Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

T wo days later, Tilda was very pleased with her progress regarding the contents of Sir Henry's house. She'd managed to sort and empty all the rooms of personal items, moving them to the parlor downstairs. Then she'd crated everything she wanted to go through and transferred them to her grandmother's house. There was one crate left that she needed to fetch, but everything else at Sir Henry's was either furniture or items that could be sold or given away.

She would not have been able to accomplish the massive effort in such a short time without the help of Sir Henry's maid, Dora Chapman. In her late twenties, Dora was thin as a rail but somehow also strong as an ox. She'd been indispensable. Indeed, Tilda wished they'd been able to take her on at her grandmother's house for she was a hard worker and in possession of a cheerful disposition—and that was after everything that had gone on at Sir Henry's of late.

Lord Ravenhurst's pair of footmen had also been incredibly helpful, both in their assistance with moving things about and simply being there as protection. Their presence had made her feel safer, and Dora had confessed the same.

Yesterday, Ravenhurst himself had come to help before he needed to be at Westminster, just as he'd said he would. He'd worked with the footmen to move many items from the upper floors to the ground floor and had sorted things in the sitting room. He and the footmen had also taken down the black crepe and the coffin stand so that the room felt less like an undertaker's place of business.

But Ravenhurst had left rather suddenly after packing up the photographs in the sitting room. As Tilda thought back on it, his behavior had reminded her somewhat of how he'd seemed after shaking Dr. Selwin's hand. He'd appeared a shade lighter than usual and had massaged his head, as if it were aching.

Did he have some lingering effects from his attack? He'd had a serious concussion. Perhaps he suffered headaches. She wanted to ask but also didn't want to pry. Though, he probably wouldn't mind. He thought they were becoming friends.

Tilda didn't really have friends. She hadn't ever been interested in the same things as other young ladies. She detested needlework and saw no benefit in marriage or motherhood.

However, she liked the earl, which surprised her. She would have thought they had little in common, but that was not the case. They shared an avid curiosity as well as a drive to accomplish things that mattered to them. She could well understand his need to not only solve the mystery of his attack but be a part of it. And she couldn't deny that he'd been most helpful with everything to do regarding Sir Henry's death.

Did Ravenhurst still think it was connected to his attack? She hadn't been able to focus on his investigation whilst she dealt with Vaughn and clearing Sir Henry's house, but Tilda was eager to get back to it. However, it was difficult when her own investigation into Sir Henry's death seemed to be gathering steam.

Tilda blinked and looked back down at the stack of correspondence she was reviewing. She sat at the desk in the sitting room, alone as her grandmother was in the front of the house using the afternoon light to work on her embroidery.

Mrs. Acorn walked in, a hesitant expression on her face. "Sorry to bother you, Miss Wren."

"Not at all," Tilda said with a smile.

"Aside from wondering if you wanted tea, I came to talk with you about Vaughn." Mrs. Acorn clasped her hands in front of her.

"Is he too much of a burden?" Tilda asked. He'd been abed all day yesterday and, as far as Tilda knew, was today as well, which was what the doctor had instructed.

"Goodness, no." Mrs. Acorn exhaled. "I had to stop him from polishing what little silver there is. He said it was the butler's duty, and he didn't feel right lying abed all day."

Tilda covered her mouth lest she laugh. She'd visited with him for a while last night, and he seemed in good spirits despite being annoyed at having to remain bedridden. She was not surprised he hadn't stayed abed. Lowering her hand to her lap, she murmured, "I see. I assume you explained to him that he is not, actually, our butler?"

"I did try, along with the fact that we don't need the silver at present. He replied most adamantly it was important to always be prepared, saying one never knew when nobility, such as Lord Ravenhurst, would drop by." Mrs. Acorn looked at Tilda expectantly. "Will he be dropping by soon?"

"Not today," Tilda said. "But even if he did, we don't require the silver. We haven't brought it out on the occasions he has come." Tilda had the sense Mrs. Acorn was fishing for information, but she wasn't entirely sure why. She could, however, guess, though she wasn't going to indulge the housekeeper's desire for matchmaking. If that was what Mrs. Acorn was getting at.

"How are you enjoying working with his lordship?" Mrs. Acorn asked.

"I'm finding it most gratifying," Tilda replied with a smile. "I should be delighted if this leads me to more investigative work. Only think what an earl's recommendation could do."

Mrs. Acorn blinked in surprise. "Would he recommend your services?"

"I believe he would." Tilda hadn't asked, but she would. Once she solved his case.

"Even though you are a woman?"

Tilda thought of Ravenhurst's reactions and things he'd said. He hadn't liked that she thought it best Scotland Yard wasn't aware that he'd hired her. "Yes, even though I am a woman. The earl does not seem bothered by that in the slightest." That alone should ensure that they became friends. He was refreshingly forward thinking, and she'd met so few gentlemen like that. Only her father and Mr. Forrest came to mind.

"Dare I hope something more might bloom between you and the earl?" Mrs. Acorn asked with a smile.

"No, you should not. Ravenhurst and I are becoming friends, and that is all. I believe I've made clear my opinion on marriage." Tilda had set Mrs. Acorn straight a couple of years after she'd come to live with Grandmama. The housekeeper had assumed Tilda wouldn't be living with them much longer as she would certainly wed. Tilda had explained that she had no desire to shackle herself in that manner.

The housekeeper sighed. "You have. Is it wrong of me to want you to marry? I would love for you to have a family of your own and, even more so, the security that you so dearly deserve."

"It is not wrong of you to want me to feel secure. However, I do not need a husband for that. I already have a family I am quite fond of—and that includes you."

Mrs. Acorn smiled again, and she nodded. "Just so. You are more than capable of managing things on your own. Furthermore, you like it that way, and there is nothing at all wrong with that. Shall I fetch you a tea tray?"

"Is Grandmama coming here, or should I join her in the parlor?" Tilda didn't really want to abandon the correspondence, but she also didn't want to leave her grandmother to take tea alone after having done so the past two days.

"She said she would come here as her eyes have had enough needlework for today."

"Did you tell her about Vaughn behaving as our butler?" Tilda asked.

"I did not. I thought you would want to speak with him."

"I will, thank you." The man needed his rest, for a week at least, as the doctor had ordered. After that, they would determine his retirement.

Tilda realized she did not know if there was a settlement for him. Sir Henry ought to have provided him with one, but given the dismal state of his financial affairs, she rather assumed he had not. She would need to speak with Millicent to see if she could pay him a retirement settlement from the proceeds of the sale of the house and furniture. Even if she could, that may take time. Tilda suspected Vaughn would be with them for a while.

While she waited for her grandmother to arrive, Tilda returned her attention to the letter she'd been reading. It was from a far-flung cousin in Yorkshire.

"The day has turned dark with impending rain," Grandmama announced as she entered the sitting room. "I can't see well enough to continue, so we shall take tea here. How goes your work?"

"Well enough." She gave her grandmother an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry I've been so busy of late. We've had little time for our word games."

Grandmama sat in her favorite chair near the hearth. "It's quite forgivable, my dear. You are helping poor Millicent in her time of need. Though, I can't say I understand Belinda's behavior. Her father—never mind her mother—would be most unhappy with her lack of engagement. Especially after what happened with Vaughn." Grandmama pursed her lips and shook her head.

"I'm not certain Millicent even told her about Vaughn," Tilda said.

"Such a shame. The girls were so close when they were younger. I saw there were photographs in that crate over there." Grandmama nodded toward a crate next to the desk. "I don't suppose there's one of the two sisters? It was done about ten years ago at their mother's behest. I imagine Millicent probably took it with her, however."

Tilda wouldn't have wagered on it. Millicent was quite put out by her sister's abandonment after their father's death.

Turning in the chair, Tilda bent at the waist to look through the crate just as Mrs. Acorn entered with the tea tray. She set about pouring out while Tilda searched for the photograph her grandmother had mentioned. There weren't very many—less than ten. She'd seen them sitting on the table in Sir Henry's parlor—someone had turned them back up after the funeral—as she'd walked by it and could recall each of them, including the one her grandmother had referenced.

"Here it is," Tilda said, removing it from the crate.

"You must see if Millicent wants it," Grandmama said. "She won't stay upset with her sister forever. We can keep it for her here until she would like to have it. Why don't you put it on the shelf over there where I can see it?" Grandmama accepted her teacup from Mrs. Acorn.

Tilda stood and set the photograph of Millicent and Belinda on the shelf beside a photograph of herself from a few years ago. Grandmama had insisted on having it done as well as one of herself, since they had none of Tilda's grandfather or father.

"Perhaps you should put all the photographs out," Grandmama said. "It's a shame for them to be piled in a crate."

While Tilda didn't agree, she also didn't care enough to debate the issue. "Mrs. Acorn, just leave my tea on the tray. I'll get to it."

The housekeeper nodded and left. Tilda removed the photographs from the crate one by one and set them about the room wherever she could find space. When the box was empty, she reviewed the photographs in her head, mentally cataloging what should have been there.

"There's a photograph missing." Tilda walked around and checked again.

"You're certain?" Grandmama asked before taking a sip of tea. She set her cup down on the saucer and picked up the biscuit Mrs. Acorn had set on the edge.

"Absolutely." The missing photograph was the one of four gentlemen with only two of the men identifiable—Sir Henry and someone Tilda didn't know. Or wouldn't recognize now, for the photograph had to be more than twenty years old. The only reason she knew who Sir Henry was in the image was because he'd pointed it out to her at some point. She tried to recall who the other men were but could not.

Hands on her hips, Tilda looked at her grandmother. "It was that very old photograph of Sir Henry with three other gentlemen."

Grandmama nodded. "I know the one." She waved her biscuit. "It's probably still at his house."

That was the simplest—and best—explanation. Tilda hadn't packed that crate. Ravenhurst had done so just before he'd left. If she couldn't find it at Sir Henry's, she would ask the earl if he'd seen it. She feared the thief may have taken something after all. He could have grabbed it on his way out after striking Vaughn. Or, perhaps, the photograph had been in his possession all along, and Vaughn hadn't noticed. The villain could have tucked it into his clothing.

But why would he steal an old, almost impossible-to-discern photograph?

Perhaps it was to do with the men in the photograph. Tilda had no idea who they were, besides Sir Henry. If the photograph was indeed missing, she would need to determine their identities. This investigation grew by the moment.

Still, it was possible the photograph was just left at Sir Henry's. As her grandmother had said, that was the best explanation. Tilda had enough to investigate and didn't need to add more to the pile.

"I need to make a trip over there before dinner anyway," Tilda said. "I've one more crate to fetch. I'll look for the photograph when I go."

Grandmama leaned forward, her brow creased. "You can't go by yourself. Not with the threat of that thief skulking about."

The footmen were no longer watching over the house since no one was in residence. Tilda would bring her father's pistol, though she wouldn't tell her grandmother that. While the weapon would make Tilda feel safer, because she knew precisely how to use it, Grandmama would be horrified. She'd accepted that Tilda conducted investigations, but she would not approve of her carrying a pistol.

"I won't be there long, Grandmama. I promise." Tilda went to the tea tray and plucked up her cup, taking a long sip of warm brew.

Grandmama looked up at her with a pleading expression. "I won't be able to persuade you not to go, will I?"

"No. Please don't worry. In fact, I think Ravenhurst's footmen are still there," Tilda fibbed.

"That makes me feel better. What a welcome support the earl has turned out to be." Grandmama sat back in her chair with a deep sigh. "Still, do be careful, dear."

"Always." Tilda took a last sip of tea and set her cup down. Then she nipped a biscuit and strode from the room to fetch her hat and gloves—and the pistol.

Tilda would have walked to Huntley Street, for it was only about a mile, but the drizzle was fast turning to a steady rain. Instead, she hailed a hack on Wellbeck Street to convey her to Sir Henry's.

As she walked up to the door, she was glad they'd taken all the funerary markers down—just in case that had been the reason for the attempted theft. Tilda was also glad to be rid of the black. In just a few more days, she would be finished with her fortnight of mourning wear and could return to her regular wardrobe.

Removing her key, she moved to unlock the door. However, before she could fit it into the lock, she noted the door wasn't latched. A shock of fear washed over her, sparking her pulse to race.

She took a deep breath and told herself to remain calm. Then she removed the pistol from her reticule. Steadying herself, she pushed the door gently open and stepped softly inside. She did not close the door behind her in case she needed to flee.

Cocking the pistol, she held it up and moved slowly into the sitting room, positioning her back to the front of the house and keeping an eye on the corridor that led to the rear of the house in case whomever was here— if someone was here—was in the parlor or upstairs.

Heart racing, Tilda held her breath as she stepped into the sitting room. Then everything happened at once.

Someone came at her, ramming his body into hers and knocking her to the floor. She tried to pull her arm around to fire the pistol at him but wasn't fast enough. Nevertheless, she gripped the weapon tightly, as if her life depended on it—and it did.

The man covered her, his body pinning her to the floor. "Wait. No. "

Tilda recognized that masculine voice. The weight that had momentarily held her down now lifted.

She whipped her arm into position and pointed the pistol at the brigand, thinking she had to be wrong about his voice.

But she was not. Crouching over her was the man she least expected to break into Sir Henry's house and accost her—Lord Ravenhurst.