Chapter 26
Ambrose heard the commotion outside his bedroom door but ignored it. Bertram would deal with whatever was going on.
In the two days since Tilly had declined his proposal, Ambrose had not left his house. He hadn’t washed, had lain about in a parlor in his dressing gown, unshaved, and hibernated like a bear.
How had he been so wrong? He was sure she’d felt as he did. When he’d lifted Tilly from that crate, she’d clung to him. His emotions had certainly risen to the surface, and Ambrose had no longer been able to deny what was before him.
He loved Matilda Wilson, and he’d been sure she felt the same. As it turned out, he was mistaken.
“I don’t care what he’s feeling. He’ll talk to us!”
Ambrose knew the owner of that voice. Violet.
“Exactly. Stand aside, Bertram. We shall not be deterred,” Cissa agreed.
“If you could perhaps have tea made, and something sweet, that always helps if Ambrose is not feeling himself,” Tavi added.
Reclining on his pillows, he waited for the door to open because Bertram was no match for his three sisters. Hell, he was no match for them, and in his current state, they’d crucify him.
With a loud sigh, he pushed himself upright and got out of the bed to move to a chair to greet them.
On the way, he made a half-hearted attempt to tidy his hair.
After opening the curtains to let in the light, he sat, picked up the book he hadn’t read in weeks, and pretended to look at it, even if he couldn’t focus because he’d left his glasses in another room.
Thinking about his glasses brought Tilly to mind. Damn her.
His sisters entered the room, all talking at once. Violet wore lemon, Tavi cream, and Cissa mint green. They stalked toward him, their scents mingling in the stale air.
“Good day to you, sisters,” he said in his most genial voice. He couldn’t allow them even a sniff of what was going on, or they would pounce and then interrogate him relentlessly. “What has you at my humble abode?”
“What is going on, Rosie?” Cissa demanded, coming to a halt before him.
“You have not left this house in two days, according to Bertram, and we did not see you at the Featherstone ball last night,” Violet said from beside her.
“Are you well, Rosie?” Tavi enquired, giving him a sweet smile so unlike the feral looks on the faces of the other two.
“I am, thank you, Tavi. Just a slight sniffle, so I thought to take a few days to feel better.” Ambrose had learned the art of lying to these three at a very young age. “It has been nice to catch up on some reading.”
“That book is upside down.”
Violet’s words had him looking at the book resting in his lap. Realizing he’d just given himself away, he smiled. “Nice try, but it isn’t.”
“It’s odd that you are unwell at the same time that Tilly, too, seems to be behaving oddly.”
He didn’t even blink at the mention of her name, but there was a stab of pain in the region of his heart.
“I called to see if she was all right before visiting with Tavi and Cissa earlier and found Tilly outside about to leave in her carriage. She told me she is departing London as soon as it can be arranged and The Iris is sorted.”
“Why?” Cissa asked.
“She wouldn’t talk to me. It was as if I was conversing with a stranger, and Tilly only does that when something has really upset her.”
“She was abducted,” Ambrose pointed out because he needed to add to the conversation or they’d smell a rat.
“No, there is more to this than that. She was not herself, even taking into account the abduction,” Violet said, frowning. “I’m worried about her.”
He stomped down the need to ask if Tilly had taken servants with her on her trip to The Iris this morning. He needed the assurance that she was protected even if he was angry with her. Such was the depth of his feeling for that heartless woman.
“Did she say how long she was leaving London for?” Tavi asked.
“Indefinitely.”
He wouldn’t see her again. The pain of that knowledge was almost physical.
“She loves The Iris. Why would she leave it?” Cissa asked. “We all do, as we go there to do things like play cards, laugh out loud, and even eat with our mouths open, but I fear a lot of our enjoyment is due to Tilly,” Cissa continued. “It would not be the same without her.”
“Why would you want to eat with your mouth open?” Ambrose felt the need to ask.
“Because we can, Rosie, because we can, and no man is there to rebuke us,” Cissa said.
“Did something happen between you and Tilly, Ambrose?” Violet demanded suddenly.
“What? Why would you ask me that?”
Cissa and Violet studied him closely, while Tavi went to open the door at the soft knock from Bertram.
“He looks nervous,” Violet said.
“Well, did something happen?” Cissa demanded.
“No,” he said with more force than he’d intended.
“Because during that carriage ride, I saw how you were with my friend, Rosie. Saw the look of relief when you held her. The way she clung to you and you kissed the top of her head,” Violet said.
“I think you care deeply about Tilly, but I had thought to give you both time to come to your senses. That time has run out. So do you care about her or not?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” If he was wearing a collar, it would be choking him. “Tea. Wonderful,” he said, getting up, and parting the two sisters intent on interrogating him to head toward Tavi. They followed him.
“I think you’re lying,” Cissa said.
“I agree,” Violet added.
Tavi poured the tea, added sugar to his and Violet’s and then straightened to her full height to look at him. “As you all know, I’m more of a watcher than the rest of you.”
No one disputed that fact.
“And I have observed that you and Tilly do seem to have a connection, Rosie. I’ve intercepted the looks between you and wondered what lay underneath the surface.”
“There is nothing under the surface,” he denied, feeling cornered.
“Rosie, are you in love with Tilly? Because I believe you might be, and also that your current state may be due to her,” Tavi said.
Dear Christ.
“Are they lemon biscuits?” Cissa asked, oblivious to his inner turmoil.
“It is because we love you that we wish for your happiness, Rosie. Talk to us, and let us help you,” Tavi added.
Violet and Cissa were for once silent, which was also due to the fact they were now eating, letting Tavi talk and coax information out of him.
“I asked her to marry me, and she said no, all right?” Returning to his chair, he fell into it, suddenly tired again.
“No!” Violet said, pressing a hand to her mouth. “She refused you?”
“Yes.” He sighed. “She said, and I quote, ‘I cannot marry you, Lord Talbot. I have my reasons, but I have made my wishes clear to you.’”
“What possible reason could anyone have for not marrying you?” Cissa demanded, her familial loyalty rising. “How dare she say no to Rosie.”
Violet began to pace. “There is more to this. I’ve thought since I’ve known Tilly that she was hiding something from me.
Something big, but no amount of questioning would get an answer, and then there is what Alex said about Tilly telling him there was much he did not know about her—or words to that effect. ”
Ambrose had forgotten that conversation, but Alex had indeed said something like that.
“What could she be hiding?” Tavi asked.
“I don’t know, but the woman is a vault when it comes to herself. She knows everything about me, and I know very little about her. She won’t discuss her childhood and always changes the subject when I bring it up.”
A tap on the door revealed Bertram’s presence once more. “A Mr. Tweed has called to speak with you, my lord.”
“Who is Mr. Tweed?” Cissa demanded.
“Put him in the parlor. I shall speak with him shortly, after I’ve gotten rid of these three, Bertram,” Ambrose said.
“We are not going anywhere,” Violet said. “Who is Mr. Tweed?”
“A private investigator that I employed to look into cults and anything to do with what is going on below the clubs. I also asked him to have someone watch the entrance to the street. And…” Ambrose’s words fell away when he realized what he was going to say.
“And?”
“And nothing,” he snapped, regaining his feet. “Now leave so I can dress.”
“We are not leaving. And what?” Violet demanded.
“I don’t have to tell you,” he said, sounding petulant. Sisters. They made you behave in ways you rarely did when not in their company.
“Tell us, or we will move into your town house,” Cissa said.
The thought had his knees going weak. “Fine. I asked him to look into some other people for me.”
“Who?” Cissa asked.
“You have crumbs around your mouth,” Ambrose told her.
“Who?” she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Mother taught you better than that, surely?”
“Ambrose. Who are you investigating?”
“Howard, all right? His eyes are too close together,” Ambrose muttered.
“Mr. Howard, who is enamored with Tilly?” Violet asked. “How interesting.”
“How many other Mr. Howards do you know?” he snapped back.
Violet and Cissa smiled then, and Tavi sipped her tea calmly.
“Get out!”
They did, but only, he knew, to stand outside his door while he dressed. When had his life become so complicated? A few years ago, his most pressing concern was where he was eating his midday meal. And you were bored silly.
First the Pavlov fortune, and the Nightingale family turning his life on its head, and now Tilly. The truth was, the minute he’d met her, he’d known she was trouble for him, but he’d tried to deny that. When he did finally acknowledge how he felt, she’d not reciprocated.
He washed and dressed with the help of Bertram, who had slipped into the room, looking harassed. No doubt his sisters had questioned him.
Staring at his image in the mirror, he saw the man he always was when he left the house, with one subtle difference that only he could see: His heart was hurting.
His mind went back to two days ago, when he’d kissed Tilly. She had responded, he’d felt it, and then she’d walked away from him. Could there be more to her decision? Was Violet right? Did Tilly have secrets that made her refuse his proposal?
Stepping from the room, he didn’t see his sisters, but he heard them as he neared the stairs. He stepped off the last step to find them discussing his interior furnishings.
“I think this entranceway needs another painting. Something bright. It’s dreary,” Cissa said.
“And perhaps some more pillows on the sofas,” Tavi added.
“I think some color on the walls could help,” Violet said.
“Cease, brats,” Ambrose said. “I like my town house exactly as it is.”
“Oh, now that’s better,” Cissa said. “Less moping and lovelorn, and more lordish,” she said, studying him.
“I don’t suppose you’d all leave and let me speak with Mr. Tweed alone?”
“Absolutely not. If it involves my friend, then I want to hear what he has to say,” Violet said.
Tavi and Cissa nodded.
“Fine, but you will keep your large mouths shut and let me do the talking.”
“Of course,” Cissa said far too quickly for him to believe she would.
He entered to find Mr. Tweed standing beside the window, looking at the small garden below. He turned, his eyes going wide as he took in Ambrose’s sisters.
“Good day, Mr. Tweed. These are my sisters.” After the introductions were made, he asked the man what information he had for him.
His sisters sat on the sofa like hens settling in to roost. Twitching skirts, and fiddling with gloves.
To his credit, Mr. Tweed rallied after the initial surprise and said, “In the course of my investigations, I have uncovered something I wished to speak to you about, my lord.”
“Of course, please speak freely in front of my sisters, as I cannot get them to leave.”
Mr. Tweed’s mouth twitched. “I have two sisters, my lord.”
“My condolences,” Ambrose said, which had Cissa hissing at him.
“Four years ago, a young lady by the name of Miss Patricia Sawyer went missing on her way to her aunt’s place here in London.
Her father, who is in the legal profession, looked for her for months, but she was never found.
Absolutely no trace of her. Then Gwen Small went missing.
She was the daughter of a housekeeper for a wealthy London family.
There have been several more instances, including the one you spoke of, Miss Fern Little. ”
“Why do you believe these missing women are tied to what we discussed, Mr. Tweed?” Ambrose shot his sisters a look. Should they be listening to this? There could be frightening details that would give them nightmares. “If you wish to leave—”
Tavi cut him off. “Absolutely not.”
“Continue, Mr. Tweed. If my sisters have nightmares from this conversation, that is on them.”
“Each of the girls simply vanished, never to be seen again, my lord, which happens in a city as vast as London. But then I found the information that Gwen Small’s body was found by a farmer out walking with his dog an hour’s drive from London,” Mr. Tweed said.
“Good Lord, really?” Cissa said.
Mr. Tweed nodded. “But I fear this next part is not fit for your ears, ladies.”
No one moved.
“Carry on, Mr. Tweed,” Ambrose directed him.
“Her body had marks on it, my lord.”
“What kind of marks?” Violet asked.
“Symbols.” Mr. Tweed drew a piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded it. He then held it out, and Ambrose intercepted it before Cissa could grab it.
“The book in that room has the same symbol, Ambrose,” Violet said, crowding him on the right. “And there is also one on the wall beside the stairs.”
“I really need to be allowed to see that room,” Cissa said.
“And the woman had these markings on her body?” Ambrose looked at Mr. Tweed.
“She did, and her death would not have been easy. Torture, my lord. It was obvious according to the farmer, whom I visited yesterday. She had raw marks on her wrists and ankles, and she wore no clothes.”
“Poor woman,” Tavi whispered.
“Indeed. But her family now has closure,” Mr. Tweed said.
Ambrose needed to talk to Gray about this. See if he had any further information on Gwen Small.
“I asked the farmer, Mr. Harris, what the authorities did when he reported what he’d found, and he said that other than taking the body, they’d not questioned him at all.
I then spoke to a colleague I have who works closely with Scotland Yard, and he said he found very little information on the case, or any of the missing women for that matter.
Gray would be interested in that piece of information, too, Ambrose thought. He also wondered if whoever was involved in the women’s deaths were men of power, hence they could ensure no one dug too deep into their actions.
“You have been very helpful. Thank you, Mr. Tweed,” Ambrose said.
“I have more, my lord,” he said. “Regarding that other name you wanted me to look into. I have found something there also...”
Fifteen minutes later, Ambrose and his sisters left the town house with a desperation they had not displayed before Mr. Tweed had revealed what he’d learned about Howard.