Chapter 6
Chapter Six
The pale light of dawn filtered through her bedroom curtains just before five, and Electra gave up on sleep.
She rose to wash and dress and head down to the kitchen for a cup of tea.
She’d slept fitfully, plagued with thoughts of Mr. Percival Pennington’s murder and curiosity about why the man had died with her calling card clutched in his hand.
Most of her clients had been women, and she rarely gave out her card to strangers. Most often, they were presented to servants when she called upon a client in their home, so that she could be announced.
“Good morning, Miss Poole.” Jenny, one of the housemaids, greeted her with a smile as she stepped into the cream-tiled kitchen. “Tea or coffee, miss?”
“Tea would be lovely.”
“Shall I bring a tray up?”
“I’ll take my cup up myself. I’m not sure when Lady Redmayne will join me.”
The young woman nodded and assembled a small tray with a single cup of tea, just the way she liked it, and small plate with a few biscuits on it.
“Thank you, Jenny.” As Electra headed for the stairwell, she noticed the morning papers had already been delivered. They were laid out in preparation to be taken to the breakfast room when Cordelia came down.
She walked over and scanned the headlines. One stood out in tall black letters, and Electra clutched the newspaper in her hand.
OUTRAGE IN MOUNT STREET - FATAL STABBING OF RENOWNED BARRISTER
“I’m taking this one up,” she said before folding the newspaper under her arm and rushing up the stairs and into the drawing room.
She sat and opened the paper, reading the very brief account. It mentioned that Percival Pennington was seen in good health in court that day, then found stabbed last evening on Mount Street, near his residence.
Electra sat back and swallowed as memories flooded her mind.
Not the sort that came when she saw the thoughts of others, but her own painful remembrances.
The constable who’d come to their door to inform her that her father had been found—lifeless, beaten, with his pockets emptied—less than a mile from their front door.
His murder was never solved, to Gideon’s great regret.
Had the barrister’s murder been as random as her father’s?
The newspaper mentioned that he’d been found with his watch and personal items intact, making robbery seem unlikely.
When her father was attacked, they had been living in a neighborhood that wasn’t as fine or safe as Mayfair.
But if the barrister’s murder was intentional, why attack a man in public, on the very street where he lived?
She considered seeking Gideon out. He wouldn’t wish for her to interfere, but he could hardly make the claim that the man’s murder had nothing to do with her since her card had been in the man’s hand.
Thankfully, the papers made no mention of that detail.
For a long while, she sipped her tea, savoring its warmth and trying not to sink into memories of her father and those harrowing days after learning of his death.
She focused instead on the mystery of Percival Pennington, a man she was certain she’d never met, and yet, was linked to in some odd way.
What had Gideon discovered so far? And would he share any details with her?
To Electra’s surprise, Cordelia came down a little more than an hour later and joined her in the drawing room.
After Cordelia had her own cup of tea in hand, she confessed, “I struggled to sleep, and Kit was off again early this morning.” She smiled over the rim of her teacup.
The previous evening, Kit had not joined them for dinner. He’d sent a message that a debate in the House would keep him late, but he had arrived a couple of hours later. The three of them had chatted in the drawing room until Electra had gone up to her chamber.
“I'm eager to have him home,” Cordelia said as she traced her finger along the rim of her teacup, “but it frightens me as well.”
“Why does it frighten you?”
“We've lived apart for much of a year. He's come to visit, of course. Sometimes for several days, as you know.” She shot Electra an almost bashful smile, as if recalling those times fondly.
“Is that not how it should be?” Electra had observed that the two of them behave more warmly toward each other of late, though she’d seen them spar with each other too. Still, it had never been odd to her when Kit remained at Russell Square. It was his home.
“Yes, it is, and I want him here. But it won't be the same as before. You remember those early days?”
“I remember you were happy.”
“Quite blissfully.” A warm smile lit up her face, one Electra had noticed she reserved, of late, for Kit.
“You never told me what happened, Cordelia.”
Electra had never pushed for an explanation her friend seemed unwilling to divulge, but she’d sensed emotions from Cordelia. Pain. Guilt. Jealousy.
“It was never that I didn’t trust you.” Cordelia kept her gaze focused on the teacup in her hand, running her fingertip along the cup’s edge repeatedly, pensively.
Then she looked up with one of her polite half-smiles.
“Particularly now. It is in the past, and Kit and I have made our peace with all that kept us apart.” She took a sip of her tea and smiled again.
“I very much want it to remain in the past.”
“I should seek new lodgings.”
Cordelia let out a gasp and frowned. “No, I don't wish for you to.”
“Are you certain? Now that I've begun taking sessions again, my income has increased and will hopefully remain steady.”
Cordelia shook her head, though she refuted none of what Electra said.
“I've been thinking about it, even before you told me that Kit was returning,” Electra admitted.
Cordelia sat her teacup aside and crossed her arms. “I don't want you to go. Is that very selfish of me?”
Electra chuckled. “How could it be selfish? You've opened your home to me for months and months. There's nothing selfish about you, Cordelia.”
“I'm not sure that's entirely true.” When she met Electra’s gaze, there was immense sadness in her eyes, yet the emotion that seemed to hang in the air around her was guilt. As Electra focused on it, the feeling grew. Almost as if it was a presence in the room with them.
Electra wanted to ask where the guilt came from, but Cordelia had just said she didn’t wish to speak of the past. And Electra’s sense of Cordelia’s emotions was a result of her abilities, not her friend’s willingness to confess her feelings.
“Enough about me.” Cordelia drew in a breath, smoothed her skirts, and tipped her head as she assessed Electra. “Tell me why you are up so early?”
“I couldn't sleep either.”
“Why couldn't you sleep?”
Electra hesitated. “Gideon’s visit last evening.”
“Oh, yes.” Cordelia brightened, and her eyes widened with a mischievous glint. “A new case, you said. Are you curious about it, or was it thoughts of the inspector that kept you awake?”
Electra had not confided any details about the case to Cordelia, since her friend had been in such high spirts and eager to tell her about her plans for Kit’s permanent return to Russell Square. And then Kit himself had regaled them both with details of the parliamentary debate.
“I know you're anticipating that some grand courtship will commence between us one of these days, Cordelia, but that's never going to happen.” Electra’s throat tightened a bit at that confession.
Not because she had ever truly imagined romance would bloom between them.
She had not allowed herself to. But the thought of him marrying, of leaving London, of making a life that she would have no part of—that did weigh on her mind at the least expected times.
“Electra?” Cordelia spoke her name softly, drawing her out of her woolgathering.
“As I said last night, he came about a case he is working on.”
“Does he want your assistance?”
“No, not at all. Yet it is a very odd situation, and I could not stop ruminating last night. That is what kept me from sleep.”
Cordelia stirred her tea with a tiny, gilded spoon, staring at the liquid. “Is it anything you can tell me, or is it a matter he has asked you not to speak about?”
“It’s not a secret. Indeed, a few details are already in the morning paper.” Electra took a breath, suddenly eager to tell Cordelia what she hadn’t the previous night. “A gentleman was murdered last evening in Mayfair.”
Cordelia pressed a hand to her chest. “Good heavens. Two murders in Mayfair in the span of two years. And your Inspector Pierce is investigating both. I imagine he's one of the best detectives that Vine Street has.”
Electra felt a swell of pride at that characterization, but there was a more practical reason Gideon would investigate the crimes.
“Since they both occurred in Mayfair, they would fall under Gideon's purview. He went to the scene last night and when he visited last evening, it was to cancel our dinner engagement.”
“Hopefully merely postponed.”
“Indeed.” Electra smoothed a hand along her skirt. “There’s more though. The man who was murdered had my calling card clutched in his palm.”
“Heavens. Do you know him? Is he someone who’s come to you for a session?”
“I’ve never heard his name before, and I rarely have reason to give out cards unless I am calling on someone who has invited me.” There had been gentlemen she’d met in the past year since she’d begun using her psychic abilities in earnest, but she offered her card selectively.
Cordelia looked suddenly anxious. “I do give your cards out on occasion.”
“Do you?” Electra had not been aware.
“I know you have only begun taking sittings again recently, but you are gifted. Why shouldn’t more people have the advantage of your insights?”
Electra understood that Cordelia meant to be supportive, but she couldn’t help but wonder if one of the cards Cordelia had given out might be the one the dead man had held clasped in his hand.
“When was the last time you gave out my card?”
Cordelia bit her lip. “Perhaps a fortnight ago. No longer. The Allinghams’ ball, I think. To a Lady Cardew.”
“Have you given them to any gentlemen that you recall?”