Page 29 of The Pursuit of Mrs. Pennyworth
“Yes, and believe me, once is enough.” She took a deep breath in an effort to control herself. Suddenly, she realized Elliot was staring out the window, deep in thought. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking I could easily see Mr. Spencer placing a decapitated rodent on your doorstep.”
Air whooshed from her lungs as she sat back. “I am afraid I agree, but what would be the purpose since he doesn’t know me, and where would a vicar get the kind of money to buy an expensive bracelet?”
Elliot nodded. “That’s a good point about the bracelet, but for motivation, his sermons and interaction with you reveal a lot about his character, and his ideas about what a woman should, and should not, do.” He leaned back against the squab and rested his ankle on his bent knee. “Let’s just say Mr. Spencer is worth investigating. Since you are writing to the bishop, ask about Spencer’s credentials. I can’t imagine a bishop approving someone such as he for this post. Or any post, for that matter.”
The rest of the trip continued with them lost in thought. Charlotte gathered her things when the carriage came to a stop. “Do you wish to come in for tea? I feel as though I could use a bit.”
“Yes, tea would be nice.”
As soon as they stepped on the first stair, Charlotte’s heart gave a thump. “Is that something by the front door?”
Elliot narrowed his eyes. “Stay here.” He took the steps two at a time until he reached the top. He picked up what looked like flowers and a piece of paper. “You can come up, now.”
Slowly, Charlotte made her way to the top. “What is it this time?”
“Very innocuous. Let’s go inside.” Just then the door opened and Bridget stepped back. “Good afternoon, Mr. Baker, ma’am.”
Elliot gave her a smile. “Did you see or hear anything this morning by the front door?”
The girl shook her head, her red curls dancing alongside her head where they’d come loose from her lace cap. “No, sir. But I haven’t been by the door except when I heard the carriage pull up just now.”
He stepped aside to let Charlotte enter and followed her down the corridor to the drawing room. She got as far as the center of the room and turned. “What is it?”
Elliot handed her a bouquet of flowers. Roses. Red, and perfumed. Nothing at all the matter with them. They were wrapped in paper, tied with a ribbon. She looked up at him, her brows furrowed. “Did I see you pick up a piece of paper?”
He held out a sheet of very expensive vellum. Charlotte opened it.
From your admirer
She sank into one of the chairs and laid the flowers and note on the table alongside her. “What do you make of this?”
* * *
After considering this latest development,Elliot rested his hands on his hips. “I don’t know. Either our mystery man is extremely clever, or this is not from him, but someone who is actually an admirer.” Truth be told, this rattled him more than the other packages. Could Charlotte have an actual, shy admirer who would now complicate the investigation, or was their man so clever he was attempting to thwart their course of inquiry with the flowers?
Charlotte rubbed her arms and cast a furtive glance at the flowers. “I don’t want them.”
Without comment, Elliot moved to the bell pull and summoned a maid. Nothing was said until Bridget appeared. He retrieved the flowers and brought them to her. “Please dispose of these and bring tea.”
She bobbed a curtsey, casting an uneasy glance at Charlotte. “Yes, sir.”
“I think after the morning you’ve had, a bit of sherry before tea is brought in would be a good idea.”
“I believe you are right.”
He headed to the library, then poured a brandy for himself and a healthy dose of sherry for Charlotte. When he returned and handed her the small glass, she took it from him with shaky hands.
He settled across from her, swirling the brown liquid before taking a sip. “If this is an actual admirer, it is certainly poor timing. If, on the other hand, the flowers and note came from our villain, he has made a mistake.”
Charlotte placed the glass on the table in front of her. “What is that?”
He gestured toward the glass of sherry. “Drink that.” Once she had taken a sip, he continued, “We have his handwriting. Up until now there has been no correspondence, except for the card that was left with the box of biscuits.” He picked up the note once more and studied it. “I have a handwriting expert I work with on occasion. He should be able to tell us something about the man from these words. Also, if I can get several of the people we are looking at to write a few words, I can compare it to this note.”
It bothered him how much Charlotte had changed from when she’d first appeared at his office. There seemed to be a perennial crease in her forehead, and the dark circles under her eyes spoke of sleepless nights. Even though it had only been a few weeks, her clothes seemed looser, and her hands never stilled. Like now, as she picked at the folds of her dress.
Thinking of the schedule of her social engagements she’d given him, he asked, “Are you still expecting callers this Tuesday afternoon for your monthly book discussion?”
