The Pursuit of Mrs. Pennyworth

by Callie Hutton

  Whichever way they arrived, their lives were better, but certainly not wonderful. Porridge, bread, and the occasional piece of meat or fish made up their daily diet. Rarely did they see fresh fruit and vegetables. Charlotte had worked out a deal with the local dairy to supply the home with milk at a reduced price.

  Most of the children suffered from illnesses directly related to malnutrition. The city of London provided some coinage, and other money came from wealthy benefactors, but most funds had to be cajoled from those more fortunate.

  Charlotte spent a good deal of her time attending various fundraisers, begging on behalf of the children. She would give much more of her own money, but the tidy sum Gabriel had left her was controlled by his solicitor, and although he was happy to pay her dressmaker bills, he chafed at giving money to St Jerome’s.

  A strange way of looking at things, from her viewpoint, and another reason to not trust a man. Gabriel had claimed to love her, but it wasn’t until his death that she’d discovered how little he had trusted her. She could barely make a move without consulting Mr. Daniels, the trustee. Although, as the pompous man had sniffed as he’d pointed out to her, she was fortunate to have the funds, since she and Gabriel had only just married.

  He acted as though she had married Gabriel to do away with him and get his money. There had never been an occasion to explain to Mr. Daniels that she would have much preferred her husband to his money.

  She detested the little man and hated when she found it necessary to deal with him.

  Charlotte spent the next couple of hours attempting to reduce Mary’s fever, and assisting the woman employed to deal with the infants. She loved holding their little bodies, and the ache for one of her own followed her home after each visit.

  “A Mr. Baker called for you, ma’am.” Bridget, the parlor maid greeted her as she entered the house.

  “Oh, I am sorry I missed him. Did he say if he planned to return?”

  “Not sure, ma’am. He spoke with Mrs. Blanchard.”

  Charlotte removed her hat and cloak and handed them to the girl. “Please have Mrs. Blanchard attend me, and ask Cook to send a simple lunch to the drawing room.”

  No fire had been laid in the cool fireplace, but Charlotte made a mental note to tell Mrs. Blanchard to see to having them prepared for winter. It would be nice to be able to start a fire now to warm up the space.

  Perhaps the chill had not come from the air in the room, but from her time at St. Jerome’s. She enjoyed her visits there, but she always left with a heavy heart, knowing what she did was so little compared to their needs. Money. That was what would help the little mites have a better diet, warm clothes, and sturdy shoes.

  “You sent for me, ma’am?” Mrs. Blanchard arrived with all the dignity that was her due. Unused to employing servants before her marriage to Gabriel, it had taken her some time to learn how to deal with them, to not make friends with them, and to observe the stringent servant hierarchy by which they lived.

  “I understand Mr. Baker called today.”

  “Yes, ma’am. When Bridget told him you were away from home, he sent for me.”

  Their conversation was interrupted by Thomas, her combination footman and butler, arriving with her luncheon. She instructed him where to place it and returned her attention to her housekeeper. “What was his intention in sending for you?”

  “He wanted information on the servants. He asked if we had any new staff, in particular, male staff. That was mostly what he wanted.”

  She startled. “Mostly? What else did you discuss?”

  Mrs. Blanchard flushed. “He asked some questions about you, ma’am. How long you were married, when Mr. Pennyworth died, that sort of thing.”

  “Despite employing him to help with the unwanted packages situation, Mr. Baker has no need to pry into my life.” She cringed at the brusqueness of her words.

  The poor woman’s face flushed even deeper. “Yes, ma’am. However, I told him no more than what is publicly known.”

  Charlotte felt sorry for snapping at the woman, and the tension left her body. It might have been unwise to hire a private investigator—always in the back of her mind were the pending charges against her, but would he be so diligent in his duties as to uncover that?

  Not for the first time, she considered whether there was a connection between her dilemma and Lord Barton. Then, she dismissed the idea. It had been so long, and her name had changed. He would have to be quite clever—which he was not—to find her after all this time. Of course, he could have hired someone, but she doubted if his desire for her was that strong. Most likely, he’d already turned his unwanted attention to another unfortunate employee.

  “It is all right, Mrs. Blanchard. I will speak with Mr. Baker and impress upon him that he is not to question anyone in my household without me present.” She turned toward the lovely array of food Cook had sent. “You may return to your duties.”

  The housekeeper turned on her heel and left the room, quietly closing the door.

  Charlotte poured her tea, and while she ate the lovely finger sandwiches and fresh fruit, her mind wandered to Thursday’s assembly. With Mr. Baker again attending as her escort, it would soon become a matter of speculation as to exactly what their relationship was.

  She quelled the twinge of excitement in her lower parts at the thought of being in his strong arms as they danced. Quickly, she chastised herself. She needed to put those ideas aside. She was finished with the male gender. They could not be trusted, and since she had the means to support herself, there was no need to seek another husband.

  …

  M dangled the beautiful diamond and ruby bracelet, the light catching the jewels, causing an array of rainbow colored specks to dance on the wall. Beloved Anne would be surprised and thrilled to receive it. She loved jewelry, the more expensive and flashy, the better.

  The humming stopped at the thought that Anne still needed punishment. How dare she bring that man with her to the poetry reading? The plan had been to sit alongside her, and enjoy her lovely company, discussing the poems, and absorbing her familiar scent. Instead, he had taken up the space next to her, with Mrs. Davis on the other side, so there’d been no room. Anne should have known better, since she knew flirting was against the rules. Rules made for her own benefit, to keep her from making mistakes that required punishment.

  And this man seemed so crass! Large and bulky, and far too much at ease with Anne. He had not appeared to be a gentleman, and when they’d been introduced, it had taken all the control mustered not to spit in his arrogant face.

  Leaving the lovely bracelet on her doorstep, along with a small, but potent reminder that she needed to behave herself, had become necessary. Beloved Anne should already know to whom she belonged. How many times had there been occasions to impress that very idea upon her? Although hating to resort to such harsh tactics, truth be known, the image of Anne naked, on her knees, begging for forgiveness, was incredibly exciting, the memory causing a stirring down below.

  If that horrible man accompanied her once again, even stronger punishments might be called for. A smile burst forth. Yes, more punishments. Then, a faint sigh quickly replaced the smile. It was so hard fighting the sadness. So very hard when the one you loved so desperately didn’t remember all you had shared.

  Chapter Four

  According to the reports from the man Elliot had paid to watch Mrs. Pennyworth’s front steps, no packages had been left after the two of them had attended the poetry reading. Tonight, he would accompany her to the assembly where, hopefully, he would meet many more people. The atmosphere would be much more conducive to watching men, and how they interacted with his client.

  So far, nothing led him to the conclusion that Mrs. Pennyworth was in any sort of physical danger. Aside from the dead bird, there had been nothing else sinister. The man harassing her could merely be someone too shy to approach her on a normal, social basis. Although, leaving a dead bird hardly seemed conducive to romance.

&nb
sp; He straightened his tie as he sounded the knocker on her front door. Bubbly and friendly Bridget greeted him. “Good evening, Mr. Baker. The mistress has requested we put you in the library, where you may avail yourself of some brandy while you wait.”

  “Good evening to you, as well.” He removed his hat and followed the young girl down the corridor. The library led him to believe someone thoroughly enjoyed reading. The floor-to-ceiling shelves were almost 90 percent full. A quick perusal of the books showed them to be placed according to category, and then alphabetically by author.

  He strolled to the sideboard and poured about two fingers of brandy, then, taking light sips, he wandered the room, pulling out a book, flipping through the pages. He turned at the sound of the door opening and inhaled sharply through his teeth.

  Yes, this assignment would be the death of him. His client looked like a goddess in a deep-blue silk gown that clung to her upper form, creamy white skin visible above the lace neckline. Her hair was piled up in such a way that teasing curls escaped, resting against her smooth cheeks.

  “Good evening, Mrs. Pennyworth.” He managed to get the words out, despite the sudden dryness in his mouth. “You look enchanting.” Enchanting was not the proper word, but he would find himself justifiably slapped in the face if he used the word that was actually on his mind.

  “Thank you.” She seemed pleased, her smile gentle, her eyes sparkling, then she stiffened as if remembering something unpleasant. Raising her chin she said, “I am ready to depart.”

  “Of course.” He crossed the room and followed her to the doorway where she accepted her cloak from a man Elliot had not seen before. She was out the door before he could offer his arm and attempted to maneuver the steps herself, until it became apparent her gown was not going to permit it.

  Trying not to smirk, unaware of what game she was playing, he extended his arm. “May I be of assistance?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  Once they settled in the carriage and he knocked on the ceiling to alert the coachman to proceed, he rested his foot on his bent knee and regarded her. “How many generally attend this event?”

  Mrs. Pennyworth grabbed the strap hanging from the wall next to her as the carriage hit a nasty bump in the road. “Having been in mourning for a year, it has been some time since I attended, but if memory serves, I would say about a hundred people.”

  “This should give me a good opportunity to observe the gentlemen attending. Please try to introduce me to as many as possible. I still believe the timing of the package arrivals is connected to your social life.”

  “Yet nothing was left the morning after the poetry reading.” Her voice was muted in the dark light. With the fog swirling around the outside of the carriage, they seemed to be cocooned in their own world. Safe and protected.

  “Perhaps your tormentor had not attended.”

  “True.” She glanced away from him, then back again. “There is a matter I wish to discuss with you.”

  He nodded for her to continue.

  “Mrs. Blanchard informed me that you stopped by the other day while I was away from home.”

  Since that was a statement and not a question, he merely continued to study her, no words requiring a rejoinder.

  “In the future, I would prefer to be present when you question my servants.” Two red dots appeared on her lovely cheeks, and her small chin rose as she waited for his reply.

  “Of course. I had not visited your home with the intention of questioning anybody, but I do need to know about your household, new servants, etc.”

  “I agree. However, in the future, please direct your questions to me, and if you need to speak with one of my staff, I wish to be there.”

  “Surely, it is not your intention to hire me for a job and then proceed to tell me how to conduct it?”

  “No, I just feel that it is my prerogative to be at hand when you speak with my staff.” Her face flushed a delightful pink, and she refused to look him in the eye.

  Bells went off in his head. What the devil is she hiding? Of course, she had the right to insist on being present when he questioned her staff, but something about her attitude put him on alert. He tried to tell himself it was because he was generally careful about new clients, but his more cynical side told him she was hiding something.

  Like most women.

  He did not want to get caught up in another debacle, and open himself up to becoming a fool. His lighthearted mood upon leaving the house vanished with their conversation. Then, he realized there was no reason to be disturbed.

  What if she was hiding something? She had hired him to learn who was leaving packages at her door, and make them stop. That was all he intended to do. He had no reason to further entangle himself with Mrs. Pennyworth, and he was well advised to remember that.

  The light from the assembly hall rose before them in the fog, like a welcome beacon guiding a ship to shore. The carriage rolled to a stop, and the door opened. Elliot stepped out first, then turned to assist Mrs. Pennyworth. She gave him a slight smile, as if to set a more pleasant mood.

  The room was already full when they entered. Women in colorful gowns gave the space the look of wildflowers in a summertime field. A lively melody played from a small orchestra tucked into the northwest corner, with couples taking advantage of the music as they dipped and twirled around the floor.

  After leaving their outerwear with a footman at the door, Mrs. Pennyworth smoothed her dress and took his arm as they entered the dance.

  They both received small cards on which to enter names of dance partners. It didn’t surprise him that they barely took a few steps when Mrs. Pennyworth was swamped with hopeful partners. While she smiled and nodded, and wrote down names, he watched each gentleman—how close he stood to her, how he regarded her, and if he moved away to allow another gentleman to step forward.

  Once her admirers had moved on to other women, he turned to her. “I hope you saved a dance for me.”

  If she’d been as surprised by his request as he was, she didn’t show it. Why the devil do I want to dance with her? He was here to do the work for which he’d been hired: observe and take mental notes.

  She held out her wrist where the dance card dangled from a small ribbon. “There are only two dances left.” He glanced at it. A waltz and a cotillion. He wrote in his name.

  Her eyebrows rose. “You filled in the waltz.”

  “Did I? I hadn’t noticed.” Of course he’d noticed and told himself it was a better idea to seize a waltz so they could speak without being overheard. Compare notes, and all that. He pushed aside the annoying voice reminding him they would have the carriage ride home to do just that. It is better to coordinate while they are still at the assembly, so I can instruct her, he told the annoying voice.

  Just then a gentleman approached, his attention riveted on Mrs. Pennyworth. With the music starting up again, Elliot assumed he was her partner for the upcoming dance. He bent his head and murmured into her ear, dismissing the fragrance wafting from her. “Don’t forget to introduce me to every gentleman you encounter. Otherwise, I might be forced to attend one of my clubs to meet them outside of these events.”

  “You belong to clubs?”

  “Yes, although I seldom grace them with my presence. Not such lofty clubs as White’s and Boodles, but the ones I’m sure some of these gentlemen might frequent.”

  “Mrs. Pennyworth, I believe this is my dance.” Her partner was tall and lanky, with a mustache and a slight scar running from the edge of his mouth to his jawline. Despite the scar, the man emanated cheerfulness and sincerity, but one could seldom assess what was in another’s heart by mere presentation.

  Mrs. Pennyworth took Elliot’s hand and drew him forward. “Mr. Talbot, I am sure you remember Mr. Elliot Baker?” She glanced at Elliot. “Mr. Talbot was a dear friend of Mr. Pennyworth.”

  The man nodded in Elliot’s direction. “My pleasure.” He glanced toward Mrs. Pennyworth. “And a dear friend of yours, as well, I hop
e.”

  Mrs. Pennyworth blushed, and Elliot regarded Mr. Talbot a bit closer as the man extended his arm to Charlotte. Elliot watched them walk away, and join the queue to begin the country dance. Deciding it would look suspicious if he spent the entire evening watching Mrs. Pennyworth, and her various dance partners, he approached the few women he had met at the poetry reading, to request dances.

  He had filled a couple of spots when he approached Miss Garvey, who had attended the reading with Mr. Talbot. “May I request the honor of a dance, Miss Garvey?”

  She studied him for a moment, her features tight. “I am sorry, Mr. Baker, but my dance card is full. If you will excuse me.” She turned abruptly and walked off.

  Elliot shook his head at her rudeness, then shrugged and continued on his way. There were plenty of other women he could request dances from in order to observe Mrs. Pennyworth.

  Once he had a respectable number of names written on the card, and tucked away into his jacket pocket, he spotted two more men from the poetry reading, sipping from glasses, and having what appeared to be a lively conversation. Grabbing a drink of a suspicious nature from the refreshment table, he joined them.

  …

  An hour later, Charlotte released Mr. Glenmoor’s arm and joined the other ladies in the line of dancers. She’d forgotten how much she enjoyed the interaction with other people, while she’d been in mourning.

  Hers was not a world occupied with many lords and ladies, but honest, hard-working people: merchants, solicitors, doctors. Some had inherited their wealth, but due to how it had been handed down, would not be received in the homes of the upper crust.

  When she considered her beginnings—in service for years—she counted herself fortunate to be received by these people. Of course, marrying Gabriel had done a lot for her social position.

  As the music began and she moved with the familiar steps, she noted several new faces in the crowd. She especially took notice of new men, since she doubted those she’d known for a while would suddenly begin behaving in such a bizarre manner as to leave unwanted, and disgusting, things on her front steps.