Chapter 17

17

S ince it was nearing two in the afternoon and neither Adrian nor Samantha had eaten since breakfast, he suggested they do so before continuing to Benjamin Lawrence's home. She agreed and pointed out a bakery where they were able to purchase a couple of minced-meat pies.

"I ran into Marsdale earlier today," she told him when they'd found a bench on which to sit while enjoying their meal. "Right after leaving Heathbrooke House. He's been out of Town for a while. Visiting his estate, he said. I've invited him to dine with us tomorrow evening."

Adrian was glad. It was too long since he and Edward had last spoken. He handed Samantha one of the steaming hot pies, allowed her thoughtfulness to push back against his instinct to second-guess her. "Thank you. It will be good to see him again. "

She made a non-committal noise and dug into her food.

Adrian did the same. Despite his best effort, the flaky crust crumbled between his fingers, leaving crumbs all over his lap. He brushed them off and swallowed the bite he'd been chewing, his thoughts returning to Lady Eleanor's murder.

"My instinct tells me we're missing a crucial piece of evidence – something glaringly obvious that keeps eluding our notice." He took another bite of his pie. "According to those I have spoken with today, Lady Eleanor was the perfect mistress, the perfect daughter, the perfect sister. Not one hint of her being critical of others or of ever being involved in an argument. She was lovely. Everyone liked her. Which makes no bloody sense in light of what happened."

Samantha swallowed her bite before saying, "A lot of people refuse to speak ill of the dead."

He growled with displeasure and finished his food. "One would think they'd see the merit in being forthright."

Her answering expression suggested she agreed. But then she said, "Of course, there's also the possibility that the murderer, whoever he may be, caused her to act out of character. Maybe she was different with him for some reason."

Adrian frowned. "That's not a bad theory."

He brushed off his hands and seeing that Samantha was done with her pie as well, he stood. They walked the remaining mile to Benjamin Lawrence's townhouse and knocked on the door. A butler appeared moments later, and Adrian stated their business.

"Please come in." The butler stepped aside and they entered a tastefully understated foyer. A hushed click accompanied the closing of the door. "Wait here while I check to see if Mr. Lawrence is receiving guests this afternoon."

The butler departed and Adrian gave his attention to the loveliest longcase clock he'd ever beheld. Walnut and marquetry, the face not only showing the time but also the phases of the moon. It, along with a beautiful lion carved from marble, suggested a maturity Benjamin Lawrence's younger brother, Nigel, had seemed to lack when Adrian met him while hunting Clive Newton.

"Mr. Lawrence says he will see you." Adrian turned in response to the butler's voice. "This way, if you please."

Allowing Samantha to take the lead, Adrian followed her and the butler into a room that turned out to be the library. His gaze searched the large space until he found the man he sought. Lounging on one of the sofas, with his legs stretched out before him, was Benjamin Lawrence.

Of slim build with a reddish tint to the curls that fell lazily over his brow, a pair of dazzling blue eyes, and a general softness shaping the rest of his features, he had an almost poetic look about him. This was further amplified by the book in his lap and the additional stack of books that sat in a pile on the table beside him .

Adrian had never been formally introduced to him, though he'd seen him once or twice at his club and at a few social functions. Edward had told him who he was when Adrian asked, and that had been the extent of their acquaintance. Until now.

"Thank you for agreeing to see us," Adrian said.

Lawrence produced a welcoming smile. "You'll have to forgive me for not getting up to greet you and for remaining seated in the presence of a lady."

"No forgiveness required," Samantha told him. "If you need anything while we're here, just ask. May I?" She gestured toward the seating arrangement.

He nodded. "By all means."

She settled into one of the two chairs positioned near the sofa. Adrian lowered himself to the other. He leaned back, crossed his legs at the ankles, and cleared his throat. "I'm here because of the terrible fate that befell your fiancée. Her father has asked me to help solve her murder."

Whatever pleasure Lawrence had just given way to vanished like sunshine behind a dark cloud. Misery filled his eyes. His mouth became a straight line, the edges of which turned slightly downward. "Good. I've little confidence in Bow Street's abilities."

A man of like mind, Adrian decided. "Do you have any idea who might have killed her?"

Lawrence looked close to tears. "No. She was the kindest person I've ever met. Are you aware that she made regular donations to the poor?"

"Audrey, her lady's maid, mentioned it to me." Adrian glanced at Samantha, whose observational gaze was wandering around the room. To Lawrence he added, "How did you feel about her personally?"

Lawrence dabbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand. He cleared his throat, appeared to compose himself somewhat. "She was my fiancée. I should think it goes without saying that I cared for her well-being."

"Did you love her?" Samantha asked while perusing the titles of the books that sat on the table within their host's reach. Pausing, she sent Lawrence an expectant look.

"I believe our relationship was too new for either of us to feel so strongly, though I've no doubt we would have grown to love each other with time. I certainly respected her and valued her opinion. We got on well together. I…looked forward to starting my life with her." His eyes hardened with a sudden flare of anger. "I want the person who killed her to suffer."

Adrian met Samantha's gaze, the meaningful look in her eyes prompting him to say, "It's our understanding that Lady Eleanor's dowry was small compared to others. So if you didn't love her and you didn't stand to gain financially or socially, then why did you pursue her?"

The tension in Lawrence's expression had eased a little while Adrian spoke, but there was still an overall gravity to him – perhaps a hint of unease – to suggest that asking for Lady Eleanor's hand had not been done on a whim. He drew a lengthy breath through his nose and expelled it slowly .

"It was a business transaction," he finally admitted. "I wanted Orendel's shares in North Atlantic Trade. He refused to part with them until I offered him ten thousand pounds and agreed to marry his daughter as part of the bargain. I was naturally hesitant at first, could not recall ever seeing her before. But then I met her and I was impressed by how pretty, intelligent, and agreeable she was. In my view, it's a good thing her dowry wasn't larger or someone more eligible than myself would most likely have snatched her up."

"In other words, you feel as though it was serendipitous," Samantha said. She'd risen while he'd been talking and had crossed to one of the bookcases flanking the opposite wall. Her fingers traced across the spines of various volumes as she drifted past them, her progress slow and thoughtful. "You'd never noticed her before, but once you did you were thrilled and excited to know what a wonderful bride you'd acquired. A woman you could see yourself living a pleasant life with, perhaps even loving."

"Yes." Lawrence's voice turned raw. It seemed emotion had once again caught him in its grasp. His eyes grew watery and he brushed the tears away. "I asked her father if I could see her. Afterward, you know. He refused to allow it. Told me it was best for me to remember her as she was."

"I think he was correct to deny your request," Adrian said. "As someone who has seen what was done to her, I can only say that she was not in the most presentable state. "

"It is my understanding that she was stabbed?"

"Multiple times, though I believe she was already dead when that happened. A small mercy." He would not mention the eyes. No sense in torturing the poor man any more than necessary.

"I'm assuming all this is for you," Samantha said. She'd moved to an escritoire where various items littered the surface. Picking up a glass bottle, she turned, one eyebrow raised in question.

"It's for the pain and to help me sleep. My physician gave me every concoction available, in case one worked better than the other. I've been alternating between them as per his instructions."

"Where does it hurt?" Adrian asked.

"My upper back." He winced, leaned forward a little, and rearranged the cushion he'd been resting against. "Though I've lost sensation in my legs, my spine feels like it's been twisted. It plagues me day and night."

"I'm sorry." Well aware of how crippling back pain could be, Adrian sympathized. Each time he'd taken a whipping, the simple act of wearing a shirt had caused him severe discomfort. And his wounds had been superficial. There had been nothing mechanically wrong with him, as was surely the case with Lawrence. "Maybe you broke it during the fall."

"My physician has suggested this. He claims the only possible remedy is rest." Lawrence produced a humorless laugh and made a sweeping motion with his hand that seemed to include his entire body. "As if I'm able to do anything else. "

"Let's hope your situation improves with time." Adrian closed his notebook, then tucked it and the pencil he'd used to make a few notes back into his jacket pocket. "Again, thank you for agreeing to speak with us."

"It was my pleasure." Agony tugged at Lawrence's face and he winced. "Would you please hand me the laudanum bottle before you go? It will save me from waiting for one of the servants to answer my call."

Samantha, who had remained by the escritoire, picked up the glass bottle farthest to the right and delivered it to Lawrence. He thanked her, proceeded to open the bottle, only to pause and say, "When you catch Eleanor's killer, as I'm confident you shall, I hope you'll show him what you're capable of, Mr. Croft."

Adrian met his gaze squarely. "It's not me he should fear, but rather Eleanor's father."

The edge of Lawrence's mouth twitched. "Of course."

"Should you think of any additional details that could be of use to our investigation, do let us know."

Lawrence nodded and Adrian crossed to the door. Samantha joined him and he reached for the handle, prepared to make his departure when Lawrence said, "There is something, though I'm not sure it's of much significance."

"What is it?" Adrian asked, half turning to glance in Lawrence's direction, his hand still on the handle.

"Eleanor had another suitor last year. He was rather eager, but then she and I announced our engagement and from what I gather, he stopped calling on her. But then I had my accident, and she mentioned he'd tried to convince her to break things off with me. She refused, insisting she'd honor her commitment to me, even though I told her we could find a way out of it if that was what she truly desired."

"Did this other man give her trouble?" Adrian asked.

"Not as far as I know, though she did say he voiced his displeasure with her."

"Could be worth looking into," Adrian mused. Especially since no one at Orendel House had mentioned this person. "What's his name?"

"Michael Hutchins. His father runs a book shop. The Story Collector, if I recall correctly. I think it's located on St. Thomas Street, though I'm not entirely sure. I didn't want to press when Eleanor told me about it. You understand?"

He hadn't wanted to come across as overbearingly jealous, Adrian gathered. He thanked him for the information, promised he'd look into it and keep him informed, then pulled the door open and followed Samantha from the room.

"You didn't seem very sympathetic toward him," Adrian observed once they'd left Lawrence's home. They walked to the edge of the pavement and proceeded to wait for a hackney to appear.

"He struck me as too self-serving. I dislike his reason for wanting to marry Lady Eleanor."

"It's not so dissimilar from other upper class people's motivation. Few marry for love but he at least seemed to care about her." She made a soft sound at the back of her throat just as a hackney pulled up. Adrian gave the driver directions to The Story Collector and opened the door for Samantha. He climbed in after her and took his seat on the bench beside her. Closing the door he asked, "You disagree?"

"I'm not sure Lawrence was being sincere." The carriage rolled into motion and she angled herself so she faced Adrian more fully. "There was something in his voice when he spoke about her. An elusive hint of emotion I can't quite figure out."

"I noticed no such thing." He tried to think back on Lawrence's tone and mannerisms during their conversation. "What I saw was a man in genuine pain. As far as I could tell, he was deeply affected by Lady Eleanor's death."

"Maybe." They were quiet a moment before she said, "I find it curious that Lady Eleanor's family made no mention of Mr. Hutchins. It's almost as if they weren't aware he'd pursued her."

"I had the same thought." He stretched out his legs and pondered the details of their discussion with Lawrence. "Whatever the case, we'll get to the bottom of it. Maybe finding Hutchins will help fill in a few missing pieces."

"You think there's a chance he's the one who killed her?"

"I've no idea. I certainly don't want to make assumptions before I meet the man in person."

"Lawrence mentioned him as though he were an afterthought. It almost seemed like he gave us the name purely to offer up some small bit of additional information. However insignificant it might be. If we're not careful, it could distract us from following the real trail."

Adrian applauded her astuteness. "Objectivity is essential, I'll agree, but we can't dismiss potential leads either. So we'll speak with Hutchins – provided we manage to find him – and draw our own conclusions based upon that."

It took nearly an hour for them to reach The Story Collector due to congested traffic on London Bridge. By the time they arrived, the late afternoon sun had already started to dip behind the rooftops, spreading a golden haze across the London sky.

Samantha preceded Adrian into the stuffy shop. The tinkling of a bell announced their arrival, which was observed by a tabby who had managed to curl itself into a vacant spot on one of the shelves. Light filtered through the front window, adding a murkiness to the back of the shop which remained cast in shadow.

A dry scent of paper and dust assaulted Adrian's nose. He huffed a breath and scanned the cluttered space. Books were everywhere, on every available surface, including the floor where crooked stacks looked like they waited to be toppled over.

"Good afternoon," said a man. It took Adrian a moment to find the individual who was peering around the edge of a bookcase concealing most of his body. "May I be of assistance? "

"Are you Mr. Hutchins?" Samantha asked. She snatched up a book as she strode toward the back of the shop where the man stood positioned behind a wooden counter.

"I am."

Adrian approached and getting a better look at the man, saw that he had to be well over forty, possibly even fifty. "Not Mr. Michael Hutchins though?"

"Um…" A nervous laugh escaped Mr. Hutchins. He seemed to make a quick calculation before saying, "No. I'm afraid not."

Samantha gave him a warm smile. "Any idea where we might be able to find him?"

Mr. Hutchins scratched the back of his head. "It's been a while since I saw him last, but I'm happy to pass on a message the next time he stops by to see me."

"When do you suppose that might be?" Adrian casually asked.

"I can't say. At six and twenty years of age, my son has a life of his own." Mr. Hutchins began making a show of tidying up the books that lay on the counter. He sent a quick glance in Adrian's direction. "Might I ask what this is about?"

"Certainly." Adrian propped one elbow on the counter. "The Earl of Orendel's daughter, Lady Eleanor, was recently murdered. It's come to our attention that your son was acquainted with her, so we'd like to speak with him. See if he might be able to offer additional insight into what might have occurred."

"I see." Panic flickered in Mr. Hutchins's eyes. His movements grew increasingly twitchy. Another nervous laugh. "He never mentioned a woman by that name to me."

"If he doesn't come here," Samantha said after sharing a questioning look with Adrian, "then where is his place of employment?"

"I beg your pardon?" Mr. Hutchins stared at her as though she'd asked him to calculate the density of the sun.

"I'm assuming he requires an income," she explained. "If he doesn't acquire it from you, then he must be employed elsewhere."

"Um…Well…I really don't know. When I saw him last he was working at a cobblers on Chancery Lane, but I can't be sure he's still there."

Adrian tilted his head. "What's the name of the cobbler?"

Mr. Hutchins shook his head. "Can't recall. Something like Roche or Ross."

"Thank you. We'll be sure to see if we can find him there." Adrian turned to Samantha. "Ready to leave?"

"I'd like to purchase this first." She handed the book she'd selected to Mr. Hutchins. A copy of Don Quixote , translated from Spanish by Charles Henry Wilmot.

Adrian paid for it and they departed, the small bell tinkling when he opened the door. Samantha glanced at him as soon as they'd walked a few paces. "We're not heading to Chancery Lane to see if we're able to find that cobbler, are we?"

"Of course not. Mr. Hutchins looked more edgy than a married woman whose husband just caught her in bed with her lover. I wager he knows precisely where his son is. I'm also sure he'll warn him about our visit. So all we have to do now is wait to see where Mr. Hutchins goes from here."

They stepped into a doorway a little farther along and prepared to wait. No more than five minutes passed before the door to the bookshop opened and Mr. Hutchins entered the street. Dressed in his outerwear, he locked the door, checked it, and started walking away at a clipped stride.

Adrian smiled as he stepped from his hiding spot with Samantha, even though part of him pitied Mr. Hutchins. The man only wished to protect his son, yet he was about to lead them straight to him.