Chapter 21 #2
“Bannet, you must tell us the truth,” Hadrian said, using a firm but kind tone. “We know Miss Chadwick had a stutter and that it improved over the Season. How was that accomplished if not with elocution lessons?”
“I’m sorry, my lord!” Bannet began to cry, her shoulders shaking as emotion poured out of her. Beatrice leapt up and went to her, putting her arm around the maid.
“Now see here, Bannet, you must collect yourself,” Courtenay said. “You can’t fall to pieces like that. Just answer Raven’s questions, for heaven’s sake.” He didn’t appear angry but discomfited, as if Bannet’s outburst was somehow a problem for him.
Beatrice sent her husband an irritated look.
“She can’t help herself. Have some compassion.
She’s suffered an ordeal and it isn’t over yet.
” Beatrice turned her attention to Bannet.
“There now, it’s all right. Just tell my brother and Miss Wren what you know.
You’ll be helping them save another young woman. That’s a noble endeavor, is it not?”
The maid nodded as she sniffed and worked to draw in air. After a few moments, her shoulders stopped quivering, and she dried her face with a handkerchief she took from the pocket of her apron.
“Yes, Miss Chadwick had an elocution tutor,” Bannet said, her voice scratchy from her crying.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, but we weren’t allowed to discuss it outside the household.
Mr. and Mrs. Chadwick didn’t want anyone to know about Delia’s stutter.
They worried it would hurt her marriage prospects. ”
“Surely that wasn’t a concern after she was killed,” Hadrian said. He apologized as Bannet’s shoulders began to shake again.
“Why didn’t you tell us about this after Mr. Chadwick dismissed you?” Tilda asked.
Bannet took a moment to compose herself.
When she looked up at Tilda finally, her eyes were wet.
“Miss Chadwick was having an affair—with her elocution tutor. I knew about it, but she swore me to secrecy. I promised on her life that I wouldn’t tell anyone.
How could I tell you, especially after she died?
” A sob escaped Bannet, and she briefly pressed her handkerchief to her mouth as she fought to take a breath.
Doing so, she calmed herself before breaking down again.
“I tried to direct you toward their affair the other day without telling you outright. I’m sorry, Miss Wren.
And your lordship.” She sniffed and wiped her eyes.
“It’s all right,” Beatrice soothed. “You were trying to keep your promise to Miss Chadwick. But now, we need you to help save someone else. You want to do that, don’t you?”
Bannet nodded.
Tilda wanted to hug Beatrice. Instead, she fixed on Bannet. “Do you know if the elocution tutor was also an actor?”
“Yes.” Bannet blinked.
“Do you know the man’s name?” Tilda held her breath.
“Oscar Mobray.”
At last, they had a name. “Do you know where Mr. Mobray lives or where we might find him?”
“I know he performed at the Albion—that’s where the Chadwicks made his acquaintance and hired him as her elocution tutor.
I’m not sure where he lived.” Bannet’s face puckered as she appeared to think for a moment.
“I do recall hearing Miss Chadwick talk to him about something to do with Savoy Street. That was during their last meeting before she was kidnapped.” Bannet’s expression became forlorn once more, and her lip began to quiver.
“What does Mr. Mobray have to do with Miss Chadwick’s kidnapping and murder? ”
Tilda didn’t want to upset Bannet anymore today. “We don’t know for sure yet.”
“He was always very kind,” Bannet said. “I could see he and Miss Chadwick cared very much for one another. I wondered what Mr. Mobray thought about what happened to her.”
“I have one last question,” Hadrian said, surprising Tilda. “Can you describe what Mr. Mobray looks like?”
Bannet nodded. “He’s tall, though not as tall as you.
I suppose he possesses an attractive form.
Miss Chadwick certainly thought so.” She blushed faintly.
“His hair is the color of wheat with curls that seem unjust for a man. His eyes were dark and sparkled with mirth—he was most charming from what I saw of him, which wasn’t much.
But I’m sure it was his dazzling smile that captivated Miss Chadwick.
He looked like someone who would almost certainly beguile his audiences. ”
“Thank you, Bannet,” Tilda said. “You’ve been incredibly helpful.”
“Apologies for our intrusion,” Hadrian said to his sister before glancing toward Courtenay.
The viscount stood. “Well, that was most exhilarating.” He looked at Bannet.
“Your loyalty to Miss Chadwick is commendable. My wife has made a fine decision in bringing you into the household.” He turned his head toward Hadrian.
“Raven.” He barely spared a glance for Tilda.
“Miss Wren.” Then he strode from the room.
“You may go back up to your room, Bannet,” Beatrice said softly. “And I meant what I said earlier—you will have a warm bath, and you will not begin your duties until the morning.”
The maid nodded, then dipped a curtsey to Hadrian before fleeing the room.
“I’m sorry you had to drive all the way out here,” Beatrice said. “You’re more than welcome to stay for dinner. Hadrian, the children would love to see their favorite uncle.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Don’t tell Courtenay,” she whispered with a smile. “His brothers are too dour.”
Tilda had no trouble seeing Hadrian as a favorite uncle. Still, she wondered what he did to earn the title. If they were not in such a hurry to find Oscar Mobray, she would have actually been delighted to meet the Courtenay children and even stay for dinner.
Good heavens, what was happening to her?
This was not what she’d foreseen for herself!
But why not? Was it because they were members of the peerage?
No, it was the large, extensive family—something Tilda didn’t have any experience with.
She had no siblings, and for a very long time now, it had just been her and her grandmother.
“Whilst we appreciate the invitation, we must be on our way back to London,” Hadrian said with regret but also a touch of eagerness. “We’ve a murderer to apprehend.”
Beatrice nodded. “Of course. How silly of me. I do wish you the very best of luck. You must come another time.” She looked to Tilda. “It was lovely to see you again so soon, Miss Wren.”
“Likewise, my lady. I mean, Beatrice.” Last night after dinner, she’d asked Tilda to call her by her Christian name.
Tilda and Hadrian took their leave. “Should we go to Savoy Street or Scotland Yard?” Hadrian asked.
“Straight to Scotland Yard.” Tilda glanced at him as they approached the coach. “We’ve no idea if Mobray lives in Savoy Street or what could be waiting for us there. We should go with Teague and whoever else he wants to bring.”
Leach had been standing next to the vehicle and opened the door. “Did I hear you say Scotland Yard?”
Hadrian nodded. “Once again, with the greatest haste.”
“As fast as I can, my lord.”
“Thank you, Leach.” Hadrian helped Tilda inside.
They settled into the coach and discussed Bannet’s revelations.
“It’s a tragedy Chadwick wouldn’t allow anyone to tell us about Mobray,” Hadrian said.
“We would have made the theatre connection much sooner. I imagine he’ll blame himself something awful.
” He looked over at Tilda. “He’ll owe you an apology. ”
“I don’t expect one,” Tilda replied. “I’m only sorry things ended as they did for his daughter. And how did they exactly? If she and Mobray were in love as Bannet indicated, how on earth did Delia Chadwick end up dead?”
“Perhaps Mobray was pretending to be in love with her and only wanted the ransom money?” Hadrian shook his head. “No, I sensed the love he had for her—and the distress he felt after she was dead. It doesn’t make sense, unless he killed her in a rage and immediately regretted it.”
“Or she was killed by someone else,” Tilda suggested darkly.
“Mobray had to have had an accomplice for his performance at the chandler’s,” Hadrian said. “Perhaps he had one all along.”
“That’s what I’m beginning to think.” Tilda considered their next steps.
“If we can confirm that Mobray is the actor from the Albion who also works as an elocution tutor, then we can tie him to the theatre where Spring-heeled Jack obtained his costume, the fire-creating device, and the gray cloak Lady Priscilla was wearing.”
“We already know he’s associated with the Albion.” Hadrian spoke with great animation. “Whoever took that cloak from the blue wall loved Miss Chadwick—and Bannet just confirmed that to be Mobray.”
Tilda frowned slightly. “We know that, but we can’t prove his connection to the theatre yet.
We can tell Teague our suspicion that Mobray, who we can also say we know was Miss Chadwick’s elocution tutor, works as an actor at the Albion where we discovered Spring-heeled Jack obtained his costume and fire-breathing tool, as well as the gray cloak—and perhaps even the dress he supplied to Miss Chadwick.
It makes sense now that it fit her so well. ”
“Indeed. Her kidnapper knew her and thus knew her size.”
“Once we obtain the list of employees from the theatre and find Mobray on it, we can show Teague that he works there,” Tilda said. “But I don’t want to wait for that. We have enough to find him and question him. The only problem is we don’t know where he lives.”
“It seems Miss Chadwick was in on the kidnapping, doesn’t it?” Hadrian asked.
“It does, which makes her death even more perplexing. Did she somehow put their enterprise at risk?”
“That would make sense,” Hadrian said. “Perhaps Mobray saw no choice but to kill her and was sad that it ended that way.”
Tilda’s mind was whirring. “We know Miss Chadwick and Mobray were in love. Presumably, they planned to elope together. Was the ransom for them? That was a great deal of money to ask for.”
“Miss Chadwick likely knew her father could afford it,” Hadrian said wryly. “But why kidnap Lady Priscilla? That’s an even greater sum.”
“I suppose they became greedy.” Tilda exhaled. “Even after what we’ve learned, this case is still confounding.”
Hadrian removed his gloves. “My head is feeling better from earlier at the theatre. I want to handle the cap. Perhaps that will give us some answers about Oscar Mobray.”
Tilda fished the cap from her reticule. “Be careful.” She dropped it into his palm and watched as he closed his hand around the item.
He stared past her, his eyes glassy. Tilda realized she was holding her breath again and blew it out.
A moment later, Hadrian blinked. “I saw a man I don’t recognize. Something about his appearance was off. I think this was sometime in the past, perhaps twenty years ago, based on what he was wearing.”
This was not the first time Hadrian had seen a vision from many years earlier. “What did the man look like?”
“Blond hair, conventionally attractive, in his early or mid-twenties. He seemed aloof, and the memory carried a sense of outrage. No, stronger than that. Fury.”
“But you know it was from twenty or so years ago.”
Hadrian pursed his lips. “I shouldn’t assume a time period based on someone’s garments. You may recall that when we met, your wardrobe was entirely outdated.”
Tilda smiled. “You’re smart not to make assumptions. I nearly did. What if the man was wearing a costume for a play?” She arched a brow. “Was his blond hair curly as Bannet described?”
“Definitely not.”
“Probably not Mobray then,” Tilda said with disappointment. “I was hoping you were seeing his accomplice’s memory.”
“It’s someone who has touched this cap,” Hadrian said.
“If Mobray is the kidnapper—”
“We know he is,” Hadrian insisted.
Tilda appreciated his fervor. “Yes, but until we have proof, I prefer not to speak definitively. If Mobray is the kidnapper, it’s likely he obtained this cap from the Albion. We know Larkin made it.”
Hadrian’s brow furrowed, and he massaged his forehead. “Could Larkin be his accomplice?”
“Do you need lavender?” Tilda asked.
“No, I’m fine. My head is just a little sore.” He exhaled.
Tilda returned to their discussion of Larkin as the accomplice.
“Given Larkin’s limp and build, I don’t know how he could pull Mobray up the side of a building and get away quickly.
I suppose we must consider him, but Jesson seems a likelier candidate.
And there are plenty of other property masters we have yet to meet.
It’s a needle in a bloody haystack.” She pressed her lips together with determination.
“Let us hope Savoy Street has something helpful to reveal.”