Page 25 of The Pursuit of Mrs. Pennyworth
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The Master 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. 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 biscuits with the urchins. And it was a reminder that she needed to behave herself and get rid of that man who followed her about.
* * *
“Of coursewe 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 having emptied 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 crimehadbeen 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 grey 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 down 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 were interviewing 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, and 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 a good 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 back-slapping as they wended their way through the maze of desks. They were stopped every few steps for more greetings. More than a few glanced in her direction, curiosity plainly written on their faces.
A man was summoned and introduced to her as Inspector Morgan. After more teasing and back-slapping, 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 were a redeeming feature that twinkled with humor.
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. All the teasing seemed to only make him more uncomfortable.
The inspector pulled out a pad and 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 torturing her knew of her connection to the home, as well as what day she would be there. That was an alarming thought, since 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?”
