Page 71 of The Pursuit of Mrs. Pennyworth
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Several hours had passed since Elliot had left the house, and every minute had been torture for Charlotte. She’d pushed away the luncheon Cook had sent in, and spent most of her time pacing the library, or staring out the window.
The sound of the front door opening made her race—very unladylike—to the front door. She released a huge breath as Elliot stepped into the entrance hall, looking hale and hearty. He gave her a grim smile—what did that mean?—and shrugged out of his coat and handed it, along with his hat and gloves, to Thomas. He rubbed his hands together as he walked toward her. “I skipped luncheon and am famished.”
“Yes, of course.” She looked at Thomas. “Please have Cook send in a tray to the library for Mr. Baker.”
They both entered the room, and he closed the door, heading directly to the fireplace, where he extended his hands to warm them. Charlotte attempted to be patient, but finally gave up. “What happened?”
His grim countenance troubled her. He looked as though he hadn’t been injured, but he also did not have the look of someone who had solved a difficult problem and was ready to tell her about it. Had they been wrong? Had Mr. Talbot disputed all the facts that had led to their conclusion?
Without answering her question, Elliot moved to the sideboard and poured a brandy for himself. She was a bit confused when he poured a sherry for her, also. Crossing the room, he handed the glass to her just as Thomas entered the room with a tray of bread, cheese, cold meat, and fruit.
“Just place it on the table.” Charlotte waved to the small table between the deep green-and-white striped settee and matching chair.
They took their seats and Elliot downed his glass of brandy and set it alongside the plate of food. He sliced a piece of cheese from the block and looked up at her. “Talbot is dead.”
Charlotte hopped up from her seat. “Dead?” Her shrill voice echoed in the room. “Did you kill him?”
He shook his head and took a bite of cheese. “He was dead before I got there.”
That meant Elliot never got to speak to the man. In that case, there was no reason for him to put aside the meal he apparently needed. “Go ahead and eat. We can discuss it later.” She hesitated. “Although, if you never got to speak with him, there isn’t much to be said, is there?”
He swallowed and wiped his mouth with the napkin. “There is more to tell you, some of which is rather gruesome, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, dear.”
“Yes.”
She pointed to the table. “Why don’t you finish up your meal, then.” Perhaps a spot of sherry would be just the thing, after all. She took a sip, shrugged her shoulders, then tossed down the rest of the liquid.
* * *
Once Elliot had finishedhis luncheon, he picked up their two glasses and refilled them. “You may need this.”
Settled on the settee, he twirled the liquid in his brandy glass, staring into the contents. “It seems Mr. Talbot’s body was found along the London docks by a man returning from an all-night visit with one of the ladies of the evening.”
Charlotte sucked in a deep breath. “That’s terrible. What happened to him?”
“He’d been bludgeoned and left for dead.” He swirled the brandy once more, then took a healthy swallow. “I found his servant draping the front door with black, and after he told me Talbot was dead, and he did not die a natural death, I went to Scotland Yard.”
Elliot stood and placed his hands behind his back and walked to the window. Everything seemed normal and peaceful out there, as opposed to his insides which were still churning after his visit with Scotland Yard and viewing Mr. Talbot’s body.
“The Yard has determined that Talbot had visited one of the pubs along the London Docks and was robbed, then beaten.” He didn’t intend to tell Charlotte the truly gruesome part of the tale.
Talbot’s calling cards had been on his body, tucked into his waistcoat and word had been sent to his home. Talbot having no relatives, his valet had gone to the Yard to identify the body. When Elliot had entered the morgue, Talbot’s body was about to be autopsied. Anxious to know if it was the beating that had killed him, he’d remained to watch.
It had not been his first autopsy, but it was the first time he’d known the victim. The doctor confirmed that Talbot had died of blunt force trauma to the head. What made the discovery of the body so much worse was the fact that animals apparently had gotten to the corpse before it had been discovered.
He shuddered at the memory of the missing limb and walked back to the table where he’d left his brandy and took a deep draught to help keep his luncheon down. He sat next to her on the settee. “I stayed for the autopsy, and the doctor confirmed that the beating is what killed Mr. Talbot.”
She shook her head. “That is dreadful.”
“The not-so-dreadful part of the story is, since more than likely Talbot was our man, you should no longer receive packages on the front steps.”
“That is a relief.” She stood and rubbed her palms up and down her arms. “I don’t even know if Mr. Talbot has family that would see to his burial.”
“Somehow Mr. Spencer got word of Talbot’s death, and I met him on my way out of Scotland Yard. He said the church would see to the man’s burial. He intends to hold the funeral tomorrow at ten o’clock.”
