Chapter 9 #2
“He rents rooms on Jermyn Street, along with several of the young men he runs with. I believe he lives over a wine shop. Either way, we’ll find him just as we found Chadwick, or at least where Chadwick was living.” His mouth flattened, and Tilda could see he was as disappointed as she was.
“Jermyn Street then,” Leach said.
“Yes, thank you.” Hadrian helped Tilda into the coach, then climbed in after her.
As they returned to London, Tilda leaned her head back against the squab. She stared at the roof of the coach as if she could discern the answers she sought in the blue-patterned damask.
“We’re missing something,” she said again. “I think we need to find what Miss Chadwick and Lady Priscilla had in common, if anything, besides just being friends.”
“Well, they have Vincent Chadwick in common,” Hadrian replied. “One is his sister and the other is his former paramour, or current paramour, since they’re continuing to write letters to one another.”
“Yes, but we can’t come up with a motive for him to kill his sister.
Without that, he’s a weak suspect.” Tilda crossed her arms tightly over her chest. “Hopefully, Lord Farnsworth will tell us something helpful. We need a break if we’re to find Lady Priscilla and bring this kidnapper and murderer to justice. ”
Hadrian confirmed with the owner of the wine shop that Farnsworth did indeed live upstairs on the first floor. He and Tilda ascended to the landing where Hadrian rapped on the door.
A manservant dressed simply in austere black answered the summons. In his early thirties, he surveyed them with small, assessing eyes that bordered on judgmental—at least when they fixed on Tilda. Hadrian disliked him immediately.
“Good afternoon,” Hadrian said coolly. “I’m Ravenhurst, and this is my dear friend, Miss Wren. We’ve important business to discuss with Farnsworth regarding Lady Priscilla.”
“Certainly, my lord,” the manservant said crisply.
“Do come in.” He held the door wide for them to enter into a compact vestibule with doors leading to the right and left.
“Wait here.” The manservant walked through the left doorway, and Hadrian could see it was an exceptionally appointed sitting room.
A moment later, the manservant returned.
“Please follow me.” He led them into the masculine space, which was decorated with elegant furnishings, including several paintings by Millais.
Marble surrounded a coal fire burning behind a highly polished fender, and thick blue velvet curtains cloaked the tall windows facing Jermyn Street.
Lord Farnsworth, the twenty-six-year-old heir to the Earl of Bolton, stood from a small round table upon which sat a cup of tea and a newspaper.
He was of average height with dark-blond hair and rather flat brown eyes.
He wore a plum velvet dressing gown over a pair of dark gray trousers and a white shirt.
“Afternoon, Ravenhurst. Your arrival is unexpected. I can’t imagine what you have to do with Lady Priscilla.” He flicked a glance at Tilda, but his attention didn’t linger on her, as if she were unaccountable. “Has she been found?”
“No,” Hadrian replied. “We’re investigating her disappearance and would like to ask you some questions.”
Farnsworth’s brows drew together, and he appeared confused. “You’re investigating? Is that because the note instructed the duke not to report her disappearance to the police?”
“Yes.” Hadrian didn’t care to explain that the police were already involved. He lifted his hand and darted a look toward Tilda. He was trying to silently communicate his intent to remove his gloves and touch something. Hopefully, Tilda would distract Farnsworth with questioning.
“Do you mind if I sit?” Tilda asked, clearly understanding Hadrian. She moved to perch on a dark blue damask settee.
Farnsworth seemed reluctant to join her but ultimately did, lowering himself into a buttoned leather chair opposite the settee. “I’m not sure I can answer many questions for you.”
Hadrian surreptitiously removed his right glove and wandered toward the table where Farnsworth had been sitting.
“How long have you and Lady Priscilla been courting?” Tilda asked.
“Only about a fortnight,” Farnsworth replied. “Though, I do expect our courtship will lead to marriage. That is my hope, anyway.”
Tilda flashed a smile, but Hadrian could tell it was for show. “Does she feel the same way?”
Farnsworth didn’t hesitate to reply with clear confidence. “Of course.”
“Didn’t Lady Priscilla have another suitor?” Tilda probed.
Farnsworth snorted. “Some second son without even a title to his family name. I can’t recall who he was.”
“Did you have any reason to believe that Lady Priscilla might still have feelings for that man?” Tilda continued.
Hadrian touched the table, flattening his palm against the polished wood until the room around him faded away. Music filled the air and candlelight glittered in a crowded ballroom. He was waltzing with Lady Priscilla, whom he recognized from the portrait he’d seen in Alnwick’s study.
Lady Priscilla was smiling, then she laughed at something Farnsworth said.
Hadrian had the sense he was trying to be amusing, but underneath, the man felt a distinct disgust toward the woman in his arms. Hadrian then felt a rush of anticipation for the social status and dowry that marriage to her would bring Farnsworth.
“The rapscallion!”
Farnsworth’s declaration interrupted Hadrian’s vision, and he was suddenly back in Farnsworth’s sitting room, blinking. A sharp ache spread from his temples to his scalp as he took his hand from the table and looked to see what was happening with the viscount and Tilda.
“Do you think this former suitor kidnapped my Priscilla?” Farnsworth asked, aghast.
The vision—rather, Farnsworth’s emotions within the memory—prompted Hadrian to dislike the viscount.
And given the man’s reaction to her, Hadrian was annoyed that he considered Lady Priscilla, whom he was merely courting, to be his.
Then again, Hadrian thought of Tilda, whom he was barely courting, as his.
Except Hadrian loved Tilda. He wasn’t disgusted by her in any way, and he didn’t care what advantages she might offer him beyond those of a helpmate and partner who would share his life.
“Now I remember who that suitor was,” Farnsworth said angrily. “Vincent Chadwick.”
Hadrian and Tilda exchanged glances as Hadrian drew on his glove.
Farnsworth bolted from his chair. “I’m going to Belgrave Square to confront the scoundrel.”
“He’s apparently travelling,” Hadrian said, repeating the lie the Chadwicks had told him.
“Bah,” Farnsworth said with another snort. “I saw him at a gaming hell in Leicester Square just last week.”
Hadrian and Tilda exchanged another look.
“Did you speak with him?” Tilda asked.
“Why would I?” Farnsworth’s nose wrinkled with disgust. “Judson,” he called. “I’m going out.”
“You really shouldn’t,” Hadrian cautioned. “The Chadwicks are grieving right now because of the death of their daughter.”
Farnsworth snapped his attention to them, his eyes widening. “What?”
“Their daughter was kidnapped in the same manner as Lady Priscilla several days before Lady Priscilla disappeared, and she was murdered.”
Farnsworth paled.
“You see why now is not the best time to call on them,” Tilda said softly. “Furthermore, they may be at Miss Chadwick’s inquest, which is to begin soon.”
“Now is the perfect time to speak with them,” Farnsworth insisted. “We must save Lady Priscilla from the same fate.” He walked through the vestibule, likely to his bedchamber to change his clothing.
Tilda stood and moved to stand close to Hadrian. “What did you see when you touched the table?” she whispered.
“That if anyone is a scoundrel, it’s Farnsworth.” Hadrian sneered toward the bedchamber. “He was dancing with Lady Priscilla, but he was filled with disgust towards her, as well as anticipation for being associated with her father’s title and obtaining her dowry.”
“How awful,” Tilda said. “I wonder if Lady Priscilla knows.
“She seemed rather happy dancing with him, but I wonder if that was fake, given her ongoing epistolary relationship with Vincent Chadwick.”
Tilda’s brow creased. “We can’t let him barge in on the Chadwicks like this.”
“Agreed. We should try to go with him to soften the intrusion. Also to possibly learn where Vincent has gone.”
“I was thinking the same thing. What of the inquest?” Hadrian asked.
“I don’t want to miss it, but I think we really must accompany Lord Farnsworth,” Tilda said. “Teague can tell us about the inquest if necessary.”
A few minutes later, Farnsworth rejoined them, fully dressed. “You’re still here.”
“Would you care for a ride to Belgrave Square?” Hadrian asked. “We don’t mind accompanying you. In fact, it may be beneficial.”
Farnsworth inclined his head. “That saves me time, thank you.”
They left his apartments and went to Hadrian’s coach where he instructed Leach to take them to Chadwick’s house. Hadrian helped Tilda into the coach then climbed in after her. That left the rear-facing seat for Farnsworth. He pursed his lips in a near-pout, appearing a bit offended.
“What do you plan to do at the Chadwicks?” Hadrian asked once they were moving.
“I shall demand to know where Vincent is.” Farnsworth’s brows drew together in anger. “If he knows anything about Lady Priscilla’s disappearance, he must say so. Don’t you think he must be held accountable?”
“If he’s involved, certainly,” Hadrian said.
The Chadwick house was bedecked in black, with a large mourning wreath centered on the door. Hadrian and Tilda had encountered many of those since they’d met.
The butler answered the door. His gaze flickered with surprise and then anger as he saw Tilda and even Hadrian. Hadrian was happy to let Farnsworth speak.
“I’m Farnsworth, and I’m here to speak with Mr. Chadwick about Vincent Chadwick. Whom I understand is traveling,” Farnsworth added sardonically.
“Mr. Vincent Chadwick is here, my lord,” the butler replied.
“He is?” Hadrian blurted.
“I must speak with him immediately.” Farnsworth pushed himself inside. The butler had no choice but to open the door wider and let them all in.
“I’m afraid no one is receiving,” the butler said. “We are a house in deep mourning.”
It seemed the Chadwicks were not at the inquest then.
Hadrian wasn’t surprised. A man of Chadwick’s status would have been able to avoid being there in person.
He’d likely sent testimony via a solicitor.
He may also have sent their physician to speak about Miss Chadwick as well as a retainer from the household to recount the morning Miss Chadwick was discovered missing.
“I’m sorry for their loss, but another young woman, to whom I am nearly betrothed, is missing.” Farnsworth glared at the butler. “Either you fetch Vincent, or I’ll search the house until I find him.”
“Very well.” The butler disappeared into the staircase hall.
Hadrian had the sense that Farnsworth was used to getting his way. He watched as the viscount paced, his face puckered with irritation.
A few minutes later, Mr. Chadwick appeared in the entrance hall. “What the devil are you two doing here?” He fixed his furious gaze on Tilda and Hadrian.
“They’re with me. I’m here to speak to your rapscallion of a son.”
Chadwick turned his glare on Farnsworth. “What business would you have with him?”
“The woman I’m courting, Lady Priscilla, has been kidnapped, and she had a past flirtation with your son. If he had something to do with her disappearance, we must find out.”
“He would never kidnap anyone!” Chadwick raged.
A young man who had to be Vincent Chadwick walked into the entrance hall. He looked a bit like his father around the mouth and chin and was perhaps a year or so younger than Tilda’s twenty-five years.
Farnsworth strode to where Vincent stood and sneered in the taller man’s face. “I demand to know what you’ve done with Lady Priscilla!”