“Yes, the odd thing was someone apparently broke into my storage room.” She leaned in closer to Lizbeth. “In the middle of the night.” She leaned back and crossed her arms over her middle and stared at her.
“Mrs. O’Leary, you have five minutes to make a selection. Then I will escort you out of the store and lock the door.”
“Yes. Speaking of locks. The door to my storage room was always locked, but for some reason when I went there the next morning, it was unlocked. What do you think about that?”
Lizbeth raised her chin, determined not to show fear in front of this woman, but took another glance out the window. “I think nothing of it since I don’t care that your storage room was broken into. Now I must return to my work, and you must make your selection and leave.”
Mrs. O’Leary strolled away and spoke over her shoulder. “The oddest thing about it is the only thing taken was the box with your belongings in it.”
Just as Lizbeth was about to order the woman from the store, the bell over the door jingled. She turned quickly, and breathed a sigh of relief as Marcus walked in. He glanced first at her, then at Mrs. O’Leary and his brows rose. “Good evening, Miss Davenport. I was in the neighborhood and decided to stop in and escort you home.”
“I am almost finished.” Now that Marcus was here, she relaxed. Her heartbeat slowed down and the knots in her stomach eased. No one was going to kidnap her with him here. It amazed her how confident she was that he would protect her.
“Good evening, Mrs. O’Leary.” Marcus bowed in her direction and she smirked back at him.
“And good evening to you as well. It’s Mr. Mallory, am I correct?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He walked to where Lizbeth did her calculations and stood next to her. “What is she doing here?” he murmured.
“Harassing me.” Lizbeth lowered her head. “She told me someone broke into her storage room and took a box with my belongings,” she whispered.
“Indeed?” He raised his voice. “It’s too bad your belongings were taken, but I believe when we visited Mrs. O’Leary’s boarding house a few weeks ago she assured you that you’d already taken everything. In fact, if memory serves her exact words were: “my dear, I’m afraid you took everything with you when you so abruptly moved out.”
He crossed his arms over his chest and moved to lean against the doorframe. “Isn’t that right, Mrs. O’Leary?”
She waved her hand at him. “It’s quite possible that a few things were left behind, and I put those in the storage room hoping Miss Davenport would reclaim them one day.”
“Yet when she did try to reclaim them, you told her she had already taken everything.”
Mrs. O’Leary straightened the cuffs of her coat and moved forward. “I have had many tenants over the years.” She smiled as she attempted to walk past Marcus who still stood by the door. “It’s quite possible I grow confused at times. Now if you will excuse me, I believe Miss Davenport indicated the store was about to close.”
Marcus stared at her and slowly moved away from the door. “Have a nice evening, Mrs. O’Leary. I advise you to find another bookstore to patronize.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “I will shop where I please.”
Marcus placed his palm against the door to keep her from opening it. “And I can assure you that this store is one that will never please you.” He continued to stare at her. “Do I make myself clear?”
She gave him a curt nod and he moved away so she could leave.
“Well done, Mr. Mallory,” Lizbeth said as the door closed, and she shut the ledger.
“How long has she been here?” Marcus asked as he leaned on the counter. He was shocked, and then annoyed to see Mrs. O’Leary in the store. It was obvious Lizbeth was quite upset. Her hand shook as she attempted to work on the ledger, and she kept taking deep breaths.
“Not long before you arrived. Maybe five or ten minutes. I can’t tell you how surprised I was to see her.” She shoved the ledger under the counter and climbed down from the stool.
“No doubt. I’m just grateful that I had a reason to stop here tonight. I think for safety sake I should escort you home each evening you are working. I don’t like that she knows where you work and can easily discover the hours you are here.”
He followed Lizbeth as she walked to the back of the store and pushed aside a curtain that hung in a doorway. He followed her into a small area that was obviously a storeroom.
“Do you think she might have someone try to kidnap me again?” She reached for her cloak on a clothes tree and he helped her into it.
“There is that possibility now that she knows you are no longer in London. I imagine the people she works with are not happy. My hope is that she is aware that the police have been notified of your abduction and are watching her. In any event, I certainly don’t trust the woman. In fact, I believe you should give up this job.” He knew as soon as the words came out of his mouth that it was a mistake. Even before she scowled at him.
“No. I need the money to support myself and if I am ever going to stop accepting your sister and Lord Berkshire’s generosity, I need the funds.”
Since he had not yet made up his mind completely, this was probably not the time to tell her he was considering marriage. With her. To honor her, protect her, and provide for her, so she never need trouble herself again about being alone in the world and wondering where her next meal was coming from.
Were he ever to select a wife, it would be Lizbeth, there was no question about that. Although not completely convinced that marriage was for him, in all honesty the idea grew more appealing each day.
He could easily envision the two of them living a wonderful life, him working in his father’s business and doing his MP work, and Lizbeth taking care of their home and raising their children. There would be passion and humor and possibly even love between them.
Yes, it could very well be the perfect life. But she was far from ready to accept intimacy with a husband. He had a lot of work to do and pushing her would be a mistake. She had to do this at her own pace. Moving too fast could make him lose her forever.
Something he did not want to contemplate.
“I can assure you that your presence in Berkshire’s home is no burden to them,” he answered. “I do wish you would not concern yourself with that.”
Lizbeth extinguished the oil lamps around the room and taking a final look about the place, led him to the front door that she locked with a key hanging from a chain around her neck. She pulled on her gloves and shook his head. “I might not be a burden in a financial way, but I don’t belong in their house. Soon the baby will arrive, and things will get crowded.”
Marcus burst out laughing. She was truly so adorable. “Lizbeth, there are seven bedchambers in that house, along with the master suite for Berkshire and Addie.”
She sniffed. “That may be so, but I still feel better earning my own money.”
There didn’t seem to be any purpose in continuing the conversation. Until he felt she was ready to hear him suggest they marry, wherein he would provide everything she needed and wanted, it was time to let the subject go. But ‘twas certainly something to keep tucked in the back of his mind. He cleared his throat, a slight smile at what he was about to say. “Speaking of earning money, I want to show you something in the morning.”
She perked up. “What?”
Marcus shook his head at her curiosity. But she would need to wait. It would be far better for her to see than hear what he’d discovered earlier in the day. “Ah. I will not tell you, but plan on an excursion first thing in the morning.”
“Sounds mysterious.”
“Just so.” He winked and led her to Berkshire’s carriage which stood at the edge of the pavement in front of the store. The driver hopped down and opened the door. Marcus helped Lizbeth in, and then settled across from her. A tap on the ceiling and the carriage began to roll into the heavy early evening traffic.
“I cannot tell you how happy I was to s
ee you enter the store.” Lizbeth hugged herself and shivered.
“Are you cold?”
“A bit. Yes.” Her teeth had begun to chatter. He reached over and pulled her to his side of the carriage. He fumbled under the seat and withdrew a blanket that he draped around her. He then wrapped his arm around her shoulder, bringing her snug against him. “Are you warmer now?”
“Yes. Thank you.” She looked up at him. “Why do you suppose Mrs. O’Leary came to the store?”
“Obviously to let you know she was aware that you—or someone on your behalf—broke into her house.” He paused, suddenly tense. “Did she threaten you in any way?”
Lizbeth shook her head. “No. But I don’t think she was through with what she wanted to say when you arrived. Maybe she did plan to threaten me.” Lizbeth hesitated for a minute. “I guess the police didn’t do anything to her, since she’s still walking about, free as a bird?”
“In defense of the police,” he held up his hand when she opened her mouth to protest, “we didn’t give them much to go by. Remember, they must build a case for them to arrest anyone. And then it must be a solid case to be sure it will hold up in court. Mrs. O’Leary is just a link in the chain, of God knows how many people, involved in this. I’m quite sure the Bath police are working with the London bobbies and want to get the entire operation closed down and all the members of the crime ring behind bars.”
Lizbeth slumped in the seat. “Do you think they even questioned her?”
He shrugged. “Probably. But I think with Nick’s connections we have a good chance of uncovering who is working with her and giving that information to the police. Let them take care of bringing the group down.”
“Isn’t that something they should be doing? Isn’t it their job?”
“Yes, it is. But they have other crimes they’re investigating. And they must be slow and methodical. They don’t want to arrest people and then see them go free because they didn’t build up a strong enough case against them.”
She turned to look out the window at the carriages going in the opposite direction, everyone anxious to return home for dinner. “It’s all so frustrating.”
“Yes, it is, sweeting. But I’m in contact with all the people I met while working on my bill. There is a wealth of information out there. Several that even the police are not privy to because some of my contacts came through Nick Smith and they would rather die than talk to a Peeler. I promise you that justice will be served.”
“As long as it’s served up on a silver platter to Mrs. O’Leary.”
13
“I don’t understand why you won’t tell me where we are going.” Lizbeth frowned at Marcus as they made their way down the steps the next morning.
“I’ve told you, it’s better to be a surprise. I’d rather have you see what I found than have me tell you about it.” He helped her into the waiting carriage and settled across from her.
“How does the driver know where we’re going?” She was as excited as a young child, almost wanting to bounce on the seat. From Marcus’s expression, and the humor in his eyes, this trip was apparently something he felt she would enjoy.
“I had Penrose tell the driver where I wanted him to take us when I requested the carriage earlier today.” He grinned. “It won’t take much time to get there, so you won’t have to speculate for long.”
She sighed. “Very well.” Stubborn man. Reconciled to not knowing what he was about, she relaxed in the seat and studied the busy traffic and scurrying shoppers.
The morning was the beginning of another overcast and somewhat chilly day. She was too excited to feel the cold and spent the time pondering wherever it was they were headed and what it could be that Marcus wanted to show her.
True to his word they had only traveled for about twenty minutes when the carriage stopped in front of a store. Lizbeth ducked her head to look out the window at the name.
The Walker Gallery
For Connoisseurs of the Finest in Art
Lizbeth looked over at Marcus who was trying hard to hide his smile.
“An art gallery? Are we looking to buy paintings?”
He shook his head and stepped out of the carriage. “Wait and see.” He reached out and took her hand and helped her down the step.
The tinkle of a bell, reminding her of the bookstore, greeted them as they entered the gallery. A man approached them, looking very much like the owner of an art gallery, dressed in the height of fashion, with nary a hair out of place. “Good morning, Mr. Mallory. I assume this is the artist of whom we spoke?”
Marcus took her hand and drew her forward. “That is correct, Mr. Walker. This is Miss Lizbeth Davenport.”
Mr. Walker bowed to her and she gave a slight dip since she had no idea what else to do. The man moved forward and took her hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Davenport. Welcome to my art gallery.”
“Thank you.” She looked over at Marcus who was grinning.
“Miss Davenport, I invite you to look at our artwork. I’m sure you will be impressed with the talented artists we showcase.” Mr. Walker looked over at Marcus, a gleam in his eyes as well.
“Yes. Thank you.” Still confused at this entire encounter, she made her way to one wall and began to look over the paintings. Some were very, very good, and some she knew she could do better. Mr. Walker and Marcus spoke in soft tones while she perused the artwork.
She glanced back at them and Marcus smiled at her again. The entire visit was becoming surreal. But the artwork was for the most part excellent. She strolled to the next wall and let out a gasp, covering her mouth with her hands. She spun around to look at Marcus. “These are my paintings!”
He studied her with a look she could not identify. “I know, my dear. They are your paintings.”
“But how…how?” She couldn’t form a complete sentence. She shook her head and looked back at the wall again, making sure she wasn’t seeing things.
She looked over her shoulder. “Marcus. These are my paintings.” She turned back and looked at them again. She walked along, counting as she went. Most of her paintings that were missing now hung on the wall of an art gallery.
“Miss Davenport, there is a story that goes with this.” Mr. Walker joined her.
“I’m sure there is.” She didn’t turn to him but kept staring at her paintings. “Oh, I love this one. It was my favorite.” She kept moving down the space until she came to a painting of her youngest brother. Tears formed in her eyes as she remembered how hard it had been to get him to sit still for her.
She turned to Marcus. “This is Eli.” Her voice broke and he moved up to her and handed her a handkerchief.
She covered her mouth with her hands. “I never thought I would see these again.”
“Miss Davenport, if you will accompany me to the office, I would like to discuss these paintings with you.” Mr. Walker waved his hand in the direction of a door at the back of the gallery.
As if in a dream, she followed behind the man, Marcus at her side, his soggy handkerchief still crushed in her hand.
Once they were all seated, Marcus said, “Let me tell Miss Davenport how this all came about.”
Mr. Walker nodded and Marcus turned to her, taking her hand in his. “I thought it quite strange that Mrs. O’Leary would keep your possessions, but not the paintings. You said you were about to have an art show in your town when your family became ill. That convinced me that your paintings were worth money. Since Mrs. O’Leary is greedy, among other things, I believed she would not have destroyed your paintings, but would try to sell them.
“I have been searching art galleries in Bath for a few days now.”
“But how did you know these are mine?”
“As all artists do, you initialed them in the corner. I also asked each art gallery owner if a woman had brought in a number of paintings within the last few weeks for the purpose of selling them.”
“I never gave that a thought.” She hopped up from her chair and poun
ded her fist in the palm of her hand. “That woman is a scoundrel! Not only did she sell me to a brothel, she stole my paintings and tried to sell them.”
“Easy, love.” Marcus took her hand and drew her back down. “We have recovered the paintings, so all is well.”
Mr. Walker cleared his throat. “The reason I believed Mr. Mallory when he told me your story was the fact that I found something…should we say suspicious about Mrs. O’Leary’s story.”
“What did she tell you?” Lizbeth asked.
“That she was the representative of the artist who never went out in public. She showed me a paper, that I realize now was worthless, giving her authority to sell the paintings on the artist’s behalf.”
“How did she ever think she could get away with this?” Lizbeth asked.
Marcus shrugged. “Since you were supposed to be ‘unavailable’ for a long time to come, no one would be the wiser. The paintings have been here for weeks.”
“That woman has got to be made to pay.”
Mr. Walker cleared his throat again. “On a happier note for you, Miss Davenport, I have already sold four of your paintings and if you wish to continue with this gallery, I am confident we can sell the others. Plus, I would like to offer a permanent place in my gallery for any future paintings.”
Lizbeth patted her eyes again with Marcus’s handkerchief. “Yes. However, I would like to take back a few of them. Family members, pets, that sort of thing. There are maybe six or seven of those. The rest I would love to sell through your gallery, Mr. Walker.”
Marcus leaned back in his chair and turned to her. “I have gone over Mr. Walker’s contract and I find it to be quite fair. I have studied contracts from other galleries and his is similar.”
She raised her brows. “You’ve been quite busy.” Once more she patted her eyes. “Thank you.”
“I would do anything to put a smile on your face.” His eyes told her so much more than his words.
Mr. Walker broke in. “If you will wait for a few minutes, I will go through my ledger and write you a cheque for what is owed for the paintings that have already been claimed. I have been holding the money, reluctant to tell Mrs. O’Leary that paintings sold because I sensed something wrong with the whole thing.”
The Artist and the Rake: The Merry Misfits of Bath - Book Four Page 11
