Chapter 8 #3
Tilda’s gaze narrowed slightly, and Hadrian knew her mind was working. “Why was Lady Priscilla reluctant?”
Harper glanced behind her before answering in a soft voice. “Because she’d developed a tendre for her previous suitor.” Her eyes darted toward a corner of the room.
“Who was the suitor?” Tilda asked.
The maid fidgeted nervously, and her gaze kept sliding toward that same corner. “I shouldn’t say. His Grace forbade his name from being spoken here. He was adamant that Lady Priscilla not see or speak of him ever again.”
Hadrian had to assume the “suitor” was someone from a lower class. Why else would the duke be so opposed? Unless he was a fortune hunter or a young man with a scandalous reputation.
“We won’t tell anyone,” Hadrian said. “It’s our job as private detectives to keep things secret. The word ‘private’ is right there in our name.”
Once again, Harper looked at the corner, this time her attention lingering. Hadrian followed her gaze.
Tilda moved slowly in that direction. “Harper, is there something in the corner?”
The maid blushed profusely. “I think Lady Priscilla kept letters from her previous suitor, and they might be tucked behind the wallpaper. But you mustn’t tell anyone.”
“Of course not,” Tilda assured her. “Thank you.” She turned and walked toward the corner.
Hadrian followed Tilda but stopped short as a glint in the floral-patterned carpet near the bed caught his eye. He bent and picked up a thumb-sized brass cap of some kind. Placing it in his gloved palm, he studied it intently but couldn’t determine its use.
“What’s that?” Tilda asked.
Joining her, he handed her the cap. “I found this near the bed on the carpet. I can’t identify its use.”
Tilda held it toward the maid. “Harper, do you know what this is?”
Harper stepped forward and surveyed the brass cap in Tilda’s palm. The maid shook her head. “I’ve never seen that before.”
“Are you saying it doesn’t belong to Lady Priscilla?” Tilda asked.
“Not that I’m aware of. She would never have anything so…plain.”
Hadrian could understand that, given the extravagance of everything in Lady Priscilla’s chamber.
“May I go now?” the maid asked.
“Yes,” Tilda replied. “However, would you wait in the corridor in case we have more questions?” She met the young woman’s gaze with a gentle, earnest smile. “We’ll do our very best to find Lady Priscilla and ensure she’s returned home safely.”
Harper smiled weakly. “Thank you. I will pray for her every moment.”
The maid left, and Tilda held up the cap once more. She narrowed her eyes and inspected it closely. “I’d say this fits onto something, but what?”
“Do you think it belongs to Spring-heeled Jack?” Hadrian’s pulse thrummed at the possibility that they’d found a clue.
Tilda shrugged. “It’s certainly curious. We should give it to Teague to retain as evidence.” She tucked it into her reticule, then turned to the corner that had drawn the maid’s attention.
Hadrian followed her. “Are you going to tear the wallpaper away?”
“I don’t have to.” Tilda crouched down and grasped a frayed edge corner.
“This looks as though it’s been pulled up often and recently.
” She peeled the paper back and withdrew a small stack of folded paper tied with a pink ribbon.
She rose with a faint smile, her brows arching briefly. “Shall we see what we’ve found?”
Tilda went to the bed and unfolded the papers, laying out each piece by date. There were eight letters in all.
Together, they perused the missives. The first one revealed the secret suitor, and he was astonished by the man’s identity. “Vincent Chadwick?”
“Apparently,” Tilda murmured as she surveyed the letters. They were quiet as they read.
At length, Tilda said, “Mr. Chadwick doesn’t like having to live away from her in Richmond.”
“But he likes his view of the Thames,” Hadrian noted. He kept reading. “There’s a tobacconist on the corner.” He recalled the tobacco scent from the memory he’d experienced from the other letter.
Tilda turned her head toward Hadrian, her green eyes glimmering with excitement. “Where he purchases his favorite blend. I can’t help thinking of the tobacco you smelled in your vision.”
He shared her excitement. “Do we finally have a clue?”
“Perhaps. The connection between Lady Priscilla, who has been kidnapped by Spring-heeled Jack, and her friend Delia Chadwick, who was also kidnapped by Spring-heeled Jack, is unmistakable given that you saw both notes written in the same place. The tobacco smell could implicate Vincent Chadwick, who we could easily argue would have a motive to abduct the woman he’d been denied.
However, why would he kidnap—and kill—his own sister?
” Tilda’s brow creased as she once again focused on the letters.
She gestured to one of the papers. “In this letter, Chadwick is glad for his sister Delia acting as the go-between.” She met Hadrian’s gaze.
“It seems she mailed Lady Priscilla’s letters to her brother, then received her brother’s letters to Lady Priscilla and delivered them to her.
I would say that’s the opposite of a motive for him to kill his sister. She was helping him.”
A moment later, Tilda sucked in a breath as she snatched up the last of the missives. “This says he was overjoyed that Lady Priscilla wanted to elope because he was thinking the same.” She turned toward Hadrian with the letter in her hand.
“I was just reading that,” he said.
“I can’t ask you to touch this,” Tilda said. “Your head already hurts, and multiple memories can worsen things to an unbearable degree.” Deep furrows marred her brow.
“Yes, but it’s lessened since we came upstairs. This is important. I’ll be quick.”
She held the paper toward him. “I’ll take it away from you if I think you’re gone too long.”
Hadrian arched a brow at her. “Gone?”
“You disappear into the memory,” Tilda explained.
He hadn’t thought of himself as going anywhere, but that was exactly what he did, at least in his mind. “I suppose that’s true.” Hadrian took the paper.
He was abruptly seated at a small, simple oak desk.
The window above it offered a sweeping view of a river he was certain had to be the Thames.
But this wasn’t a familiar vantage point to Hadrian.
He felt love and a passionate sense of longing.
Those emotions were quickly eclipsed by a rush of anxiety and fear.
The clashing sentiments warred within him.
Suddenly, Hadrian saw the papers on the bed once more. The ache in his head intensified so that he closed his eyes with a grimace. He realized he was no longer holding the note, and his hand was at his temple.
Peeling one eye open, he looked over at Tilda. “Did you take the letter away?” He rubbed at his throbbing head.
“I was concerned.” She looked it too, her forehead creased and her eyes dark. “You began to clutch your head whilst you were gone.”
“I’m not at all sure I like being ‘gone,’ though I know why you use that word.
I’m beginning to think the stronger the emotions I feel, the more agonizing the pain.
” The ache finally began to ease, but only a very little.
“I hate to admit it, but it’s good you took the letter.
I don’t think I should try to see anything again until later today. ” He lowered his arm to his side.
“Or until tomorrow even.” Tilda gave his arm a quick pat then she gathered up the papers. “We’ll take them with us, and you can try again tomorrow when you’re recovered.” She tucked them into her reticule.
“Why did the Chadwicks tell us their son Vincent was traveling when he’s actually lodging in Richmond?”
“Do you suppose they lied to us about that?” Tilda mused. “Or has Vincent been lying to them about where he is?”
“We should ask the Chadwicks,” Hadrian said. “Though, I’m not sure the Chadwicks will speak to us.”
“Probably not.” Tilda exhaled with disappointment.
“But I suppose it doesn’t matter, because Vincent isn’t a suspect.
He has no motive to kill his sister. He does, however, have a motive to elope with the woman he was courting.
Except Lady Priscilla’s abduction matches Miss Chadwick’s perfectly, right down to the way the ransom note was written. ”
“Perhaps he copied what happened to his sister,” Hadrian suggested.
“How would he have known about what happened to his sister? Her kidnapping wasn’t publicized until today.” Tilda’s eyes widened briefly. “Unless the Chadwicks did lie and knew he was in Richmond. Perhaps they sent him a letter apprising him of his sister’s kidnapping.”
“And he grasped the chance to copy Spring-heeled Jack and ‘kidnap’ Lady Priscilla. He didn’t have time to warn or plan with her, which would explain her surprise.”
Tilda was quiet a long moment. “That is possible, but I’m not convinced. We need to go to Richmond tomorrow and speak with Vincent Chadwick. I’d go today, but I don’t think we have enough time to get there and back before dinner, and I’d rather not abandon my grandmother.”
“Tomorrow morning then,” Hadrian said.
They shortly departed Alnwick House and barely made it to the pavement before they encountered Detective Inspector Teague and Sergeant Wycombe. Teague startled when he saw them.
“Can I presume you’re here about Lady Priscilla’s disappearance?” Teague asked.
“Yes,” Hadrian replied. “My mother heard a rumor, and we came to confirm it.”
Teague pressed his lips together in a near frown. “I’ve heard the same rumor. Did you learn anything?”
“I’m afraid it’s the same situation as Miss Chadwick,” Tilda said. “Lady Priscilla was taken from her bed, and the kidnapper left a note identical to the one found on Miss Chadwick’s pillow.”
“Spring-heeled bloody Jack?” Teague made a sound in his throat.
“You should be warned that His Grace doesn’t want the police involved. He didn’t particularly want us sticking our nose in either, but Ravenhurst persuaded him.” Tilda glanced over at Hadrian.
“What did he persuade him to allow you to do?” Teague asked.
“He showed us the ransom note, the handwriting on which will almost certainly match the others in your evidence drawer,” Tilda said before opening her reticule to retrieve the letter. She held it toward Teague. “The wording is precisely the same.”
“Blast,” Teague breathed as he took the parchment and quickly skimmed it.
Tilda continued. “His Grace also permitted us, somewhat reluctantly, to speak with Lady Priscilla’s maid and to survey her bedchamber. We found something that could be important—or not.” She reached back into her reticule, and Hadrian knew she meant to give Vincent Chadwick’s letters to Teague.
Withdrawing the papers, she handed them to the detective inspector, then sent Hadrian a look of apology. Though he acknowledged she had to do it, he was still annoyed. He’d wanted to see what other memories he might experience from handling them.
“Those are from Lady Priscilla’s former suitor,” Tilda explained as Teague glanced over the first letter.
He lifted his gaze, his eyes round. “Vincent Chadwick?”
Tilda nodded. “He was supposedly traveling, but you’ll see that he’s actually lodging in Richmond.
Ravenhurst and I plan to find him tomorrow.
” She dug through her reticule once more and withdrew the brass cap Hadrian had found in Lady Priscilla’s bedchamber.
“We found one other item, but it may not pertain to the case. You should keep it with the evidence for now, however.”
Teague handed the letters to Wycombe and asked him to keep custody of them whilst Teague accepted the cap. “Can’t imagine what this has to do with the kidnapper, but I’ll lock it in the evidence drawer as soon as I return to Scotland Yard.”
Hadrian tamped down another wave of disappointment upon losing access to the mysterious cap as well.
The detective inspector tucked the cap into his pocket. “I appreciate this very much. Dare I hope you’ll continue sharing information with me? I realize this case is a bit different than those we’ve worked on together in the past since you aren’t actually working for a client.”
“Nor am I working for Scotland Yard,” Tilda pointed out.
Hadrian wished the Met would hire her to assist with certain cases. The police employed women in various roles. In fact, the City of London Police had hired Tilda, and she’d been very successful.
“Not at this time,” Teague said ruefully. “But I’m keen to share information if you’re committed to finding Lady Priscilla and apprehending this kidnapper.”
“I’m completely dedicated to both causes, and I would appreciate us working together, even if I’m not being compensated,” Tilda replied.
“Which is a crime of its own,” Hadrian remarked none too quietly.
“You know it’s not up to me.” Teague lifted his hands briefly. “If it were, I would engage Miss Wren’s services permanently.”
“Ravenhurst and I will see you tomorrow at the inquest,” Tilda said. “And we’ll provide our report from interviewing Vincent Chadwick.”
“I’ll share whatever I learn here.” Teague inclined his head toward the house.
Hadrian and Tilda continued to the coach where Leach greeted them. When they were seated inside and on their way to Marylebone, Hadrian allowed himself to frown.
Tilda turned toward him on the seat. “You’re disappointed I gave the letters and cap to Teague.”
“How well you know me.” Hadrian’s frown lifted into a half-smile.
“We had to share those things.” She looked at him earnestly. “It’s imperative we find Lady Priscilla, and I simply cannot withhold information.”
“Of course you can’t,” he assured her. “I’m not angry. I may yet have a chance to handle the letters and the cap. It does sound as if we’ll be working with Teague, though I am irritated that he can’t pay you.”
“I know, and I love you for that.” She smiled, and his heart somersaulted. But then her features darkened, and Hadrian’s chest tightened.
“What is it?”
“I’m afraid Lady Priscilla won’t be returned, that she’ll meet the same end as Miss Chadwick.”
Hadrian took her hand. “We will do everything in our power to keep that from happening.”
“I tried to do everything to rescue Miss Chadwick,” she whispered. “I can’t help feeling frightened.”
Hadrian scooted closer to her and pulled her to his chest. She snaked her arms around him. “I understand. But the Tilda I know isn’t driven by fear. She’s brilliant and measured. We’ll find Lady Priscilla.”
“I hope so.” She squeezed him tightly. “Before it’s too late.”