Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

T ilda's gaze moved down Fitch's neck. "I'd say the cause of death is obvious."

"Garrote," Ravenhurst said grimly.

"Death?" This was followed by a high-pitched shriek from behind them.

They both turned. The neighbor stood just inside the threshold, her hand pressed her to her mouth. That was all Tilda could make out from this distance in the dark. They needed illumination.

"He's dead?" the neighbor asked, lowering her hand.

"Yes. Would you fetch a constable, please?" Ravenhurst asked. There was a tremor in his voice that Tilda had never heard before.

The neighbor dashed out, and Tilda realized they would need to take advantage of whatever time they had before the police arrived. She tucked her pistol back into her reticule.

"We haven't much time," she said, looking about for a candle or lantern. The room didn't have much, and it had been pillaged. The drawers of the dresser were pulled out. One was even on the floor. The mattress sat askew on the bed frame.

Hurrying to the small hearth, she found a candlestick and a few matches. She lit the wick and carried it to where Ravenhurst stood over the dead man.

"Grisly," she breathed as a shiver rippled through her. She set the candlestick on the table. "The police will be here soon. We should search the room before they do. More importantly, you need to employ your gift, your curse , to see what you can learn. Touch everything. Starting with him, I suppose."

The earl put his hand to Fitch's head, starting at the top then moving his fingertips down behind his ear to his neck. Ravenhurst took a deep breath and slid his fingers forward until he touched the wound. She noted that his eyes were still open.

"You don't need to close your eyes to see visions?" she asked.

"No," he replied, his voice husky. "In fact, closing my eyes seems to prevent them from happening."

Tilda watched him closely and realized she was holding her breath. She let it out and tried to calm herself. This was her first time discovering a dead body. It was both exhilarating and terrifying. How she wished she could talk to her father about it. The old but familiar pain of loss swept through her.

"I can't see or feel anything," Ravenhurst said. "Perhaps this curse doesn't work when I touch a dead person."

"That's a shame." Tilda turned to survey the ransacked room. "I daresay someone has already searched this room."

Ravenhurst moved away from the body. "It does look that way. I wonder if they took anything."

"I don't suppose we would know. Let's see what we can find. I'll search, you touch."

Ravenhurst nodded. Besides the pulled apart dresser and the tumbled bed, there was a cabinet and a threadbare chair that was lying on its side near the hearth. He went to the cabinet.

Tilda strode to the dresser. The top drawer was only slightly open. She pulled it farther out and searched the contents. It contained just clothing which had been shoved to one side. The second drawer had more of the same plus a few linens, all in a tangle. There was also a small pouch that clanked as if there were coins inside.

She emptied the contents into her palm. "I found a small amount of money. If the murderer was a thief, he ignored a few pounds." She tipped the coins back into the pouch and replaced it in the drawer.

The third drawer was empty on the floor, and the bottom drawer was sideways and also empty.

"Nothing of interest here, save the money," she said, turning from the dresser. "It's odd the killer would leave money unless that wasn't what he was after." She moved toward the bed.

"I'd like to find the knife Fitch used to stab me," Ravenhurst said from the cabinet. "There are utensils here, a few bowls, a platter, a jug of ale, and some cups. No knives, not even one he might use to eat with."

"Can you help me lift this mattress?"

Ravenhurst joined her. "I'll lift, you look."

She bent at the waist and surveyed the ropes strung across the bed. "Nothing. And I don't see anything beneath the bed either."

"I wish we could find the knife," Ravenhurst said with a frown. "It would be excellent evidence."

"We wouldn't be able to prove it was the knife he used, but if he had one, it would support your identification of him." She met his eyes, which looked somewhat frenzied. "Your confidence that he attacked you is very solid evidence."

Ravenhurst's gaze moved to the dresser. "Where's the money you found?"

Tilda fetched the pouch, and he followed. She handed it to him quickly, afraid they were nearly out of time.

Reaching inside he pulled out a coin. His forehead creased, and a grimace passed over his features.

"You see something," she whispered.

"There's a man." The earl's eyes seem to focus on something, but it was just the dark corner. "He's well dressed, but I can only see his back."

Tilda was holding her breath again. Exhaling, she waited patiently for him to say more. At length, he set the coin on the top of the dresser.

"That's all I get," he said as he reached into the pouch once more. He withdrew another coin. Nothing seemed to happen.

"The police will be here at any moment." Tilda strained to listen for footfalls on the stairs.

Scowling, Ravenhurst deposited the coin on the dresser next to the first one and took out a third coin.

The earl's eyes rounded, and his nostrils flared. Then he gasped. His jaw tightened, and he pressed his free hand to his temple.

Tilda wanted to ask what he was seeing but she didn't want to disrupt him. She also wanted to ease his pain for she could see this was hurting him.

"Careful, Raven." She realized she hadn't finished his name but that was because he'd gasped again.

"I can't," he said, breathless. "Take it."

Plucking the coin from his palm, Tilda smoothed her other hand along his forehead and temple. "Easy now," she murmured, gently cupping the side of his head. "Do you need to sit?'

"One moment." He breathed heavily and closed his eyes. His head pressed against her hand as if he were seeking the comfort she was offering.

Then he wobbled, and Tilda moved her hand to clutch his elbow. "Steady," she said softly.

"I saw Sir Henry," Ravenhurst said darkly. He opened his eyes and fixed on her.

Before he could say more, Tilda heard someone on the stairs. "They're coming." She tucked the coin into her reticule then hastened to return the coins from the top of the dresser to the pouch, which she took from Ravenhurst. She wanted the police to find everything as it was.

Minus that one coin, which she and Ravenhurst may need again at some point.

Tilda barely dropped the pouch into the drawer before the constable appeared at the doorway.

The man stepped into the room, his hand gripping a club like Tilda's father. "I'm Police Constable Barker." He was close to thirty with dark facial hair along his jawbone. His nose was short and blunt, his eyes round and apprehensive. "I've been told there's a murder."

The neighbor stood at the doorway but didn't come in.

"It appears that way," Tilda replied. "I am an investigator. My client, Lord Ravenhurst, and I came to speak with Mr. Fitch. However, he has been the victim of a garrote."

Barker moved closer, his gaze wary. "An investigator, you say? Never heard of a lady investigator." He looked toward Ravenhurst. "Evening, my lord. Is what she says true?"

"It is," the earl said with a clipped tone. "Miss Wren is investigating a matter that the Metropolitan Police's A Division closed prematurely. I was stabbed by this man." He pointed at Fitch's body.

The constable's eyes rounded. "Bloody hell. Pardon me, my lord. You're sure it was him?"

Ravenhurst's gaze was haughty. He'd never looked more like an earl. "Completely."

Nodding, the constable looked about the room. "Was the place like this when you arrived?"

"Yes," Tilda replied. "The door was ajar."

"There was someone else 'ere," the neighbor called out.

Barker turned his head toward her. "You saw someone else here?"

"No, but I 'eard 'im. Least, I don't think it was one of these two."

Redirecting his attention to Tilda and Ravenhurst, Barker asked, "Was there someone else?"

"There was," Tilda said with a nod. She described how they found the door ajar and then described the young man who'd rushed out of Fitch's room.

Barker stopped her part way so he could take notes. He stuffed his club into his belt then took a notebook and pencil from his coat. He asked Tilda to start over then scribbled in the notebook.

"There will be an inquest," Barker said. "You'll both be called to testify, I'm sure." Probably not tomorrow as it's Sunday. I would say Monday is most likely."

"Certainly," Tilda said. "We'll be on our way if you don't need anything else. If so, you know how to find us." She and Ravenhurst had provided their full names as well as their direction. She hadn't been surprised to learn the earl lived on Curzon Street in the heart of Mayfair. His house was likely old and large and very elegant.

They didn't speak until they were outside on East Cheap. There, they passed two more constables who hurried into Fitch's building. Ravenhurst massaged his head as they walked toward Fish Street Hill.

"Are you all right?" Tilda asked. She recalled the catch in his voice earlier, and he'd seemed just…off since they'd found Fitch. "I know it can be jarring to find a dead body."

He looked over at her. "You know this from experience?"

"Er, no. But my father found many in his days working for the police, and he never really became accustomed to it."

"It's more than that," Ravenhurst said, his tone ragged. "Seeing Fitch again, even dead…it took me back to the night he stabbed me. It all happened so fast. I didn't have a chance to feel afraid. Tonight, I felt a terror I've never experienced." He stopped and she did too. His eyes met hers, and they were dark with emotion. "Though he was dead, I realized this was the man who'd nearly killed me. He irrevocably changed my life, and not just because what he did to me triggered this horrible curse."

She could see he was shaking. Overwhelmed by concern and a slight fear of her own, Tilda touched his arm. "You are here, and you are safe." It seemed simple to say that, but it also seemed right.

He blinked. "I know. I just didn't grasp how much the attack affected me."

"It's completely understandable." Tilda curled her hand around his arm, clasping him tightly as she guided him to continue walking, slowly, to the corner where they turned onto Fish Hill Street.

"It's bloody infuriating," he growled. Tilda could feel the rage emanating from him. "I think I also realized that since Fitch was already dead, I wouldn't find the answers I seek, that I need . Nor would I have justice."

Tilda was upset by that too. "I'm sorry, Ravenhurst. You deserve that."

"And I'll still have it." His gaze found hers once more as they walked. "We will find the true villain—whoever hired Fitch to stab me and kill Crawford."

"As well as however Sir Henry is connected to this." Tilda was more committed than ever to discovering the truth.

"Sir Henry is the key, I think." Ravenhurst's voice changed. The anger gave way to a bright enthusiasm. "I didn't finish telling you about what I saw."

"You don't have to now," Tilda said, though she was desperate to hear. She didn't want to overtax him.

"I must." He glanced at her once more. "You need to know what I know."

Tilda smiled. She had told him something like that. "Yes."

"I definitely saw Sir Henry when I touched that coin. He was lying on the floor looking up, his eyes wide, his lips moving."

"Could you hear him?" Tilda didn't know if he heard anything when he saw these visions.

"No, I don't hear sound. God, I think that would be even more terrifying." He exhaled. "Sir Henry looked pale." Ravenhurst moved his left hand to his right side. "His hand was pressed to his side like this. That's about where I was stabbed."

Now it was Tilda's turn to gasp. She lifted her hand to her mouth. Though they'd suspected this, to hear this was how Sir Henry had died was still shocking. That was if they trusted the earl's visions.

"The carpet beneath him was distinctive," Ravenhurst continued. "It was a muted brown with dark red flowers with gold centers. I'd know it if I saw it."

"That's good," Tilda said. "But we need real evidence. Your visions, however helpful, don't help us prove anything." Her mind worked as she ruminated what their next move should be. "Now that we know Fitch also stabbed Sir Henry, we need to visit the place he was killed."

"We need to find out where that is."

"I will call on Millicent tomorrow and ask. In fact, Vaughn may even know," Tilda realized. "I will ask him when I get home."

They arrived at the location where Ravenhurst's coachman had left them—and the coach was already there. The coachman said he was growing concerned when they hadn't returned.

"All is well," Ravenhurst said with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. He helped Tilda into the coach, and she took the rear-facing seat.

"You are always supposed to sit facing forward," the earl said as he climbed inside.

"Not tonight," she said with a shake of her head.

"I don't mind facing backward," he mumbled.

Tilda swallowed a smile. Once they were moving, she asked, "Can we conclude that Fitch killed Crawford? We know he stabbed you and killed Sir Henry."

"I think we can," Ravenhurst replied with confidence. "I am all but certain I was stabbed by mistake." His blue eyes were animated, glittering in the light from the lamp hanging on the side of the coach, his jaw set with determination. "I believe Fitch was looking for Crawford the night he stabbed me."

"You said Crawford walked the same street you were on that night on his way to a weekly card game and that you and he share the same coloring and build. You think Fitch mistook you for Crawford."

"Yes, and when he saw my face, he realized his mistake and fled. Perhaps he meant to steal from me as he did from Crawford."

"To try and make it look as though he were a footpad." She felt a wave of compassion for the man opposite her, a man she'd come to like and respect. "You were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Unfortunately," he said with deep irony. "Then, the very next Tuesday, Fitch located his quarry and completed the job he was likely assigned. We just need to determine who hired him and why."

Tilda kept trying to fit the loss of her grandmother's investment into this puzzle, but she wasn't sure where it fit. "I still don't understand how the potential embezzlement of my grandmother's funds figures into what happened to Sir Henry."

"We still need to interview Hardacre," Ravenhurst said. "We should do that Monday."

"Yes. I don't wish to put it off any longer. Will you come to see Millicent with me tomorrow? Then we can go directly to where Sir Henry was killed."

He muttered something that she thought may have been a curse. "I can't join you to call on Mrs. Forsythe. My mother comes for tea every other Sunday. It used to be monthly, but after my attack, she came weekly. I finally persuaded her that fortnightly would be sufficient."

"That's nice that she cares about you." Tilda wasn't sure her mother would be bothered to come visit her from Birmingham, even if Tilda had been stabbed. "I'll call on Millicent and fetch you when I'm finished."

"I'll look forward to it." His lips lifted in a half-smile, and it filled Tilda with a surprising warmth. She'd been quite worried about him.

"Please take good care this evening and tomorrow," she said. "And if you aren't up to going to the club tomorrow night, we can go on Monday." Though it would be torturous to wait.

Tilda supposed she could go without him, but after tonight's excitement, she realized she liked having someone with her. Not just anyone, but Ravenhurst. He valued her as an investigator, and he made her feel protected. No one had done that since her father had died.

Ravenhurst met her gaze. "I do appreciate your concern, but nothing will keep me from pursuing our investigation tomorrow."

"Good. I confess I didn't really want to go alone."

Now the earl smiled fully, and Tilda's belly fluttered again. "That pleases me greatly."

T he following afternoon, Tilda caught a hack to Millicent's house near Bedford Square. She was a little tired as she'd tossed and turned, her mind awash with details of the investigation for some time before finding sleep. In truth, she'd also been thinking about Ravenhurst. She hoped he was able to sleep well. His revelations regarding the attack and the emotions he was feeling after finding Fitch were most affecting and remained with her.

She'd completed her initial invoice for her investigative services and expenses for the earl, but she hadn't brought it with her. It just hadn't seemed right to demand payment in the midst of his…turmoil. But she would soon, as the added income would be most welcome now that Vaughn had joined their household, at least temporarily.

Departing the hack, Tilda went to the door and was shortly admitted by Millicent's butler, a robust, younger man with pink cheeks and high brows. He took Tilda upstairs to the drawing room and said Mrs. Forsythe would be with her directly.

Tilda had sent a note earlier, so Millicent was expecting her. A moment later, a maid entered with a tea tray. She set it on a table near the settee.

Millicent entered, her black skirts gliding about her ankles. Tilda was nearly giddy with relief that today was the last day she needed to don mourning clothes. Tomorrow would mark a fortnight since Sir Henry's death, and Tilda could return to her normal wardrobe, thank goodness.

"It's good to see you, Tilda," Millicent said as she pressed a kiss to Tilda's cheek.

Tilda reciprocated, and they sat down whilst the maid poured out the tea. As the maid departed, Millicent put teacakes on two plates and handed one to Tilda.

"Do tell me how Vaughn is faring." Millicent said.

"Much better. We are having trouble keeping him abed, in fact. He can't seem to stop butlering."

Millicent laughed softly. "That is the Vaughn I know. I'm glad to hear it. I received a note from Cook yesterday, and she is all settled in her new position. Dora also sent a note. She's been offered a position in a noble household. She's over the moon."

"I'm delighted for her and not at all surprised," Tilda said with a smile. "She was incredibly helpful in emptying your father's house."

"I can't thank you enough for doing that. My husband met with a solicitor, not Whitley, on Friday, and the house will be sold, we hope, with due haste."

"I do hope there will be enough money to provide Vaughn with his retirement settlement," Tilda said.

Millicent looked down at her lap. "I don't think there will be. Belinda is demanding her share of whatever we have left over, and I doubt she will care to contribute to Vaughn's retirement. Unfortunately, I don't think I'll be able to convince my husband to do so either," she said quietly. "He is very angry about my father's mismanagement."

Tilda wanted to point out to both Millicent's husband and Belinda that Sir Henry's mismanagement was not Vaughn's fault, and he shouldn't be made to suffer. "Well, someone is going to need to take care of Vaughn."

"I am hoping you will yet find some of Papa's money or your grandmother's investment," Millicent said brightly, with perhaps a touch of naivete. "Have you learned anything more?"

"I have not. I haven't had a spare moment to continue my inquiries, but I will keep you apprised."

"My apologies," Millicent said after swallowing a bite of teacake. "You have been terribly busy, and that is my fault. I shall not pester you about the financial matters. I know you will do your best. You've such a keen mind."

"I will do my very best," Tilda vowed, thinking of Vaughn and that she would make sure he was cared for, even if she didn't know how at the moment. Though she still planned to speak with Hardacre, she doubted she'd be able to recover her grandmother's investment. "Millicent, I am concerned that your father may have lost the money on his own. Are you aware he liked to gamble and that he may have lost great sums?"

Millicent blanched. She'd picked up her tea, and the cup rattled in her saucer. "You didn't find more IOUs, did you?"

Tilda blinked. "I didn't find any. Are there IOUs?"

Setting the cup down without drinking from it, Millicent put her hands in her lap and worried her fingers. "I found several in the bottom drawer of Papa's desk. I thought we could pretend we didn't know they existed."

Apprehension gripped Tilda's chest. She dearly hoped Millicent hadn't destroyed them. "Do you still have them?"

Millicent nodded, and Tilda exhaled with relief. "I can fetch them now." She met Tilda's gaze. "Please don't be angry with me for keeping them from you. I was hoping they would just go away. It's not as if there's any money to pay them."

"I doubt they will go away," Tilda said softly. "But perhaps I can help you deal with them."

"Thank you. What would I do without you?" Millicent sniffed as she rose.

Tilda sipped her tea and ate her cake whilst Millicent was gone. The discovery of IOUs was not surprising, given the visions Ravenhurst had seen in Sir Henry's bedchamber.

Millicent returned and rejoined Tilda on the settee. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about these. I should have done." She handed a small stack of papers to Tilda, her features etched with sorrow and concern. "I didn't realize my father was in such a terrible situation. It seems he was keeping a great deal from everyone—his financial situation and his health. Was there anything else we didn't know?"

Tilda decided now was not the right time to tell Millicent that her father had been murdered. "You have much to deal with right now, not the least of which is your grief." Tilda gave her an encouraging smile.

"You know what that feels like," Millicent said quietly as she picked up her teacup.

"I do indeed," Tilda replied. She put her attention to the IOUs lest she get caught up in the past. She had no time for that at present.

There were six IOUs for varying amounts. The smallest was sixty pounds to someone called Theodore Morehouse. There was another for one hundred and two pounds to Farringer's. Tilda looked over at Millicent. "Do you know what Farringer's is?"

Millicent paled slightly. She set her teacup down and smoothed her hands over her lap. "That is where my father died. It's a gaming club near Covent Garden."

Tilda's pulse quickened. She'd planned to ask about that after she reviewed the IOUs, but now she didn't have to. The date on the IOU from the club was from December. So, he was likely a regular customer. She reached over and patted Millicent's hand before continuing her review of the IOUs.

The rest were to gentlemen, but it was the last one that made Tilda swallow a gasp. It was for five hundred pounds to—Martin Crawford. He had to be related to Patrick Crawford. It was too much of a coincidence. She could hardly wait to show it to Ravenhurst.

"May I keep these?" Tilda asked. "I'm going to ask for Ravenhurst's advice on how to deal with them."

"Please do," Millicent said with another sniff. "I haven't the faintest idea what to do, and I'm afraid these people will seek repayment from my husband. I haven't even showed them to him. One of the reasons he is so upset about the lack of money is because my father apparently told him there would be an inheritance."

"I see. Did Sir Henry convey anything specific?"

Millicent shook her head. "No, and that is the source of some of my husband's frustration."

Tilda folded the IOUs and slipped them into her reticule. The final information she sought from Millicent would be most delicate, but it was important that Tilda ask.

"Millicent, I am sorry to ask you what I'm about to, but I'm afraid I must. I know it's a troubling subject. Could you describe for me the wound you saw on your father when you prepared him for the funeral?"

Now Millicent looked almost gray. Her lips quivered. "I don't like thinking of it. Not just the wound, but the entire ordeal. He was so pale and there was an odd smell about him." She put her hand to her nose and took a moment. Turning her head, she looked Tilda in the eye. "Why do you want to know about this?"

Tilda now didn't think she could avoid telling her the truth. She tried to speak as gently as possible. "Ravenhurst and I suspect your father may have been murdered. I don't want to say too much about that until we have more evidence, but this IOU to Farringer's will certainly help us." Tilda wasn't sure how yet, but she suspected it, and the Crawford IOU, were important pieces of evidence. At the very least, it connected Sir Henry to both entities, though he was already tied to Farringer's since he'd died there.

Millicent began to cry, and Tilda put her hand on the woman's shoulder. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to cause you upset," Tilda said. "I would not have asked if it wasn't vitally important."

Nodding, Millicent pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes. "I know. You've been nothing but kind and helpful. I am so grateful." She wiped her nose and took a deep breath. "To be honest, I didn't look at the wound too closely. It had been stitched, and the thread was still there. The area around it was discolored."

"And where was it exactly?" Tilda asked, removing her hand from Millicent and placing it in her lap.

Millicent put her palm to her right side. "Here, where his ribs terminated."

"Thank you, Millicent. If you think of anything else, will you let me know?"

She met Tilda's gaze once more. "I will. I promise I'm not keeping anything else from you. And you'll tell me when you know more about what happened? Especially with the money?"

"Of course." Tilda would make sure that she and Ravenhurst called on Hardacre tomorrow. She needed to put more focus on the potential embezzlement—and see how, or if, it was tied to Sir Henry's murder.