Chapter Twenty-Seven
Small men with very large hammers had taken up residence in Elliot’s head. He moaned as he lifted himself off his bed. Pressing his hand against the wall to stop the dizziness, he glanced down at his wrinkled clothes. He hadn’t even taken them off before he had collapsed into bed in a drunken stupor the night before.
This nonsense had to end. Charlotte had been arrested three days ago, and he needed to get on with his life. He had clients who were expecting results. He took a step forward, fighting the nausea along with the banging headache.
After a bath and a shave, he forced his breakfast down. Amazingly enough, it didn’t come right back up but actually helped him feel a bit better. The first thing he needed to do was stop by Charlotte’s house and make sure the staff was all right with her absence. He preferred to avoid the place altogether, but someone had to look out for her house. How long would she be away? How serious were the charges?
I don’t know because, like a coward, I crawled away and left her to her own devices. Well done, Elliot.
He hushed the condemning internal voice. He’d already lived through a woman’s deviousness. He’d sworn to himself that he would never, ever allow that to happen again. Yet, he had fallen right back into the trap, as if he enjoyed playing the fool.
He caught the omnibus and walked the final distance to her house, all the time fighting the inner voice that continued to berate him. His excuses grew slim, and he was beginning to feel more than a little uncomfortable.
A very stiff and unwelcoming Thomas opened the front door. “Good morning, sir. How may I help you?” He didn’t back up to allow him to enter.
Well, then.
“Good morning, Thomas. I stopped by to see how all of you were getting on.”
The footman’s brows rose. “Indeed? And why is that, Mr. Baker?”
Elliot fumbled for a moment. “I thought with Mrs. Pennyworth away, you might need some assistance.”
“I don’t mean to be rude, Mr. Baker, but there is nothing you can do to assist us. Everything you could have done you chose not to do. Now, if you will excuse me, I have duties that need my attention.” He began to close the door, and Elliot shoved his foot into the space, blocking the door. “May I come in and speak with you for a minute?” Based on Thomas’s attitude, Elliot was not sure of the welcome he would receive, but this was something he needed to do.
Thomas opened the door wider and stepped back. Bridget stood at the entrance hall, a scowl on her face, her hands on her hips. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m beginning to wonder myself.” Standing in the entrance hall, with the two servants glaring at him, thoughts flooded his mind that he’d refused to allow before now.
Charlotte had never worn expensive jewelry. Charlotte did not live above her means. Charlotte did not have an extravagant wardrobe or household furnishings. Charlotte spent time working with poor children in the foundling home. Charlotte would give the dress from her body to someone in need.
A woman such as that would not steal an expensive necklace from her employer.
Bloody hell. He ran his fingers through his hair. He’d made a tremendous mistake. His past with Annabelle had turned him so sour and bitter that he had abandoned the woman he loved when she’d needed him the most.
Yes, the woman he loved. Loved with his entire being. Who had turned to him fully confident of his help. Instead, he’d acted like a complete arse and walked out on her. His knees buckled at the thought of what she was going through. He was indeed every nasty word he could think of.
From the looks he was receiving from her staff—that is exactly what they thought, as well.
“Can we all sit in the drawing room?”
Bridget and Thomas led the way. They were soon joined by Mrs. Blanchard, Cook, and Beatrice. Cook carried a stirring spoon and looked as though she wanted to whack him with it.
They all sat in a row on the settee and the two chairs flanking it. They formed a line of displeasure so intense his stomach knotted. “Thank you all for joining me.”
Silence.
“I think I might have made a terrible mistake.” He shook his head. “No, I must be honest. I know I made a terrible mistake. You see, I love Mrs. Pennyworth—” Cook snorted, but he continued. “Years ago, I had an experience with a woman who was involved in a jewel theft. I left Scotland Yard under a cloud of disgrace.”
Five pairs of eyes continued to glare at him. No sympathy here.
He jumped up and paced. “I realize I never gave Mrs. Pennyworth the opportunity to explain the entire situation.”
Bridget harrumphed.
He turned to them, his hands on his hips. “I came here today to check on all of you, but I’m beginning to understand I really came because I needed to speak to people who also love and respect Mrs. Pennyworth, and I knew your loyalty would be solid.”
“Unlike yours.” Mrs. Blanchard muttered, crossing her arms over her ample bosom.
“This is all very well and good, Mr. Baker, but what do you intend to do about it? If your intention in coming here is to explain your actions to us, looking for forgiveness, you might as well leave now, and let us get back to work. You will find no forgiveness here.” Cook’s eyes had softened somewhat, but she still waved the cooking spoon around.
“Yes. Right.” He knew what had to be done but needed the push from these wonderful servants who considered Mrs. Pennyworth their family. “I’m doing what I should have done days ago.”
He turned on his heels and strode to the door, tossing over his shoulder, “I’m getting Mrs. Pennyworth back.”
“Thank God.”
He thought the remark came from Bridget, but he didn’t stop long enough to be sure. He was a man on a mission.
…
Charlotte stared at Lord Barton’s outstretched arms. “I beg your pardon, my lord. I believe you are mistaken. I am not your dear, and there is no reason for me to be speaking to you. In fact, you, of all people, know that there is also no reason for me to be in this jail.”
Barton dropped his hands, his smile still firmly in place. “Now, now, Charlotte. Of course you need to be here. There is the little question of the stolen necklace. However, I can clear the nasty little matter up quite easily.”
She crossed her arms and tapped her foot. “Then please do.” The nerve of the man, welcoming her as if she were a long-lost love. Her stomach churned just being in the same room with the cretin.
He waved to the chair in front of her. “Please have a seat. We can certainly discuss this like two adults and come to a reasonable solution.”
She dropped her arms to her side and stared at him, her mouth agape. Dear God, did he still expect her to become his mistress? Two years had passed. Hadn’t he found someone else to torture by now?
“My dear, I still want you. And I intend to have you. Once you agree, I will notify the authorities that this was all a little mix-up and you will be free to go.”
“I hate you. I would rather sit in jail for the rest of my life than have your filthy hands on me.” She turned toward the door back to her cell.
“I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss my offer.” She continued to keep her back to him while he spoke. “I wanted to be the first man between those lovely legs, but unfortunately, I learned you had married. Such a shame, but nevertheless while that lessens your appeal, it doesn’t stop it. That will merely alter my offering.”
“I would prefer to return to my cell. Please call for the guard.”
“I am not finished.” His words snapped, and she shivered, but she refused to turn around.
“At one time, I would have set you up in a lovely home. I would have showered you with jewelry, servants, trips, and fine gowns. But now that you are no longer pure, I will offer you my protection.”
She turned and sneered at him. “Oh, how very kind of you, seeing that I am no longer pure because I chose to go to bed with my lawful husband.”
“Now, now, my dear,
there is no need to be sarcastic.” His voice dripped condescension, and Charlotte had had enough.
She leaned forward, poking him in the chest. “Understand this, my lord. I am not for sale. I will never grace your bed, no matter what consequence that affords me.” She moved back to the door and pounded on it. “Guard, please escort me back. I am finished here.”
The door opened, and the guard glanced between her and Barton. “May I return her, my lord?” Before Barton could answer, Charlotte shoved the man out of the way and hurried down the passage. The guard caught up to her as she reached her cell.
“It doesn’t help to antagonize Lord Barton.” He closed the cell door after she entered. “He generally gets his own way in the end.”
“Not this time.” She sat on the cot, the anger brought on by his words crushing her. Her stomach churned, and her heart pounded. Deep inside her a kernel of fear sunk its tendrils into her gut. Lord Barton could make her life miserable.
She flopped back, staring at the ceiling and thinking about Elliot. She hated that she still loved him. That she had pinned all her hopes on him, on them having a wonderful life together. He’d been her strength throughout the Miss Garvey mess. His strong arms had held her, comforted her, protected her. Butterflies still took up space in her middle when she thought about him touching her, making love to her.
How could he turn away from her when they’d meant so much to each other? He’d said he loved her. What kind of love disappeared at the first sign of trouble?
Apparently, the type of love Mr. Elliot Baker offered.
…
Elliot stepped off the train in Melbourne Station and took note of the town. Modest, respectable, and everything a small English countryside village should be. Except somewhere in this town was a jail cell holding his fiancée. A woman he’d deserted in her hour of need. Guilt nearly crippled him. He was determined to set everything right.
Before he’d left London, he’d spent time with Inspector Longforth, going over the charges in the warrant for Charlotte’s arrest. Longforth seemed genuinely happy to know Elliot was going after her.
“That woman does not belong behind bars. I’m a good judge of character, and what I learned of her after we ran across the warrant does not match with a jewel thief.” Then he had looked directly at Elliot. “Baker, I think your unfortunate experience with Miss Walters has turned you sour. If I were you, I’d get my fiancée out of jail, and then do a great deal of groveling. If you’re lucky, she won’t run you down in the street with a carriage.”
Elliot had nodded his agreement and took his leave, anxious to catch the next train out of London for Melbourne Station.
He walked the distance from the railway station to the closest inn, The Lion and the Tiger. The innkeeper, a rotund, cheerful man of middle years, greeted him. “Welcome, sir. How may we serve you?”
“I would like to secure a room. I am not too sure for how long, but at least a day or two. I would also like dinner, as soon as possible.”
The man bowed. “Of course. Please follow me, and I will show you to a room where you can freshen up before we serve dinner.”
The two of them climbed the stairs to the second level where he opened the third door down. “Is this acceptable?”
The room was small but certainly met his needs. And, it was large enough for him and Charlotte once he freed her and begged on bended knee for her forgiveness.
A wooden dresser with a shaving mirror hanging over it sat against one wall with a pitcher and bowl set on top of the dresser. A decent-size bed occupied the center of the room, with a small desk and chair stuck into a corner. The window over the desk allowed in light to what would otherwise be a dark room.
“This is fine. I will be down in about ten minutes for dinner.” Just as the man backed out to leave, Elliot stopped him. “Excuse me. I am looking for someone named Lord Barton? Do you know him, or where I can find him?”
The innkeeper eyed him cautiously. “What business do you have with his lordship?”
Interesting. A combination of fear and reluctance covered the innkeeper’s face. No doubt more than one person had been under the lord’s thumb. “I have legal business in town, and someone mentioned Lord Barton might be the man for me to see.”
“Any business you want to conduct in this town better be brought to Lord Barton’s attention first.”
“He’s quite influential, then?”
The man shrugged. “That’s all I’m saying.” He turned and left the room, closing the door firmly behind him.
He would not mention the reason for his appearance in town. If the man had that much influence, it was better he did not know about Elliot’s objective to clear Charlotte of these false charges.
Elliot dug through his satchel, and removed the notes he’d made when he met with Inspector Longforth. The Inspector had been good enough to contact the Melbourne Station police to uncover more information.
Miss Molly Adams. She was the maid who had testified to the magistrate that she’d found the necklace in Charlotte’s room. Tomorrow he would pay Miss Adams a visit.
After a good night’s sleep and a hearty breakfast, Elliot set out to find Miss Adams. Hopefully, she was not still employed by the Barton household, which would make it difficult to speak with her. Fortunately, in a small town such as this, most people knew everyone. Working on that assumption, he made his first visit to a local greengrocer.
”Good morning to you, sir.” A young woman of no more than twenty years greeted him as he entered the shop. “What can I assist you with? We have some lovely turnips today, just in from the farm.”
“Thank you, miss. I will look forward to examining your wares in a bit, but first I seek information.”
Her friendly mien vanished, and the same sense of caution as the innkeeper’s crossed the young woman’s face. “Yes?”
“I am looking for a Miss Molly Adams. She was employed by Lady Barton the last time I spoke with her. Before I trouble those up at the manor, I thought to learn if she still worked there.”
The girl began to rearrange onions. “I don’t know anything about the employees at Lady Barton’s home. Now, if you will excuse me, I have vegetables to unload. Good day, sir.” She abruptly walked away, going through a doorway behind the counter and disappearing.
Shaking his head, he left the shop. His inquiries in four other establishments brought similar results. As he left a snug little bookstore, he was halted by an older man, making his way out of the shop with the use of a cane. “Young man. Did I hear you asking after Molly?”
“Yes, you did. Do you know if she is still working at the Barton Manor?”
“Come sit over here with me.” The man pointed to a stone bench in front of a small park not too distant.
They sat side-by-side, only silence between them for a time. Just as Elliot was about to ask the man what information he had, he turned to him. “What is your name, son?”
Elliot held out his hand to the old man. “Mr. Elliot Baker, from London.”
The man shook his hand and said, “Molly is my granddaughter. She no longer works for Barton, because she was dismissed.”
Ah, at last he’d found someone who might be willing to help him. “Is she no longer in Melbourne Station, then?”
“Oh, yes. She lives with my wife and myself.” He thumped his cane on the ground. “Most will tell you our Molly is a fallen woman. That she might be, but Lord Barton played a big part in her downfall.”
The man looked out at the distance, pain and sorrow on his wrinkled face. “You see, our Molly worked as a maid for Lady Barton. She foolishly became involved with Lord Barton, thinking his promises of marriage and a life of luxury were true.” He stopped and regarded him. “The blackguard got her with child, and instead of taking care of her, turned her out with no references. She’s been taking in sewing from the local seamstress to feed and clothe the child.”
Precisely, he was sure, what would have happened to Charlotte had she become
involved with him. “Do you think your granddaughter would be willing to speak with me? I am a solicitor representing another woman he has done wrong, and Miss Adams might be the one person who can help.”
“As much as she loves her little Betsy, she has nothing good to say about the girl’s father. I’m sure if she can help in any way, she will.” He climbed to his feet. “If you want to speak with her now, I’ll take you there. I just came by to browse the bookshelves.” He jerked his thumb in the direction of the bookstore. “Can’t afford to buy anything.”
They walked the mile and a half from the center of Melbourne Station to Mr. Adams’s house. The older gentleman kept up a constant stream of comments on the town, his granddaughter, and her little Betsy.
They approached a comfortable cottage. A young woman sat out front, holding a baby about a year old in her lap. Both were bundled up for the cold weather in worn coats. “Hi, Grandpa. Did you fetch the potatoes?”
“Yes, I did, Miss Molly.” He held up the sack he’d carried with him and opened the wooden gate. “Molly, this here is Mr. Baker. He is looking for information about Barton.”
Molly’s nose wrinkled as if she suddenly had a whiff of something nasty. “I prefer not to speak of the dreadful man, even if he owns this entire town.”
Mr. Adams moved past the bench where Molly sat. “I’ll leave you two to discuss whatever it is Mr. Baker came all the way from London for.”
Molly smoothed her skirts and adjusted the baby’s cap. “What is it I can help you with, Mr. Baker?”
“Do you remember a woman named Miss Charlotte Reading?”
Molly stiffened, and her lips pursed. “No, sir. I don’t remember her.”
He reached into his jacket pocket and took out a copy of the warrant. “I find that strange because according to this paper, you were the one who made charges against her that you found a very valuable necklace under her mattress.”
The girl turned pale, and her eyes grew wide. “I don’t remember that.”
“Are you sure, Molly? You don’t remember making these charges?”
Her eyes filled with tears, and she shook her head.
The Pursuit of Mrs. Pennyworth Page 27
