Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Once they were seated inside a hired cab, this one a hackney that allowed them to sit on opposite benches and converse face to face, Gideon took a moment to collect his thoughts.
He’d called up Regent Square to the cabbie, and Electra had eyed him with interest, clearly comprehending his intention to visit the establishment.
She didn’t wait long to speak. He could all but see there was something she wanted to confide.
“Why did we hie it out of Miss Mahoney’s so quickly?” she asked.
“The lady was lying to us, Electra, and I doubted we’d learn much more.”
She nodded. “I agree that she was not entirely forthright.”
“And I thought it would behoove us to visit her establishment before whatever goes on there at night commences, and before Miss Mahoney has a chance to warn anyone of our arrival.” The last thing he wanted was to escort Electra into a house of ill repute, though he suspected she’d chastise him for such delicacy and protectiveness.
“Most cunning of you,” Electra said with a half-smile.
He returned a smile of his own. Then he felt silent, pondering what they'd learned from Miss Mahoney. Speaking to the lady had felt like being maneuvered with invisible strings. And he left feeling he’d learned nothing substantive. Electra hadn’t even achieved what she’d come to either.
“I’m sorry we didn’t find your Mrs. Wilson.”
“I learned more than I expected to,” she confessed.
“Oh?” Realization struck him. “Ah, you saw something, didn’t you? When you touched the glass. I wasn’t certain. It was so brief.”
She gave him an almost mischievous look. “I wanted to tell you immediately, of course. I believe Jane Wilson held that cup. I saw a ring on her finger that was the same one she was wearing when she visited me at Cordelia’s.”
“And what was she doing?” Gideon asked.
“Conversing with Miss Mahoney. I sensed a familiarity between them, a fondness. Miss Mahoney was quite discomposed, though I couldn’t determine why. The last thing I saw was her embracing Jane Wilson. It seemed as if she was offering comfort after shouting at her.”
Gideon settled back against the squabs and cast a look out at the buildings shifting past as they rolled toward Regent Square.
He couldn’t see how Mrs. Wilson was in any way connected to Percival Pennington, though he did not believe Miss Mahoney’s claim, or the maid’s, that they were not familiar with the name.
But why lie?
“What is it?” Electra asked quietly, as if she hoped he might confide what was churning through his mind.
“I think perhaps this is a pointless venture.”
“The trip to Miss Mahoney’s club?”
He nodded. “I have a strong impression that the killer is a man, and yet the one man to have ever been overheard threatening Pennington was Gordon Callister, to whom Miss Mahoney gave an alibi. However, we both agree she was not telling the truth, so how much should I trust that alibi?”
“Why do you think it’s a man?”
“The depth of the stab wounds. Real force was applied, and yet the attack was quick. I suspect it would take significant strength to plunge the knife that deeply that many times.”
Electra lifted a hand to her throat, her gloved fingers tracing the shape of the pendant he knew she wore beneath her bodice. “This matter with Demeter Devlin. I wonder if there was jealousy between the brothers.”
“Miss Mahoney denied that there was, but, again, can we believe her claim?”
“I can’t think she would have any desire to shield Mr. Lance Pennington, if he only visited her club twice and formed an attachment with Mrs. Devlin that it seemed Miss Mahoney did not approve of.”
Gideon couldn’t dispute that logic. “You think she was telling the truth about that bit?”
He dug for the diary in his overcoat pocket.
“She wishes to protect someone,” Electra told him in a way that indicated she’d discerned the information through her inexplicable abilities. “Mrs. Devlin for certain, and perhaps Jane Wilson, since she definitely lied about knowing her.”
Gideon no longer doubted Electra’s ability to see what he could not, but even when she’d discovered some bit of information, he often did not know what to do with it or how it might fit into the puzzle of his investigation.
“But…” he said, thoughtfully, “whatever Miss Mahoney is hiding, whoever she is shielding, do you believe it is connected to Mr. Pennington’s murder?”
Electra nibbled at her lower lip, a habit that revealed her hesitation.
“I cannot say. It might simply be a personal matter in the case of each woman that she doesn’t wish to divulge.”
“Did you see anything else?” With your abilities, he did not add, but he knew she would understand.
“Miss Mahoney was upset. Gesticulating. All of this was shouted at the lady with the rings, which indicated that she was Jane Wilson. I suspect it was night, but I can’t say when. At one point, it was as if Miss Mahoney was pleading with her.”
Gideon knew if she had heard anything, she’d confide it, but he was quite curious why the ladies would be arguing.
“They embraced. I think it was an apology,” she said, “and I sensed they're quite close.”
Again, Gideon couldn’t imagine how these facts fit into his case. His fingers tapped the leather-bound diary in his hand. “She was lying about Pennington and Mrs. Devlin.”
Electra fixed her gaze on him. “Was she?”
“She implied that Mr. Pennington had not seen Mrs. Devlin recently, and that she’d transferred her affections to Lance Pennington. That part may well be true, but I believe Percival Pennington continued to see her as well.”
He opened the diary to the previous week, indicating the notations of meetings with a D. D. at Regent Square.
Electra reached out and ran a gloved finger along the ragged edge of a torn page. “Someone ripped pages out.”
“Indeed.” Gideon still needed to determine who and why.
Electra eyed him as she slipped her right glove from her hand, then hovered her fingers over the jagged edges. “May I?”
The temptation was strong, but the call to logic, the desire to assemble these pieces of the case himself, warred with that temptation. Yet saying no to her held no appeal either.
He dipped his chin once, and she immediately laid her fingers against the pages as he held the book out between them.
It struck him once again how strangely intimate it felt to watch her call on her strange gifts and await what might be revealed.
“A young woman, I think,” she said, opening her eyes. “I saw feminine hands. A small pearl ring on her pinkie, and I suspect she is young. Her hands looked youthful. She was frightened. That’s why she tore them out.”
The lady who had given him the diary, Gideon surmised.
Miss Lucy Faraday. He’d need to speak to her again too, as well as Lance Pennington.
Most of all, he wanted to visit Roderick Beecham and determine whether the man had an alibi for the night of Pennington’s murder.
It struck him that Aurora Beecham had attended Pennington’s inquest, but not her father.
As their carriage began to slow, Gideon’s gaze met Electra’s.
“You needn’t admonish me,” she said in a slightly teasing tone. “I shall let you take the lead and say nothing.”
“That’s not what I was thinking,” he admitted. “I was wondering if you were uncomfortable going into such an establishment, and then I reminded myself that you’d likely not appreciate my worry over such a thing.”
She twisted her mouth in a thoughtful moue and then gifted him with a smile. “I’m glad you came to that realization. I know most would assume my sex needs protection from the realities of life.” One of her arched black brows winged up. “I trust that you know me better than that.”
He did know her well, but he feared it would never stop him from wishing to protect her. Thus, he still wanted to know why Percival Pennington had her card in his hand, just as much as he was determined to discover who’d ended the man’s life.
“You have a worried frown on your face,” Electra mused.
“Just thinking about the case.”
Before he could say more, the carriage stopped and he climbed out, then helped Electra to step down onto the pavement.
The house on Regent Square was an elegant red brick building with a gleaming sapphire front door. It was a more fashionable thoroughfare than Charlotte Street, but quieter too.
Gideon looked up at the townhouse’s windows. All of the curtains were drawn. He gave the door three sharp raps, and almost immediately a tall, imposing older woman with graying dark hair opened the door.
She had dark eyes and an imperious attitude in the way she kept her chin up while looking down at them.
“Good afternoon,” Gideon began. “I am Detective Inspector Gideon Pierce.”
The woman looked immediately wary. “What may do for you, Inspector?”
“I have just visited with Miss Mahoney. Would you mind if we come inside?”
The woman looked as if she yearned to refuse him, then she flicked a glance at Electra, and that somehow seemed to steady her.
“Of course, Inspector.”
Once they entered, Gideon gestured to Electra, who seemed to fascinate the housekeeper. “This is Miss Poole, my associate.”
Electra eyed him at the choice of word.
“I recognize your name,” the older woman said quietly, gaze still fixed on Electra. “I’m Mrs. Earnsley, Miss Mahoney’s housekeeper.”
Electra felt the lady’s curiosity about her like a tangible thing in the room with them, and with it, there came a sense that Mrs. Earnsley had lost someone dear to her and wished to speak to them beyond the veil.
She seemed on the verge of saying more when Gideon stepped forward.
“May I ask who else is in residence in the house right now?”
“At this very moment, there is no one. I'm not sure what Miss Mahoney told you, so I'm not sure what I am at liberty to say.”
“I understand this is a meeting place of sorts between ladies and gentlemen.”
Mrs. Earnsley walked further into the townhouse and they followed. She led them to a lavishly furnished drawing room, filled with potted palms, settees, and plush gilded chairs.
“This is the main salon, and there’s another across the hall.”