Chapter 17
CHAPTER 17
“ I am very glad you let me convince you to purchase that gown yesterday,” Tilda’s grandmother said as she came down the stairs on Wednesday just before Hadrian was due to arrive.
Tilda hadn’t told her that being in Madame Ousset’s shop as well as the reaction of the young woman who’d greeted them had finally persuaded Tilda that she needed a new gown. “Thank you for going to the shop with me to choose it. Mrs. Acorn did a wonderful job with the alterations.” The housekeeper had insisted on making sure the dark-gray gown fit Tilda “to perfection.”
“I’m just so pleased to see you in a gown from the current decade,” Grandmama said with a mischievous laugh.
Tilda couldn’t help smiling as she moved toward her grandmother. “My wardrobe isn’t that old.” Still, she hadn’t had a new gown in years. That didn’t include the evening gown she’d had to purchase for her last investigation with Hadrian when they’d gone to Northumberland House. Tilda hadn’t possessed anything remotely appropriate for such an auspicious occasion. And she’d no idea when she’d wear that extravagant garment again. “I do appreciate that you care so much, Grandmama.”
Her grandmother took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “I know how important your investigative business is to you. I only want others to see you as I do—and as you are, an extremely intelligent and capable woman. Your appearance must reflect that.”
This gray gown was fashionable but sedate and would serve Tilda well in her profession, particularly if she were to attend funerals on a regular basis. It wasn’t full mourning, but since she was not family or even a friend, the dark gray was quite suitable.
“You are right, Grandmama.” Tilda pulled on the black gloves she’d also purchased. Her hat—also black—was not new, but she hadn’t been able to bring herself to buy anything else.
“I often am, dear.” Grandmama’s blue eyes sparkled with mirth as she released Tilda’s hand. “I only wish you could further expand your wardrobe. Perhaps after this investigation is concluded and you’ve collected payment, you’ll be able to do so.”
If Tilda spent any of the money at all instead of saving the lot, it would likely be to purchase cards, as Hadrian had suggested. However, she wasn’t going to debate expenditures with her grandmother. It was one area where Grandmama was not right—financial matters were simply not her strong suit. “Hopefully, I will continue to find employment,” Tilda said with a smile.
“Your father would be so proud.” Grandmama missed her son almost as much as Tilda missed him.
“And my mother?” Tilda said with a faint chuckle. It was a rhetorical question.
“How would she even know?” Grandmama asked. “I wouldn’t tell her anything, and I can’t imagine you would.”
No, Tilda would not. Her mother wouldn’t care. And that was worse than if she’d objected.
Tilda heard the front door open and hurriedly bussed her grandmother’s cheek. “I’ll see you later.”
But her grandmother followed her into the entrance hall where Vaughn held the door for Hadrian who stood at the threshold. Hadrian’s gaze locked on Tilda. His lips curved into a smile, and butterflies flitted annoyingly in Tilda’s belly. She didn’t have time for such nonsense, nor did she want it.
Regardless, the butterflies persisted.
And Tilda smiled in return. She couldn’t seem to help it. When she’d dressed for Northumberland House, she’d felt more feminine than ever before in her life. What was most surprising was that she’d liked it. But that didn’t mean she cared a whit about having fancy clothing or wearing the latest fashion. It was just nice to look … nice.
Blinking, Tilda pushed her smile away.
“Good afternoon, my lord,” Tilda’s grandmother said effusively. “It was such a pleasure to have you come for tea the other day. And last week too.” She laughed softly. “May we expect you every week?”
“I would have no quarrel with that,” he said with a gallant bow.
Tilda had plenty of quarrel with it. The Earl of Ravenhurst could not be a regular visitor. Yes, they were friends as well as associates, but that was all. There was nothing wrong with taking tea occasionally, but weekly was far too often. “We should be going.”
“Good luck,” Grandmama said as they departed.
“That’s a new dress, isn’t it?” Hadrian asked as they walked to the coach.
“Yes.”
“Did you purchase that yesterday after we visited Madame Ousset’s?”
“Yes.” She darted a glance toward him, hating that she felt self-conscious because they’d discussed her purchasing a dress yesterday.
He smiled at her. “Well, you look marvelous.”
“You do indeed, miss,” Leach said in agreement as he held the door to the coach.
“Thank you, Leach.” Tilda climbed inside with the coachman’s help. How quickly she’d become accustomed to this manner of travel. She thought of what her grandmother had said about her father being proud. What would he think if he saw her gadding about with an earl?
He would have liked Hadrian, she realized. And her father wouldn’t have given a fig about Hadrian’s rank, so long as he was kind and had integrity.
Hadrian sat beside her, and the coach started forward.
Tilda looked over at him to share the most recent developments in the investigation. “I received a note from Mr. Forrest earlier. A pawnbroker called on him yesterday regarding the list of Beryl’s missing jewelry I published. He has a shop located just off the Strand. He recognized the description of the pearl necklace and ring. Unfortunately, he’d already sold them, so Mr. Forrest wasn’t able to confirm the pieces specifically. However, I don’t think that’s necessary because the pawnbroker identified Louis Chambers as the man who sold him the items.”
Hadrian met her gaze. “So Louis stole multiple items from Beryl that we know of. He gave one item, the brooch, to Martha and sold some others.”
“It certainly supports the idea that he was short of funds or out of them entirely.”
“And spending lavishly on his mistress,” Hadrian mused.
“Also on those monthly dinner parties which included expensive cakes,” Tilda said. “Multiple people have said Louis liked to spend money, and it appears he did so quite recklessly.”
Hadrian nodded. “It’s not difficult to see why his brother cut him off.”
“I do wonder why he wasn’t yet selling everything he could. But since there is still jewelry in Beryl’s possession, not to mention other items in the household, perhaps he just hadn’t become that desperate.” Tilda would never want to be in that position, which was why she was so careful with her grandmother’s finances. “Though I’m sure he was close.”
Hadrian glanced toward her. “Did you inform Teague of the pawnbroker’s information?”
“Not yet, but I will. I don’t imagine he’ll be at the funeral.”
“We can stop in at Scotland Yard afterward, if you’d like,” Hadrian offered.
She sent him a smile. “Thank you.”
They were quiet a moment before Hadrian said, “I hope I didn’t imply yesterday that you needed to buy a new dress.”
“No.” Tilda smoothed her hand over her skirt. “As I said, my grandmother has been pressing me to do so. However, I confess that our visit to Madame Ousset’s may have persuaded me to finally spend the money.” She hadn’t intended to tell him that, but she felt comfortable doing so. Perhaps because he’d broached the subject. She didn’t want there to be awkwardness between them.
He grimaced faintly. “I hope you didn’t feel bad. About your wardrobe, I mean. You always look nice.”
“But incredibly outdated,” she said with a laugh. “I will replace the lot as I can, but it will take me a while—and a steady stream of clients.”
“I shall do my best to support you in your endeavors.”
“Do you mean in attracting clients or with investigating?”
“Both,” he said eagerly. “If you’ll allow it.”
Tilda could never have imagined becoming a private investigator with an earl as an assistant. But he was quite helpful. “Your investigative skills are developing nicely.”
“We make an excellent team. In my opinion.”
“I cannot disagree.” Tilda met his gaze, and it was a long moment before they each looked away. “Although you must ensure you have adequate time to devote to your duties in the Lords. I daresay they need a man of your intelligence and integrity.”
Hadrian grimaced and wiped a hand over his brow. “I would agree after yesterday. Too many of them are unserious too much of the time.”
“Did something happen?”
He sent her a look of frustration. “Several had read the reports of the inquest and asked me about Chambers—and Beryl. It was incredibly irritating, if I must say. Then my mother called this morning. She’d also read the papers and was concerned about me. It’s as if I’ve been transported back four years.” He rolled his eyes and blew out a breath.
Tilda turned toward him. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t want any of that to happen. I promise we’ll find the killer soon.”
He smiled faintly. “You can’t promise that, but I appreciate your support. Don’t let my complaints interfere with your investigation. You’ll discover the truth of everything, I have no doubt.”
The coach arrived in Catherine Place, where several other coaches were queued or parked. They stopped a few houses away from the Chambers’ and climbed out. The day was gray and dreary, perfectly suited for a funeral.
Hadrian offered Tilda his arm, and she took it without hesitation, thankful the butterflies from earlier had moved on. As they approached the house, she saw the milliner, Flanders, and his daughter enter.
The butler, Oswald, greeted them somberly. Chambers was on display in his coffin in the parlor whilst refreshments had been laid out in the dining room. There was not enough room for everyone to sit, for there were quite a few people in attendance. Tilda saw Louis’s brothers standing near the coffin.
“I’d prefer to avoid the parlor for now,” Tilda murmured. She longed to speak with Daniel Chambers, but that would not happen today. Thankfully, there were other avenues to pursue.
“The dining room then?” Hadrian suggested.
“Wherever we may find the housekeeper— if we can find her. I realize today is not the best day to query any of the retainers, but I would like to ask them about how a killer may have accessed the house.”
The corner of his mouth ticked up. “I expected nothing less than for you to use the funeral as an opportunity for further investigation.”
“That is what you’re paying me for,” she said wryly.
They walked through the dining room but did not see the housekeeper. Clara was busy ensuring the buffet remained presentable.
Tilda approached the maid with a smile. “Good afternoon, Clara. I’m sure you are all very busy today, but I am hoping to speak with you and the other retainers later, if possible.”
“We are busy, Miss Wren, but I always wish to be helpful.”
Oliver Chambers appeared in the dining room to announce that the funeral was starting.
Hadrian escorted Tilda to the parlor where the furniture was arranged so that the family was seated near the coffin whilst the rector spoke. Tilda could only see them from the back and in profile, depending on how they held their head, but she recognized Daniel Chambers. He was flanked by women—one older and one who looked to be near his age. His wife and mother, perhaps? Oliver sat down next to the older woman, and Beryl was on his other side. Mrs. Styles-Rowdon sat beside Beryl.
“Did no one from Beryl’s family come?” Tilda whispered to Hadrian.
He glanced about the room. “Not that I can see.”
“How sad.” Tilda also saw the Pollards, Mr. Flanders and his daughter, and even Massey was present, though he stood in a corner as he’d done at the inquest.
The rector’s remarks were thankfully short, after which Daniel Chambers rose to deliver a eulogy. When he was finished, he announced they would convey the body to the cemetery in a while.
“Will you be going?” Tilda asked Hadrian as people began to talk and mill about once more.
“I don’t think so, unless you’d find it helpful to your investigation?”
Tilda considered that for a moment. What was the likelihood Hadrian would observe something useful? She doubted he’d have a chance to speak with Daniel Chambers about Louis’s finances.
“I can’t think of a reason for you to go.” Tilda saw Beryl looking toward Hadrian. “I think Beryl wishes to speak with you,” she said softly.
“I see that.” He pressed his lips together, then looked to Tilda. “Pardon me for a moment or two.”
Tilda watched as he threaded his way to Beryl. She hugged him and said something. When they parted, he guided her from the parlor, past where Tilda was standing just inside the doorway. She exchanged a look with him as they left.
Curious, Tilda stepped into the entrance hall and watched them walk toward the back of the house. They stepped into the sitting room and moved just out of view.
Tilda followed their trail, progressing slowly, until she was in a position to see them. Her vantage point allowed a clear view of Beryl standing on her toes, her hands on Hadrian’s arms, as she pressed a kiss to the corner of Hadrian’s mouth.
Her breath trapped in her lungs, Tilda tensed. Hadrian stepped back from Beryl, his expression grim. He said something, then smiled faintly as he shook his head. Beryl nodded, and they spoke for another moment before she turned and departed.
Tilda quickly spun about and hurried into the dining room lest she be caught spying. Whilst she couldn’t say for certain what had happened, it appeared as though Hadrian had rebuffed Beryl’s advances—whatever they were.
Though it was none of Tilda’s affair, she could not deny that she was glad to see his reaction. Beryl had treated him poorly in the past, and he didn’t deserve the grief his association with her was now causing. Tilda was just glad she was here to help him.
The protectiveness she felt for him jarred her. But why should it? They were friends, and they’d demonstrated they cared for one another during their last investigation. Of course, Tilda didn’t want him to be hurt. That was what friends did for one another.
H adrian watched Beryl walk away and in doing so caught sight of Tilda hastening into the dining room. Had she seen Beryl kiss him? He hoped not.
But why should it matter? There was nothing between him and Beryl—and he’d made that clear to her.
Beryl had thanked him—again—for his support. Then she’d shocked him when she’d pressed her lips to his. She’d seen his reaction and apologized. Still, Hadrian had backed away from her while telling her there would be no going back to their former relationship. She’d said she understood and that she didn’t really want that. Apologizing again, she’d then turned and left.
The episode left Hadrian feeling discomfited, and not just because he’d no interest in rekindling any kind of romantic attachment with Beryl. He suspected she was carrying on with Oliver Chambers. Why would she, then, offer Hadrian a kiss? Either Hadrian—and Tilda—was wrong about Beryl and Oliver, or Beryl was up to something distasteful. All Hadrian could think was that she was pondering her future as a destitute widow. She could not have a future with Oliver, for the law prevented her from marrying her husband’s brother. That she may think Hadrian would accept her again pricked his ire. But he would not make that assumption. Not today, anyway.
He stalked from the sitting room with the intention of speaking to Tilda, but he came face-to-face with Daniel Chambers and decided he didn’t want to miss the opportunity to speak with him.
“That was a fine eulogy,” Hadrian said.
“Thank you.” The man, who was a few years Hadrian’s senior, appeared and sounded skeptical. “I know Louis could be difficult to like. I’m sure you had no love for him at all.”
“I hardly knew him. And I bore him no ill will for things that happened long ago.” Not until the man’s death had revealed the true darkness of his character.
Chambers’ thick brows shot up and his hairline, a widow’s peak like that of his deceased brother, also moved with his surprise. “You are more forgiving than he was.”
Hadrian wondered if he could finally discover why Louis had despised him so greatly. “Am I? I confess, I do not understand your brother’s dislike of me.”
“Dislike is a mild word for what he felt.” Chambers’ hazel eyes narrowed slightly. “You truly don’t know? Or perhaps you don’t remember.”
Hadrian lifted a shoulder. “I’ve no notion whatsoever.”
Chambers cocked his head. “Do you even remember Louis from Oxford?”
“I knew everyone in my college, and I can assure you that Louis was not in it.”
“He was not,” Chambers replied definitively. “Do you recall a woman you were … friendly with for some time?”
Hadrian had been “friendly” with plenty of women when he’d been at Oxford. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific.”
Chambers waved his hand. “Doesn’t matter. Forget I said anything.”
“No, I should like to know why your brother hated me.” Hadrian decided to dispose with gentler words that weren’t true.
“He hated you because you stole a woman from him,” Chambers replied, sounding almost stiff. “At Oxford, he’d planned to woo someone, but you got there first. It’s asinine, but my brother never met a grudge he didn’t grasp with both hands.”
Hadrian thought of what Pollard had said about Louis not wanting to marry. “Are you saying he stole Beryl away from me because of whatever happened at Oxford?”
“He said it started that way but that he decided he wanted to marry Beryl.” Chambers exhaled. “But I knew my brother. I don’t know that he would have married her if he didn’t have to. He was an incredibly selfish person.”
Words failed Hadrian for a moment, both because the reason for Louis’s hatred of him was astonishing, and for the vulnerability Daniel Chambers was showing—on the day of his brother’s funeral. “You loved him anyway, and that is a wonderful gift.”
“I tried to love him. He made it very hard.” Chambers shook his head. “Despite that, I am committed to finding justice for him.” He met Hadrian’s gaze. “I don’t believe you killed him. It just doesn’t make sense that you would.”
“Thank you.” Hadrian was surprised but glad to have the man’s support.
“I understand you hired Miss Wren to find my brother’s murderer. I’ve also hired someone.”
“I saw you with Padgett at the inquest,” Hadrian said.
Chambers nodded. “You know him?”
“I was stabbed in January, and he investigated the crime.” Poorly. Hadrian kept the latter to himself.
Chambers’ eyes rounded. “I’d no idea. I’m sorry. How are you now?”
“Well enough, thank you.” Hadrian considered telling him that Padgett was corrupt but didn’t want to broach that topic today. Instead, he preferred to glean what he could from Chambers. “How do you feel about Oliver investing in Pollard’s shop?”
“He can do what he likes with his money. Unlike Louis, he has a head for financial matters. I did try to dissuade Louis from investing, but he was insistent that he needed his own enterprise.” The man’s features darkened. “I feel badly for Beryl. She will pay the price for his recklessness.”
“In what way?”
“Financially. My brother was out of money. There is a fund from which he draws a modest income, but he has borrowed against it extensively. There will be little to nothing for her to inherit, aside from what’s inside this house.”
Though Hadrian didn’t want to continue his association with Beryl once the murder was solved, he did not want to see her suffer. “Were you aware Louis was stealing Beryl’s jewelry?”
Chambers’ brows rose. “Was he really?”
“According to a friend of his, he gave some items, which he showed to the friend, to his mistress. And it appears he sold some items to a pawnbroker.” Hadrian hoped he wasn’t disclosing information he should not. He took the chance in case it prompted Chambers to share more about Louis.
“I hadn’t realized Louis was that despicable. Though I will say that Beryl’s spending habits rival that of my brother.”
Hadrian stared at the man. “Are you saying she deserved to lose her heirlooms?”
“She is not blameless in her own financial situation,” Daniel said blithely. “She can’t think her dowry lasted this long into the marriage, not with the way they spent money.”
Hadrian could well imagine what Tilda would say—that Beryl wasn’t in a position to even know her financial situation. He began to truly understand why Tilda was so careful with her own finances. She had to be.
“What did they spend their money on exactly?” Hadrian asked.
“Fripperies, mostly. They dressed in the latest fashion, and they liked to be invited about town, though I’ve seen their invitations diminish over the past year or two. They also like to entertain. They have dinner parties about once a month. I confess I stopped attending about six months ago, as I could no longer bear to watch their hedonism.”
Oliver Chambers approached them. “Sorry to interrupt, but it’s time to proceed to the cemetery.”
Daniel glanced at Hadrian. “I don’t suppose you will be coming?”
“I will not.” Hadrian offered them a bland smile. “I don’t think your brother would want me there. I am only here today for Beryl.”
The brothers departed, and Hadrian looked about for Tilda. She stood in the small anteroom before the dining room. Before he could make his way to her, a parade of women moved out of the parlor led by Beryl. Mrs. Styles-Rowdon brought up the rear, but she stopped in front of Hadrian.
“You are such a dear friend to our Beryl,” she said. “Fetching her sleeping tonic and mourning accessories and sending lilies for the coffin.” She batted her lashes at him, and he wondered if she was purposely flirting or if that was simply her demeanor. She seemed the type of woman who was always aware of her appearance and its effect.
Hadrian looked past her at the coffin as it was carried foot-first from the parlor. The men carrying it, including Oliver Chambers, passed through the entrance hall and outside. The butler held the door.
Mrs. Styles-Rowdon turned and watched the spectacle with him. She put her hand on his sleeve. Hadrian glanced down at her black glove against his black coat, wondering why she would feel so informal with him.
She took her hand away abruptly. “Will you be going with them? You should hurry.”
“No. As you said, I am a friend to Beryl. Not to Chambers.”
“No, I suppose you weren’t.” Mrs. Styles-Rowdon tucked her hand under his arm and clasped his sleeve. “Let us join the ladies then.”
Hadrian allowed her to tug him toward the dining room where Tilda and the others were standing about. The housekeeper was pouring tea at one end of the table.
Mrs. Styles-Rowdon released Hadrian’s arm, and he exhaled with relief.
“Beryl, your hem is coming loose.” She moved toward Beryl with a slight frown. “I’ll have words with my maid.”
“I’ve pins in my reticule,” Joanna Pollard said, whipping a few from the depths of her bag before removing her gloves and kneeling.
“It’s one of my old gowns,” Mrs. Styles-Rowdon said. “My maid took up the hem.”
Mrs. Pollard looked up, her face pinching briefly. “I could have made you a gown, Beryl. I still can, if you like.” She finished pinning the hem. “That will hold for now.”
She started to stand, and Hadrian moved to help her up. The moment he clasped her hand, a vision rose in his mind. He saw the same blonde woman he’d glimpsed in Louis’s bedchamber, the one who’d appeared to be a maid. Except the vision was odd. It was hazy, as though he were looking through something.
Such as a veil.
Was he seeing Mrs. Pollard’s memory? He was now confident the maid was Martha Farrow. Was Mrs. Pollard the veiled woman who’d visited Martha?
Hadrian took care to notice everything he could. They were standing in the lodging house in Spitalfields on the landing from which Martha had fallen. He clung to Mrs. Pollard’s hand, hoping he would see what happened next. She took a step toward Martha.
Mrs. Pollard released his hand and thanked him for helping her up. The vision was gone, leaving a searing headache and a lingering sense of rage—not his, but Mrs. Pollard’s.
Of course, it had been her memory, for he’d been touching her hand. Had she pushed Martha? She’d advanced on the young maid as anger coursed through her. If only Hadrian had seen what had happened next.
He was eager to leave. And to tell Tilda what he’d seen, as well as what he’d learned from Daniel Chambers.
Alas, that was not to be as Clara appeared in the doorway. She was extremely pale, and her eyes were round as dinner plates. “Miss Wren, you must come see what I’ve found in Mrs. Chambers’ bedroom.”
Tilda, her forehead creased, moved toward the maid. “What’s that, Clara?”
“A knife.”