The Pursuit of Mrs. Pennyworth

by Callie Hutton

  If he surprised her, she did not show it, but merely turned her head slowly to look at him with narrowed eyes. “I have no idea. Perhaps you should ask him.”

  Not only was the woman unlikeable, it was obvious she disliked him.

  Mr. Tilton approached Elliot as he made his way over to Charlotte to escort her inside. “I say, I heard you ask Miss Garvey about spiders.”

  “Yes.”

  “Talbot does have a collection of spiders. Took me to his house one time to show them to me. I’m not a squeamish sort of person—leave that to the ladies—but spiders are a ghastly thing to be interested in, if you ask me.”

  “Yes, I agree. Quite nasty. Thank you for that information.”

  “Appalling looking things, but he was right proud of them.” The man shook his head and walked off as Charlotte approached. Based on the flub with the vicar’s involvement, he didn’t want to get Charlotte’s hopes up again. Also, based on the friendship Mr. Pennyworth had shared with Talbot, and Charlotte’s reluctance to think ill of the man, Elliot decided to keep the information gleaned from Tilton to himself. But he would certainly keep a closer eye on Mr. Talbot.

  The musicale had been quite enjoyable, and Charlotte and Elliot had a lively discussion about the evening as the coach bore them back to her house. He pondered whether moving into her house might make sense. Since her predator had taken to leaving potentially dangerous things, she could certainly use the protection. Besides that, he had a better chance of catching the culprit, if he were there when the packages arrived.

  On the other hand, he would be merely feet from her bedchamber—and her bed. Things had progressed to the point where he thought about Charlotte and having her in his bed more each day.

  He’d had a sufficient number of lovers in his day, but never one who’d captured his attention the way Charlotte had—not even Annabelle. And he hadn’t even gotten close to taking her to bed. Despite her pretty face and generously curved body, she had courage not seen in a great deal of women. Most females he knew would have collapsed and taken to their beds for weeks under the stress she had experienced.

  He admired her, and that was a scary thought.

  He dismissed the carriage once they alighted, as the walk home would give him time to think about all that had happened so far in this case. He took Charlotte’s arm, and they moved up the steps. The sky had cleared from the earlier rain, and amazingly enough, no mist surrounded them, which allowed the area to be fairly well-lit from the half-moon.

  Thomas had the door open before they reached the doorstep, a smile of greeting on his lips. Charlotte stepped inside, and Elliot wished her a good night. He turned to leave and then swung back to ask about their next event when he heard a pop, and something slammed into his arm.

  He wavered for a minute, then his knees buckled, and he grabbed the doorjamb to hold himself up. “What the devil was that?” He turned to Charlotte. Her eyes were like saucers.

  “Oh my God. You’ve been shot.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Charlotte fell to her knees alongside Elliot, whose face dripped sweat. He shook his head, as if he were about to pass out.

  “Thomas, help me get him upstairs to one of the bedchambers, and send for the doctor.”

  Elliot grunted as Thomas lifted him, then they proceeded slowly up the stairs. Charlotte hurried ahead of them, calling for Bridget.

  The girl appeared from Charlotte’s bedchamber, carrying a dressing gown over her arm. “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Find Beatrice as quickly as you can, and prepare the bedchamber across the hall from mine. Mr. Baker has been shot and will need care.”

  Bridget blanched, and her hand flew to her throat. “Oh, my.” She peeked around Charlotte as the two men made it to the top of the stairs.

  “Bridget, quickly, please.”

  Galvanized by her words, Bridget did a quick bob, then raced down the stairs, giving Elliot a quick glance. “Oh, my.”

  “Put him on my bed for now. I will help him out of his jacket.”

  Elliot groaned as Thomas laid him on the bed. “Assist me with his boots, and then have Bones send for the doctor.” Charlotte tugged on one boot, and Thomas took the other. Once they were both off, Thomas left the room.

  “Elliot, you need to sit up so I can remove your jacket.” He was still quite pale, beads of perspiration on his face. He grimaced as he sat up. Charlotte tried to gently remove the jacket, where fortunately, the blood had not dried enough to keep her from having to tug the material over the wound.

  Once the jacket had been removed, she got a better look at the injury. The bullet had entered the fleshy part of his upper arm and had not exited, so it would require digging around in the bullet hole. As she was helping him off with his shirt, Thomas entered the room. “Please have one of the girls fetch a bowl of warm water and some clean cloths.”

  The footman made an abrupt turn and went back out the door, almost colliding with Bridget rushing past him. “Beatrice is almost finished with changing the bed linens. Can I do something for you?”

  “Yes, I asked Thomas to have one of you bring me some warm water and cloths. Mr. Baker’s shirt is stuck to the wound, and I will need to wet it to get his shirt off.” Bridget hurried off as Beatrice came into the room. “The bed is ready, Mrs. Pennyworth.”

  “Thank you, Beatrice.” She looked down at Elliot and grimaced at his pale face. “We should probably move you now before the doctor comes. I’m afraid the bullet is still in your arm, and he will have to remove it. Once he does that, I’m sure he’ll give you something for the pain, so you are better off in the bed you will stay in.”

  Despite his obvious pain, he grinned. “You mean I can’t stay in your bed? How I hate passing up this opportunity.”

  She felt the heat rise to her cheeks at his words. “Certainly not.” She sniffed and tried, unsuccessfully, to put aside the thoughts of Elliot in her bed—her lying right beside him. Based on his slight chuckle, he must have guessed her thoughts.

  To cover her unease, she said, “Can you stand?”

  “Yes. I was shot in the arm. There is nothing wrong with my legs.” He blanched as he sat up, then swung his legs over the side of the bed. He stopped for a minute and took a deep breath, some color returning to his face.

  Charlotte moved to his uninjured side and tucked her arm under his. He started to rise, then landed back on the bed. She wrapped her arm around his body, avoiding his injury. “Let’s try again.”

  Slowly, he stood, and they made their way across the room and through the door. Bridget reached the top of the stairs as they left Charlotte’s bedroom. “Bridget, put the water and cloths on the table next to the bed.”

  The next twenty minutes were taken up with assisting Elliot to the bed, then patting his wound to release the blood-encrusted bullet hole from his shirt. Once that was done, she helped him off with his waistcoat, necktie, and shirt.

  “Did anyone go after the gunman?” Elliot’s words were clipped, telling her he was in quite a bit of pain after all the maneuvering they’d done.

  “No. I never even thought of that. I was concentrating on getting us both inside.”

  A slight knock on the partially opened door drew their attention. Carrying his satchel, Dr. Sanford, followed by Thomas, entered the room.

  The doctor had attended Charlotte since her arrival in London. He was also the man who had advised her of Gabriel’s death. They’d summoned him directly to the spot where the accident had taken place. The doctor had made his determination and then traveled to Charlotte’s home to give her the sad news.

  He’d also looked after her in the subsequent weeks when she’d been so despondent about losing her husband so soon after their marriage.

  A tall, slender man, Dr. Sanford possessed a soulful face and radiated compassion and caring. He kept up with all the newest treatments for various illnesses and the latest discoveries in medicine.

  “What have we here?” His low, melodious voice carried in
to the room.

  “Good evening, Dr. Sanford. This is Mr. Baker, who escorted me to a dinner party this evening. When we arrived home, someone shot him.”

  The doctor’s eyebrows rose. “Indeed? How very strange. Were you able to apprehend the culprit?”

  “No. I’m afraid it all happened so quickly, and I was more concerned with getting Mr. Baker inside to tend to his injury. We never thought of that.”

  “You will want to be sure to notify the Watch.” The doctor shook his head as he opened his medicine bag. “Bad business. London’s becoming a very unsafe place.”

  After the beating Elliot had taken, and now this shooting, the doctor had no idea how unsafe her own little world had become.

  …

  Elliot winced as he rolled onto his side at the request of the doctor. The gunshot wound hurt like the devil. It was total stupidity on his part. He should have been much more careful after the footpad had attacked him.

  He still hadn’t concluded what game the culprit was playing. Thoughts that had plagued him since the beginning of the investigation went round and round in his mind. Why was he leaving these things on the porch? To merely frighten Charlotte? Did these things have some sort of meaning for the man leaving them? Why Charlotte? Had their culprit made overtures to Charlotte that she had rebuked?

  If only he could get her to tell him what it was she was hiding. Once they’d dealt with this bullet, he would have a serious talk with her. Even if she wasn’t hiding anything—which he doubted—there was a reason she was being targeted, and until they got to the bottom of that, catching her tormentor was almost impossible.

  He’d been a private investigator and police officer long enough to know that behind every criminal and every crime there was motivation. Money, greed, power, revenge, jealousy—those were the things that drove someone to put themselves on the wrong side of the law.

  While leaving dead animals and live spiders on a woman’s doorstep did not constitute breaking the law, having him beaten—and shot at—certainly did, as did the near-poisoning of the children at St. Jerome’s.

  “Let’s see if we can get this bullet out of you, Mr. Baker.” The doctor pulled long tweezers from his bag and looked up at Charlotte, hovering over the bed. “I have laudanum with me for his pain after I leave, but we need something now that will work quickly so I can get this nasty business over with. Do you, by chance, have spirits in the house?”

  “Yes, I do. Will brandy work?”

  “Yes. That is perfect.”

  Charlotte turned to Bridget. “Fetch the bottle of brandy from the library.” The girl scurried off as the doctor took more implements out of his bag.

  “You have done an excellent job of cleaning the wound, Mrs. Pennyworth, but I need to swath it with alcohol to disinfect it.” He looked at her puzzled expression, and continued. “That means to clean it further, so I will give Mr. Baker some of the brandy to drink, and then use alcohol from my medical bag to clean the wound.” He unrolled a white cloth and laid it alongside him on the bed. Then he placed various instruments on the cloth. “Ma’am, may I count on your assistance, or shall we call back the footman?”

  Charlotte paled, but she swallowed and raised her chin. “Certainly not, Dr. Sanford. I will assist you in whatever you need me to do.”

  He nodded. “Good. I don’t need any females swooning when I get to the tough part.”

  Bridget returned with the brandy. Charlotte took the items from her and pouring a healthy measure into a glass, held it out to Elliot. He tried to sit up, then groaned and fell back when the pain in his arm shot right to his stomach, threatening to bring up his dinner.

  “Wait.” Charlotte moved alongside the bed, near his good shoulder, then sat. With a minimal amount of pain, he raised himself up on his elbow as she moved the drink to his lips. Having been through a bullet wound before, he knew what to expect once the procedure was underway, so he gulped the contents of the glass.

  Dr. Sanford accepted the cloth from Bridget. He took one look at her, and smiled. “Young lady, I think you would serve your mistress better if you went to the kitchen and prepared some tea.”

  Relief flooded Bridget’s face, and she scurried away. The doctor poured some of the alcohol on a clean cloth, then patted it on the open wound. Elliot bit down, his teeth grinding enough that he feared his jaw would snap. “More brandy,” he gasped to Charlotte.

  She poured another healthy dose in the glass, and he gulped that down. He laid his head down on the pillow and closed his eyes, using a form of meditation he’d learned from a Chinese man who’d lived in the same boarding house with him years ago. That, combined with the brandy he’d drunk, would help him get through the procedure.

  “Mrs. Pennyworth, would you please pour a bit of liquid from the bottle of alcohol into that glass?” She held it out to him, and he dipped his pinchers into the clear liquid. “Are we ready?”

  Elliot nodded and tightened his fists. He took a deep breath as the doctor began his probe. Charlotte’s cool hand took one of his, and she squeezed as he let out a low moan.

  “This won’t be too hard, young man. Just lie as still as you can, and we’ll have this nasty fellow out in a flash. Luckily, it didn’t go too far into your muscle.” He probed some more, and Elliot squeezed Charlotte’s hand so hard he was afraid he’d break one of her delicate fingers.

  The only sound in the room, besides his labored breathing, was the clicking of a small pink and white china clock on the dresser directly across from the bed. He focused on that, using his meditation skills once more, to bring his thoughts and consciousness somewhere pleasant.

  “Mrs. Pennyworth, hand me that tin plate.” The doctor nodded at the small dish he’d placed alongside his instruments.

  Elliot had no intention of releasing her hand, so Charlotte swiveled, and picked up the plate with her other hand, holding it out to the doctor. There was a sucking sound and then a slight ping as the bullet changed homes from his arm to the dish.

  …

  Charlotte rapidly swallowed the bile that rose to the back of her throat as the bullet was extracted from Elliot’s arm. Blood began to ooze from the wound as the doctor grinned at her. “It came right out. Now we just have to clean him up and do a bit of stitching.”

  Oh Lord. Stitching? Surely, she would faint watching a needle go into Elliot’s skin. She looked at him, and he gave her a smile that told her the brandy had begun to do its work. That was no surprise, since with the two glasses he’d downed, half the bottle of brandy was gone. Hopefully, while he was in his cups, he wouldn’t say anything embarrassing in front of the doctor. The look he was giving her was not encouraging in that regard.

  “Madam, hold this pad on his wound to stem the flow of blood while I prepare the needle and thread.” The doctor handed her a wadded-up cloth that she placed against the gaping hole in his arm. He didn’t even wince. Instead he looked up at her and winked.

  Winked!

  Maybe she should call Bridget back in and have her tend to the stitching. Then, she remembered her face when she’d been faced with watching the removal of the bullet.

  “If you will, ma’am, pour a bit more alcohol on this clean pad, and pat the wound with it. Then I will be ready to sew.” The doctor pulled the thread through a large needle and deftly tied the end. She had the urge to cover her eyes with her hand when he began to stitch but managed to watch and not toss up her accounts. She stepped back once the job was finished and wiped the sweat from her forehead with the sleeve of her gown.

  The doctor leaned over and examined his work. “That should hold you, young man.”

  While he gathered up his implements, he shot off instructions. “I am leaving laudanum with you, but don’t give him any until the brandy has worn off. Also, don’t use it for longer than a day or two. I have learned this can become addictive.” One by one, he added items to his bag, making a small pile on the floor of the bloody cloths. “Mr. Baker should rest in bed for a few days. The blood loss h
as weakened him, so he should not fight you on that, at least.”

  He snapped the bag shut and turned to her. “Infection is my biggest concern. I picked out a few pieces of fabric from the wound, and I think we cleaned it up nicely, but if he should run a fever, keep giving him water, and have one of your male servants wipe him down with a cool, wet cloth.”

  They both looked down at Elliot at the same time. He was fast asleep. “Good for him. Sleep is the best curative. Our body heals itself if we just get out of its way.” Charlotte followed him as he strode from the room, shouting more instructions over his shoulder. “See that he gets strong beef broth several times a day. It will help build up his blood.”

  Down the stairs, and then shrugging into his jacket, the doctor continued, “There are fool doctors who will tell you to keep the room closed up, no open windows. I say fresh air is the best thing for a sick room. Not that the air in London is very fresh, but you know what I mean.” He started to step out the door when he turned back. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Pennyworth, I never asked what your relationship to Mr. Baker was, and if it is all right for him to recover here.”

  She saw no condemnation in his eyes, but she didn’t want to cause any talk, either. “Mr. Baker and I are friends. We attend social events together. Since I have the room and staff to help, including a footman, it is no trouble to have him recuperate here.”

  “Good, good. Glad to hear it. No foolish nonsense about female sensibilities.” He pulled up the collar of his coat against the night air. “Be sure to call me if he has a fever that doesn’t go away in a couple of days. Also, I will remind you once again to be careful with the laudanum.” With a brisk nod, he climbed into her carriage, and Bones drove him off into the night, the vehicle disappearing into the mist.

  Charlotte slowly closed the door and thought about all that had happened. She shivered and ran her hands up and down her arms. There was absolutely no doubt in her mind that Elliot’s beating, this evening’s shooting, and the strange, distasteful packages on her doorstep were all connected. Had it reached a point where she should again attempt to involve Scotland Yard? The last she’d heard, it was against the law to shoot at people on their doorsteps.