The Pursuit of Mrs. Pennyworth

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The Pursuit of Mrs. Pennyworth Page 5

by Callie Hutton


  “Mrs. Pennyworth?” The woman alongside her touched her on the arm as they separated from their partners and joined the line once again.

  Charlotte smiled at her. Another fairly new face, Miss Garvey had been at the poetry reading earlier in the week. “Yes, good evening, Miss Garvey.”

  A slight woman, Miss Garvey appeared to be in her mid to late thirties. Brown hair with some gray had been pulled back in a bun at the nape.

  “It is a pleasure to see you once again. I hope you are enjoying yourself.”

  The woman smiled. “Indeed, I am. I don’t wish to appear presumptuous, but I wonder if I might ask a favor of you.” They moved away from each other to circle with their partners, then were back in the line again. “I had hoped to increase my social circle in London and heard you are just the person to help me in that quest.”

  “I shall be delighted to help you adjust, Miss Garvey. I am having an afternoon tea next Tuesday if you are free.”

  The woman’s face lit up. “I would love to come. What time?”

  “I will send along a note with the information. If you have a card with you, just leave it with the man at the door, and I’ll collect it when I leave.”

  Miss Garvey nodded. “Thank you so much. I will definitely do that.”

  Charlotte had been approached before by women new to London who had found it difficult to find the correct social circle. She had become a one-person welcoming committee of a sort. Knowing how unhappy one could be with no social life or friends, she was always willing to help a newcomer adjust.

  Just then, Mr. Glenmoor whisked Charlotte away to be joined with another couple as they moved in time, forming a small circle.

  Once the lively dance ended, he escorted her back to where she’d left Mr. Baker, who was just then returning from a conversation with Mr. Melrose and Sir David. Mr. Talbot joined them and lingered, appearing to prevent Mr. Baker from getting too close. Surely the man didn’t think, as Gabriel’s close friend, he had some sort of obligation to “protect” her? The idea both humored and annoyed her.

  “What line of work are you in, Mr. Talbot?” The snap in his eyes and the deep concentration he was affording the man, alerted Charlotte to his true intentions. It appeared poor harmless Mr. Talbot was coming under Mr. Baker’s scrutiny. As much as she wanted to dismiss the matter as utter nonsense, it did afford her the opportunity to study him further.

  She’d always been comfortable in his presence, but Gabriel had invariably been there during Mr. Talbot’s visits to the house. Except for the time shortly after she’d been notified by the police that Gabriel had not survived the carriage crash. Her husband, along with several of his muddle-headed friends, had set up a race, driving large horse coaches, normally driven by experienced coachmen.

  Mr. Talbot had stepped in to help with the funeral arrangements, stayed by her side during the horrific time, and had called on her at least once a month thereafter to ascertain her well-being. Could he now feel she owed him in some way, or that he was her champion with Gabriel gone?

  But how would that fit into leaving her obnoxious things? To gain her attention? Make her feel unsafe so he could step in and aid her? Nonsense. She was now taking second looks at every gentleman she’d known for the past year and half. She hoped Mr. Baker was good enough at his job that he would find the culprit soon enough, and put a stop to such suspicious thoughts.

  “I manage my investments,” Mr. Talbot said in answer to Mr. Baker’s inquiry. “I was fortunate enough to inherit property and such, which keeps me quite busy. And what is it you do, Mr. Baker?”

  That question got Charlotte’s attention. Certainly, Mr. Baker had an innocuous answer at the ready, knowing Mr. Talbot would ask the same question in return.

  “Solicitor.”

  Well, that was indeed a good cover for his true profession, but something that anyone could easily investigate if one was apt to do such things. Once Mr. Talbot took his leave to fetch his next dance partner, Charlotte turned to him. “Was it wise to pretend to a solicitor’s profession? Perhaps someone might have cause to call you out on that.”

  Mr. Baker smiled. “I am a solicitor.”

  She startled. “I thought you were an Inspector with Scotland Yard before you began as a private investigator?”

  “Indeed. However, I also studied law and passed the exams set by the Law Society.”

  “Before you left Scotland Yard?”

  He nodded, and the tightening of his lips and the stiffening of his body suggested there was a story he preferred not to divulge. She gave it a try, however. “Why did you leave Scotland Yard? The Inspector with whom I spoke didn’t say.”

  “It was a complicated matter, but one that taught me to remember good is good and evil is evil, no matter how it is packaged.” He glanced, with seeming relief, over her shoulder. “Now, however, it appears your next dance partner is headed this way.” Mr. Baker nodded in the direction of the gentleman making his way across the room. Mr. Carter had been introduced to her this evening for the first time. He was a banker, and held himself in high regard. Almost to the extent that the short time she’d been in his presence, she felt as though he looked down upon her. Why he had requested a dance eluded her.

  Her feet ached, and her head had begun to pound when the orchestra started to play the waltz that Mr. Baker had requested. Tempted to ask him to forfeit the dance and escort her home, she, nevertheless, took his extended arm as they made their way to the dance area.

  He turned her in his arms, and tilting his head, studied her. “You appear a bit fatigued. Would you prefer to leave?”

  Her shoulders slumped in relief. “As a matter of fact, yes. Would you mind, terribly?”

  “Not at all. These are not my favorite type of events, and I believe I’ve gathered enough information to begin my investigation.”

  She glanced at her dance card. “I still have three more dances promised.”

  “I am sure whichever gentleman requested those dances will manage to survive without you.” His grin took the sting out of his words. They left the dance floor, and Mr. Baker asked the man at the door to have her carriage brought around.

  Sinking into the comfortable velvet seat of the vehicle, she groaned with happiness to be off her feet. She reached down and used her finger to rub the side of her foot. Mr. Baker settled across from her, tapped the ceiling, then glanced at her hand. “I don’t mean to be forward, Mrs. Pennyworth, but you look as though you could use a good foot rub.”

  She sucked in a deep breath. Yes, that was a forward suggestion, and she should have brought him up short, but the idea of someone rubbing her poor feet sounded too good to be lost to propriety. “I didn’t realize when I secured your services that foot rubbing was included.” She smirked when her words caused him to grin.

  “Ah, but then I didn’t take the time to outline all the wonderful things I can do, besides find your tormentor.”

  His eyes grew heated in the dim light from the carriage lantern, and Charlotte shifted at the sudden ache between her legs. “’Tis good to know.” She barely got the words out from between her dry lips, before pulling herself back from where she was afraid they were headed and added, “I don’t believe this is a good idea. However, my feet do pain me.”

  He moved to the edge of the seat and patted his leg. “Here, put your foot up.”

  Slowly, and holding her gown so the hem stayed secure right at her ankle, she gingerly placed her left foot on his leg. His warm, muscled leg. He leisurely slipped her shoe off as she watched mesmerized. When she looked up, he wasn’t looking at her foot, but directly at her face. If possible, the heat in his eyes had increased.

  The slight chill in the carriage had disappeared, and a warm flush rose from where he touched her ankle, all the way up to her stomach. Slight butterflies danced to a merry tune in her middle as his thumb moved over the ball of her foot, rubbing in delectable circles. She closed her eyes and let out a soft moan, forgetting this man was her employee, a
nd she should not be allowing this intimacy.

  At that thought, her eyes snapped opened, and she attempted to tug her foot away, but he held fast. “No,” he spoke barely above a whisper, “just close your eyes and relax.”

  Chapter Five

  Elliot silently agreed with his client. Rubbing her foot was probably not a good idea, especially given the seclusion of their surroundings. The faint light from the lantern alongside Mrs. Pennyworth cast her features into a golden glow, emphasizing her plump lips, rounded chin, and high cheekbones. She truly was a lovely woman, and given his history with the fairer sex, someone to stay as far away from as possible.

  Instead he sat, rubbing her delicate foot, inhaling her sweet feminine scent, and admiring her face and form. The slight mewing sounds coming from between those luscious lips, suggesting a woman being pleasured, had his cock hardening. Was that how she sounded with a man’s hands on her breasts, tweaking her nipples, kissing the tender skin beneath her ear?

  He would never know, nor would he want to. Mrs. Pennyworth was his client. He was her employee, and any contact they had was only for professional reasons.

  And now I am a professional foot rubber?

  Elliot shoved that thought away and continued his ministrations. Instead of concentrating on what his hands were doing, he went over the evening, thinking of the various men he’d met, and those who had interacted with Mrs. Pennyworth. They all seemed to be regular, pleasant fellows, but he’d memorized the names of each man so he could explore their backgrounds.

  He slipped her shoe back on. “Give me your other foot.”

  “You really don’t have to do this.” Her face was flushed, leaving him wondering if embarrassment, or something else, made her blush.

  “I don’t mind.” But his feeble attempts to concentrate on the list of men he needed to investigate no longer kept his thoughts from what his hands were doing. Or from what his ears were hearing. The devil take it, but she made the most interesting sounds!

  Thankfully, the carriage rolled to a stop in front of Mrs. Pennyworth’s house. She pulled her foot from his grasp and bent to put her shoe on. The light hit the neckline of her gown in a perfectly wonderful way, and he got a delightful view of the tops of two creamy breasts, looking as though they were eager to escape their bindings.

  He broke into a sweat and hurriedly exited the carriage, then turned to assist her. The sooner he got Mrs. Pennyworth into her house, with the door closed between the two of them, the better for his sanity. Else, he would grab her and devour that enticing mouth, and then discover if light kisses on her jaw, down her neck, and under her ear would produce the same lovely little sounds she made when he rubbed her foot.

  God, he was in a bad way. Perhaps he needed pay a call on Mrs. Byrd, a widow who supplemented her meager income by entertaining men. It had been a while since he’d been there, and his reaction to Mrs. Pennyworth tonight suggested it was time for a visit.

  He checked their surroundings as they mounted the steps. “When is the next event that you plan to attend?” Taking deep breaths and concentrating on the business part of their relationship should help calm his body. Although, there was no other relationship with his client that existed.

  And it was best to remember that.

  “Sir Danforth and Lady Danforth are hosting a card party on Monday afternoon. Do you play?”

  “Yes, I do. I have a few items to move around on my calendar, but I will be prepared to escort you. What time shall I call?”

  “The invitation is for two o’clock, with tea at five. Perhaps about fifteen before the hour? It is not a long ride to their house.”

  He studied her wan expression, and pale face. “Are you unwell, Mrs. Pennyworth?”

  “I do have the beginnings of a headache.”

  “Please get sufficient rest tonight. I am afraid this is going to be a lengthy process to ferret out the man annoying you.”

  She nodded, and the door opened by the man he’d seen earlier. He did not want to trouble her now, but he needed to speak with all the men she employed. “Well, good night then. I will see you Monday afternoon.”

  …

  Charlotte trudged up the steps to her bedchamber, feeling weary to the bone. Perhaps she’d returned to a social life too soon. Not that she felt as though she still needed to mourn Gabriel, but the stress of wondering if every man who approached her was the one leaving those disgusting objects was taking its toll.

  Truth be told, Mr. Baker was also weighing on her mind. After the glowing recommendation she’d received about his services from the Inspector at Scotland Yard, she had no doubt if anyone could uncover the man responsible, it would be him. On the other hand, her attraction to him disturbed her.

  She should never have allowed him the liberty of rubbing her feet. Whatever had she been thinking? The man was too handsome for her own good. And he had a way of looking at her that made parts of her body tingle and hum a snappy tune. Aside from the fact that he was her employee, she had no desire to foster a relationship with a man. Any man.

  A husband was certainly not on her list of desired acquisitions, and becoming a mistress was not to her liking at present, either. Many widows in her social circle, as well as among the nobility, found widowhood an escape from the confines of marriage. With a thoughtful lover, who took the necessary precautions, widowhood could be a very enjoyable time of life.

  She had no faith in men, and no reason to trust them. Depending on herself sat very well. Thank heaven—and Gabriel—for leaving her in a position where she did not need to marry again to keep a roof over her head, and food on her table.

  All these thoughts raced through her mind as she stripped off her clothes, adding tension to her already pounding head. She placed her clothes neatly on the chair next to the wardrobe and took out her nightgown.

  Once the velvety cotton hit her bare skin, she immediately relaxed. Cook’s special tea would go well, but she had no desire to venture to the kitchen to prepare it. Taking a huge yawn, she climbed between the covers, and before long was fast asleep.

  …

  The next morning, she felt immensely better and lay there deciding what she would wear for her Friday visit to St Jerome’s. No outfit that could be spoiled by sticky little hands. It occurred to her when Mr. Baker had asked her about her next social event, she’d forgotten her promise to elderly Mrs. Fenster to stop in after St. Jerome’s to share tea.

  That would hardly count as a social event he needed to be aware of, however, since the poor older woman was certainly not harboring a man who was leaving things on her front steps.

  Refreshed, and anxious to start her day, she climbed from the bed and rang for Beatrice. A long, leisurely soak was just what she needed.

  “Good morning, mum.” Beatrice burst into the room, all smiles and sunshine. She and her sister Bridget were both sweet girls, hard workers, and as far as she knew, both sent the bulk of their wages to their parents in Ireland, where the family still lived with eleven children at home.

  Charlotte shook her head at the thought of so many children in one family. Their poor mother must be worn out. That, of course, led her to thoughts of the children at St. Jerome’s. Life for them was so much worse with no family members who cared enough to work hard so they could eat and have warm clothes.

  Once dressed for her visit, she ate a light breakfast of toast, jam, and tea. She allowed herself time to peruse the newspaper while she ate, a luxury she enjoyed almost more than any other in her life. As a child growing up, there had never been money for newspapers, and the brief time she’d been married to Gabriel, the newspaper had belonged to him.

  She had been welcomed to it when he was done, but by then she’d already finished her breakfast. True independence was reading the newspaper at her own table while she ate breakfast.

  A quick look at the clock told her it was time to go. She sent word for Thomas to ask the coachman to bring her carriage around. Her small basket of treats for the children hooked ov
er her arm, she tied the bonnet ribbons under her chin.

  Satisfied at her appearance, she smiled at Bridget as she opened the door. The toe of her half boot struck something, and she looked down.

  And sucked in a deep breath.

  A large, brown dead rat lay on the step, its throat cut ear-to-ear, its poor head hanging off by a thread, its glassy eyes staring straight at her. A pool of drying blood had begun to gel under its body. A metallic stench rose from the puddle, turning her stomach. The rodent’s thick tail was wrapped around a velvet cloth with a huge pink bow from a jewelry seller. Her stomach roiled at the incongruity of the pairing. Liquid flooded her mouth, and she swallowed several times to keep her breakfast down. She gripped the doorframe to hold herself up, but with a slight moan, darkness claimed her, and her knees gave way.

  …

  Elliot stepped from the omnibus and walked toward his house. He’d spent the entire morning checking into several men’s backgrounds. He’d visited bankers, tradesmen, and clubs, asking questions. So far, none of the men on his list had anything suspicious to note, which was no surprise since all of them had been friends or acquaintances of Mrs. Pennyworth from the time she’d married her deceased husband.

  He still expected the man leaving his unique calling cards to be someone new to her, but every man had to be investigated so he could narrow the possibilities.

  Lost in thought as he turned the corner and entered his street, a fancy carriage parked in front of his boarding house slowed his steps. As he drew near, it appeared to be Mrs. Pennyworth’s vehicle. He needn’t ask the coachman why he was there, since he was almost sure she had received another package.

  “Good day, Mr. Baker. Mrs. Pennyworth asked that you call upon her.” The man shouted from the top of the carriage.

  “Yes. I will be happy to. Please give me a moment to fetch a few things from my rooms.”

  The coachman nodded, and Elliot hurried up the steps. He left the notes he’d made that morning on the desk and picked up a new pad of paper. This would be a good time to interview her servants and possibly even some of the neighbors.

 

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