Except she no longer felt as secure as she once had. She wandered the room, waiting for her tea. She dragged her fingertips over the furniture as her thoughts consumed her.
She’d been quite flattered when Gabriel had taken notice of her at the bank. He’d been tall with dark curly hair, and his commanding mien had drawn her from the first time he approached her. His flirting and flattery had certainly turned her head, and after a courtship of only a few months, he’d proposed, and they’d married.
And then a month later he died, and she was once again alone in the world.
…
The ride to St. Jerome’s with Elliot was much more pleasant than the ride the day before. He didn’t query her, and shared information gathered during conversations he’d had at various clubs. Based on some of those discourses, several men had been crossed off the list.
“Unfortunately, the baron is not known in my circles, which troubles me,” Elliot mused. “This afternoon I have an appointment with a friend who works at the Foreign Office, who I hope will have information on the man.”
“I must admit, I am a bit uneasy at investigating all these men. I feel as though we are invading their privacy.”
“Perhaps, but if someone is law-abiding, they have nothing to fear from me asking questions. Only those who have broken the law need worry.”
Charlotte nodded her agreement since her mouth dried up at his comment, and she doubted she could form any words. She had always been an upstanding, honest individual. Yet, if he uncovered the warrant for her arrest, she would look quite guilty.
Then she grew angry. Who was he to judge everyone by such a narrow definition of honesty? She’d never done anything dishonest in her life, but still she had that blot on her character.
Unfairly.
If anything convinced her that she was much better off not telling Elliot about Lord Barton, his black and white view of the world, and his opinions on lawbreakers solidified her decision. She would keep it all to herself, and pray he did not discover it.
The carriage plodded along, leaving behind the affluent neighborhoods, through the less prosperous, and finally, to the decrepit slums of St. Giles. Waste and garbage lined the streets, and small children in ragged clothes darted between buildings. Most of the urchins had been taught almost from the cradle to steal.
So many of them would die before they reached adulthood. The few who did survive would spend their lives on the noisy, dirty streets of London’s disgrace until they were knifed in the back or run over by a carriage as they stumbled home drunk.
The women walked the streets, offering their worn bodies for a glass of gin, or a piece of bread. Any children they had were left to take care of themselves. Only the truly lucky children made it to St. Jerome’s.
The familiar, dilapidated building of the orphanage came into view as the carriage rounded the corner of St. Giles Street. Although the rest of the street bore all the marks of poverty and hopelessness, the front of St. Jerome’s was swept clean, the steps washed.
Elliot looked around as they alighted the vehicle and, gripping her elbow, moved her toward the steps. Although she’d never felt unsafe before, truthfully, she was glad to have him with her today. Her current situation had her on edge, so that even something she’d done for months, and had always enjoyed, seemed sinister.
A small girl, no more than six or seven, with a torn, filthy dress, and bare feet, stuck a cluster of weeds at them. “Flowers for yer lady, sir?”
Elliot stopped and bent to the child. “Yes, I would like your flowers.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a coin that he placed in her small dirty hand. Taking the weeds, he bowed. “Thank you, miss.”
The little girl giggled, revealing small white teeth, with the front two missing, and ran.
“That was very nice of you, Mr. Baker.”
His lips tightened. “So many in need, with so few resources.”
Perhaps he wasn’t so rigid, after all, she mused. “I hope she buys something to eat with that money,” Charlotte said as they watched the child dodge pedestrians and carriages.
The pained expression on Elliot’s face, this big strong man so staid in his opinions, did something to her insides. “Chances are she’ll bring the money to a mother who will drink it up, and maybe, just maybe, buy a bun or biscuit for the girl.” Elliot shook his head, and they climbed the stairs.
The usual chaotic order greeted them as they passed through the door to the main room. Mrs. Robbins, the manager and main attendant to the children, waved a half of a biscuit in front of little Sarah, who had her arms wrapped around her middle. Charlotte hurried over to the poor girl, who was looking worse by the second. “What happened, Mrs. Robbins?”
Mrs. Robbins continued to stare at the little girl as she spoke. “This little one here ate something she wasn’t supposed to, and now she’s claiming a bellyache. Serves her right for stealing.” She gave the girl a swat on her bottom.
“Oh, no, don’t spank her, please. You can see she is in distress.” Charlotte kneeled and looked at Sarah. “Does your stomach hurt, poppet?”
Sarah nodded and winced. As Charlotte placed her hand on her forehead, Sarah moved her head to the side and brought up the contents of her stomach onto the floor. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Pennyworth, but I feel sick.” With those words, the little mite collapsed, with Elliot rushing forward to grab the girl before she hit the floor. Her face was covered in sweat, and her small body shook.
Charlotte stood and waved at Elliot, with Sarah in his arms, to follow her to the kitchen where they laid her on one of the small cots tucked around the perimeter of the room. “Get me a bucket, please.”
She grabbed a thin blanket from another bed and covered Sarah’s trembling body with it. “What did she eat, Mrs. Robbins? It appears whatever it was has upset her stomach something dreadful.” The poor child continued to moan and grasp her tummy. Elliot placed the bucket next to Sarah, who made use of it while Charlotte and Mrs. Robbins talked.
“This biscuit,” Mrs. Robbins said, holding out the half biscuit she’d been waving in Sarah’s face when they entered the house.
“Where did it come from? Is this one of the biscuits from the kitchen?”
The manager shook her head. “No, ma’am. That was why she was in trouble. It was one of your biscuits.”
“Mine?”
“Yes. Early this morning, a package arrived on the front steps with your card attached to it. I brought it in, and left it on the kitchen table.” She glared at little Sarah as the girl continued to hold her stomach and moan. “This one got into the box and ate half of one before I could stop her.”
Elliot moved so fast, he was almost a blur as he crossed the kitchen and picked up the box sitting on the table. He took out a biscuit, crushed it, and examined the crumbs on his palm. He smelled, and then tasted it. “Thank God she only ate a half. I can’t say for sure, but my guess is this box of biscuits has been poisoned.”
Chapter Eight
M sat on a comfortable chair, sipping a sherry, staring out the window at the annoying neighbor, Mrs. Gearing, tending her garden, wearing that ridiculous hat with the brim slowly unweaving. She was extremely nosy, and something would have to be done about her soon.
Another sip, another thought. The box of biscuits brought a smile, although at first, the thought of dead children had threatened a change of plans. Children were truly the only innocent creatures on earth. Then, the reminder of the ultimate prize, Anne’s return, fortified the decision, and the biscuits were on their way.
Hopefully, several of the brats at St Jerome’s would eat them and die a terrible death. Guilt for beloved Anne to bear, since with her giving nature, she would share the treats with the urchins. And it was a reminder to Anne that she needed to behave herself and get rid of that man who followed her about.
…
“Of course we have to call in the police, a crime has been committed!”
Charlotte backed up, her stomach twisting
as Elliot shouted the words, his hands fisted at his hips.
“No. No police. We discovered the poison before anyone was seriously harmed.” She cast a guilty glance at little Sarah who was resting peacefully after emptying her stomach several times. Mrs. Robbins had given the child something to help her rest after her ordeal.
Why, oh why had she ever involved Elliot in this mess? She should have known she was treading on unsafe ground as far as her past was concerned. If they brought in the police, questions would be asked, answers demanded, backgrounds investigated, and shortly thereafter, she’d be on her way back to Melbourne Station.
Why she hadn’t thought about that when she’d first approached the police amazed her.
Not for the first time, she considered selling her comfortable home and moving away. Far away. Disappearing somewhere no one knew her. Yet, except for her hurried exit from Lady Barton’s house, ’twas not like her to run away.
Then her resolve kicked in. No, she would not give in to this menace and run and hide. She had a lovely home, good friends, and an active social calendar. She loved her life and did not want to give it up because some deranged man was wreaking havoc.
“Charlotte, be reasonable. You cannot keep this from the police. That child”—he gestured toward Sarah—“could have died if she’d eaten the entire biscuit before Mrs. Robbins found her. A crime has been committed, and it needs to be reported.”
She could think of no good reason to deny what he said. A crime had been committed, and while little Sarah had not been killed, she’d been hurt. If she continued to object to his reasonable demand, it would only encourage him to ask more questions, demand answers. Perhaps the police would not focus on her background, and only on what was happening now. She sighed and glanced at the box of biscuits on the table. “Yes, I must agree. The police should be notified.”
He nodded and picked up the box. “I think we should visit Scotland Yard now. There is no reason to delay.”
A fine sweat broke out on her forehead. This time a constable would not dismiss her with comments about secret admirers, but ask questions she would prefer not to answer. But there was nothing to be done for it. Elliot was not going to allow this to pass, and the more she held back, the more suspicious he would become. Best to get it over with.
“Yes. We should go now.” She reached for her reticule and pelisse. Elliot took the pelisse from her and helped her into it. With a fond glance at Sarah, and a nod toward Mrs. Robbins, they left the foundling home and climbed into her carriage.
Too soon, the large gray building, its rear entrance located on a street named Great Scotland Yard, stood before them, housing the constables and inspectors who made up the Metropolitan Police.
With a knotted stomach and shaky legs, Charlotte held onto Elliot’s arm as they climbed the stone steps worn to a slight dip in the center from decades of both the good, and the evil, shuffling up and down. The inside was cramped, with men busily going through papers at their desks. A couple of Inspectors interviewed individuals, scratching notes on pads of paper.
Precariously leaning boxes of files took up a great deal of the cramped space. Men, minus jackets, with sleeves rolled up to their elbows, moved from one box to the next, extricating papers, challenging the tilting columns to remain steady. The entire scene was one of noise and confusion, leaving Charlotte to wonder how they ever solved crimes. From a woman’s point of view, the entire place needed cleaning and organization.
Once they were spotted, it became apparent Elliot was well-liked by his former colleagues. There was a great deal of teasing and backslapping as they wended their way through the maze of desks. They were stopped every few steps for greetings. More than a few glanced in her direction, curiosity plainly written on their faces.
An Inspector was summoned, and introduced to her as Inspector Morgan. After additional teasing and more backslapping, he directed them to a private room where they settled into chairs, with the ominous box of biscuits placed on a table between them.
“I must say I never expected to see you sitting on the other side of the table from me,” Inspector Morgan said with a wide grin. The man was huge, built like a tree trunk. The seams of his jacket stretched in protest as he leaned forward, placing his hands on the table. His mustache covered a great deal of his face, with the ends curling up, stiffened with some type of pomade. His piercing blue eyes twinkled with humor, redeeming his broad features.
Elliot offered Inspector Morgan a tight smile. “I never expected to be here, either.” For all his insistence that they involve the police, Elliot had been tense from the time they’d exited the carriage. The teasing seemed to make him more uncomfortable.
The Inspector pulled out a pad, dipped his pen into the inkwell, and nodded. “Tell me why you brought a box of biscuits, and why I don’t think it’s a present for me.”
As Elliot gave the Inspector a run-down of what had happened at St. Jerome’s earlier, Charlotte took the time to consider this latest development. So far, all the packages left for her had been frightening, but nothing that would endanger her life. The box of biscuits fell into a different category.
Another matter that neither she nor Elliot had discussed was the fact that the biscuits had been delivered to St. Jerome’s with her calling card attached. Whoever was harassing her knew of her connection to the home, as well as what day she would be there. An alarming thought, because now she needed to worry about being followed when she was out and about.
Her musing ended when the room grew silent, and both men turned to look at her. Apparently, one of them had asked her a question. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I was woolgathering.”
The Inspector cleared his throat. “I asked if you knew of anyone who might wish you harm? Or since the biscuits were delivered to the orphanage, would wish the children harm?”
“No one, except for whoever it is leaving packages on my front doorstep.”
Morgan leaned back in his chair and twirled the end of his mustache. “How is the investigation going on that, Baker?”
“Slow. Mrs. Pennyworth has a large circle of friends who need to be considered. I have managed to eliminate several over the past few days, and I attend events with her to see if we can draw the man out.”
“Indeed? Well since I’ve now met Mrs. Pennyworth, I am certainly not bemoaning your job. Spending time with an attractive woman is no hardship.” Morgan smiled at her, and she blushed.
He continued, “So, you think this stems from a rejected admirer’s jealousy?”
Elliot hooked his thumbs into his waistcoat pockets, and tilted his chair back. “It fits the pattern. The man obviously wants to gain her attention, and the flowers and jewelry tell me somewhere in his twisted mind, he imagines he is courting her.”
“Mrs. Pennyworth, have you rejected any suitors of late?”
“I have recently come out of mourning, Inspector. My husband passed away a year ago, and I have avoided most social events. So, to answer your question, no, I have not spurned any potential suitors.”
Morgan nodded. “One more thing. Your calling card is attached to this box. Who would have access to your card?”
Charlotte smiled. “Everyone. I leave them with shopkeepers, and when I call on friends. Most women do. It is not hard for someone to get their hands on one of my cards.”
The Inspector thought for a moment, then directed his comments to Elliot. “I assume you’re doing a good job of covering this, Baker. With the men chasing this Ripper fellow, and everything else going on, your investigation will produce more than we can right now. Just keep me informed.”
It appeared they were being dismissed, which allowed Charlotte to take a deep breath. The police would not be investigating her.
They all rose, with the two men shaking hands, and indulging in more backslapping. Elliot took her elbow and escorted her out of the building, and into her carriage.
Charlotte rested her head against the velvet squab and closed her eyes. Now that the tension
from the morning had left her, she was tired to the bone, and in possession of a raging headache.
“Are you not well, Charlotte?” Elliot’s deep, soothing voice rolled over her. She opened her eyes, once again reminded what a handsome man he was.
“I have a headache. It has been a trying morning.”
“Yes, I know.” He reached his hand out. “Come here.”
…
Elliot really hadn’t expected Charlotte to do his bidding, but she stood and moved to the space next to him. “I just feel so weary. And upset that Sarah was sickened by the biscuits that were sent in my name. The poor child.”
“Here, lean back against me, and I will rub your temples. That will help.”
Again she surprised him by doing just that. She turned her back to him, and once he shifted so his knee was bent on the seat, he gathered her firmly against his chest, and said, “Close your eyes.” His fingers began to massage her temples.
His desire for Charlotte grew each time he saw her. He’d been fighting it, but with her lush body resting against him, and the flowery sent of her hair drifting to his nostrils, his awareness of her was wreaking havoc with his blood supply. He was finding it more and more difficult to keep his hands above her neckline when she sighed as he rubbed her head.
“Elliot?” The sound of her silky voice murmuring his name stirred him further.
“Yes?”
“Why did you leave Scotland Yard? It seemed as if everyone there liked and respected you.”
When he didn’t answer right away, she turned and studied him with raised brows. He moved her head back into position and continued his ministrations. “I made a serious error in judgment, and it caused a constable to be crippled. His wife was forced to secure employment to provide for their children.” It felt strange to speak those words, because he’d never told anyone about it before. He’d always kept his disgrace to himself.
The Pursuit of Mrs. Pennyworth Page 8