“Charlotte, love, you are rambling.”
She closed her eyes for a moment. “Pardon, you are correct. Forgive me. When I opened the door, I noticed something on the step. Needless to say, since Mr. Talbot is deceased, it never occurred to me that it was another one of those dreadful leavings.”
Elliot gestured to her glass. “Drink.” He placed his hand at the back of her neck and rubbed.
She took another sip and clutched the glass firmly between her two hands. “I bent down, and noticed it was one of my white satin gloves.” She chewed her lower lip and closed her eyes. “I picked it up. It seemed heavy to be only a glove. I turned it over…” Tears leaked from her eyes, and she shook her head. “I can’t say it.”
“Where is it now?”
She shook her head and opened her eyes. “I have no idea. I’m afraid I passed out, and when I came to, I was lying upstairs on the settee. I’m assuming Thomas did something with it.”
Elliot pulled her close and kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll speak with Thomas.”
He found the footman right outside the door. “Thomas, where is the glove Mrs. Pennyworth found on the front step?”
Even the footman turned pale when Elliot asked him for it. “I would have preferred to toss it into the fire, but I knew you would want to look at it. I wrapped it in a cloth and placed it on a high shelf in the kitchen.”
“Get it for me, please.”
The man was obviously uneasy with Elliot’s request, but he had to see for himself what they were all in a dither over. He paced the entrance hall while he waited for Thomas. How the devil had another package arrived? With the way Charlotte had described finding it, there had been no one lingering around for them to question. A niggling doubt prodded at him. Could he have been wrong, and it hadn’t been Talbot harassing Charlotte?
Thomas returned, holding the wrapped package. Elliot took it from his hands, and his heart thudded. This was not just a glove. It was much too heavy. “Thank you, Thomas.”
Not wanting to upset Charlotte again, Elliot took the package to the library, closing the door behind him. He placed the item on the desk and stared at it for a minute. Then, he removed the cloth, and studied the innocuous-looking white satin glove. But he knew, by everyone’s behavior, that there was more to it.
He picked it up. It was stiff, hard. Not just a glove. He turned it around, and immediately dropped it on the desk. His breathing increased, and he broke into a sweat. Dried blood had stained the edge of the glove, with a smear going up one side, the brownish red streak wrinkling the satin, pulling it together. The fabric had been stretched, breaking the threads on two of the fingers.
He closed his eyes, trying to erase the image from his mind.
Stuffed inside Charlotte’s white satin evening glove was a severed human hand.
…
Charlotte paced the Aubusson carpet in her sitting room. Her arms gripped her middle as if to keep herself in one piece. She might never feel safe again. The horror of finding that hand stuffed into her own glove brought bile up the back of her throat.
“Charlotte?” After a light tap, Elliot entered the room, thankfully not holding the glove. He held his arms out, and she walked into his embrace, wrapping her arms around his middle, and tucking her head against his chest. “What does it mean?”
He walked her over to the settee in front of the window. The sunny day made a mockery of the horror she had just witnessed. “I don’t know. I thought this would all end when Talbot died.”
“Do you suppose Mr. Talbot was not the one leaving the packages?” How could they have been so wrong? Everything had pointed to the man, even though she still had a difficult time accepting it.
Elliot leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his thighs, and ran his fingers through his hair. “One thing I can say for certain is Talbot did not arrange for that to be left on your doorstep.”
“How can you be so certain?”
He took her cold hands into his warm ones and rubbed them. She felt as though she would never be warm again. “I have every reason to believe the hand inside that glove belonged to Talbot.”
She reared back. “What?” The gasped words barely made it past her dry lips.
He nodded and stood. “When Talbot’s body was found, his hand was missing. Scotland Yard believed animals had gotten to him.”
“Oh God.” Charlotte jumped up and raced through the doorway to her bedchamber. She flew across the room to the chamber pot, leaned over, and brought up her last meal.
She fumbled in her dress pocket and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe her mouth. Blindly she stumbled to the dresser and poured a glass of water from the pitcher, rinsed out her mouth, and spit into the bowl. With a heavy heart, she walked back to the sitting room.
“I think you should take the tisane Bridget mentioned and try to lie down for a while.”
“I can’t,” she wailed then turned, her hands fisted at her side. “Don’t you understand? The monster was here in my room! Right here in my very bedchamber! He took one of my gloves!” Her knees gave way, and Elliot rushed forward to catch her before she hit the floor.
He carried her out of the bedchamber and brought her to the room he’d used when he stayed here, and placed her on the bed. “Thomas!”
The footman raced up the stairs. “Yes, sir.”
“Have Cook fix a tisane for Mrs. Pennyworth.”
“Yes, sir.”
Charlotte rolled to her side, bringing her knees up to her chest and moaned.
…
Elliot sat with her until she drank the tisane and fell asleep. When he was sure she was in a deep slumber, he made his way downstairs in search of Bridget. He found the young maid in the kitchen, sitting at the table, looking quite pale herself. “I placed Mrs. Pennyworth in the room I used a few weeks ago. She should not return to her own bedchamber until this is solved. I suggest you take a lie-down also. I am sure Mrs. Pennyworth would be fine with it.”
“Oh, thank you, sir. I believe you are correct. I am not feeling quite the thing right now.”
Elliot fetched the disgusting glove and left Charlotte’s townhouse, heading directly to Scotland Yard. Leaving human remains on someone’s doorstep was against the law, and he needed to report it.
“Talbot’s hand, eh?” Detective Finch leaned his chair back on two legs and regarded Elliot. “So that’s what happened. I thought for sure an animal got it.”
“I did, too, but this has to be his hand.” Elliot unwrapped the package and placed the glove on the detective’s desk.
The man blanched and sat forward, the front legs of his chair hitting the floor with a thump. “Nasty business. What with the Ripper fellow cutting up prostitutes and leaving their innards all around the place, and now this, it makes me wonder what the bloody hell is going on in London.”
He picked up the glove with two fingers and turned it in several different directions. “I don’t suppose your—fiancée, did you say?—wants the glove back.”
He offered the detective a grim smile. “No. While the entire thing disturbs me, what worries me more is Mrs. Pennyworth swears that glove, and its mate, has always been kept in the wardrobe in her room.”
“So, our fellow was in her house, eh?”
“Her bedchamber, actually.”
Finch shook his head. “We’ll dig up Talbot and see if this fits, although I’m sure it will, since you tell me you had reason to believe he was leaving strange offerings on her doorsteps.”
Elliot leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Now I’m not so sure it was him. Because things had been quiet since his death, Mrs. Pennyworth and I assumed it had been Talbot. For what purpose we were never able to ascertain, but now it seems a moot point because he certainly didn’t cut off his own hand, stuff it into a glove, and leave it with someone to place on her doorstep in the event of his death.”
“I’m thinking you’re right there, mate.” Finch pulled on the end of his mustache as he studied the g
love.
Elliot stood. “I have things that need my attention, so I will leave that with you. If you come up with anything, I would appreciate hearing from you.”
“Yes. You can count on that. In the meantime, I suggest you keep a close watch on this fiancée of yours.”
“I intend to. Once I clear up a few legal matters, I will seek a special license and marry her, so I can see to her safety while we’re dealing with this mess.”
…
Four days later, Elliot sat at his desk in his office, clearing out the pile of correspondence and court documents so he could head over to Charlotte’s house. He had finally been granted the special license due to a high-ranking client’s intervention. Slowly, he’d been moving his things from his rooms to her house. At her tearful request, he’d stayed at her house the first night after she’d received the glove, but since then he’d been reluctant to do so.
He tried to convince himself that because she had received such a gruesome item, it didn’t necessarily follow that she was in physical danger, but the entire mess made him uncomfortable. Once they were married, he would take her on a wedding trip, as far away from London as possible.
Of course, the problem remaining was, who’d left the glove? He had examined the situation from every possible angle, and he was growing more confident every day that Talbot had not been the person responsible for everything that had happened to Charlotte. Now his primary focus was getting married and leaving this all behind them, hoping her marriage, and absence for a time, would make her tormentor step back.
The door to his office opened, and his secretary, Mr. Gleason, entered. “Mr. Baker, there is a man here who says it is most important he speak with you.”
Elliot dropped his pen to the desk and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I was hoping to make this an early day. However, since I plan on leaving town in the next couple of days, I should probably see the man.” He stood and shrugged into his jacket. “Send him in.”
He settled into his seat as the door opened once again. A small man, short, slightly bald, and wearing a suit of clothing that bespoke of moderate means, entered the room. He took small steps, almost as if he was afraid to commit himself to the interview. He clutched a large book to his chest.
Elliot waved to the seat in front of his desk. “Please have a seat, Mr.—”
“Davis, sir. My name is Malcolm Davis.”
Elliot reached across the desk to shake the man’s hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Davis.” The small man fumbled with the book he clutched, then shook Elliot’s hand.
Once they were both settled, Elliot pulled on the cuffs of his shirt and placed his folded hands on his desk. “What can I do for you, Mr. Davis? My secretary indicated you needed to speak with me on a matter of importance.”
The man nodded his head briskly, then wiped his upper lip with his finger. “You must understand, Mr. Baker, as an employee, I would never break such a confidence, but I felt it was in your best interests for me to see you, as soon as I found this.”
Elliot frowned, not sure he liked the way the conversation was starting off. In his best interests? It sounded almost like a blackmail scheme was about to be presented. He leaned back in his chair. “Is that right? What can you have that would be in my best interest?”
“Before I say any more I want to make it clear this is not something I would ordinarily do.”
“As you have already stated. I have other matters to deal with today, Mr. Davis, so may I ask that you please enlighten me? What information do you possess that would be in my best interest?”
Mr. Davis took a deep breath. “I am, or I should say, I was, valet to Mr. Talbot.”
His heart pounding, Elliot came alive, and sat up in his seat, his arms leaning on his desk. “Do tell. And what about being Mr. Talbot’s valet is of interest to me?” What sort of information could the man have?
“Only yesterday I was able to bring myself to begin to pack away Mr. Talbot’s things. He had no family, therefore, I had intended to give his clothing to the church, so they could distribute it as they saw fit. Mr. Talbot was a good man, and I know he would have wanted me to share any worthwhile things with the less privileged.”
Davis sighed and seemed to need time to compose himself. “Mr. Talbot had a will, and left a tidy sum to each of his employees.” He stopped and took out a handkerchief and blew his nose. “He was a most generous employer.”
Elliot gave him a moment, the man obviously quite distressed at the loss of his employer. He lowered his voice and asked, “What is it you came to see me about today? How do I figure in Mr. Talbot’s things?”
The man laid the book he had been holding on the desk, all business once again. “I would never think to read anything of a personal nature of my employer.” He tapped the book. “This is Mr. Talbot’s journal. He wrote in it every day.” He smoothed his hand over the cover. “He left the book open at the last page he wrote, which is why I was able to read his final entry.”
“Yes.” Would the man drag out his story forever?
“When I saw your name mentioned in here, and what Mr. Talbot wrote, I thought it was my duty as a good citizen to bring it to your attention.”
Elliot reached out. “May I read it?”
Mr. Davis nodded and flipped open the cover. He thumbed through the pages until he reached the one he wanted. He read it over and then turned the book around, so Elliot could see it. He pulled the book toward him and began to read.
Elliot frowned as the words began to make sense. Then he sucked in a breath of air as his eyes skimmed the page. His eyes grew wide, and he looked up at Mr. Davis. “Bloody hell. Bloody, bloody hell and damnation.”
Elliot jumped up, practically knocking his chair to the ground, and rounded the desk. “If you will excuse me, Mr. Davis, I must leave immediately. Thank you very much for sharing that with me. My secretary will see you out.” He raced from the room, whipping past Mr. Gleason. “Please see Mr. Davis out. I am on my way to Mrs. Pennyworth’s house.”
Dear God, how would I have ever guessed?
Chapter Twenty-Five
Charlotte viewed herself in the mirror and cringed. In the five days since the glove had arrived, she’d slept fitfully, eaten very little, and cried quite a bit.
And looked it.
As horrible as it had been viewing the severed hand, the fact that whoever had done this had been in her bedchamber brought on another bout of nausea. She’d slept in the room Elliot had occupied since the discovery. Thankfully, Elliot had requested a special license, so they would not have to wait the three weeks for the banns to be called, and could marry immediately. Once he was here, in her house, every night, she might feel safe again.
He had questioned every one of the staff and had been convinced that no one had taken the glove, or had allowed anyone into her bedchamber. Of course, the glove did not just walk out of the house and into the hands of the perpetrator. That, however, was just one of many questions racing through her exhausted mind.
“Ma’am, you should try to eat a little more. You are not getting enough food to keep a small bird alive.” Bridget entered the room and eyed the tray of toast, eggs, and an orange that Charlotte had not even touched.
“I know.” She turned from the mirror and sat on the edge of the bed. “I will try to do better, but everything gets stuck in my throat.”
“’Tis a lovely day. Perhaps a short walk would do you good, and work up an appetite.” She loved the way her staff looked after her. Elliot had left strict instructions with Thomas that she was not to be allowed out of the house without the footman accompanying her. He also had the entire household checking windows and doors when they retired for the evening.
The strain had grown to the point where she was ready to sell the house and move away. Possibly to Bath. The waters there might calm her nerves.
An hour after luncheon, when she was able to force down a bit of the mutton stew Cook had made, she sat in her drawing
room, trying desperately to read Miss Nellie Bly’s latest novel, wishing Elliot would finish up his work and return to her.
“Ma’am, Miss Garvey has called and asked if you were at home.” Thomas stood at the open doorway, his protective manner warming her.
Miss Garvey was not one of her favorite people, but she felt sorry for the woman in an odd sort of way. The poor thing must be lost since Mr. Talbot’s death. Charlotte had no idea what their relationship had been, but surely there had been some affection on either side for them to spend so much time together.
Even though she would prefer not to receive the woman, perhaps a bit of tea and conversation with her would distract her until Elliot arrived. “Yes, send her in. And please ask Cook for tea.”
Miss Garvey entered, looking ghastlier than ever. Her hair was in disarray, and her clothing wrinkled. If Charlotte believed she looked out of sorts, Miss Garvey looked far worse. She must be suffering, and Charlotte vowed to make this visit as pleasant as possible for the poor woman. “Won’t you have a seat, Miss Garvey? I’ve sent for tea.”
The woman sat, clutching her coat around her.
“Would you be more comfortable if you took your coat off?”
Miss Garvey shook her head and continued to stare at Charlotte. A growing uneasiness sent shivers up her spine.
“How are you getting on?”
Miss Garvey’s eyes bore into her, then she abruptly shifted in her seat, making Charlotte jump. Good Lord, she was on edge. But something about her guest alarmed her. She’d never been completely comfortable with the woman, but now her heart pounded, and a fine sheen of sweat broke out on her face.
“Fine,” Miss Garvey mumbled.
“I noticed you did not attend the assembly last week.” Charlotte fisted her skirts, her damp palms creating a mess of wrinkles that would have to be ironed out later. “We missed you.”
“Did you? You and Mr. Baker?” She snarled his name, her voice so low, she had to lean forward to hear her guest.
The Pursuit of Mrs. Pennyworth Page 24
