Page 43 of The Pursuit of Mrs. Pennyworth
She turned her head to view Elliot, who studied her closely. “I do not think of myself as a coward, although I am not foolishly brave. Nevertheless, I have been considering leaving London, and possibly finding a small house in Bath, or the countryside.”
He seemed to consider her words as his fingers tapped a cadence on his thigh. “I can certainly understand your desire to put this all behind you. However, there is no guarantee that whoever is torturing you will not follow you to the next town.”
She gasped. That thought had never entered her mind. “Do you think this vile person is so determined to frighten me that he would pick up and move to another town, merely to keep this up?”
“Charlotte, at this point we have no idea who this is, and therefore, no solid idea of his motivation. Can you once again assure me there is nothing in your background that would precipitate this? No one who has a grievance against you? A past lover who you scorned?”
She stiffened at his words. She continued to dismiss the idea of Barton. He would never be so subtle—not that dead animals fell into the subtle category, but he would march up to her front door, with a policeman in tow, to have her arrested.
If only she could tell Elliot about the incident in Melbourne Station, even to merely assure herself that Lord Barton was not the person behind this. But she had no reason to trust Elliot. He’d been duped by a deceptive woman before, and she doubted he would believe her story.
“No. Nothing,” she answered. “And as to your statement about a scorned lover, please remember, I am not free with my affections. There have been no lovers in my past, scorned or otherwise. Only my husband.”
Maybe every widow he knew was taking lovers, but no man had appealed to her in that way. Her heart gave a thump when she realized the man sitting in the carriage with her could very well be the first man she would consider. But lovers needed to trust each other, and she didn’t trust Elliot, and she was certain, based on his questions, that he did not trust her.
The vehicle came to a stop, and as she took Elliot’s hand to step out, a few raindrops landed on her face. Bones opened an umbrella over them, and they hurried up the pathway to Mr. and Mrs. Glenmoor’s house.
The Glenmoor townhouse, set on Grosvenor Road, was nestled among a row of townhomes belonging to London’s upper crust. This house sported a red front door, with a black and gold knocker.
A staid butler let them into a tasteful entrance hall, with a highly polished wooden floor, covered by a red print Aubusson carpet. Dark red wallpaper covered the area, leading to an oak staircase.
A maid took their coats and hats and directed them toward the drawing room where several tables had been set up. Charlotte spotted a handful of friends standing around, drinking lemonade. The table along the wall was arrayed with drinks and tidbits of food for the guests.
“Thank you so much for coming out in this nasty weather.” Mrs. Glenmoor bustled across the room, a smile on her cheerful face, her hands extended. A pleasant, plump woman, she and Charlotte had been friends since before she’d married Gabriel. Her husband was a retired globetrotter and had held the group captive many a night with tales of his adventures, and the places he’d visited.
Charlotte had always desired to travel, but first she couldn’t afford to, then she was grieving her short-lived marriage. Now that she was free to enjoy her independence, perhaps once this messy business was cleared up, she would take a trip to the continent. Or even, perhaps to America.
Mr. Glenmoor joined his wife, giving Elliot a slap on the back. “The ladies have lemonade set up, but I have a fine French brandy, or a Scotch whisky. What’s your favor?”
“The idea of brandy on this cool fall evening sounds like just the thing.” Elliot followed Glenmoor as he led the way, waving his hands about, no doubt with another story.
Mrs. Glenmoor watched them walk away. “Mr. Baker is such a pleasant man. We are all so happy for you to have found companionship since dear Gabriel is gone.”
Charlotte felt a bit of a fraud since Elliot was not a companion, as such, but someone she hired. Although, given the kisses they’d shared recently, it had become hard for her to remember she was merely his client.
Does he kiss all his clients?
She stifled a giggled, thinking since most of his clients were surely men, she doubted Elliot had done much kissing of them. While sipping her lemonade, she had the opportunity to examine the men in the room as more guests arrived.
Perhaps neither Mr. Talbot, Mr. Spencer, nor Baron Von Braun were the culprits. If not, who else here would hate her so much as to leave such horrible things? Was it possible that one of her female friends had harbored feelings for Gabriel, and was just now playing the woman scorned? More than a year after they’d married?
Then again, she could not imagine any woman doing such a dastardly thing, and Gabriel was deceased. Her attention was drawn to the room’s doorway where Mr. Talbot entered the room with Miss Garvey.
After greeting their hostess, they made a beeline for her. “Is Mr. Baker not with you this evening? I thought for sure we would see him.” Mr. Talbot offered his usual warm smile.
“Yes, he is here.” She turned to where she’d last seen them, but both Elliot and Mr. Glenmoor had disappeared.
* * *
Elliot tooka sip of his brandy and studied the portrait of the distinguished-looking man that Glenmoor had just identified as his great-uncle, Colonel Richard Foxworth, who had fought under Wellington during the Napoleonic wars.
“Yes, sir, he was a great soldier. He was my inspiration to join the military, don’t you know? I found I greatly enjoyed the travel involved in the military life, and that is how I became a wanderer.” Glenmoor continued to stare at the likeness of his relative. “Most of the men in my family were in service to the Crown in one way or another. I was raised to believe in duty to my country, ’twas drilled into me it was the proper thing to do. But nothing inspired me more than the tales about this man.”
They had left the drawing room when Glenmoor asked Elliot to take a walk with him before the rest of the guests arrived. The room he’d taken him to was two doors down from where the others had gathered, and where the hum of conversation reached their ears. For all intents and purposes, it seemed to be a library, but one wall was taken up with portraits, rather than bookshelves.
Glenmoor cleared his throat a few times, and then as they continued to stare at Colonel Foxworth, he said, “I brought you here for a purpose, Baker. There is a matter I would discuss with you, seeing as how you are a good friend of Mrs. Pennyworth.”
Elliot was caught off-guard by the man’s abrupt change of subject. “What is that?”
