Once Upon a Time in Bath

by Cheryl Bolen

  He moved to the corner as if he were approaching a poisonous viper and bent to pick it up. The red was still vibrant, proving it had not been there for long. It was a moment before he could trust his voice. “Did the newspapers say what Miss Macintosh was wearing when they pulled her body from the river?”

  He had not been able to read the accounts. Having known the victim, it was too disturbing for him to see her tragic death sensationalized, to know that every person in Bath had access to every morbid detail of her murder.

  Dot whirled toward him. “You’ve found something!”

  His voice was as grim as he felt when he said, “Perhaps.”

  She raced to the other side of the church. “The newspapers said she was wearing a red dress.”

  His breath hitched.

  When she saw what he held, her eyes shut tightly. “This is one time when being right brings no satisfaction.”

  He put an arm around her and drew her close. “I know. It’s wretched.”

  He hated being here, knowing this was where poor Ellie had been lured to her death, knowing this was where she had drawn her last breath.

  He didn’t like Dot being here. For the first time since he and she had begun their inquiries, it occurred to him he was putting Dot’s life in jeopardy. What if the killer learned that they might be able to identify him? The murderer would hasten to permanently silence them.

  And the monster had already proven adept at overpowering the fairer sex.

  All Appleton could think of was getting Dot out of there. “We need to go.”

  “We most certainly are not leaving yet. If we found something to indicate Miss Macintosh was here, we might just as easily find something that may point us to her killer.”

  That was the reason they had come. He hated to acknowledge that he’d gotten so alarmed at finding the location of Ellie’s death that he’d forgotten what their initial quest had been. “A pity the light in here is so poor.”

  “But you’ve already had great success—as sad as it may be.” She looked up hopefully at him. “I pray we can be as fortunate in locating something that belonged to the killer.”

  He looked down at the torn piece of red fabric. “This proves there was a struggle.”

  She nodded somberly. “If she were fighting for her life, it stands to reason she might tear off something of his.”

  He agreed.

  “What size was Miss Macintosh? Was she tall, per chance?”

  “No. She was average size. Neither small, nor tall.”

  “So if the killer were taller than average—as that old woman described the man in Sydney Gardens with Ellie—she would have been overpowered fairly quickly. Unfortunately.”

  He nodded solemnly. Not finding anything else in that same corner, Appleton moved toward the very back of the sanctuary and began to walk the perimeter. This was the darkest part of the church. He went slowly and stooped over. It was difficult to clearly see the dull stone floors because they were covered with dust and dirt and droppings from assorted creatures he dared not mention to Dot.

  He found nothing of interest along the entire interior perimeter of the church and began to move toward its center. Something shiny and small caught his eye. He bent and picked it up and examined it. He knew at once what it was and where it came from.

  A smile swept across his face. “Success!”

  She raced to him. “What did you find?”

  “Something that can possibly lead us to the killer.” He opened his palm to reveal a shiny brass button.

  “A button?”

  He nodded. “Not just any button. This is a button exclusive to coats fashioned by the London tailor Redmayne.”

  She frowned. “I was hoping it would be the killer’s monogram.”

  “I will own, this isn’t as good as a monogram, but it does tell us the killer has to be a wealthy man because Redmayne is one of the most expensive haberdashers in the Capital.”

  “So it’s a safe assumption that the killer is likely a man who knew Miss Macintosh from Mrs. Starr’s?”

  “It would be a sound guess.” Appleton placed the button in his pocket. “Come, love, let’s get out of here.” He wanted to get Dot into the sunlight and away from this grisly place which even smelled of decay. “We can discuss this on the way home.”

  Neither of them spoke until they were well clear of the old church and far from the River Avon. It was as if they were trying to purge themselves of the stench of death associated with the rotting old church.

  “How do you know about the buttons? You’ve used Redmayne before?”

  “I have.”

  “What of your friends?”

  He shrugged. “Most of my friends use Bath tailors. I’m one of the few who spends time in London because my father—then my brother—served in Parliament and always kept a house there.”

  “What about the other patrons of Mrs. Starr’s?”

  “That’s a different story. Many, many of them have ties to London. Many of them don’t live here year round as my friends do. As you know, Bath society is mostly transient.”

  “But how many of the men at Mrs. Starr’s use Redmayne?”

  “I’d never before given it any thought.”

  “And now you’ve pledged not to go there anymore.”

  “I never go back on a pledge.” His voice was stern. “But Sir Elvin can always be my eyes and ears there, just as he set up our meeting with Ellie’s friend, Maryann.”

  “Just as I felt sure Ellie Macintosh was murdered in the old church, I feel we’re getting closer to learning the identity of her killer.”

  He took no comfort in her words. Being at the site of Ellie’s murder made her death even more harrowing.

  Now he worried about Dot. And Annie. He wished he’d never allowed them to participate in this madness of trying to apprehend a killer.

  Chapter 19

  “I’m going to London in the morning.” Forrester made the statement as they were walking up Broad Street, using the same toneless delivery as if he were stating a well-accepted truth, like “My eyes have always been green.”

  He need not explain. She knew he intended to visit the establishment of the tailor Redmayne. Selfishly, she did not like to think of him leaving Bath, did not like the thought of not being able to see him.

  Yet she realized his trip could yield the identity of Ellie Macintosh’s killer. “You’re going to the tailors?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you anticipate being able to make the trip in one day?”

  He chuckled. “You have little understanding of English travel if you think that possible. Leaving at dawn tomorrow I’ll have to ride like the wind to make London by nightfall.”

  She pouted. “Then you’ll be gone for two whole days or even longer?”

  “You sound disappointed,” he said playfully.

  “I am. I shall miss you.”

  He lifted her hand and pressed his lips to it. “I shall miss you, too.” He paused, his step slowing. “Will you promise me one thing?”

  “Of course.”

  “Please do not go anywhere without someone—a man—to guard you.”

  She was taken aback—taken aback and flattered—over his genuine concern. Ever since they had left the scene of poor Ellie Macintosh’s death, she had sensed that something oppressive was weighing on Forrester. Now she realized he was worried about her. “I give you my word,” she said.

  * * *

  A costly coach was parked in front of Appleton’s house. The black paint of the carriage shone as if it had just left the carriage maker’s. Not even a speck of dust marred its perfection. Its coachman sported scarlet livery, a jaunty top hat resting on his aging head, lending an aristocratic air to the equipage. But to Appleton’s dismay, no crest distinguished the conveyance.

  “Who could be paying us a call?” he said to Dot.

  “Then that carriage does not belong to one of your friends?”

  “Not unless one of them has recen
tly procured a new coach. A very expensive one.”

  They entered the house, and voices, along with his sisters’ tinkling laughter, came from the upstairs drawing room. He and Dot hurried up the staircase, but when he drew close to the drawing room, he recognized Henry Wolf’s voice and went as rigid and cold as a steel cutlass.

  She sensed his tenseness and shot him a quizzing glance. “What’s wrong?”

  “That man, Henry Wolf, has dared to call upon my sister.”

  “I’m sure he means no harm.”

  “You. Don’t. Know. Him.” Appleton stormed into the chamber. All three of his sisters, their pretty gowns fanned out upon the silken chairs and sofa where they sat, looked most agreeably upon the obnoxious man who had the audacity to seat himself on the same sofa as Annie.

  Appleton felt like striking Wolf. Or challenging him to a duel.

  Annie looked up. “Oh, here’s my brother and his fiancée.”

  Wolf’s face clouded. He stood, as would any gentleman upon a lady’s entrance into the chamber, and he observed Dot with eyes that were narrowed to slits.

  Wolf was the last person Appleton wished to know about his forthcoming marriage. He’d not wanted the man to learn that his marriage to an heiress would enable him to claim the IOUs before Wolf could claim his property—or try to claim Annie.

  Wolf spoke icily. “I did not know you were getting married.”

  “Yes,” Appleton said. He refused to elaborate.

  “They’re to marry next Wednesday,” Abby interjected.

  Anger surged through Appleton. Why could Abby never keep her mouth closed? Wolf was so devious, he might try to find a way of stopping the wedding from taking place.

  Why was Henry Wolf so obsessed with Annie? Just purchasing the IOUs from Mrs. Starr would have cost a king’s ransom. Yet he was willing to hand them back to Appleton and not even seek a dowry. All in an effort to make Annie his wife.

  Which would never happen as long as Appleton drew breath.

  Appleton wasn’t the only angry man in the chamber. Wolf could barely conceal his fury as his gaze shifted from Appleton to Dot. He quickly feigned civility. “I regret that I must leave as soon as you’ve come, my lord, but I have exceedingly enjoyed my stay with your delightful sisters.” His gaze went to Annie, and he bid her good-bye.

  Appleton ignored him, directing his comment to Annie. “I thought you would still be at the dressmaker’s.”

  A puzzled look on her face as she eyed Wolf’s back while he left the chamber, she said, “We just returned as Mr. Wolf drove up. He wasn’t here more than a quarter of an hour.”

  Appleton glared at Annie and did not speak until the house’s front door closed. “Have I not warned you against that man?”

  His sister bristled. “Honestly, Timothy, I am three-and-twenty years of age—old enough not to have to have my brother screen my callers.”

  “I have never screened your callers. Wolf is the only man I’ve ever tried to shield you from.”

  “Well, I found him to be a perfect gentleman,” she said, jutting out her chin with an air of defiance. “And you cannot deny he’s sinfully wealthy.”

  “You must trust me on the depravity of the man’s character.”

  She glared at him and stalked from the chamber.

  He turned to the other sisters. “Neither of you will encourage that man’s attentions in any way. Is that understood?”

  Her eyes wide, Agnes nodded.

  His angry glance moved to Abby. She shrugged. “I did not find Mr. Wolf appealing in the least. Even if he is possessed of a great fortune.”

  His sisters left the chamber.

  “I’ll see you home in the coach,” he said to Dot, “and then I’ll be early to bed for I have to leave before dawn.”

  * * *

  Appleton lost count of how many times he had to change horses on his journey to London. He’d denied himself for so many hours, his hunger had abated, only to be replaced with a gnawing void in the pit of his stomach. He would not permit anything to keep him from making Redmayne’s establishment before it closed this day.

  Night came early this time of the year. When he finally reached Savile Row in London, lanterns lighted the shop’s doorways against the darkness, and each shop window was illuminated from within.

  Through the large window at Mr. Redmayne’s premises, a well-dressed man was hanging up a jacket. Thank God, I’m not too late.

  Appleton handed off his horse to an hostler and entered the shop.

  “Ah, Lord Appleton,” a smiling Redmayne said, “how good it is to see you.” The tailor’s discerning eye swept over his patron’s dust-covered boots and the general disarray of Appleton’s clothing. “Have you come from Bath?” As a good businessman, Redmayne was obliged to be acquainted with the habits of the men who patronized him.

  “Indeed I have.”

  The tailor’s brows lowered. “I will own, my lord, I’m surprised to see you since it was only last month that you took possession of three of those coats which I am gratified to say you admired so much.”

  “What a good memory you possess. As it happens, I’ve come for information. It may be a matter of life or death. I can say no more.” Death. Ever since he’d visited the place where Ellie was murdered, he feared another death was imminent.

  Even worse, he feared for Dot’s safety.

  “Pray, my lord, what information could I possibly possess that could be so important?”

  “Has anyone purchased a replacement of one of your special buttons in the past two weeks?”

  Redmayne’s eyes widened. “As it happens, I did receive such an order—and I was instructed to send it to an address in Bath!”

  Appleton’s pulse thundered. His stomach went queasy—and not from hunger. He was about to learn the identity of Ellie’s killer. It was likely someone he knew. All day he’d been hoping Redmayne could provide this information, and now that he was going to, Appleton felt sick. “His name?”

  “Humphrey Mitchell.”

  Appleton internally slumped. It couldn’t be Mitchell! Appleton had known him all his life. In fact, the man was the father of Abby’s closest friend. In all the years Appleton had been gaming at Mrs. Starr’s establishment, not once had he seen the affable family man there.

  Appleton would stake his life on Mitchell’s innocence. But not Dot’s life.

  He looked at Redmayne, who was an inch or two shorter. “Anyone else?”

  The tailor shook his head. “Not recently.”

  Appleton clasped a hand to his shoulder. “Since you are possessed of so fine a memory, I should be interested in knowing which other men with ties to Bath are clients of yours.”

  “Besides yourself and Mr. Mitchell?”

  “Yes.”

  Redmayne stroked his prominent chin. “Your Master of Ceremonies at the assemblies, Mr. James King. He’s a loyal patron of my business. And one of my wealthiest clients had a new jacket sent to Bath recently. He’s a very good customer. As you must know, my lord, my services don’t come cheap. All of my clients are either of the nobility or very fine gentlemen.”

  “Who would that wealthy client be?”

  “Oh, that would be Mr. Henry Wolf.”

  Appleton felt as if he’d plunged from the top of Westminster Cathedral. That queasiness he’d been experiencing expanded. He not only felt sick in his gut, his heart ached. He was almost certain Wolf was the murderer.

  The realization brought no comfort.

  He looked into Redmayne’s eyes, which reflected the glow from a nearby oil lamp. “You’ve been exceedingly helpful.”

  As Appleton swept from the shop, Redmayne called after him. “Will you tell me why this is a matter of life or death?”

  “Once everything’s sorted.”

  He went straight to Appleton House in Mayfair, where a skeleton staff of two looked after their London home. They looked surprised to see him.

  “I’m just here for one night,” he told the male servant who a
nswered the door. Appleton did not know his name. “I won’t require a proper dinner, but please send something—I don’t care what—up to my chamber. I’ve not eaten all day. Then I’ll be off to bed, for I must rise before dawn—which I did this morning.”

  With each step up the staircase, his worry mounted. He could not dispel the fear that Dot’s life was in peril.

  He could not forget the look of sheer hatred that briefly distorted Wolf’s face when he eyed Dot the previous day after learning she was to marry Appleton.

  * * *

  Her father’s coach drew up in front of the Blankenship residence on Queen Square. “Now, Papa,” Dot said, “have a care about not getting in your cups in front of Mrs. James Blankenship. You want to make a good impression.”

  This would be the first time her father and the widow with whom he was so enchanted would be together socially.

  “That’s good advice, my pet. I do want to make a good impression. The lady mentioned she did not approve of her late husband’s excessive affinity for strong spirits.”

  “There you have it—another good reason not to indulge.”

  Her father collected the lady, and they rode on to the theatre. “Lord Appleton has done us the goodness of permitting us to use their family’s box tonight,” Mr. Pankhurst told his companion as they entered the opulently decorated lobby and moved to the staircase.

  Dot hoped the widow did not find her father’s frequent references to Lord Appleton tedious. Dot herself refrained from doing so. After all, she would soon be Lady Appleton, and she fervently hoped the mere addition of title did not alter her in any way. Unlike her father, she was not rendered foolish in the presence of nobility.

  She did understand that after nine-and-forty years of living, this was the first time her Papa had been on intimate terms with a peer, and such a connection elevated his own self-worth.

  Still analyzing her father’s behavior as they took their seats on the front row of Forrester’s box, it suddenly occurred to her that her father’s ailments as well as his dependence upon spirits might have been misinterpreted these past few years.