The sound of the front door opening made her race—very unladylike—to the front door. She released a huge breath as Elliot stepped into the entrance hall, looking hale and hearty. He gave her a grim smile—what did that mean?—and shrugged out of his coat and handed it, along with his hat and gloves, to Thomas. He rubbed his hands together as he walked toward her. “I skipped luncheon and am famished.”
“Yes, of course.” She looked at Thomas. “Please have Cook send in a tray to the library for Mr. Baker.”
They both entered the room, and he closed the door, heading directly to the fireplace, where he extended his hands to warm them. Charlotte attempted to be patient, but finally gave up. “What happened?”
His grim countenance troubled her. He looked as though he hadn’t been injured, but he also did not have the look of someone who had solved a difficult problem, and was ready to tell her about it. Had they been wrong? Had Mr. Talbot disputed all of their facts that had led to their conclusion?
Without answering her question, Elliot moved to the sideboard and poured a brandy for himself. She was a bit confused when he poured a sherry for her, also. Crossing the room, he handed the glass to her just as Thomas entered the room with a tray of bread, cheese, cold meat, and fruit.
“Just place it on the table.” Charlotte waved to the small table between the deep green-and-white striped settee and matching chair.
They took their seats, and Elliot downed his glass of brandy and set it alongside the plate of food. He sliced a piece of cheese from the block and looked up at her. “Talbot is dead.”
Charlotte hopped up from her seat. “Dead?” Her shrill voice echoed in the room. “Did you kill him?”
He shook his head and took a bite of cheese. “He was dead before I got there.”
That meant Elliot never got to speak to the man. In that case, there was no reason for him to put aside the meal he apparently needed. “Go ahead and eat. We can discuss it later.” She hesitated. “Although, if you never got to speak with him, there isn’t much to be said, is there?”
He swallowed and wiped his mouth with the napkin. “There is more to tell you, some of which is rather gruesome, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, dear.”
“Yes.”
She pointed to the table. “Why don’t you finish up your meal, then.” Perhaps a spot of sherry would be just the thing, after all. She took a sip, shrugged her shoulders, then tossed down the rest of the liquid.
…
Once Elliot had finished his luncheon, he picked up their two glasses and refilled them. “You may need this.”
Settled on the settee, he twirled the liquid in his brandy glass, staring into the contents. “It seems Mr. Talbot’s body was found along the London docks by a man returning from an all-night visit with one of the ladies of the evening.”
Charlotte sucked in a deep breath. “That’s terrible. What happened to him?”
“He’d been bludgeoned, and left for dead.” He swirled the brandy once more, then took a healthy swallow. “I found his servant draping the front door with black, and after he told me Talbot was dead, and had not merely expired in his bed while he slept, I went to Scotland Yard.”
Elliot stood and placed his hands behind his back, and walked to the window. Everything seemed normal and peaceful out there, as opposed to his insides, which were still churning after his visit with Scotland Yard, and viewing Mr. Talbot’s body.
“The Yard has determined that Talbot had visited one of the pubs along the London Docks and was robbed, then beaten.” He didn’t intend to tell Charlotte the truly gruesome part of the tale.
Talbot’s calling cards had been on his body, tucked into his waistcoat, and word had been sent to his home. Because Talbot had no relatives, his valet had gone to the Yard to identify the body. When Elliot had entered the morgue, Talbot’s body was about to be autopsied. Anxious to know if it was the beating that had killed him, he’d remained to watch.
It had not been his first autopsy, but it was the first time he’d known the victim. The doctor confirmed that Talbot had died of blunt force trauma to the head. What made the discovery of the body so much worse was the fact that animals apparently had gotten to the corpse before it had been discovered.
He shuddered at the memory of the missing limb, and walked back to the table where he’d left his brandy, and took a deep draught to help keep his luncheon down. He sat next to Charlotte on the settee. “I stayed for the autopsy, and the doctor confirmed that the beating is what killed Mr. Talbot.”
She shook her head. “That is dreadful.”
“The not-so-dreadful part of the story is, since more than likely Talbot was our man, you should no longer receive packages on the front steps.”
“That is a relief.” She stood and rubbed her palms up and down her arms. “I don’t even know if Mr. Talbot has family that would see to his burial.”
“Somehow Mr. Spencer got word of Talbot’s death, and I met him on my way out of Scotland Yard. He said the church would see to the man’s burial. He intends to hold the funeral tomorrow at ten o’clock.”
“We must attend.”
Elliot nodded. Talbot’s death had ended any need for him to confront the man and go through all the legal machinations that would have been necessary had he been charged with hiring the man who had beaten, and then shot at him. However, instead of feeling satisfaction at the closing of an assignment, he felt at loose ends. Perhaps it had ended too swiftly, too easily.
Too opportunely.
Or maybe he felt that way because he hadn’t gotten to accuse the man to his face, and hear his explanation. That would always remain a mystery. Why had Talbot thought harassing Charlotte in that way would drive her into his arms? Or had that even been his motive?
On another note, Charlotte still had not answered his proposal. He watched her as she paced, growing paler by the minute. “Charlotte?”
“Yes.” She stopped in front of him, fumbling with the buttons on her gown. “What is it?”
“You don’t look well.”
She collapsed onto the settee. “Yes, I don’t feel well, either.” She turned, facing him. “I have known Mr. Talbot for some time, and I can’t help but remember how nice he was to me after Gabriel died.” Tears formed in her eyes. “He was such a source of strength for me. I just find it hard to…”
Elliot drew her to him, wrapping her in his arms. “I understand.”
Charlotte spoke into his chest. “I did not want to believe he was the one. I really, really did not want to believe it.”
“Honey, the evidence was all there.”
“I know.” She wiped the corner of her eye with her knuckle. Elliot withdrew his handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her.
She smiled her thanks, and then proceeded to twist the scrap of linen into knots. “Oh, dear. I wonder if Miss Garvey knows. She seemed to be quite friendly with him. We have to be sure to notify her, oh, and some of our other friends, if Mr. Spencer is holding the funeral as soon as tomorrow.”
The thought of things to be done seemed to offer Charlotte some peace and control, which was a good thing.
“If you write notes to your friends, and give me a list, between me and Thomas, we can get them all delivered this afternoon. It would be quite sad if there were only the two of us at the funeral.”
“Yes. I can do that.” Charlotte retrieved a lap desk from a stand across the room and returned to sit with him. “One problem I already foresee. I don’t have Miss Garvey’s direction. I never got her card from that night at the assembly.” She tapped the pen against her lips. “As much as I am not too fond of the woman, she does need to be notified.”
“Would anyone else in your circle of friends know where she resides?”
Charlotte shook her head. “I doubt it. She first appeared with Mr. Talbot, and as far as I could see, she never became overly friendly with anyone else.”
“She is an odd duck.” Elliot would have preferred to call her s
omething else after the cold reception he’d received from her at the last dinner party, but he agreed it was necessary to find a way to notify her. “Maybe Mr. Spencer knows more.”
“Yes. A good idea. Would you mind taking the carriage and going to the vicar’s house and seeing to that? In the meantime, I will write out the notes which you and Thomas can deliver when you return.”
…
The morning of the funeral dawned perfect for the somber event. Low clouds threatened rain, the air was cool, and the last of the autumn leaves tumbled to the ground as he and Charlotte rode the distance from her townhouse to the small church.
Mr. Spencer stood outside, in his formal robes, as they drove up. Three other carriages arrived at the same time, all four coaches stopping behind each other. Elliot opened the door and held out his hand to Charlotte.
Nodding to each other, they all moved inside. Elliot was surprised to see Detective Longforth in the last pew of the church. It was not unusual for a police officer to make an appearance at the funeral of someone who had been murdered, especially when they were still looking for suspects. But Elliot thought they had determined that Talbot had been accosted by footpads, robbed, and then beaten. Those sort of criminals were rarely caught.
All homicides were investigated, and all suspects sought, but because most cases of murder at the docksides went unsolved, the paperwork was generally shoved into a file cabinet somewhere. Due to public outcry, every available detective was busy tracking down the so-called Jack the Ripper.
The crowd gathered, taking up three pews, with the casket in front of the sanctuary. Elliot recognized some of the mourners, most of them from the circle of friends he had grown to know through his association with Charlotte. Talbot’s servant, who Elliot had seen draping the doorway with a black cloth, sat at the back of the church, along with a few others, most likely Talbot’s staff.
Mr. Spencer, of course, took the opportunity to berate those attending the funeral about the dangers to be had in frequenting unsavory establishments in dangerous locations. He had very little to say about the deceased, no surprise there, since Spencer hadn’t been vicar at the church very long.
Charlotte dabbed at the corners of her eyes with a perfume-scented lace handkerchief. When she rested her hands in her lap, Elliot placed his hand on top of hers and squeezed. He recognized how difficult this must be for her, since Talbot was also a link to her deceased husband.
While Spencer rambled on, Elliot’s thoughts drifted to Talbot, and the assumption that he’d been the one leaving the packages. There had been several things that pointed to him, but Elliot would have felt much better had he been able to confront the man. He still felt a sense of incompletion.
Once Spencer finished berating the mourners, he led the procession to the graveyard, where Talbot was to be interred. A light sprinkle started as they left the church. Elliot leaned in close to Charlotte, who had begun to shiver. “Perhaps it would be best if you waited in the carriage. There is no need for you to stand by the graveside.”
At first it appeared she would argue, then she nodded, and he motioned for Bones to come and escort her.
…
Charlotte settled in the padded seat and leaned back, closing her eyes. She felt weary all the way to her bones. Since she’d received the news from Elliot yesterday, she’d been tied in knots. She was extremely sad that Mr. Talbot had come to such an unfortunate end. He’d been such a good friend to her. She had fond memories of his visits when Gabriel had been alive. He and her deceased husband had spent many a night at her dining room table, arguing horseflesh and wagering. Those had been enjoyable times.
Then there was the strong possibility he’d been the one leaving packages on her front door step. To what end? That was the question that troubled her more than anything, and had kept her awake since Elliot had discovered Mr. Talbot had purchased the bracelet.
Why would he do such a thing? Spend a great deal of money on something he intended to give away, along with a dead animal? Elliot seemed to think it was a twisted sort of courtship. Admittedly, she was no investigator, but certainly no one in his right mind would think dead animals were a way to profess your love for a woman.
But then, no one in their right mind would do the things he’d done, anyway. She sighed and looked out the window. It was all so complicated, and enervating.
As she viewed the mourners surrounding the casket, she took note of Miss Garvey. She stood apart from the rest of the group, her head bowed, hands clenched together. The poor woman. She and Mr. Talbot had been friends, and no doubt she was suffering more than anyone else present.
At least Charlotte would have some peace now, and not have to shudder every time she opened her front door. She could return to her very quiet life.
With all that had happened yesterday, and the funeral today, she’d pushed Elliot’s proposal to the back of her mind. Now it presented itself front and center.
“Will you marry me?”
She was in love with him. There was no doubt about that. However, she did not want to be a widow again. At least not for many, many years. Elliot had already been shot in his line of work.
She had been happy with her life just as it was. But, after knowing Elliot, spending time with him, and above all, what they’d shared intimately, her life could never return to the way it had been.
Should they marry, all the things she enjoyed about her life: her charitable work, the group of friends she saw on a regular basis, the trips to the museums, theater, and parks, would not change. What would change—a man in her life again—might not be so terrible, based on the time they’d spent together as companions, and more so as lovers.
Additionally, in favor of his marriage proposal was something Elliot had pointed out, that truth be known, was dear to her heart. Babies had a way of making an appearance after marriage. She’d dreamed of becoming a mother from the time she’d been a little girl. It had seemed a reality once she and Gabriel had married. Then that dream, upon Gabriel’s death, had been snatched from her.
She had to face it. She was a coward. Once a woman depended upon a man, she lost a certain amount of control over her life. For better or worse. She was capable now, in control, able to take care of herself. But aside from his work, she knew Elliot would be a fine husband.
Were she to admit it, the main reason she hesitated was not his work, but starting off a marriage with a lie—even a lie by omission—was definitely the wrong way to begin married life.
The carriage rocked as Elliot climbed up and entered. She’d been so engrossed in her meanderings, she hadn’t noticed the group of mourners had broken up and were all headed toward their carriages.
“Lord and Lady Monroe have invited everyone to attend a small reception and memorial for Mr. Talbot at their house. I told them I would see if you are up to it.”
“This is to take place now?”
He nodded.
“I am so torn. In one way, I am very sorry that Mr. Talbot has died, and under such horrible circumstances. On the other hand, if he was truly the man harassing me, and hired someone to kill you, then he was not the man I knew and cared about.”
Elliot placed his hand on hers. “It is up to you, my dear.”
She chewed her lip and gazed out the window at the light rain that had begun to fall. Tears from the sky. Fitting for a funeral. “Yes. I think we should go. No one, except us, has any idea of what he was capable of, and why tarnish his memory for those who knew him all these years? We will go, pay our respects, and then leave.”
Elliot stepped out of the carriage to direct Bones to follow the other carriages. He settled back in, but instead of taking the bench across the way, he sat on the seat alongside her and drew her head to his chest.
Comfort. Another reason why she enjoyed Elliot’s company. He would make a fine husband. He was very thoughtful of her, kind, and gentle. “You appear fatigued. Did you get much sleep last night?”
She sat back, immediately regretting
the loss of his warmth. “No. I’m afraid I tossed and turned a great deal.”
He studied her, and for a moment she thought he might once again ask her about his proposal, but he merely gathered her into his arms as the carriage continued on to Lord Monroe’s townhouse.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Charlotte was reluctant to breathe a sigh of relief at having Mr. Talbot deceased, and the dreaded arrival of packages stopped. But after a week had gone by with nothing new appearing on her doorstep, she began to believe that Mr. Talbot had truly been the one harassing her.
She drew on her gloves and viewed herself in the mirror at the entrance hall. Elliot was to arrive shortly to escort her to an assembly. After the funeral, he’d moved back into his rooms, and she hadn’t seen him since. He sent a note around that he’d been quite busy catching up on work that had been neglected while he’d worked on her case. The next day, he’d sent another note asking her to attend the assembly with him.
During their time apart, she admitted to herself that despite her best intentions, she’d fallen hopelessly in love. She’d tried ever so hard to avoid it, but once he was gone, she knew it to be true. Her concerns about marriage to a man with such a dangerous occupation had taken a backseat to her newfound, or perhaps, her newly acknowledged, feelings for him.
She drifted into the drawing room to await his arrival. The fact that he had not mentioned his marriage proposal concerned her. Had he changed his mind? Too restless to sit, she walked the room, trying to settle her restless mind.
A rap at the front door drew her attention. Once she heard Elliot’s voice, she left the drawing room to join him. Her heart pounded and her breath caught as she spotted him speaking with Thomas. His hair had still not dried completely from his bath, and damp curls fell on his broad forehead.
His overcoat accented his broad shoulders, and the muscles on his arms. He turned as she approached and offered her a bright smile. Her knees turned to jelly, and she knew right then if he were to repeat his proposal, she would accept. With pleasure.
The Pursuit of Mrs. Pennyworth Page 22