’ll let us out again, but then you’ll need to keep moving. This coach is drawing too much attention.”
“I can’t leave you here,” Leach said as he cast a glance toward the prostitutes who were watching them with interest.
“You’ll give us fifteen minutes and return. We’ll be sure to be done by then.” Tilda took his hand and stepped into the coach.
Leach looked at Hadrian in question. “You heard her.” He followed Tilda inside and sat down beside her. The coach began moving almost immediately. Leach was in a hurry, and Hadrian was grateful for that. He wanted to minimize their time here in Flower and Dean Street.
Hadrian looked over at Tilda. “You are frighteningly good at transforming into a different person entirely. You could have a career on the stage.”
“But there is no investigation in that career,” she said with a smile. “I hope you weren’t too offended by the prostitute’s proposal.”
“Not at all. I was too preoccupied with my surprise.”
Tilda laughed lightly as the coach came to a stop. “I’d like to confirm Martha’s pregnancy with the lodging house owner if we can.”
Leach opened the door, and Hadrian climbed down. He helped Tilda out and said to Leach that they’d see him in a quarter hour.
As the coach pulled away, Hadrian felt a slight nip of anxiety. He turned to the house with Tilda. “Is this it?”
She inclined her head toward the hook hanging near the door. “Looks to be.”
“Do I still need to look intimidating?” he asked.
“No, your name should take care of that. Just be yourself—the Earl of Ravenhurst. Say you are asking after Martha because she used to work in your household.”
He nodded. “Who are you then?”
She straightened her shoulders, her attention on the house, a brick-and-timber structure in need of maintenance. “Your housekeeper.”
“Why not my wife?”
Tilda snapped her gaze to his, her lips pursing. She glanced down at herself. “My garments are not as fine as yours. I look more like your housekeeper than your wife.”
Hadrian wanted to argue, but it was true. Her gown was of a decent quality, but it was outmoded and not at all something a young countess would be wearing. He exhaled in frustration. He didn’t like that they looked as though they didn’t belong together. “Mrs. Wren, then.”
They walked to the door, and he knocked. A moment later, it opened to reveal a woman in her middle thirties. She wore an apron and a cap atop a pinned-up mass of frizzy dark hair. Her gaze moved over them, lingering on Hadrian before narrowing her eyes. “What do ye want?”
“I’m inquiring about the lodger who died here last night,” Hadrian said. “I am Lord Ravenhurst, and Miss Farrow once worked in my household.”
The woman’s eyes widened. “Do ye want to come in, your lordship?”
Hadrian gave her a mild smile. “If you don’t mind. This is my housekeeper, Mrs. Wren.”
The woman closed the door after they moved into the dim entrance hall. “I’m Mrs. Jefford. We feel badly about what ’appened to Miss Farrow, but it weren’t our fault. She must ’ave tripped. Ye know ’ow it can be when you’re carryin’ a babe. You can be clumsy sometimes.” Her eyes rounded once more. “You likely don’t know that.”
“Had she married then?” Tilda asked. “She was unwed when she worked for us.”
Mrs. Jefford shook her head. “Not that I know. She were by ’erself. Couple people visited ’er though, and one were a man. ’E could ’ave been the father, I suppose.”
“Did you know his name?” Hadrian asked, wondering if it could have been Chambers.
“No. ’E only came one time that I saw.”
“Can you describe what he looked like?” Tilda gave her a soft smile. “One of our footmen liked Miss Farrow a great deal. I believe they saw each other after she left our household.”
“’E were tall and dressed in dark clothes. ’Is ’air flopped in front.” Mrs. Jefford motioned over her forehead with her hand.
Hadrian immediately thought of Chambers’ valet, Massey.
“That doesn’t sound like our footman,” Tilda said. “Did anyone else visit Miss Farrow?”
“A woman, but she wore a veil, so I can’t tell you what she looked like. She came twice. That I know of. I didn’t see ’er the second time, but my daughter said she saw ’er ’ere last night.”
Hadrian’s pulse quickened. Perhaps there had been a witness to Miss Farrow’s fall.
“Was that around when Miss Farrow fell?” Tilda asked.
Mrs. Jefford shrugged. “I don’t know. We didn’t ’ear anything as we were eatin’ dinner downstairs. My daughter saw the woman in the veil arrive as she was coming down to eat. We didn’t find Miss Farrow until later. She was lyin’ in the stairwell in a pool of blood.” Mrs. Jefford pivoted and motioned through a doorway. Hadrian could see the stairs.
“Would you mind if we went to her room?” Tilda asked, her features set with deep concern. “I’m hoping to find something I can give to her parents.”
“The constable who was ’ere said not to let anyone up there.” Mrs. Jefford sounded as though she could perhaps be persuaded otherwise.
Hadrian took a couple coins from his pocket and handed them to her. “We would be greatly obliged.”
Mrs. Jefford immediately pocketed the coins. “Top floor, first door on the left.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Jefford,” Tilda said with a grateful smile before walking into the stairwell.
Hadrian followed her and paused to look at the floor where Martha Farrow would have landed. Whatever mess had been created had been cleaned.
“There’s some blood here,” Tilda said, leaning down.
Not thoroughly cleaned then.
Hadrian joined her and saw the smudge of blood on the floorboards. “Such a shame, especially as she was with child.”
Tilda straightened. “I am quite eager to know who the father was, but I’m afraid I can guess since we know she was working in the Chambers household until recently.”
“And it’s likely she was sharing Louis Chambers’ bed,” Hadrian said, loathing the man even more than he had before. “The man was truly despicable.”
“Particularly if he was aware of the child. Perhaps she told him, and he evicted her from the household. Let us look in Martha’s room.”
Hadrian followed Tilda, pausing at the first and second landings to look down. When they reached the third one—the top—he stood there a moment. “That’s a terrifying fall.”
Tilda looked over the rail and grimaced. “Yes. And how did it happen? I’m not sure I believe Mrs. Jefford’s claim of clumsiness. This rail seems high enough that Martha wouldn’t have fallen over it by accident.”
“Do you think she may have been pushed?”
Tilda moved closer to it and touched the wood. The railing moved.
Gasping, Tilda jumped back just as Hadrian curled his arm around her waist, pulling her against his chest. She was breathing heavily—as was he.
They stood like that a moment, long enough for Hadrian to realize he needed to let her go. But also to acknowledge that she seemed content to be in his arms. Likely because she was terrified.
“I see how Martha may have fallen,” Tilda said breathlessly. “And why Mrs. Jefford would want to say they weren’t at fault since that railing is not secure.”
They eased apart, and Hadrian asked, “Are you all right?”
“I feel a little unsteady,” she replied. “I think I’ll stand over here.” She moved away from the railing to the opening of a short corridor with two doors on either side. These had likely been servants’ quarters when the house was built decades before.
Whipping off his glove, Hadrian made sure he was not too close to the railing before touching it gingerly. He was hoping for a sensation or a vision, but there was nothing.
He cautiously wiggled the railing, ascertaining how loose it was. He was surprised it hadn’t come free when Martha had fallen.
Or had it?
He moved to where it was attached to the wall and again gave it a rattle. It separated from the wall, and he released it, stepping back. “I think this may have broken and has since been repaired—though quite shoddily. Perhaps Mr. Jefford sought to improve the state of the railing so he wouldn’t be blamed for Martha’s death.”
“Well, he did a rather poor job,” Tilda remarked as she turned toward the door Mrs. Jefford had indicated. Pushing open the door, she walked into the room.
The chamber was small, with a low ceiling and a minimum of furniture. There was a narrow bed, a chair and tiny table, and a dresser with three drawers. Rather, it had space for three, but there were only two present.
“I suppose you should touch something, but please be mindful of how many visions you allow,” Tilda warned.
Hadrian appreciated her concern, but he wasn’t sure if he’d even be able to sense any of Martha’s memories since she was newly dead— if that was a parameter of his unpredictable ability. What he did know—or thought he knew—was that whatever he touched with his bare skin also had to have touched the other person’s bare skin in order for him to see their memories. Rather, to have a chance to see them. With this infernal ability, nothing was guaranteed, except the accompanying headache.
Whilst Tilda looked through the shabby dresser, he touched the door. Nothing.
He moved farther into the room and ran his hand over the back of the single chair. Still nothing.
“Hadrian.” Tilda sounded almost breathless. “I found one of Beryl’s missing pieces of jewelry.”
Pivoting, Hadrian moved to her side. She held a brooch shaped like a flower made of what looked to be diamonds and topaz with emeralds for the leaves. It was stunning. “You’re certain that belonged to Beryl?”
“It matches the description she gave me.” She looked at Hadrian. “Teague said he dispatched a constable here, but if he searched the room, why would this still be here?”
“Perhaps the constable hasn’t come yet. Or at least, he hasn’t searched this room. Could they have been busy with the inquest and other matters?”
“That’s possible, but I don’t think we should leave it here.” She held it out to him. “You should touch it.”
Hadrian took the brooch, and for the first time, he felt a warm sensation in his hand. “That’s odd.”
“What?” Tilda asked, again sounding exhilarated. He realized he loved that tone of hers.
A vision began to unfurl in his mind. “One moment,” he breathed, immersing himself in what he saw so that the room around him, including Tilda, faded.
He saw Louis Chambers, his face set into deep, tension-filled lines. His thick brows were drawn over his eyes which were fixed on someone—whoever’s memory Hadrian was experiencing. His lips moved, so Hadrian deduced he was speaking to someone.
Chambers handed the brooch to the person. Hadrian looked at the hand—it was a woman’s and had the same blunt nails and work-roughened skin as the woman in the second vision he’d seen in Chambers’ bed.
A wave of anger rattled Hadrian along with a sense of injustice. He felt intense outrage toward Chambers.
Pain filtered through Hadrian’s head, and the vision began to dissipate. Tilda returned to his vision, her green eyes caressing him with both concern and her indefatigable curiosity.
Fixing on her somehow made the ache in his head more bearable. He took a deep breath, realizing he’d been holding it.
“What did you see?” she asked softly.
“Louis Chambers. He looked unhappy or agitated. Perhaps both. He spoke to whoever’s memory this was, but of course I couldn’t hear what he said. I should probably learn to read lips,” he quipped.
Tilda’s features eased into a smile. “Perhaps. Do you think you were seeing Martha’s memory?”
“I can’t say, but he handed her the brooch. I know it was a woman’s memory because of the hand. And the hand looked similar. It may have been the same as the one I saw yesterday belonging to the maid who’d been in his bed and then had to hide under it.”
“We wondered if that could be Martha,” Tilda said in a low voice. “Does this confirm it?”
“My suspicion is stronger, but I am not certain.” Hadrian felt a wave of frustration with this infernal power. “I’m inclined to think it wasn’t since she very recently died, and I haven’t ever been able to see the memory of someone who only just passed.” He gave the brooch back to Tilda. “Whoever it was felt angry and as if they were being done wrong—whatever was happening seemed unjust to them. The strangest thing was that I felt a warmth in my hand before the vision came. That has never happened before.”
“Perhaps it signifies you are now able to see the memories of those who are newly deceased.” Tilda shrugged. “Just a suggestion.”
“In the absence of instructions on how this power works, suggestions are all I have,” he said drily.
“Let us consider for a moment that you were seeing Martha’s memory.” Tilda’s gaze lost focus on him as her mind worked. “You said the person felt angry and wronged. Martha was with child. If she’d told Chambers about it and his response was to toss her out, she would feel those things.”
“Yet, he also gave her a very expensive brooch, so he didn’t completely ignore her plight. That does nothing to improve my opinion of him, however.”
“Nor mine.” She tucked the brooch into her reticule. “We should go. I fear we are nearly at our quarter-hour limit.” She preceded him from the room, and he closed the door behind them.
As they approached the stairs, Hadrian thought of how he’d caught Tilda in his arms when the railing had moved. What if she’d lost her balance? A shudder tore through him. It was a thoroughly terrifying thought, and one he did not wish to entertain. Better to think of how she’d felt in his embrace, of her feminine, slightly floral scent.
On the way downstairs, Tilda asked, “Did Mrs. Jefford’s description of Martha’s male visitor remind you of Massey?”
“It did. I’m sure you’re anxious to speak with him.”
“I am, though I don’t know where to find him. I think we must go to Scotland Yard and find Teague. Hopefully, he will tell us where we can find Massey, as well as why the inquest was postponed.”
“Should we give him the brooch too?” Hadrian asked as they neared the ground floor.
“Probably, though I wonder if we should keep it in case you can try to feel something else from it in the future.” She looked over at him as they walked toward the front door. “You held on to that ring for a long time, and it was useful to you.”
She was referring to the ring that Hadrian had removed from the hand of the man who’d stabbed him. He hadn’t realized he’d had it at first, and when his valet had given it to him days later, Hadrian’s strange power had awakened. Touching that ring had given him his first vision.
Hadrian hadn’t meant to withhold the ring from the police, but when they’d decided his attack had been perpetrated by a footpad and Hadrian’s vision had told him that was not the case, he’d held onto it. “If we keep the brooch and give it to Teague at a later time, I don’t think he’ll be pleased.” Hadrian opened the door for her, and they stepped outside.
“No, he won’t.” Tilda sighed. “We’ll give it to him. I can hope doing so will persuade him to share what he can about Massey and the inquest.”
Hadrian was glad to see his coach coming toward them. “Excellent timing, Leach,” he murmured.
After instructing the coachman to take them to Scotland Yard, Hadrian helped Tilda into the coach. He sat beside her on the forward-facing seat, and they were quickly on their way.
“That was a most helpful excursion,” Tilda said. “I find myself feeling quite sorry for Martha Farrow.”
“I do as well. But we still don’t know if her death was an accident or not.”
Tilda looked over at him, her eyes gleaming vibrantly. “We need to find the woman in the veil.”