Chapter 20
GAbrIEL HAD TO act fast.
At this very moment Mr. Bauer was beginning his phrenological assessment of Mr. Norton, and Mr. Gutt was assisting him. Every guest was engaged, so the bedchambers should be quiet and still. The perfect time to investigate.
After ensuring that no servants lingered in the shadowed corridors, Gabriel made his way to the Blue Room where he’d learned Bauer was staying.
After glancing to his right and then to his left, he retrieved a pin from his pocket and quickly popped the door’s iron lock.
He pushed the door open, stepped in, and closed it behind him.
The thick damask curtains on the west wall were pulled tight against the night, leaving just the orange glow of the simmering fire to work by.
He blinked to adjust his vision and took inventory of his surroundings.
A canopy bed. A corner wardrobe. A chest at the foot of the bed.
A small writing desk to the right of the chimneypiece.
He approached the desk first and riffled through a handful of books and letters.
After finding nothing of significance, he pivoted to the chest, knelt next to it, and pushed up the lid.
Nothing but linens. Methodically he made his way around the chamber, searching in drawers, under the bed, and in cupboards. Everything was just as it should be.
Eager to take advantage of the time he had, Gabriel left the Blue Room as he had found it and made his way to the west staircase.
He wanted to check Mr. Gutt’s chamber, which was in the servants’ quarters on the basement level.
So far Mr. Gutt had been a quiet, unassuming man, but Gabriel suspected that Mr. Bauer was not working alone.
As Gabriel descended the west staircase, Mr. Bauer’s distant voice reverberated from the plaster walls, signaling that he still had time. Once in the basement, Gabriel lifted a candle lamp that hung from a hook on the wall and made his way to the male quarters and found Mr. Gutt’s room.
It was unlocked. Gabriel hurried in and closed the door.
His candle lamp illuminated a room far less opulent than Mr. Bauer’s.
The oblong, windowless chamber was barely large enough for the narrow bed, an old wardrobe chest, and a washbasin, and Gabriel nearly tripped on the uneven stones that comprised the floor.
Determined to make quick work of his search, he placed his candle lamp atop the washbasin and opened the wardrobe. Several items of clothing hung inside, and a few books were stacked at the bottom. He lifted one of the books, and as he did, several pieces of paper slid out.
He gathered them and angled them toward the light.
Mr. Chelten: Aloof, lives alone and has never married. An avid horseman and enjoys outdoor pursuits. Mr. Chamberlain: Is proud of the time he spent in the military and speaks of it often. He believes in order and rules. He is punctual and is outspoken.
Gabriel flipped through the names—all of whom were attendees. This was it. This was how Mr. Bauer knew so much about the guests. And it matched what Clancy had told him about Gutt approaching the footman to buy information about Mrs. Whetham.
Even though this was not an official crime, it was further evidence that these two men were frauds. But how did Mr. Gutt get this information? Were they his own observations? Did someone provide them?
Gabriel could contemplate the details later. He tucked three of the papers in his waistcoat and returned the rest to the book where he found them. He finished looking around the small space, and after finding nothing new, he exited and made his way back upstairs.
He never felt right about searching someone’s private space, but in this case the end just might justify the means. He only hoped that all this work was not in vain.
Excited chatter ensued, but despite the festive atmosphere, Ella felt sick.
A fresh round of applause circled the group as Mr. Bauer completed Mr. Shiveley’s phrenological assessment.
The stifling air in the great hall made it difficult to catch a full breath.
Mr. Abernathy was too close. The overwhelming scent of soap and sandalwood made her head ache, and the fine wool of his coat sleeve kept brushing irritatingly against her bare arm.
All around her the other guests whispered and waited, seemingly convinced they’d witnessed nothing short of a miracle. Ella did have to admit that Mr. Bauer was a persuasive speaker, and of the three guests he’d assessed, he accurately described their characters—including Phoebe’s.
As soon as the demonstration concluded and she freed herself from Mr. Abernathy’s possessive presence, she joined Phoebe and Miss Sutton in the corridor just outside the White Parlor.
Phoebe pivoted as Ella approached, her eyes bright. “Oh, wasn’t that wonderful!”
Ella’s face ached from forced smiles. “Very much so. I had no idea that you were going to volunteer.”
A shadow crossed over her friend’s countenance. Her tone darkened. “Do you not approve of it?”
Phoebe’s sudden defensiveness caught Ella off guard. She blinked and looked to Miss Sutton before responding. “Of course I approve. I wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.”
Phoebe’s lips pursed and her round chin lifted. She cast a fleeting glance toward Miss Sutton before speaking. “Mr. Bauer asked me if I would be willing to participate earlier today, but I didn’t tell you. I didn’t think you’d consider it prudent.”
Ella found herself at a loss for words. Never had she felt even a twinge of animosity from Phoebe. Now with her friend’s hard glare and tense expression, it almost seemed that she considered Ella the enemy.
“I know you don’t like him,” snipped Phoebe, “but can you not just be happy for me?”
Ella felt as if she’d been slapped. The words were simple, but the delivery stung. “I want nothing more for you than happiness—you know that.”
Phoebe tossed her head, sending the nutmeg curls around her face bouncing. “I daresay if you were in my situation, you’d be the same way.”
The subtle accusation of jealousy smacked.
Ella looked to Miss Sutton, as if to gauge another person’s reaction to this conversation, but her normally observant eyes were fixed on the ground.
And then frustration soared. Phoebe never would have said anything like this to Ella before.
Could it be Miss Sutton’s influence? “Phoebe, dearest. I meant nothing by it. I just—”
“Oh, never mind,” Phoebe blurted. “It isn’t worth arguing about, is it?”
Coolness met Ella’s further attempts at conversation, so she excused herself.
She sought another conversation to join but found none.
Mr. Rowe was nowhere to be seen. Her father was speaking with a group of men, and the other ladies were with their husbands.
She was in a crowded room, and yet she was completely alone.