Chapter 21
CHAPTER 21
H ailing a hack outside Scotland Yard, Tilda directed the driver to Ravenhurst House. She’d much to report to Hadrian in addition to seeing how he was feeling today. She hoped he was recovered because they had work to do.
She was particularly glad for the information taking up space in her brain. It prevented her from thinking overmuch about the day before—particularly the charged moments she’d shared with Hadrian in the coach.
It was natural that she would feel a heightened sense of concern after all that had happened. Hadrian had suffered greatly from all the visions he’d seen, and he’d protected Tilda from being attacked by Joanna Pollard whilst sustaining an injury, albeit minor, to his own neck. Tilda reasoned they had both been caught up with worry and relief. It made sense that they’d felt a particular … closeness.
She would hope that was all it was.
The hack stopped on Curzon Street in front of Ravenhurst House, and Tilda climbed out. As she approached the front door, she wondered if she would ever feel at ease calling here. Though she’d done so a few times before, she still had a nagging sense that she was out of her element.
The butler, Collier, greeted her warmly. “His lordship has been expecting you. He is in his study.”
“Thank you.” Tilda followed the butler to the study, a thoroughly masculine room decorated in blues and greens. Bookcases lined one wall, and a mantel with ornately carved stags drew one’s attention.
Hadrian stood from a chair near the hearth, setting a book down on a small table. “Tilda, you are here at last.”
The butler left them, and Tilda moved to the seating area to join Hadrian. “I’d hoped to arrive earlier, but I have been at Scotland Yard with Teague.”
“Please sit and tell me everything.” Hadrian gestured to a chair opposite his.
Perching on the chair, Tilda smoothed her gloved hands over her gown—she’d worn the new gray one again. At least she looked as if she could almost belong here.
Tilda began to recount what had happened with Teague. It had been strange to conduct this work without Hadrian at her side, she realized. “Yesterday, at Scotland Yard, I told Teague that I suspected Mrs. Styles-Rowdon might be Louis’s paramour and that she may have poisoned her husband.”
Hadrian arched a brow. “Did Teague ask how you came to suspect those things?”
“I said she’d made a jest about there likely being a great number of wives who have poisoned their husbands, and no one has ever known.” Tilda shrugged. “That could have happened.”
“That she said it or the number of wives poisoning their husbands?”
“Both, probably.” Tilda smiled. “I asked Teague to send a telegram to the police in Portsmouth to find out whatever he could about Mrs. Styles-Rowdon’s husband. He would be Mr. Rowdon, I presume.”
“Unless she changed her name to hide her identity,” Hadrian said.
“She did not, as it happens. Teague said he’d let me know when he heard something. I received a note requesting my presence at Scotland Yard earlier.”
Hadrian grinned. “I imagine you could not arrive fast enough.”
Tilda inclined her head with the flash of a smile. “I went as soon as I could and learned that Mr. Frederick Rowdon died of gastrointestinal illness in September of 1865. His wife, Gillian Styles-Rowdon, was his sole heir and left Portsmouth soon thereafter.”
“Sole heir … Was there a considerable inheritance?”
“That is uncertain. Mr. Rowdon was in his fifties when he died and had served in the Navy. He owned a few fishing boats.”
“Mrs. Styles-Rowdon was quite a bit younger than him.”
“Yes. I have many questions, but Teague isn’t sure he has enough evidence of anything to pursue. The man’s death could have been caused by arsenic, but it could also have been illness, even cholera. Teague will inform me if he learns anything more.” Tilda frowned slightly. “I wonder if we ought to take a trip to Portsmouth.” They’d traveled to Brighton whilst investigating their last case.
Hadrian tapped his finger on the arm of his chair. “Perhaps. Though I should like to see what we can learn from Mrs. Styles-Rowdon.” He lifted a shoulder. “I was able to ascertain where she’d lived with her husband and when he’d died.”
“She seems to like you,” Tilda mused, thinking of the way the woman had been looking at Hadrian the day before—as if he were a food to be devoured. “Though any vision you happen to see will not be evidence, unfortunately. Are you hoping to coax a confession from her?”
“That is my thought exactly. I am not above using her … inclination for me to our advantage.”
“You said you flirted with her yesterday, and you did obtain results.” She gave him an approving smile. “You are becoming an accomplished investigator. I do hope you won’t decide to take up the profession and steal my clients.”
“Never,” he said rather vehemently but with a glint of humor in his eyes. “I have learned to portray someone I am not from watching you. You are an excellent tutor in all things investigative.”
“What do you propose with Mrs. Styles-Rowdon?” Tilda asked. “Could you invite her somewhere? I could use that time to steal into her house and look for Beryl’s rubies. That would confirm she was indeed Louis Chambers’ paramour.”
“What of her retainers? How will you enter the house without being detected?”
“I’ll have to do some reconnaissance as to how I may enter and how many retainers she has.” She looked to Hadrian. “I suppose that means we need to return to Beryl’s. I’m sorry. I know you’d like to be done with all this.”
He flattened his palm on the arm of his chair. “On the one hand, I am eager to put my past with Beryl behind me once and for all. On the other, the poisoning crime has not been solved, and justice must be served.”
She clasped her hands in her lap. “I’m so glad you think so.”
“One of the reasons I enjoy my other occupation—serving in the Lords—is the opportunity I have to work towards justice for all.”
“You see it as a noble calling.”
He nodded once. “I do. It pleases me to know you understand that.”
“Are you in support of the cessation of public executions?” Tilda suspected he was, but they hadn’t discussed it.
“Most fervently. I have been speaking about it as often as I can. In truth, I would rather we didn’t execute people at all.”
“Even in the case of murder?”
“To take a person’s life is no small thing,” Hadrian said softly. “Murders happen for a variety of reasons. However, for the state to murder someone takes many people, all of whom must carry that burden.”
“That includes you.” Tilda met his gaze. “And me. We played a role in bringing Joanna Pollard to justice. If she hangs, I don’t know that I’ll feel burdened. I am not troubled by the death of the man we recently caught.”
Hadrian scowled. “He was truly horrible. He had raped and murdered. And would have done so again. However, lifelong imprisonment would ensure he did not.”
“So does death,” Tilda replied, enjoying their debate.
“You are in favor of capital punishment then?”
“I am undecided,” she said. “You have given me pause to think about it. Thank you. Now, where were we with our plans to further investigate Mrs. Styles-Rowdon?”
“We decided we needed to call on Beryl. I’ll ring for the coach.” Hadrian stood and went to the wall where he pulled a cord.
“You pull that and somehow Leach magically appears with the coach?” she asked with a smile.
He laughed as he returned to his chair. “If only it worked like that. That rings a bell downstairs, and Collier or Mrs. Kenworth will come see what I need.”
Collier appeared in the doorway, and Hadrian asked him to have the coach brought round.
Hadrian returned his attention to Tilda. “Our plan then is for me to occupy Mrs. Styles-Rowdon so you can search her bedchamber for Beryl’s missing rubies. What will you do if you find them?”
“I don’t plan to take them. I’ll inform Teague that she is in fact Louis’s paramour. That would mean she has a dead husband and a dead lover who were both being poisoned—potentially.”
“But why would she kill them?” Hadrian asked.
“The obvious answer would be financial gain.”
“If she inherits her husband’s wealth, I see the motive. Though I wonder why she needed to kill her husband, unless she was seeking independence. Or she simply didn’t like him.” His brows drew together. “What would she gain with Louis’s death?”
“That is a very good question. He was giving her jewelry and spending extravagant amounts of money on her. Though it seemed he was rapidly losing the ability to do that.” Tilda leaned forward slightly. “Louis supposedly wanted to divorce Beryl. Had he planned to wed Mrs. Styles-Rowdon? Perhaps she realized he would not be the wealthy husband she’d thought him to be.”
“I still don’t understand why she would need to poison him.”
Tilda arched a brow. “As you said with regard to Mrs. Styles-Rowdon, perhaps she, like so many others, simply didn’t like him.”
Hadrian chuckled. “ That I would believe.”
A short while later, they arrived at Beryl’s house. Oswald admitted them and said Beryl was in the parlor.
Beryl welcomed them from the settee. “Join me for tea. Oswald, please have Mrs. Blank bring more cups.”
The butler disappeared, and Hadrian waited for the ladies to sit before taking the chair next to Tilda’s. They sat across from Beryl.
“Forgive me,” Beryl said. “I’m afraid I’ve just finished the last of Gillian’s delicious cinnamon biscuits. I have missed them so. There is lemon cake, however.”
Tilda’s brow creased. “Mrs. Styles-Rowdon brought you those biscuits?”
Hadrian now recalled that she had done so. The neighbor had brought a tin the day the inquest had been postponed. His blood chilled. That was food from outside the house, and Mrs. Styles-Rowdon was a known poisoner—if his visions were to be believed. And so far, they had not been wrong.
“Yes, she used to bring them frequently, but it’s been some time,” Beryl explained. “She says it’s her secret recipe. It’s the brandy that makes them so delicious. Or so Gillian told me the first time she brought them. Goodness, when was that?” Beryl thought a moment. “Ah yes, the day after Epiphany. We’d had a dinner party and invited Gillian. She brought the biscuits to thank me. That was the beginning of our friendship.”
“But she stopped bringing you biscuits?” Tilda asked. “When was that?”
Beryl cocked her head. “I’m not sure.”
“Was she bringing you biscuits whilst you were ill?” Tilda pressed. She leaned slightly forward, her gaze intensely focused on Beryl.
“No,” Beryl said quickly. But then her eyes narrowed briefly. “Actually, it may have been.”
The reason for their visit faded with this revelation—at least to Hadrian. Did Tilda feel the same? It seemed they had proof that Mrs. Styles-Rowdon was likely poisoning Beryl. But why?
Tilda looked toward Hadrian, and he had his answer.
Beryl, meanwhile, had gone white as cream.
Mrs. Blank entered then with the teacups for Tilda and Hadrian. She set them on the tray, which sat atop a table that had been moved near the settee and the chair where Tilda sat.
The housekeeper paused as she looked at Beryl. “Are you all right, Mrs. Chambers?”
“I don’t know,” she said softly.
“She’s fine,” Tilda said to the housekeeper with a smile. “It has been a trying week.”
“Hasn’t it just,” Mrs. Blank said with a shake of her head before departing.
Beryl stared at Tilda and Hadrian. “Was Gillian poisoning me? I can’t believe it.”
“We can’t jump to conclusions just yet,” Tilda said. “Though it is suspicious that you were ill when she was bringing you biscuits.”
“I’ve been eating them since Saturday.” Panic flashed in Beryl’s eyes. “Am I going to be ill? Am I going to … die?” She slumped back against the coach, and Hadrian feared she may faint as she had when Teague had said she was a suspect in Louis’s murder.
“I think you’d already be ill if those biscuits were poisoned,” Tilda said. “How quickly after Epiphany did you feel poorly?”
“Within a few days, I believe.” Beryl put her hand to her forehead. “Why would Gillian poison me? We’re friends,” she croaked and seemed to be holding back tears. Shaking her head, she swallowed. “It doesn’t make sense that she would. It’s more likely her flour was bad. There is bad flour. I’ve read about how they put things in it to cheat people, and it makes them sick.”
Poor Beryl looked very upset. Her eyes were wild, and she was still pale.
“We’ll investigate that,” Tilda said soothingly. “For now, please keep this to yourself until we learn more.”
“Let us just ask Gillian,” Beryl said. “I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation.” She fell silent, her mouth drawn into a frown.
“I’m sure you’re right,” Tilda replied. “Please let Hadrian and me determine what that is. You’ve been through enough.”
“What about Louis?” Beryl blurted. “Was Gillian poisoning him too? Why would she do that?”
Hadrian worried that Beryl was working herself into an agitated state. “Let’s not worry about it now,” he said gently, hoping to calm her.
“She thought Louis was awful,” Beryl went on. “She was so eager to help me with the divorce. Would she have poisoned him to protect me?”
Tilda gave her a reassuring smile. “We’ll look into that too.”
“I need to know.” Beryl blinked at him, then looked to Tilda. “We can just go next door and speak to Gillian. Now.”
Hadrian and Tilda exchanged another look. “You can’t do that, Beryl,” Hadrian said, perhaps a trifle too sternly. “Promise me you’ll let Tilda and me handle this. We don’t know anything for certain.” Except they did. He was more certain than ever that Mrs. Styles-Rowdon had poisoned Louis and perhaps even Beryl.
Tilda rose. “Beryl, I think you should rest.”
Beryl shook her head. “I don’t know if I can.”
Hadrian also stood. He moved to offer his hand to Beryl. “Come. You’ll feel better after you have a respite. Let Tilda work her investigative magic, and when you’re refreshed, we may have all the answers for you.” He smiled at her with encouragement.
Putting her hand in his, Beryl rose. “All right. But I want to know as soon as you’ve learned something.”
Tilda nodded. “Absolutely.”
Beryl left the parlor, and Tilda walked out after her into the entrance hall.
Hadrian followed, and together they watched as Beryl went into the staircase hall and up the stairs.
Turning to Hadrian, Tilda’s eyes were wider than normal. “We need to find out if Louis ever received any biscuits from Mrs. Styles-Rowdon.”
“Whom should we ask?”
“Whomever we can find.” Tilda started toward the back of the house.
Hadrian accompanied her. “Are you going downstairs?”
“That seems the best place to start.” Tilda moved into the sitting room where the door to the servants’ stairs was located. But they didn’t need to go any farther, for Clara was just coming from the stairwell.
She stopped short upon seeing Tilda and Hadrian. “My lord, Miss Wren.”
“Good afternoon, Clara.” Tilda sounded quite stimulated. That was precisely how Hadrian felt. “Do you know if Mr. Chambers ever received biscuits from Mrs. Styles-Rowdon?”
Clara’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Do you mean like the tin of cinnamon biscuits she brought to Mrs. Chambers the other day?”
“Yes, exactly,” Tilda replied.
“Not that I’m aware of.” She blinked, her head tilting briefly. “On second thought, I do recall a tin on his bedside table recently. I can’t recall exactly when. And I didn’t look inside.”
Tilda barely waited for her to finish before asking, “The tin didn’t belong to this household?” Clara shook her head, and Tilda continued, “Where is the tin now?”
Clara shrugged. “I haven’t seen it. I forgot all about it until now.”
“Thank you, Clara.” Tilda inclined her head toward the staircase hall where Beryl had gone upstairs. “You may want to check on Mrs. Chambers. She was feeling agitated. We thought she would benefit from a rest.”
“She has been most distraught since returning from Scotland Yard.” Clara’s brow formed deep creases. “She cried all morning after writing a letter to her parents. She didn’t want to ask for their help but decided she had no other choice since it seems there are no funds to run the household. I fear I will be shortly out of a position—and she said as much.”
“It’s possible you’ll be able to accompany Mrs. Chambers to her parents’ house,” Hadrian said optimistically.
A flash of distaste passed over the maid’s features. “I don’t think I would want to go. I do feel badly for Mrs. Chambers, but it has been difficult to work for her since Mr. Chambers was murdered. But I don’t really have a choice. I’ve nowhere else to go whilst looking for a new position, and I’m worried I won’t be able to find one after what happened here.”
Hadrian didn’t want to tell Clara that she was right to be concerned. “Miss Wren and I will make sure you have somewhere to go and that you find a new position.” He glanced toward Tilda who nodded.
“What of the rest of the staff?” Tilda asked. “Are they also concerned about future employment?”
“No. They’ve been at this house through three different sets of tenants. They seem confident that the landlord will keep them on with the property.”
“There is no way you can stay here with them?” Tilda asked.
“I could try, but the new tenants may not require a maid. I can’t risk not finding employment immediately.” Clara’s cheeks reddened. “But I don’t think they really want me to. I confess it’s rather lonely since Martha and Massey left.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Tilda said gently. “We’ll do our best to ensure you’re settled somewhere, Clara. Try not to fret.”
“Thank you.” The maid dipped a curtsey toward Hadrian before hastening to the staircase hall.
Tilda moved into the study, and Hadrian joined her. “I did not see a tin anywhere in these rooms when we searched them.”
“Nor did I.” He put his hands on his hips and surveyed the room. “Should we look again?”
“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.” She glanced at his hands. “I’m glad you hadn’t yet removed your gloves. I don’t think it’s necessary for you to try to see anything.”
Hadrian went to a cabinet whilst she began with the desk. “Why do you think Mrs. Styles-Rowdon would poison Louis and Beryl?”
“That is what I’d most like to know. I think it’s all but certain she is the poisoner. Let us also assume she was Louis’s paramour. Perhaps she poisoned Beryl because she was jealous.” Finished with the desk, Tilda turned to face him.
“And why did she stop?”
Tilda exhaled. “I’ve no idea. This is most puzzling.” She moved into the bedchamber where they searched everything again. Then they did the same with the dressing room.
“Now what?” Hadrian asked.
“It may be that we should question Mrs. Styles-Rowdon. Or have Teague do that. At the very least, we should inform him of what we know.”
“Let’s go to Scotland Yard.” Hadrian gestured for her to precede him. They made their way back to the parlor but once again encountered Clara, this time in the entrance hall.
“How is Mrs. Chambers?” Hadrian asked the maid.
“You were right that she is upset.” Clara appeared agitated herself. “She insisted she needed to go out, despite my efforts to convince her to stay. I even suggested she take her sleeping draught. I think the stress of everything has taken a toll.”
Tilda slid a look at Hadrian before addressing Clara. “Where did Mrs. Chambers go?”
“To Mrs. Styles-Rowdon’s.” Clara lifted a shoulder. “I’m sure she’ll be fine. At least she went to a friend’s house.”
Clara moved past them toward the back of the house.
Hadrian frowned as he turned toward Tilda. “I am not certain Mrs. Styles-Rowdon is a friend.”
Tilda’s eyes glittered. “On the contrary, I think we must consider that she is a killer.”