Page 19 of The Pursuit of Mrs. Pennyworth
Mr. Baker nodded and made a notation on the pad. “What are your duties?”
Bones scratched his head, no doubt wondering about this strange man who asked what a coachman’s duties were. “I drive the missus carriage.”
“Yes, and what else?”
“Keep the vehicle clean, and in good repair.”
“Do you tend to the horses?”
“No, sir. The groom does that.”
Charlotte saw no rhyme or reason for the questions Mr. Baker asked, but since she was not an investigator herself, perhaps there was something necessary in his line of questioning.
Mr. Baker leaned back in his chair and tapped his lips with his pen. “Have you noticed anything unusual in the neighborhood in the last few weeks? The presence of a previously unknown individual? Someone who seemed to stop and watch the house?”
“No, sir. Nothing any different than the way things have been forever.”
“Thank you, then. If you think of anything that might be of help in finding the man who is leaving these distasteful items for Mrs. Pennyworth, please contact me.” He reached in his pocket and withdrew a small white card that he handed to Bones.
Once the door closed, Elliot turned to Charlotte. “What do you know of your coachman’s background?”
“Not much. He had already been in place when I married Mr. Pennyworth. Why?”
“He wears a strange tattoo on the back of his left wrist, right above his glove that could denote questionable activities somewhere in his past.”
“Indeed?” She had never noticed the tattoo, but then again, she was not a private investigator. “Does that mean something?”
“Only that I don’t trust him.” Mr. Baker gazed at the door the man had just left.
“Why?”
He shrugged. “It could represent some sort of gang. Once a criminal, always a criminal.”
Charlotte sucked in a deep breath at his callous statement. “You believe that things are not always as they seem?”
“No.” He looked down at his pad. “Who is next?”
Still reeling from his words, she consulted the list Mrs. Blanchard had sent in. “The groom Malcolm.”
“How many staff members do you employ?”
Charlotte ticked off on her fingers. “Mrs. Blanchard, Bridget, Beatrice, Cook, our footman Thomas, Bones, and Malcolm.”
Just then the door opened and Malcolm, with dirt, and possibly some other interesting matter on his shoes, and looking as uncomfortable as Bones, stepped into the room. He stood before Mr. Baker as if facing the executioner. Despite the man’s demeanor, she had doubts the poor man, who had also been with the house since Gabriel bought it years ago, had anything to do with dead animals and expensive jewelry appearing on her doorstep.
She leaned back and regretted saying it was necessary for her to be present when Mr. Baker questioned the staff. Fighting a yawn, and wishing the afternoon over so she could rest, she listened as Mr. Baker cleared his throat and addressed Malcolm.
* * *
The following Monday,Charlotte tugged her kid gloves on and checked her appearance in the mirror. She moved her hat a bit to the right and re-anchored the hat pin holding the lovely deep green confection that matched her pelisse firmly on her head. Mr. Baker would be arriving shortly to escort her to the card party at Lord and Lady Danforth’s townhouse.
She thought back to the last time she’d seen Mr. Baker. After a few hours of awkwardness on the part of the servants, he’d dismissed the last one and looked up at her from his pad. “I wish I could tell you all of this had some effect on our search for your nemesis, but unfortunately, nothing presented itself as important.”
“Except for Bones’s tattoo.” She’d felt the need to add that since in her mind, Mr. Baker’s reaction to that had been excessive.
“Yes.”
He’d then went on to assure her it had been a necessary process, and there was a chance one of her servants would remember something that his questions prompted and contact him. She had walked him to the front door where he’d hesitated for a moment, and then suggested she get some rest. Once again annoyed at his tendency to overstep his bounds, she merely nodded before he strode down the stairs and away from the house.
