Page 46 of The Pursuit of Mrs. Pennyworth
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Elliot had accepteda ride in Charlotte’s carriage for his return home. He sat, slumped, in the corner of the vehicle, the clip-clop of the horse’s hooves on the cobblestones adding a comfortable rhythm to his thoughts.
Charlotte continued to be an enigma. At first, she appeared almost unnerved when he told her about Spencer’s questions. Of course, it would be frightening for a woman to know someone was questioning others about her.
Thinking back, he realized she became agitated when he mentioned the vicar wanted to know about her background. In the pale glow of the lantern inside the coach, she had paled, and had begun to fidget with her reticule.
Her past.There it was again, the question of her background.
He’d found over the last few weeks that she had crept into his life in a way he swore no other woman ever would. Of course, he had expected to take a wife one day, but he’d hoped to marry for affection and companionship. For building a family, and a life together. Leaving his heart securely untouched. A marriage with Charlotte could never be anything except passion and love.
The next morning,he approached the vicarage with a mixture of relief and sadness. Once he’d spoken to Mr. Spencer, this case could very well come to an end. He knocked at the door and waited several minutes before he knocked again.
“Who is there?” Mr. Spencer came around the back of the house, pulling off work gloves, and sticking them in his back pocket. “Oh, it’s you, Baker. What do you want?”
Certainly not the best way for a man leading his flock to greet a visitor. “I would like a few words with you, if you have time.”
Spencer stood, his feet apart, his hands on his hips, a definite defensive stance. “What about?”
So, he was not going to make this easy. “I would prefer to step inside, if it is all the same to you.” The devil take it, the man was annoying. Between his wealth, and lack of compassion for his fellow man, his choice of profession was ludicrous.
The vicar shrugged and turned his back, calling over his shoulder, “Go ahead inside. The first door on your left is my drawing room. Once I clean up, I’ll meet you there.”
Apparently, he employed no servants, or at least no one who took care of the vicarage on a daily basis. Elliot let himself in and found the room Spencer had designated. It was a typical small-house drawing room, crammed with the requisite knick-knacks, lace doilies, and numerous miniatures taking up space, and requiring daily dusting.
He ran his finger over the top of a wooden table. No dust. Although not readily visible, someone took care of the place. The walls were covered with deep green and cream-colored striped wallpaper. A patterned carpet covered the highly-polished wooden floor. Smells of something cooking—possibly beef—wafted from the kitchen. Did Spencer do his own meal preparation, too?
A strange man.
After about ten minutes, Mr. Spencer appeared, smoothing down his damp hair, which indicated that the vicar had cleaned himself up. He’d changed his clothes, also, having gone from the mud- spattered pants and shirt to dark wool trousers, a pale blue shirt, and dark vest. He pulled a timepiece out of his vest pocket. “I have only a few minutes, then I am expected elsewhere.”
Well, then. He hadn’t even been invited to sit down.
“I won’t take up much of your time.” Elliot waved to a cluster of chairs in the center of the room, arranged in a semi-circle, as if a meeting had taken place, or was about to. “May we sit?”
Spencer nodded and sat stiffly on one of the chairs. “Why are you here?”
Elliot had not spent a great deal of time speaking with members of the church however, he did not think Spencer’s manner was one that would elicit a great deal of comfort on the part of anyone seeking him out for spiritual guidance.
“Since you are in a hurry, I will come right to the point. It has come to my attention that you have been questioning people, seeking information about Mrs. Pennyworth, and I am here to establish exactly why she is of such interest to you.” There was no finesse in his statement, but the vicar had managed to put him in a frame of mind and temperament that did not allow for diplomacy.
For the first time Spencer seemed to relax, as he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. With what could only be called a smirk on his face, he answered, “I am not admitting anything of that nature, but even if I were to satisfy your curiosity, what business is it of yours if I am interested in Mrs. Pennyworth? She is a member of my church, after all.”
The hackles on the back of Elliot’s neck rose. The man was such a prig. Furthermore, why had he relaxed when he told him why he was here? Was he involved in something else that he was anxious to avoid? That, however, was not his purpose here. “If you wish to obtain information on one of your congregants, it seems to me the best way to go about that would be to speak with the person herself, not go behind one’s back to ask questions.”
“And of course, you have a great deal of experience as a man of the cloth?”
His patience completely shredded at the man’s attitude, Elliot stood and loomed over Spencer, his hands braced on either side of the chair, causing him to lean back to look into his eyes. “Take this as a warning, Reverend Spencer. Keep your questions to yourself and discontinue any further prodding of Mrs. Pennyworth’s friends for information on her.”
Uneasiness settled across the vicar’s face. “As one of my parishioners, Mrs. Pennyworth—”
“—is no longer one of your parishioners. Furthermore, I have a question for you.” Elliot straightened and tugged on the cuffs of his jacket. “Where did you buy the diamond bracelet?”
The complete look of puzzlement on Spencer’s face told Elliot what he had come to discover. Spencer was not their man. “What bracelet? What are you talking about?”
Years of dealing with liars, thieves, and numerous other criminals had honed Elliot’s skills in sniffing out untruths. Unfortunately, the Reverend Spencer had no idea of which he spoke. A dead end.
“Nothing.” Elliot turned to leave and got as far as the door. “Good day, Mr. Spencer. I do not plan to see you ever again, and neither will Mrs. Pennyworth.”
