“What happened?”
He lowered his voice, as if to prevent her from hearing him. However, this was something he had to do. “I was courting a woman who, unfortunately, blinded me to her real character.” He continued rubbing Charlotte’s temples but felt her stiffen at his words.
Interesting, that.
“I assume she was beautiful, charming, and in possession of a lovely form?” Despite the humor in her tone, the lightness she most likely attempted to convey fell flat.
“Yes, all those things.” He paused for a moment, once again picturing Annabelle, the beauty and charm surrounding such evil inside. “I had been assigned to meet a ship at the London docks and travel with the courier to the room in the Tower of London where the Crown Jewels were housed. An extremely valuable piece was being sent there.”
Charlotte waited patiently as he again paused. “Annabelle wanted to attend the theater that night. When I explained to her I was unavailable to escort her, she became upset. I realize now what a fine actress she was.”
“Women sometimes are,” Charlotte said.
He grunted. “When I continued to refuse, she threatened to attend with another gentleman who I knew was trying to secure her favor. I foolishly pushed the assignment off onto a constable, who was unable to handle the attempted robbery of the jewel. He was shot in the back during the scuffle, paralyzing him from the waist down.”
Charlotte turned to him, his hands dropping to her shoulders. “Oh, Elliot, how horrible. I can’t imagine how you felt.”
“Had I been thinking rationally, I would not have chosen the man, but he was the first constable available. Unfortunately, the best choice would have been for me to ignore Annabelle’s threats and do my duty.” Without conscious thought, he pulled Charlotte to his chest, and she wrapped her arms around him.
“What happened with Annabelle? Was she remorseful after what happened?”
He winced at having to tell her the end of the story. “No. No remorse. It turned out she was part of the group of men who had tried to rob the jewel.”
Charlotte sucked in a deep breath, and he tightened his hold on her. Keeping her from looking into his eyes at his disgrace? “She had been allowing my attentions while one of her partners in crime had a contact at Scotland Yard who made sure I was given the assignment.”
“Because they knew she would talk you out of it.”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
They remained silent for a minute, Charlotte’s head resting on his chest. “Were Annabelle and her partners arrested?”
“Yes. I was the one to put the handcuffs on her and escort her to jail.”
Charlotte drew back and studied him. “You are not the first man to be fooled by a woman. And, most likely, not the last.”
He looked directly into her eyes. “Which is why I will never allow that to happen to me again.”
Something flickered in her eyes, but before he could consider it, she asked, “Were you fired?”
“No. The Chief Inspector tried to convince me it was a mistake in judgment, but I insisted on resigning. I no longer felt as though I had the right to call myself Inspector after that.”
“Oh, Elliot, you are so hard on yourself. The Chief Inspector was correct. It was a mistake in judgment, and horrible that the man was injured, but there’s no guarantee it would have turned out any differently if you were there instead of the constable.”
“Except I would have been the one with the injury, and not the constable.”
“I hate to sound callous, but isn’t that part of the job? I’m sure the constable knew being injured was not unheard of among policemen.”
He shook his head. “It was still my fault he was injured.”
“No, I disagree. It was the robber’s fault the constable was injured.”
“Things are either right or wrong. I was wrong.”
It was hard to believe Charlotte wasn’t appalled at what he’d just told her. He had confessed to a dereliction of duty, and she only felt sympathy for him, not the injured constable. Is it possible I’ve been too hard on myself?
He brushed back the hair that had fallen on her forehead. Something seemed to shift between them with his confession. She seemed comfortable in his arms, warm, and gently scented. This close, he could see the flecks of gold in her hazel eyes. Before he could change his mind, he dipped his head and brushed his lips over hers.
She sucked in a sharp breath but didn’t recoil. He pulled her closer and covered her mouth with his. Her light gasp allowed him to sweep his tongue past her teeth to taste the fragrance of her mouth. After a slight hesitation, she joined him, their tongues tangling, probing, savoring.
He took the kiss deeper, gripping her head and angling it for better access. She moved her hands up to link behind his neck, her fingers playing with the hair hanging over his collar. He’d just confessed to allowing a woman to cloud his judgment to another’s peril, and what was he doing, but the same thing. He had to stop this madness.
Pulling back with the intent of gathering his senses, his eyes lighted on the silky, white skin where her neck and shoulder joined. He leaned in and feathered kisses along the tempting spot, then nibbled and soothed her silky flesh.
The carriage came to a slow roll, and then a stop. He pulled back, his breathing heavy. Charlotte’s face was flushed, and she covered her mouth with her fingers. “That should not have happened.”
Despite his dry mouth and pounding heart, he said, “Yes. I agree, and I apologize.” Taking a deep breath, he stepped out of the carriage, grateful for his great coat which covered the part of his body he did not want her to see. He turned and reached out. Uneasiness in her eyes, she accepted his hand and allowed him to help her down, and up the steps to her front door.
Attempting to return things to normal, he stopped her as the front door opened. “When is your next social event?”
She hesitated, and he could only think she was as rattled by their kiss as he was. “I’m not sure if you would consider it a social event, but many of my friends are at church Sunday mornings. This week there is a luncheon following the service. We all contribute a dish.”
“What time shall I stop by to escort you?”
“The service begins at ten, so nine-thirty would give us enough time to arrive and place my food offering in the hall.”
“Nine-thirty on Sunday, it is.” He bowed and hurried down the steps, hoping he could outrun the hounds of hell nipping at his heels.
Chapter Nine
“I cannot remember the last time I attended church.”
Charlotte smiled at Elliot’s confession as he glanced up at the bell tower and winced. The big, brave private investigator looked almost frightened.
“Hopefully, the roof will not cave in when you step through the door.” She handed him the bowl of pea salad before she exited the carriage and linked her arm with his. “Although from what I understand, there was an occasion when that did happen. The story goes that the man had spent his life in debauchery and sin, and was attending church for the first time in years.” She sighed and shook her head. “The floor collapsed. They say the devil came up from Hades and welcomed him with open arms.”
Elliot smirked, then leaned in close to her ear. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll watch the ceiling, if you watch the floor.”
They followed the steady stream of congregants into the hall adjoining the church to drop off her food contribution.
“Good morning, Mrs. Pennyworth, Mr. Baker.” Miss Garvey stood at the entrance to the hall with Mr. Conrad and Mr. Talbot.
“Good morning to you, as well, Miss Garvey, Mr. Conrad, Mr. Talbot.”
Mr. Talbot immediately stepped forward. “Mr. Baker, if you would be so kind as to take Mrs. Pennyworth’s offering to the table, I will be happy to escort her to church.”
A stunned silence fell at the man’s machinations, but with a smirk, Elliot stepped into the building. Mr. Talbot moved forward and offered his arm.
“Tha
nk you very much, Mr. Talbot, but I will wait for Mr. Baker. But, please, do go on ahead to church. I don’t wish to delay you.” She offered a polite smile, but Mr. Talbot’s possessive attitude was beginning to concern her.
He bowed. “As you wish.” He turned to Miss Garvey and offered his arm. The three of them followed the pebbled path from the hall to the church.
Within minutes, Elliot joined her. “Talbot seems to think he has some sort of a claim on you.”
“Yes, I know, and it’s quite trying. I know what you’re thinking, but I cannot honestly see Mr. Talbot leaving decapitated animals on my front steps.”
Their conversation ended as they entered the church. This was to be the first service conducted by the new vicar, Mr. John Spencer. The parishioners had been waiting for weeks since the last one had passed away. They’d had several visiting curates conduct services, but a community as large as St. Michael’s needed a full-time vicar.
Mr. Spencer had been living in the cottage connected to the church for two weeks but had insisted he was not yet ready to guide the flock. Rumors had spread of him lecturing the women who came to welcome him on what he’d considered improper behavior. The church members so far had not been impressed, and the service this morning could change minds, or solidify prior opinions.
As he took the pulpit, all eyes were on the new man. He was short, with a full beard and mustache. While not exactly obese, the threads of his jacket strained to keep the vicar clothed. He had a sharp, pointed chin—perhaps he hoped the beard would hide it—and dark eyes very close together, with round spectacles perched on his nose.
“The devil waits in glee to welcome all those who live in debauchery and sin.” The vicar slammed his fist on the pulpit, and a bit of spittle escaped from between his lips.
The congregation stiffened as a group and shifted uncomfortably. Much to Charlotte’s dismay, the rest of Mr. Spencer’s sermon was all fire and brimstone. He even had the audacity to criticize, from the pulpit, a young woman’s attire. It was a shame because St. Michael’s had always been a lively, happy place to worship, very welcoming. If this was the sort of service to expect, Charlotte would be forced to find another church.
Finally, the painful service ended, and they all trooped to the church hall. Mr. Spencer made a point of visiting each table, sitting for a while. When he settled next to Elliot, Charlotte braced for criticism. She was not disappointed.
“Mrs. Pennyworth, how lovely to finally meet you. I have heard so much about you from the ladies who have visited.”
“It is nice to meet you as well, Vicar. Welcome to St. Michael’s.”
“Thank you.” He leaned in, his breath strong, and patted her hand, his palm damp with sweat. Charlotte swallowed the bile that rose from the back of her throat. When he continued to hold onto her hand, she eased it out from under his as he spoke. “I wanted to visit with you at length, my dear, but I believe another time would be more suitable. Perhaps you may call at the vicarage one afternoon?”
“Perhaps.” Not a chance.
“I see you decided to come out of mourning, although your husband has recently passed to his final reward.”
The man seemed to know a bit too much about her. She offered a tight smile. “A year.”
He shook his head and tsked, his eyes boring into hers. “You young woman are so very anxious to cast off your widow weeds and move onto the next man.” He turned to Elliot. “And are you Mrs. Pennyworth’s young man?”
Oh, good grief. She nudged Elliot with her foot, hoping he would take the hint and merely ignore the man. The look on his face was not encouraging. “I am sure you did not mean to ask such a personal question, Mr. Spencer, so I will forgive your lack of manners.” He turned to Charlotte. “Are you ready to leave?”
She scrambled for her belongings and followed him out of the building, noticing that most of her friends had already left. If it had been Mr. Spencer’s intention to close down the church she had been married in and had enjoyed for the past year, he was certainly on the right path.
She felt as though her head would burst as they settled into the carriage. “The nerve of that man! I can’t believe he has been approved by the bishop for this post. I shall write to him this very afternoon and demand he remove him. He is vile, self-righteous, and opinionated. I have never encountered such a rude man of the cloth in my life!”
“I agree, but more than that, I am interested in the fact that he arrived only a couple of weeks ago. He seemed to have a great deal of information about you, yet this is the first time you met him, correct?”
“Yes, and believe me, once is enough.” She took a deep breath in an effort to control herself. Suddenly, she realized Elliot was staring out the window, deep in thought. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking I could easily see Mr. Spencer placing a decapitated rodent on your doorstep.”
Air whooshed from her lungs as she sat back. “I am afraid I agree, but what would be the purpose since he doesn’t know me? And where would a vicar get the kind of money to buy an expensive bracelet?”
Elliot nodded. “That’s a good point about the bracelet, but for motivation, his sermons and interaction with you reveal a lot about his character, and his ideas about what a woman should, and should not, do.” He leaned back against the squab and rested his foot on his bent knee. “Let’s just say Mr. Spencer is worth investigating. Since you are writing to the bishop, ask about Spencer’s credentials. I can’t imagine a bishop approving someone such as he for this post. Or any other, for that matter.”
The rest of the trip continued with them both lost in thought. Charlotte gathered her things when the carriage came to a stop. “Do you wish to come in for tea? I feel as though I could use a bit.”
“Yes, tea would be nice.”
As soon as they stepped on the first stair, Charlotte’s heart gave a thump. “Is that something by the front door?”
Elliot narrowed his eyes. “Stay here.” He took the steps two at a time until he reached the top. He picked up what looked like flowers and a piece of paper. “You can come up now.”
Slowly, Charlotte made her way to the top. “What is it this time?”
“Very innocuous. Let’s go inside.” Just then the door opened, and Bridget stepped back. “Good afternoon, Mr. Baker, ma’am.”
Elliot gave her a smile. “Did you see or hear anything this morning by the front door?”
The girl shook her head, her red curls dancing alongside her head where they’d come loose from her lace cap. “No, sir. But I haven’t been by the door except when I heard the carriage pull up just now.”
He stepped aside to let Charlotte enter and followed her down the corridor to the drawing room. She got as far as the center of the room, and turned. “What is it?”
Elliot handed her a bouquet of flowers. Roses. Red and perfumed. Nothing at all the matter with them. They were wrapped in paper, tied with a ribbon. She looked up at him, her brows furrowed. “Did I see you pick up a piece of paper?”
He held out a sheet of very expensive vellum. Charlotte opened it.
From your admirer
She sank into one of the chairs and laid the flowers and note on the table alongside her. “What do you make of this?”
…
Elliot rested his hands on his hips. “I don’t know. Either our mystery man is extremely clever, or this is not from him, but someone who is actually an admirer.” Truth be told, this rattled him more than the other packages. Could Charlotte have an actual, shy admirer who would now complicate the investigation, or was their man so clever he was attempting to thwart their course of inquiry with the flowers?
Charlotte rubbed her arms and cast a furtive glance at the flowers. “I don’t want them.”
Without comment, Elliot moved to the bell pull and summoned a maid. Nothing was said until Bridget appeared. He retrieved the flowers and brought them to her. “Please dispose of these, and bring tea.”
She bobbed a curtsy, castin
g an uneasy glance at Charlotte. “Yes, sir.”
“I think after the morning you’ve had, a bit of sherry before tea would be a good idea.”
“I believe you are right.”
He headed to the library, then poured a brandy for himself and a healthy dose of sherry for Charlotte. When he returned and handed her the small glass, she took it from him with shaky hands.
He settled across from her, swirling the brown liquid before taking a sip. “If this is an actual admirer, it is certainly poor timing. If, on the other hand, the flowers and note came from our villain, he has made a mistake.”
Charlotte placed the glass on the table in front of her. “What is that?”
He gestured toward the glass of sherry. “Drink that.” Once she had taken a sip, he continued, “We have his handwriting. Up until now there has been no correspondence, except for the card that was left with the box of biscuits.” He picked up the note once more and studied it. “I have a handwriting expert I work with on occasion. He should be able to tell us something about the man from these words. Also, if I can get several people we are looking at to write a few words, I can compare it to this note.”
It bothered him how much Charlotte had changed from when she’d first appeared at his office. Now, there seemed to be a perennial crease in her forehead, and the dark circles under her eyes spoke of sleepless nights. Even though it had only been a few weeks, her clothes seemed looser, and her hands never stilled. Like now, as she picked at the folds of her dress.
Thinking of the schedule of her social engagements she’d given him, he asked, “Are you still expecting callers this Tuesday afternoon for your monthly book discussion?”
Before she could answer, the door opened and Thomas entered, pushing a tray with tea, small sandwiches, and pastries. He rolled it to Charlotte who thanked him with her ever-present gracious smile. Which disappeared as soon as the man turned to leave.
“Thomas, did you see anyone lurking about the house this morning while Mrs. Pennyworth was away from home?”
The Pursuit of Mrs. Pennyworth Page 9
