Chapter 22
CHAPTER 22
“ W e’ve no choice but to go next door,” Tilda said. “It may be best if we send Leach to Scotland Yard to fetch Teague.”
Hadrian moved to open the door for her. “He’s becoming quite used to that, I think.”
They stopped at the coach to speak with Leach before walking—quickly—to Mrs. Styles-Rowdon’s.
A woman in her middle forties answered the door.
Once again, Hadrian used his status by handing her his card. “We’re here to see Mrs. Styles-Rowdon. We’re friends of Mrs. Chambers. We believe she’s here?”
“I know who you are, Lord Ravenhurst,” the woman, presumably the housekeeper, said. She looked to Tilda but said nothing. Perhaps she did not know who Tilda was. This amused Tilda as it seemed likely that Mrs. Styles-Rowdon would mention Hadrian but not Tilda.
The housekeeper opened the door wide so they could enter. “They are both upstairs. Mrs. Chambers arrived a short while ago and was most urgent in her need to speak with Mrs. Styles-Rowdon. She would not even allow me to fetch her.”
“We’ll just go on up then too,” Tilda said with a smile. She’d no intention of asking, not when they needed to find out what Beryl was doing. She glanced toward Hadrian who gave her a faint nod.
“Thank you.” Hadrian nodded at the housekeeper as he escorted Tilda into the staircase hall. The house was laid out much the same as Beryl’s next door.
They made their way upstairs and paused at the landing. A moment later, they heard voices coming from the back of the first floor.
“I’m not going to allow you to ransack my things,” Mrs. Styles-Rowdon said loudly.
Exchanging glances, Tilda and Hadrian moved in the direction of her voice. The door to her bedchamber was open. Mrs. Styles-Rowdon stood in the doorway to another room—perhaps her dressing chamber—whilst Beryl, her back to Hadrian and Tilda, was in front of her.
“If you’ve nothing to hide, just show me that you don’t have my rubies,” Beryl demanded.
Mrs. Styles-Rowdon’s features were tight, her eyes fixed on Beryl. The woman’s hands were braced on the doorframe, effectively blocking Beryl from entering.
Tilda considered the best course of action. They could force Mrs. Styles-Rowdon’s hand, knowing Teague would be here soon. Unless he wasn’t available. It might be best that they wait for his arrival, in which case they needed to convince Beryl to leave.
Opting for the latter, Tilda stepped into the bedchamber. “Beryl, you are distraught. Please allow Hadrian and me to escort you home.”
Beryl whipped her head around. She appeared even more agitated than when they’d seen her a short while ago. “Of course, I’m distraught. Gillian is not my friend. She has been having an affair with Louis. And she poisoned me!”
“I did no such thing,” Mrs. Styles-Rowdon said with a click of her tongue. “The stress of the past week has finally affected you, my dear. You know that I am your friend.”
Keeping her attention on Tilda and Hadrian, Beryl went on. “After I told you about the Epiphany party, I remembered something. I saw Louis try to kiss Gillian that night. She pushed him away. At the time, I was glad to see her reaction and angry that Louis had tried that. But when I thought back to the event itself, I realize Gillian hadn’t appeared upset. She’d been more … furtive, as if she didn’t want to be caught. I know what that looks like because I did that with Louis myself when I was trying to hide our affair from Hadrian.”
Tilda glanced over at Hadrian, but his expression was stony.
Beryl turned back to Gillian. “How could you do that? I thought we were friends. You were so kind to me, so supportive, especially when I said I wanted to divorce Louis.” Beryl sucked in a breath. “Was that because you hoped to marry him?”
Gillian shook her head. “You’ve gone mad, Beryl. I didn’t poison you, and I certainly didn’t want to wed Louis. He was utterly despicable.” She looked past Beryl at Tilda and Hadrian. “I have suspected that Beryl poisoned him. She was desperate to get away from him. I wondered if she may have stabbed him, to be honest, but since she apparently did not, I would wager she was responsible for the poisoning.” She gave Beryl a sad look.
A primal sound erupted from Beryl just before she launched herself forward, pushing Gillian into the dressing room. Surprised, Gillian fell back, stumbling but not quite losing her balance.
Tilda rushed after them into the dressing room. Beryl was at the dressing table, grasping for the jewelry box. But Gillian had recovered and pulled on Beryl viciously.
With a cry, Beryl hit her head on the corner of a dresser and slumped to the floor.
Hadrian was also there. He grasped Gillian by the forearm. His hand was bare, which meant he’d removed his gloves at some point. Tilda glimpsed them on the floor near the doorway.
Since he had Gillian, Tilda went to crouch next to Beryl. She appeared unconscious, but she was breathing. Hopefully, she would wake momentarily.
Tilda’s heart crashed wildly as she rose and reached for the jewelry box.
“Don’t!” Gillian cried.
Opening the box, Tilda easily found Beryl’s rubies. “Not a very good place to hide jewelry,” she said darkly as she looked back to Gillian.
It was then Tilda noticed Hadrian’s face. His gaze was locked on Gillian, but he didn’t seem to be seeing her.
Tilda knew he must be having a vision. “Hadrian?” She spoke his name loudly.
However, all that served to do was alert Gillian to the fact that he seemed lost. She wrenched her arm free and dashed into her bedchamber.
Putting his hand to his head, Hadrian blinked. “Where did she go?”
“Her bedchamber!” Tilda started toward the doorway, but Hadrian was closer.
Just before Tilda reached the bedchamber, she heard the report of a pistol. Hadrian recoiled, nearly hitting her as he fell back.
She caught him, but his weight pulled her down. Sinking to the floor, she cradled him.
And her heart stopped as she feared she’d lost him.
T he bullet struck Hadrian in the bicep, tearing through his flesh in a burst of agony. His first thought was that it was far too soon for him to be facing his mortality again.
His second thought was that it was just his arm, and he would be fine, despite the searing pain.
His third—and best—thought was that Tilda had come to his rescue.
“Hadrian!” She moved her gloved hands over his chest.
“It’s my upper arm,” he managed. “I’m fine. Go after her before she gets away.”
Mrs. Styles-Rowdon had dropped her spent pistol and run from the room.
“I don’t want to leave you,” Tilda said, her voice quavering.
Hadrian pushed himself upright so that he wasn’t leaning on her. He met her gaze. “ Go. ”
She hesitated the barest moment before leaping to her feet and streaking from the room in a flurry of gray skirts.
“Hadrian?” Beryl’s query came weakly from the dressing room.
Wincing, Hadrian turned and used the doorframe to hoist himself up with his uninjured right arm. He stepped into the dressing room where Beryl lay next to the dresser. She lifted her hand and turned her head to the side.
He saw the blood on the floor and swore beneath his breath. Glancing about, he didn’t see anything to press to the wound. Moving to the dresser, he opened a drawer and removed the first thing he saw. Lifting Beryl’s head with his right hand, he put the cloth to her scalp using his left, grimacing against the pain. There was also a staggering throb behind his temples, courtesy of the visions he’d had whilst touching Mrs. Styles-Rowdon.
“Can you hold this?” he asked. “I need to help Tilda.”
Beryl blinked at him. “But you’re bleeding. Did I hear a pistol shot?”
“Yes. Your friend shot me. I really must ensure Tilda is all right. She’s gone after Mrs. Styles-Rowdon.” He stood. “I’ll send the housekeeper to help you.”
Hadrian turned and sprinted through the bedchamber. He ran down the stairs, moving so fast he nearly tumbled down the last few.
The housekeeper stood at the bottom, her face white. “What is happening?”
“Where did Mrs. Styles-Rowdon go?”
“Out the front door.” The woman gestured toward the entrance hall, her hand shaking. “Your … whoever followed her.” She stared at his arm. “You’re bleeding. Did someone fire a pistol?” The housekeeper’s face lost even more color, and Hadrian feared she may faint.
Hadrian speared her with an intense stare. “You must remain calm. I need you to go up to Mrs. Styles-Rowdon’s dressing room to help Mrs. Chambers. She hit her head and is bleeding. The police will be here shortly.” Hadrian did not wait for the housekeeper’s reply before dashing outside. He didn’t even bother to close the door behind him.
He looked up and down the street, then froze for a moment as he saw Tilda sitting atop Mrs. Styles-Rowdon on the pavement just past Beryl’s house. His arm ached fiercely, but he ran toward the two women.
When he reached them, he stood so Tilda could see him. “Are you all right?”
Tilda nodded. She was breathing heavily. “I’ve got her.” Indeed she did. She straddled the woman’s hips and held her wrists. Mrs. Styles-Rowdon lay on her back, moving angrily as she sought to free herself.
“Stop,” Hadrian barked. “You’re caught now.”
Thankfully, the police wagon turned the corner onto Catherine Place at precisely that moment. Hadrian exhaled with relief. “The police are here now.”
“Let me up!” Mrs. Styles-Rowdon fought harder as tears leaked from the corners of her eyes.
“No,” Tilda replied calmly, though Hadrian could see her pulse hammering in her neck.
The police wagon pulled up alongside the pavement, and Hadrian saw that Leach was behind them. Teague jumped down from the seat, and two constables came from the wagon.
The detective inspector registered Hadrian’s arm with a frown. “All right there, Ravenhurst?”
“I will be. Help Tilda up, please.”
Teague nodded for the constables to grab Mrs. Styles-Rowdon. When they had hold of her arms, Tilda released her and allowed Teague to help her up.
Tilda immediately went to Hadrian and looked at his arm. “We need to staunch this bleeding.” She whipped her gloves off and pressed them to the wound. “It’s the best I have at the moment.” Relief tinged her features.
Leach ran toward them. “My lord?” He appeared stricken.
“Fetch a physician,” Hadrian said. “I’ve been shot, and Mrs. Chambers hit her head and is bleeding.”
“Is she?” Tilda asked. “I should have stayed to help.”
Hadrian shook his head and immediately regretted it. Tilda touched his cheek. The touch of her bare hand was both soothing and stirring. He could not look away from the tender concern in her gaze.
“Your head,” she whispered. “It must be paining you along with your arm. I know you saw something when you grabbed Mrs. Styles-Rowdon.”
“I’ll tell you about it later,” he said softly, giving her a reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine.”
As Leach left to find a physician, Teague turned to address them. “I gather Mrs. Styles-Rowdon is, in fact, our poisoner.”
“Yes,” Tilda replied. “She was baking cinnamon biscuits for Beryl back in January which coincided with when Beryl was ill. She brings them in a tin, and Clara says she saw a tin in Louis Chambers’ bedroom recently.”
Teague nodded. “As it happens, I was preparing to come here to speak with her when your coachman arrived, Ravenhurst. I received further information from the Portsmouth Police. It seems Mrs. Styles-Rowdon collected on an insurance policy on her former husband. What’s more, she also collected insurance money on her first husband, Mr. Styles, and from her parents, all of whom died of gastrointestinal illness.”
Mrs. Styles-Rowdon made a noise in her throat before her head lolled forward. She had not lost consciousness, but she’d gone limp in the constables’ grip.
Tilda glanced about, and Hadrian realized several of the neighbors had come out of their houses to watch the spectacle. “Should we move inside?”
“I will take her to Scotland Yard, but I would like to speak with Mrs. Chambers first,” Teague said.
“Then let us repair to Mrs. Styles-Rowdon’s house,” Tilda suggested.
As they passed Beryl’s house, her staff stood on the front porch. “Where is Mrs. Chambers?” Clara asked.
“Come with us,” Tilda said. “She hurt her head and will likely need care.”
“I’ll fetch some things from downstairs,” Mrs. Dunning said sternly before hurrying back into the house.
They continued to Mrs. Styles-Rowdon’s house with Beryl’s retainers following behind.
Mrs. Styles-Rowdon’s housekeeper was just helping Beryl into the entrance hall as they entered. Both women registered surprise as the constables brought Mrs. Styles-Rowdon inside.
Teague stepped into the nearest room, the parlor, which was situated exactly like Beryl’s off the entrance hall. Everyone moved into the room, and Tilda made Hadrian sit on the settee where she joined him. She took over pressing the gloves to his arm, and he relaxed against the back of the settee, glad to be sitting down.
Beryl went to a chair and practically fell into it whilst the housekeeper said she would fetch some things to help Hadrian. He didn’t bother telling her that the cook from Beryl’s house was already doing so.
Teague remained standing, as did the constables who were holding Mrs. Styles-Rowdon. “You may put handcuffs on her now.”
One of the constables did so, securing her arms together in front of her. She was surprisingly stoic. Whilst she did not make eye contact with anyone, she did not appear as cowed as she had outside.
Teague turned toward the woman. “Mrs. Styles-Rowdon, you will be prosecuted for the crimes I mentioned outside.”
“What are those?” Beryl interrupted.
He repeated the crimes against Mrs. Styles-Rowdon’s parents and her two previous husbands. Beryl and her retainers gasped in near unison. “She’s a murderer,” Beryl said. “But why were you poisoning me? What would you have gained?”
When Mrs. Styles-Rowdon didn’t speak, Tilda replied. “I believe she wanted Louis for herself. He’d been giving her lavish gifts, so I’m sure she thought he would make a fine third husband.” Tilda looked toward the woman in handcuffs. “Do I have that right?”
“That was my plan, yes,” Mrs. Styles-Rowdon said in a low voice. She briefly looked at Beryl. “However, I grew to like you and I felt sorry for you because of Louis. I realized he had no money and was an idiot. He also treated you terribly and wasn’t at all faithful—not even to me, as I believe he was carrying on with the maid even after our affair began.”
“You were his paramour then,” Beryl said with a sniff.
Tilda nodded toward Beryl. “I found your rubies upstairs.”
“You then went on to poison Mr. Chambers?” Teague asked Mrs. Styles-Rowdon.
She nodded. “It seemed the right thing to do. No one liked the man. His staff loathed him. They complained to my cook and housekeeper about him taking advantage of the maids and of his treatment of Beryl, not to mention his drunkenness and generally uncouth behavior.”
Mrs. Dunning entered then and set a tray of medicinal items on a table. She hesitated, but Tilda motioned for her to come over.
Teague looked toward Clara. “You saw a tin in Mr. Chambers’ room of late?” At her nod, he continued. “Did you happen to see what was inside?”
“I did not.”
“I took him biscuits,” Mrs. Styles-Rowdon spat. “But those other women killed him first. Honestly, they did everyone a favor. Can’t we all agree on that?” She looked around the room.
No one debated her.
“Nevertheless, it is against the law for you to decide who ought to die for being a bad person,” Teague said. He addressed the constables. “Take Mrs. Styles-Rowdon to Scotland Yard. I need to collect the rubies as evidence and will follow shortly.”
The constables nodded and left with Mrs. Styles-Rowdon, who held her head high as they marched her from the room.
“We need to remove your coat,” Tilda said, drawing Hadrian’s attention.
“All right.” He let her do most of the work, wincing as the pain renewed with his movements.
“I’ll need to cut the shirt away,” Mrs. Dunning pronounced. She fetched a pair of scissors from the tray and cut Hadrian’s shirt at the shoulder.
Tilda then carefully peeled the sleeve away from his wound, whispering her apologies as he grimaced. Hadrian was glad she was there, for he found her demeanor and concern most soothing.
Mrs. Styles-Rowdon’s housekeeper returned and tended to Beryl.
Teague stepped toward the settee. “Sorry you were shot, Ravenhurst. Do you know where I can find the weapon?”
“It’s upstairs in her bedchamber,” Tilda said. “The rubies are in her dressing chamber in her jewelry box. She didn’t even bother to hide them somewhere special.”
“Mrs. Styles-Rowdon has been a successful criminal for some time,” Teague noted. “I’m sure she felt confident in her abilities at deception.”
The cook dabbed a wet cloth on Hadrian’s newly exposed wound. Pain shot up through his shoulder. “I don’t suppose there’s any brandy or other liquor about?”
“There’s some in the dining room,” Mrs. Styles-Rowdon’s housekeeper replied.
“I’ll fetch it,” Mrs. Blank offered, hurrying from the room.
“Breathe,” Tilda whispered, her gaze meeting his. “Does it hurt terribly?”
“Not much worse than my head,” he said with a smile that was meant only for her. He held her gaze until her cheeks turned pink, and she returned her attention to Teague. “Shall I join you upstairs?” he asked the inspector.
Teague waved his hand. “No need. Though I require your description of what happened. Mrs. Styles-Rowdon will also be charged with shooting Ravenhurst.”
“And attacking Beryl,” Hadrian noted. “Mrs. Styles-Rowdon threw her against a dresser, and Beryl was knocked unconscious.”
“She’s going to hang, isn’t she?” Beryl winced as Mrs. Styles-Rowdon’s housekeeper cleaned her scalp.
“I would think so,” Teague said.
“Good, she deserves to,” Beryl said, her jaw tightening.
Mrs. Blank returned with a bottle of brandy and a pair of glasses. She gave one of each to Hadrian and Beryl. Hadrian swallowed half the contents.
Teague went upstairs, and Leach arrived with the doctor. Satisfied that Hadrian was in good hands, Leach returned to the coach.
Hadrian insisted the doctor see to Beryl first. He prescribed rest and asked Clara to keep a close eye on Beryl for the next few days.
“I may need to travel soon,” Beryl said wearily.
“Not for at least three days,” the doctor instructed before moving to care for Hadrian.
Tilda continued to sit beside Hadrian as the physician inspected and cleaned his wound. He then closed the flesh with several stitches.
Hadrian had finished his glass of brandy whilst the doctor tended to Beryl, then drank another at Tilda’s insistence. The effects of the liquor dulled the prick of the needle moving through his arm.
The physician said he would call on Hadrian in a few days to review his healing progress and would remove the stitches at a later date—at least a week from now.
As he was packing up his bag to go, Hadrian asked Tilda to help him put on his coat. He would not be able to get his arm in the sleeve at the moment, but he could drape it over his bare arm instead of leaving it exposed.
Teague had returned whilst Hadrian was being stitched and now recorded their testimony, including Beryl’s, of what had occurred.
“May I return home now, Inspector?” Beryl asked.
“Yes. I will be in touch regarding what happens next with Mrs. Styles-Rowdon.”
Clara looked from Beryl to Teague. “What if Mrs. Chambers has left London?”
Teague’s brows pitched together as he regarded Beryl. “Where are you planning to travel?”
“I wrote to my parents this morning. I asked if I could return home to Rutland. They may say no, in which case I’ve no idea where I will be. I can’t afford to stay in my current home.”
Mrs. Blank looked expectantly at Beryl. “Didn’t Mr. Chambers say he would set an appointment with the solicitor as soon as possible to discuss your financial matters?”
“He did.” She glanced toward Hadrian. “Oliver has promised to help me sort things and determine what is left for me to rely upon.” Her expression was utterly morose.
“I’m sorry things have turned out this way, Beryl. I’m confident Oliver can help you.”
“I’d thought to ask Gillian if I could stay with her for a while, as I will not be able to continue to lease the house next door. That is no longer an option obviously.”
Hadrian could see she was quite upset. “I’m sure things will look better after a good night’s sleep,” he said optimistically. “I have faith in your parents.” He’d liked them, particularly her father, when they’d spoken about the betrothal.
“I’m glad someone does,” Beryl said with a faint pout.
Teague rose from the table where he’d sat to write down what everyone had said. “Mrs. Chambers, please inform me if you do leave London.”
Beryl nodded.
“Come, you need to go home,” Tilda said softly to Hadrian.
He nodded, his headache now gone, and stood. Tilda rose alongside him.
Oswald helped Beryl up, and she and her retainers began filing from the parlor. Tilda and Hadrian followed, accompanied by Teague.
“Thank you both again for your contributions to solving this bizarre case,” Teague said in the entrance hall. “I hope the arm isn’t paining you too badly, Ravenhurst.”
“It’s more of a nuisance than anything else,” Hadrian replied. “Let us know how we can help with anything further.”
Teague held the door while they left, and they walked together to Hadrian’s coach.
“Do you need a ride to Scotland Yard?” Hadrian asked.
“I’ll take a hack,” Teague replied. “If you don’t go directly home to rest, I fear Miss Wren will explode.”
Was she worried? Hadrian turned his head toward her to see she was shaking her head at Teague. The inspector chuckled and took himself off to find a hack.
Leach helped Tilda and then Hadrian into the coach. Tilda asked him to take Hadrian home first. “He needs to rest as soon as possible.”
“It won’t take long to drop you at home first,” Hadrian said.
“Nonsense. We’re going to Ravenhurst House first, and I will walk you to the door.”
Leach agreed with Tilda, and they were shortly on their way to Hadrian’s house in Mayfair.
Tilda angled toward Hadrian on the seat. “You must promise me you will take good care. You were stabbed not that long ago, and you suffer regular headaches. Now you’ve been shot.”
“I am fine,” he assured her. “Aren’t you curious what I saw when I grabbed Mrs. Styles-Rowdon?”
“You know I am. But I have been more worried about you. What did you see?”
“First, I saw her feeding those bloody cinnamon biscuits to a grinning Louis Chambers in his bed. And I am glad the vision ended there,” he added with a chuckle. “Second, I saw her standing beside a coffin bearing an older woman who bore a resemblance to her. After hearing what Teague said about her parents, I assume it was her mother.”
Tilda blinked. “It’s shocking she killed so many people. I think you may have been her next target.”
“I’m sure you’re right. I am relieved I did not have to flirt with her today as we’d originally discussed. It was bad enough I had to grab her.” He looked down at his hands. “I just realized I left my gloves in her dressing room. And I need to buy you a new pair after thoroughly ruining yours.”
“I’m just glad you’re all right.” She exhaled. “When I heard that pistol fire, I feared the worst.”
“I recall you checking my chest for a wound.” That had felt rather nice actually. He wished he’d been in a better state to enjoy it more.
Pink flushed Tilda’s cheeks. She looked very soft and feminine just now. “I didn’t mean to overstep,” she murmured.
“You did not,” he replied. “You could not.” His eyes met hers and silence reigned for a long moment during which a warmth curled in Hadrian’s belly.
Overcome with gratitude and something far more primal, he leaned toward Tilda. Her lips parted the barest amount.
Hadrian didn’t hesitate, nor was there anything in his mind telling him to do so. Closing his eyes, he kissed her.