Late For The Wedding

Twenty-Five

The muffled clatter of pots and pans awakened Tobias the next morning. His first thought was that Whitby was making a good deal more noise downstairs in the kitchen than usual. His second thought was that he felt rested and refreshed. This was the first good night’s sleep he’d had since Beaumont Castle, and he’d needed it. He was no longer Anthony’s age and able to stay awake until dawn night after night without suffering the consequences, he reflected.

Those damned ravages of time.

Then he opened his eyes and saw the books of poetry on the shelves next to the hearth.

Lavinia’s study.

He glanced toward the window, where the cheerful light of a summer dawn was streaming into the cozy little room. The clang and bang was coming from Mrs. Chilton’s kitchen, not Whitby’s domain.

Images from his final waking moments last night came back to him in a warm, pleasant rush. The memory of Lavinia on her knees between his legs caused his cock to harden again.

He raised his eyes to the ceiling and contemplated a mental picture of his business partner upstairs in her bed. She would be snuggled beneath the quilts, flushed with sleep, her red hair tucked up beneath a pretty little lace cap.

Another telling crash of metal disrupted his reverie. Mrs. Chilton was apparently trying to send him a message. Light footsteps sounded overhead.

It finally occurred to him that Lavinia and her housekeeper were not the only ones in residence. Miss Emeline was a sensible young lady, but she would no doubt be shocked to the core if she were to discover that he had spent the night in Lavinia’s study. Young people these days seemed to have developed rather rigid notions of propriety. One could only hope that they would eventually outgrow them.

He tossed aside the blanket and got to his feet, stretching his arms toward the ceiling. He rolled his shoulders a little to work out the tightness created by a night spent in a chair.

He contemplated making use of the small water closet tucked away behind the staircase but reluctantly decided against it. There was every possibility that Emeline might appear just as he was emerging from the facility.

He could wait until he happened upon a private spot in a park on the way home.

With a few quick, efficient moves, he put himself to rights, shoving his shirttails into the waistband of his trousers and raking his fingers through his hair.

When he was ready, he went to the door of the study and opened it cautiously.

Mrs. Chilton stood in the hall, a steaming mug of tea in hand. Her expression was unreadable.

“Thought you might like to drink this on the way home,” she said brusquely. “Here’s a hot currant muffin for you to eat with it. You can bring the cup back when you return for breakfast.”

“Mrs. Chilton, you are an angel.” He took the mug and muffin from her and headed for the front door. “I shall see you in a couple of hours.”

“Aye, I’ve no doubt of that.” She followed him down the hall and reached around him to open the door. Casting a meaningful glance over her shoulder at the staircase that led to the floor above, she narrowed her eyes.

“This sort of thing cannot continue, sir,” she said in a low voice.

“There is a young, unmarried lady in the house. It simply won’t do.”

“I’m well aware of that, Mrs. Chilton.” He went outside onto the step. “Lovely day, isn’t it?”

“Won’t last,” she said. “There’s a summer storm on the way. I can feel it coming.”

She closed the door very quietly but very deliberately in his face.

He blew the steam from his tea, took a large bite of the warm muffin, and went down the steps.

A trickle of awareness between his shoulders made him glance back at the windows of the upper floor of Number 7. Lavinia looked down at him from her bed chamber. She wore a flower-spattered wrapper. He could make out the little white lace cap that crowned her tousled red hair.

She raised a hand, smiled at him, and blew a little kiss. Mrs. Chilton was wrong about the storm, he thought. Birds were singing and the sun was out. There were only a few puffy clouds in the summer sky. It was going to be a fine day.

The sun was still shining two hours later when Mrs. Chilton cleared away the last of the breakfast dishes.

“I still say there’s a storm brewing,” she muttered as she swept past Tobias’s chair.

Lavinia looked up from her newspaper and saw a peculiar steely glint in Mrs. Chilton’s eyes.

“It won’t do any harm if there is. A little rain will wash out the alleys.” Tobias helped himself to some more currant jam. “Getting low on the jam, Mrs. Chilton.”

“Not at all, sir.” Mrs. Chilton prepared to back through the doorway into the kitchen, a loaded tray in her hands. I’ve got three more pots on hand. Expect that will do us for a few days.”

“I doubt it.” Tobias spread jam on a slice of toast. “I can go through three pots in no time, Mrs. Chilton.”

“If I were you, sir, I’d make those three pots last,” Mrs. Chilton said in a very pointed manner. “There’s no telling when I’ll have time to make up another batch.”

She bustled through the door and disappeared into the kitchen.

Tobias ate a bite of his toast.

Lavinia rattled her newspaper a little and glared at him. “Did you say or do something to annoy Mrs. Chilton when you arrived for breakfast this morning? She is in a rather sharp mood today.”

“Yes, I noticed that as well.” Emeline poured coffee into her cup.

“Quite prickly, isn’t she?”

“I won’t have you upsetting my housekeeper, Tobias,” Lavinia warned him.

He gave her an expression of injured innocence. “I don’t have any notion what you are talking about. I assure you, I said nothing untoward to Mrs. Chilton. Wouldn’t think of doing such a thing. Indeed, I am enormously fond of her. You know that.”

“Humph.” Unsatisfied but not quite sure what to do about the matter, Lavinia retreated to her paper.

She did not know what to make of the odd relationship that had developed between Tobias and the housekeeper. She had gained the impression that the pair had come to an understanding in recent weeks. Indeed, Mrs. Chilton had seemed to take a decidedly indulgent attitude toward Tobias, who, for his part, was inclined to alternately tease her and praise her cooking, especially any delicacy made with currants.

But things had changed since the return from Beaumont Castle.

Mrs. Chilton was no longer quite so good-natured and approving toward Tobias. It was as if she was in a state of expectation, anticipating that he would say or do something. But thus far he had disappointed her.

A pang of alarm shot through her. She lowered the newspaper again with a decided snap. “Tobias, I trust you are not plotting to steal Mrs. Chilton away from this household.”

He looked genuinely surprised by the accusation. “Wouldn’t think of it,” he mumbled around a mouthful of jam-smeared muffin.

“Whitby would never forgive me if I brought a housekeeper into his domain.”

Emeline chuckled. “Do not concern yourself, Lavinia. I’m sure Mrs. Chilton would never dream of allowing herself to be lured away from your employ.”

“Mmm.” Lavinia lowered her gaze to her newspaper again. She had more misgivings than ever now. Something was wrong.

Mrs. Chilton might be in an unfortunate mood this morning, she thought, but Tobias was certainly in fine spirits for a man with an unsolved murder case on his hands. When he had reappeared on her doorstep an hour ago, he was bathed and freshly shaven. Renewed determination gleamed in his eyes. Evidently a good night’s sleep was just what he had needed.

“Do you know, I am not the least surprised to hear that Mr. Hood is Anthony’s half-brother,” Emeline said, returning to the conversation in which they had all been engaged before the small skirmish between Tobias and Mrs. Chilton. “It certainly explains a few of the similarities I had noted in both gentlemen.”

“Yes, it does,” Tobias said.

“Will you be needing my assistance on this case today, sir?” she asked hopefully.

“I don’t think so, thank you.” He raised a brow when Emeline looked ruefully disappointed. Why?”

“Nothing. It is just that Priscilla sent a note around this morning practically begging me to call upon her this afternoon. I interpret that to mean that her mama has made some dreadfully boring appointnent for her with a dressmaker and she does not want to suffer alone.”

Lavinia tut-tutted. “More pink, I suppose?”

“No doubt. Priscilla says that the only really good reason she can come up with for getting married is that her mama would no longer be able to force her to wear pink.”

“Lavinia looked at Tobias. What of your plans, sir?”

“I must find some evidence of Pierce’s involvement in this affair.

“I’m going to search his lodgings this afternoon when he goes off to pay his calls on his clients.” Tobias’s face tightened. “Assuming he actually does do some legitimate hairdressing.”

“I’m sure he does,” Lavinia said. “He is quite skilled in that profession, as I have told you. He must have any number of regular clients.”

The muffled thud of the front door knocker reverberated throughout the house. Mrs. Chilton’s solid footsteps sounded in the hall.

Emeline put down her napkin. “I wonder who that can be at this early hour. Perhaps a new client, Lavinia.”

“More likely an old client,” Lavinia muttered. “Come to demand to know how the investigation progresses.”

Tobias looked amused. “Clients do like to be kept informed.”

The murmur of voices drifted down the hall. A moment later the door of the breakfast room opened.

“Mrs. Gray to see you and Mr. March, madam,” Mrs. Chilton announced.

“I knew it,” Lavinia said. Well, at least we have some news at last to give her.”

“Indeed.” Tobias took one last swallow of his coffee and got to his feet. “Now all we need is a bit of evidence to go with it.”

At two o’clock that afternoon, Lavinia stood with Tobias in the sitting room of Mr. Pierce’s lodgings. Fortunately, Mrs. Chilton’s predictions of rain had failed to materialize, so they were not obliged to deal with dripping garments and wet shoes when they made their clandestine entrance. The curtains were drawn across the windows, blocking the afternoon sun. Long shadows cloaked the small, neat space.

A short while earlier, the young street urchin Tobias had paid to watch Mr. Pierce during the day arrived, breathless, at the small park where Tobias and Lavinia waited. He told them that he had just seen the hairdresser leave, a large satchel in his hand, and that a maid at one of the houses across the street had told him Pierce went out every afternoon at this time. He was not expected back until five o’clock.

“Why is she so aware of Pierce’s comings and goings?” Tobias asked, digging into his pocket for some silver to pay the small spy.

“I think she’s sweet on him, sir.” The boy pocketed his coins. “Don’t worry, I’ll watch at the corner. If I see him coming back sooner than expected, I’ll toss a couple of stones against the window.”

Lavinia was intensely aware of the fizzing excitement in her stomach and the rapid beat of her pulse. She wondered if professional inquiry agents ever became accustomed to the thrill that came with knowing one was close to finding the answers.

She sensed the subdued, controlled anticipation that emanated from Tobias and knew he was feeling similar emotions. Perhaps heady anticipation was an addictive elixir for those in their line.

“Shall I take the bed chamber?” she asked.

“Yes. Do not forget the wardrobe.” Tobias opened a cupboard. “And be quick about it. I do not like doing this kind of thing during the day.”

“Yes, I am well-aware of your preferences.” She walked into the small room and started to open drawers in the bedside table. “I suppose it would be too much to hope that we will come across a blond wig and some women’s clothing.”

“Who knows? He has to hide that damned wig and the clothing somewhere. It is certainly about time that we had some luck in this case.”

“Very true.” She closed the last drawer and got down on her knees to peer beneath the bed. “Aspasia seemed quite stunned by our conclusions this morning, did she not? I vow, if you had not been there to reassure her, she would have dismissed me on the spot.”

Aspasia had been incredulous when they told her that they believed Mr. Pierce to be the killer. In the end Lavinia knew that she had allowed herself to be persuaded only because Tobias had assured her he was convinced of the hairdresser’s guilt.

“She has every right to be astonished,” Tobias said from the other room. “I am still amazed myself. I have encountered a great many villains in my time, but this is the first hairdresser I have suspected of murder.”

Lavinia rose and went to the wardrobe. She opened the door and surveyed the array of shirts and crisply ironed cravats. “It really is the perfect cover for a professional murderer who wishes to move in Society, is it not? A hairdresser is invited into the most exclusive houses, and no one thinks twice about his entering a lady’s bed chamber or dressing room.”

“It occurs to me that a bloody hairdresser is able to get into your bed chamber far more easily than I can,” Tobias grumbled. “I am obliged to plot and plan and wait about until Emeline decides to call upon Priscilla and Mrs. Chilton has set off on a shopping expedition.”

“It is hardly the same thing, Tobias.”

“It is damned unfair, that’s what it is, not to mention extremely inconvenient. I have been meaning to discuss the matter with you.”

Her fingers froze on the knob of the wardrobe door. She waited, forgetting to breathe.

There was a short pause from the other room.

“Well, well, well,” Tobias murmured.

She took a deep breath. Her fingers relaxed around the knob. She could not say just what it was she experienced in those few seconds.

Relief? Disappointment?

What had she expected? she wondered. Tobias was highly unlikely to raise the subject of marriage in the middle of the search of a murderer’s residence.

She went to the doorway and saw that he had gone down on his good knee and raised a section of a carpet. He studied the floorboards with great attention.

“Find something?” she called softly.

“Perhaps.”

He took one of the lock picks out of its leather sheath and slipped it into the long crack where two boards met.

“I think there may be an opening here in the floor.” He probed gently with the pick. “Wouldn’t surprise me. Elland hid his safe in the boards beneath the carpet in his study. That was where Aspasia found his journal and the rings. Perhaps this new Memento-Mori Man seeks to imitate him in every particular.”

“Tobias, how can he possibly know so many things about Elland?

“The rings, the style of the murders. Even the same type of hiding place? It is uncanny. He must have been well acquainted with him.”

“That is certainly the theory I am working on.” He pried more forcefully. “Jack has arranged for me to meet tonight with someone who might be able to tell me something about Elland’s past.”

She heard a faint squeak, and then a section of flooring swung upward.

“Good heavens.” She rushed forward and crouched down.

Together they gazed into the small space that had been revealed.

“Empty.” Tobias did not bother to hide his disgust. He let the hinged square of flooring drop back into place, rose, and kicked the carpet back over the boards. He turned slowly on his heel, examining the room, a hawk searching for prey. “It has to be here somewhere.”

“What has to be here?”

“His financial records. I told you, Elland had a head for business.

“He kept an extremely detailed journal of accounts.”

“Tobias,” she said quietly, bear in mind that, although they may have been acquainted, this is not Zachary Elland we are dealing with here. There is no reason to think that he conducts his business in precisely the same manner as the other Memento-Mori Man.”

“I disagree. The more I try to untangle this Gordian knot of a case, the more I am convinced that the most striking clue is the great similarity in the methods and practices used by both Elland and this new killer. It is as if they studied their craft together.”

“Or perhaps one taught the other?” she suggested uneasily.

“Precisely.”

Tobias glanced down into the small space between the desk and the wall. His irritated expression told her that there was nothing hidden there. He went to a small table in the corner and opened the little drawer.

“I knew it,” he whispered with exquisite satisfaction. He reached into the drawer and removed a leather-bound volume.

“What did you find?” She went to stand beside him and watched him open the journal. Names, dates, and times were written down in an orderly fashion. “It looks like an appointment book, not a journal of accounts.”

“You’re right.” He flipped through the pages. “It is merely a record of his daily activities and clients. But perhaps those who commission the murders are in here as well.”

“Somehow I do not think that Pierce would be so careless. He is, after all, a professional.”

“You need not remind me.” Tobias removed a sheet of paper and a pen from his pocket and started to jot down the names of recent clients. “Nevertheless, this is better than nothing. At the very least it will give us some notion of his schedule for the next few days. That may be helpful.”

Lavinia studied the names. One popped off the page. “Lady Huxford. Look, there was an appointment with her on the third.

“That would be a fortnight before the house party at Beaumont Castle.”

“It establishes a connection between Lady Huxford and Pierce, but we were already aware of it, thanks to your observations at Vauxhall. I wonder if we Tobias turned the page and went very still. His eyes were riveted on one of the entries. “Bloody hell.”

“What’s wrong?”

He put a finger on a name. “His client this afternoon.”

She looked down and felt her blood chill. “Oh, my God. He went to Lady Wortham’s house. He is doing Priscilla’s hair. That was the boring appointment that Priscilla did not want to endure alone.”

“I think we had better assume the worst. This is no coincidence.

“Pierce evidently knows of Priscilla’s association with Emeline and therefore of Emeline’s connection to you. He no doubt arranged this appointment with the goal of interrogating your niece’s best friend in hopes of discovering what progress we have made on this case.”