Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

H adrian kept glancing at the clock, not that tea with his mother concluded at a specific time. More, he was wondering if Miss Wren was currently with her cousin and whether the visit would be fruitful. He was also not entirely sure when Miss Wren would arrive, but she'd sent a note earlier saying it would likely be close to five. He would make sure his mother was gone by then, for he'd no wish to introduce his mother to his private investigator. His mother would be scandalized that he'd hired a woman.

"You seem distracted today," Hadrian's mother, the dowager countess, noted from across the small, round table in the library. She possessed his same blue eyes, but the shape of her face was completely different. Her nose was short and slightly upturned, her chin round and small. She smiled easily, and where his father had been serious and intellectual, she was cheerful and typically in search of amusement. She enjoyed shopping, visiting museums, and frequenting the theatre. She also had a large group of friends with whom she took tea, dined, and played cards.

"My apologies," Hadrian said before taking another sip of tea. His cup was now empty, and he didn't plan to refill it.

"Is there something occupying your mind?" she prodded, her light-brown brows raised.

He replied with something that was somewhat true. "I returned to Westminster last week, and I've a great many things to catch up on." Which he'd been mostly ignoring in favor of his investigation with Miss Wren.

"That is understandable. I imagine your colleagues are glad to have you back."

"Indeed, though I am shocked that someone was attacked the week after me, and I didn't know about it." Hadrian probably ought not have mentioned that to his mother. He didn't wish to upset her, and she'd been most distressed after his attack.

Her brow creased, and she didn't meet his eyes. "I didn't think it would be helpful to your recovery to hear about that."

"You knew of it?" he asked.

She nodded. "Mrs. Crawford—Mrs. Martin Crawford, his mother—is a friend. Not a close one, but we circulate in the same groups. It was a terrible shock. As was your attack."

"Are you aware they both happened in the same place?"

"I'd heard Crawford's was in the vicinity of where you were attacked. Was it exactly the same? How peculiar."

"Indeed."

Hadrian's butler, Collier, entered. Tall with a rather forbidding brow, he possessed an air of solemnity that belied his penchant for ribald jests. "My lord, Miss Wren has arrived."

Damn. Hadrian hadn't expected her this early, else he would have instructed Collier not to announce her in that manner. The last thing he needed was his mother's interrogation regarding Miss Wren. Furthermore, his mother would now demand to meet her, and Hadrian hadn't warned Miss Wren that might happen.

The dowager fixed her blue eyes on Hadrian. "Who is Miss Wren?" She blinked expectantly.

"An associate," Hadrian responded. "She is helping me with an investigation. I can't say more than that, I'm afraid."

" She is an investigator? That is unusual."

Hadrian bristled at the emphasis she'd put on Miss Wren's sex. "Her father was with Scotland Yard, and her grandfather was a well-respected magistrate. I would say it is in her blood."

"Wren?" his mother asked. "That does sound familiar."

Hadrian rose. "Collier, please inform Miss Wren that I will be with her directly. The dowager and I are just finishing tea." He met the butler's gaze. "I require my hat and gloves as well as my overcoat."

"Yes, sir." Collier departed.

His mother stood from her chair. "I can see you are wanting me to leave, and I suppose we were finished with our tea. You'll at least permit me to meet Miss Wren?"

There was no avoiding that now. "Of course."

"And you are obviously leaving with her," his mother continued. "Where are you going?"

"I'm afraid I can't discuss it, Mother. I do hope you understand."

Her eyes narrowed as a worried expression commanded her features. "Is this to do with your attack? I know how eager you were to learn why it happened."

"I promise I'll explain in due time." He hoped he would be able to, meaning he and Miss Wren would have solved this complicated case.

Hadrian escorted his mother from the library through the family parlor and into the staircase hall. He looked to the right toward the entrance hall and saw Miss Wren.

The moment his mother stepped into the entrance hall ahead of him, Hadrian said, "Good evening, Miss Wren. Allow me to present my mother, the dowager Countess of Ravenhurst. Mother, this is Miss Matilda Wren."

His mother moved closer to Miss Wren and smiled. "I'm delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Wren, though surprised. My son hasn't mentioned you or your association." She sent Hadrian a mildly accusatory glance.

Hadrian quashed the urge to roll his eyes. His mother was a gatherer and purveyor of information, which was to say, she was a gossip. There were reasons he didn't tell her things and what was more, she knew it.

Miss Wren dipped into a curtsey. As she rose, she gathered her dark gray cloak more closely in an apparent attempt to cover her gown. "It's my pleasure to meet you, my lady. I did not mean to arrive at an inopportune time." She sent a worried look toward Hadrian, and he gave her what he hoped was a slight but reassuring nod.

"Your timing is perfect," Hadrian said. "My mother was just leaving." He turned to the dowager and bussed her cheek. "Always a pleasure, Mother."

Collier appeared with her hat and gloves. She took the hat and set it atop her head then received the gloves. "Thank you, Collier." Looking to Hadrian, she said, "Perhaps next time, you can invite Miss Wren to tea so that we can become acquainted."

"I doubt she will be available, Mother," Hadrian replied. "Miss Wren is a busy woman."

His mother smiled at Miss Wren as she pulled on her gloves. "She can consider it and perhaps rearrange her schedule, if necessary."

Miss Wren merely returned her smile. But there was a nervous glint in her eyes.

Collier held the door, and Hadrian's mother departed. The butler then handed Hadrian his hat.

"I'm sorry if my mother made you uncomfortable," Hadrian said to Miss Wren as he donned his hat. "I hadn't meant for the two of you to meet. She is incurably and overwhelmingly inquisitive."

She regarded him with a faint smile, her eyes dancing with amusement. "That is where your curiosity comes from then."

Hadrian laughed. "Apparently."

"I should not have arrived so early," she said. "But I was rather eager to see you."

Her words filled him with a surprising heat. "It's quite all right. I trust you've news to share."

"I do, indeed." Her eyes glowed with ill-concealed excitement, and now Hadrian was overcome with anticipation. "First, tell me how you are."

"There is little a good night of sleep can't repair," he said, pleased that she would ask.

He took his gloves from Collier and quickly pulled them on then allowed the butler to help him with his coat. "Thank you, Collier. We'll be taking a hack." Leach had the night off.

Collier inclined his head and sent a brief smile toward Miss Wren. He then opened the door, and Hadrian escorted Miss Wren outside.

"I really am sorry I arrived so early," Miss Wren said with a shake of her head. "I wasn't thinking."

"Your impatience indicates you may have learned something helpful."

"Quite. First, we are on our way to Farringer's. It's a gaming club near Covent Garden."

"I've heard of it. Some of my colleagues go there." He hailed a hack and paid the driver to take them to Farringer's.

Once they were situated in the vehicle, they traveled toward Piccadilly via Half Moon Street.

Hadrian turned his head to the left to look at Miss Wren. "How was your visit with Mrs. Forsythe? Clearly, you obtained the name of the location of Sir Henry's death."

"It was very informative. As it happened, I didn't even have to ask about the location. I started by asking whether Sir Henry was a gambler, and she confessed that she'd found several IOUs."

"Several?" Hadrian stared at Miss Wren.

"Six in total, but the number is not the shocking part. Two of the debtors are most surprising. The first is Farringer's, which is how I learned that was where he died."

"And the second?" Hadrian held his breath.

"Martin Crawford. I assume he is a relation to Patrick Crawford?"

Hadrian had to snap his jaw closed. "His father." He sat back and let this information sink into his brain for a moment. "This links Sir Henry to the other murder victim. I think we can conclude Patrick Crawford was killed by Fitch, if we hadn't already."

"I agree," Miss Wren said as they traveled along Piccadilly. It was not quite five, but it was Sunday so while the traffic was brisk, it was not thick. They would arrive in Covent Garden relatively quickly, he should think.

She went on. "Lastly, I asked Millicent about her father's wound. She said the stitching was still present, and the flesh was discolored around it. The wound was located here, at the base of his ribs." Miss Wren pressed her hand to her right side.

"Precisely where I was stabbed." Hadrian's side twitched in recollection. "It seems Fitch had better aim with Crawford and Sir Henry."

"Didn't you grab him when he attacked you?" Miss Wren asked. "Perhaps your actions saved your life."

"It's possible. It's also possible that once he saw I wasn't his quarry, he fled before finishing the job." Hadrian was still thinking of the IOUs. "How much did Sir Henry owe Crawford?"

"Far more than he owed anyone else—five hundred pounds."

Hadrian gaped at her. "Good heavens, that's a sum."

"There was no date, so there's no telling how old it is. The others had dates, however. The one from Farringer's is from December, for one hundred and two pounds."

Hadrian was focused on the larger IOU at the moment. "Martin Crawford died last year—not long after the new year, I think. To loan Sir Henry such a large amount seems to indicate they knew each other well, don't you think?"

"I would assume so. You don't loan money to people you don't know, particularly a sum like that."

"I think we should call on Mrs. Patrick Crawford and perhaps Mrs. Martin Crawford as well," Hadrian said. "My mother and the elder Mrs. Crawford are social acquaintances. Can you believe my mother knew of Patrick Crawford's death and didn't tell me about it? She didn't want to upset me during my recovery."

Miss Wren hesitated before responding, "That was thoughtful of her, perhaps?"

"Would you not be annoyed if your parent had kept such information from you?" he asked drily.

"Touché. Although, my father would not have kept such a thing from me. He would understand my need to know," she said confidently.

"And your mother?"

"Since we only exchange letters monthly, I daresay she wouldn't tell me anything in a timely fashion for no other reason than she was otherwise engaged." Miss Wren lifted a shoulder. "We have never been very close, and I can't say that it bothers me. One does not miss what they never had."

Hadrian wasn't sure he believed that. There were many times he'd longed for a deeper connection with his father. But perhaps it was easier for Miss Wren to think of her mother in such terms. "I'm sorry to hear that. My mother can be an imposition sometimes, but we care for one another."

"When will you call on Mrs. Crawford?" Miss Wren asked, changing the subject, which was for the best—both because it had been verging on maudlin and because he was quite eager to focus on their investigation, which seemed to be picking up speed like a boulder rolling downhill.

"Perhaps tomorrow after we call on Mr. Hardacre?"

The hack stopped in front of Farringer's, and Hadrian stepped out of the vehicle. He helped Miss Wren down and nodded toward the driver.

Turning with Miss Wren, he surveyed the entrance. It was an unassuming establishment with wide windows on each side of the wooden door emblazoned with a gold H.

A footman in livery opened it for them as they approached. For all its styling as a "club," Farringer's appeared to be just a fancy gaming hell.

They stepped into what was likely supposed to be an elegant main room with chandeliers and mahogany tables and chairs. However, there was a worn quality to everything, as if it had looked quite splendid five or more years ago and was in need of refurbishment.

As it was early, there was hardly anyone about—just a few patrons and a liveried employee standing in the corner.

"Should we sit down?" Miss Wren murmured.

"I suppose we could. Then we could ask to speak with the proprietor."

"We should speak with as many people as possible."

"Agreed." Hadrian escorted her farther into the room. A man in a black coat and gold waistcoat entered from a doorway at the back.

"Good evening," the man said, with a polite smile. He was of average height with a sharp chin and narrow forehead. "Have you come for supper?"

"Yes." Hadrian decided that was as good a reason to be here as any, rather than immediately asking what he knew about a murder that had occurred here nearly a fortnight ago and had been covered up.

"And perhaps some cards or dice after," Miss Wren said with the hint of a mischievous smile.

Hadrian chuckled. "As the lady wishes."

The man led them to the doorway he'd just come through. They entered a dining room that looked slightly more polished than the main room. But the carpet! Hadrian recognized it immediately.

Miss Wren snapped her gaze to his. She must be wondering if it was the same as he'd seen in his vision. It certainly fit the description he'd given her.

He gave her a slight nod. "I do like this carpet," Hadrian said to the man taking them to a table.

"You'll also find it in our gaming rooms," the man said.

Sir Henry may not have been killed in this room then. Hadrian supposed it made more sense if he'd died in one of the gaming rooms since he'd been a gambler.

"Before we sit to eat, would you mind if we took a look at them?" Miss Wren asked. "The gaming rooms, I mean. I'm very curious. This is my first time in an establishment such as this." She blinked demurely, her demeanor one of suppressed excitement. She really was excellent at assuming a role.

"Of course," the man replied.

"Thank you," Hadrian said as they moved toward a different doorway than that which they'd entered. "Are you the proprietor?"

"The manager. My name is Dunwell. I work for Mr. Farringer."

They stepped into one of the gaming rooms. This one was clearly for dice and offered six different tables of play. Only one was occupied with players at the moment.

"Oh, splendid," Miss Wren said with glee. She glanced at the carpet, which matched that of the dining room.

"If you prefer cards, we've two rooms on the opposite side."

"I'd love to see them, if you don't mind." Miss Wren gripped Hadrian's left arm more tightly. Once Dunwell led them back into the main room, she leaned close and whispered, "Shouldn't you remove your gloves and touch something?"

Hell, of course he should. Hadrian took off his right glove and kept it in his left hand. As they moved through the main groom, he grazed his fingertips against a chairback. He felt exuberance and anticipation. He saw nothing.

By the time they reached the first card room, he'd touched several pieces of furniture but hadn't gleaned anything of import. Stepping into the card room, however, he had the sense he'd been there before. That was an altogether new sensation. There was no one present at the moment, which suited Hadrian.

It was a small room with four tables, set up for a tournament perhaps. He pulled Miss Wren toward one of the tables and put his palm atop the green baize covering the mahogany. Instantly, he felt an overwhelming number of sensations and saw a haze of figures. It was all too much, and pain streaked through his head. He pulled his hand away. This method of investigation was simply not going to work here.

"We came here because it was recommended to us by a friend," Hadrian said. "Sir Henry Meacham? Regrettably, he died here nearly a fortnight ago."

Dunwell had seemed reserved, but now his features seemed to shutter. "Oh yes, the man who collapsed."

"Was it in here?" Miss Wren asked.

"I can't recall. It was a sad situation. I'd rather not discuss it, if you don't mind."

"Terribly sorry," Hadrian said, frustrated to be shut down so quickly. "He was a good man. We are naturally curious as to how he met his end. His family members are most distraught."

"I can imagine." Dunwell's gaze flicked to Miss Wren's black costume but said nothing. Did he wonder if she was part of Sir Henry's family? Hadrian realized it would seem odd for a woman in mourning wear to be out to supper, let alone gambling.

Dunwell moved toward another door. "The other gaming room is through here."

"I do think I'm ready to eat, actually," Miss Wren said.

"Back to the dining room then," Hadrian turned with her toward the main room. Dunwell hastened to precede them and led them to the dining room once more, where he seated them at a table near the center of the room.

"Your waiter will be with you shortly." Dunwell disappeared into the main room.

"Well, that was disappointing," Miss Wren said.

"We couldn't have expected to walk in and learn that Sir Henry had been stabbed to death," Hadrian reasoned. "A false story was created and given to Scotland Yard. I have to think these employees must have been part of the lie."

"That is a great many people to keep quiet," Miss Wren noted as she glanced about the room. "Even if they contained the situation to that room, there had to have been witnesses."

"Except Fitch would have stabbed Sir Henry where there was likely no one to see him. What if the entire event was planned and concealed?"

Miss Wren's eyes rounded. "You mean Sir Henry was lured here to his death?"

"I'm merely discussing possibilities." Hadrian saw their waiter coming toward them, a young man in his middle-twenties with long sideburns.

"Evening," he said with a nod.

"Good evening," Hadrian said. "We'll have a bottle of claret."

"Right away, sir." The waiter took himself off.

"He does not know you are an earl," Miss Wren said quietly. There was a gleam of mischief in her eyes.

"Does that amuse you?"

"Perhaps a little. Does it bother you to not be addressed appropriately?"

"Not in the least. Now, I sent him to fetch wine so that he will have something to do whilst we ply him with questions." He gave her a pointed look. "I think you must play the bereaved relative, particularly since you are dressed that way."

"Oh, goodness, I shouldn't be dining out in mourning wear." She grimaced.

"I thought the same, but upon reflection, I hardly think it matters in a place such as this." He gave her a wry look.

The waiter returned and set about opening the wine.

Miss Wren looked up at the waiter, her expression sad. "I hope you won't think this odd, but we've come here tonight so that I may feel closer to my dear departed cousin. He died here recently."

The waiter dropped the wine opener onto the table. "I see." His voice seemed to have climbed.

"I don't suppose you were here that night?" Her gaze turned imploring. "I should love to speak with someone who saw him before he collapsed."

Hadrian gave her credit for using the story that had been concocted. He touched her arm. "There, there," he murmured in support.

She sent him a grateful glance before returning her attention to the waiter. "His name was Sir Henry Meacham. He was a genial fellow with more charm than a person had a right to possess. You would certainly recall meeting him. Please tell me you did. It would be such a comfort to me."

The waiter managed to pull the cork from the bottle, despite the slight tremor in his hands. It seemed evident to Hadrian that he was nervous. "I did see him that night, and he was most amenable. I'd met him before, of course."

"Of course," Miss Wren said smoothly. "I know he liked to come here. He always had wonderful things to say about the hospitality and the dining service."

Again, Hadrian was impressed with her skills of flattery. The young waiter blushed faintly.

"I don't suppose you could tell me how he was before he collapsed?" Miss Wren asked. "It's only that we'd like to know he didn't suffer. His daughters would take particular comfort in that."

The waiter paled as he poured the wine into the glasses. His hand shook even more, and the neck of the bottle clacked against the rim of the second glass.

"It's all right," Hadrian said in a low tone. "We know Sir Henry's death may not have happened as was told."

Sucking in a breath, the young man snapped his gaze to Hadrian. "I'm not to speak of it. You'll put me in a great deal of trouble."

"We don't wish to do that," Miss Wren said softly.

"Talk to the doorman," the waiter whispered. "Gregson might be able to tell you more. But I cannot." He set the bottle on the table and rushed off before they could discuss ordering dinner. Not that Hadrian was interested in that, and he doubted Miss Wren was either.

"Shall we go and speak with the doorman?" he asked.

Miss Wren was already rising. "Directly."

Hadrian reached into his purse for money and set enough for the wine and a bit extra on the table. Then he stood and escorted her from the dining room. They moved quickly to the exit.

As soon as Hadrian opened the door, the doorman standing outside took over, holding it open as Miss Wren passed outside. Hadrian joined her, then they turned to face the doorman.

Hadrian hadn't noticed when they'd arrived that the man was a burly fellow with wide shoulders and legs like tree trunks. Even his hands were large. He looked more like a guard than a doorman, but perhaps he was both. An establishment such as Farringer's likely had need of someone who could enforce the peace when necessary.

"Good evening," Hadrian said affably. He decided not to waste any time or bother with prevarication. Reaching into his purse once more, he withdrew two pounds and handed them to the doorman. "I'm Lord Ravenhurst. There is more of that if you can answer my questions."

The man's eyes widened slightly, but he tucked the bills into his coat without comment. "Evening, my lord."

Hadrian spoke just above a whisper. "Gregson?" At the doorman's nod, Hadrian continued, "We understand you may have some information about the death that occurred here nearly a fortnight ago. Sir Henry Meacham died and was said to have had a heart attack. We know he did not. We know he was stabbed."

The doorman's nostrils flared, and his neck reddened. "I'm not allowed to discuss that. What I will tell you is that if you ask more questions, you'll draw attention that you don't want." He briefly met Hadrian's gaze. "You don't want to become entangled with any of this."

"We know who committed the act," Hadrian continued. "A man called Fitch. Do you know him?"

The doorman blanched, the red in his neck fading until he was quite pale. He said nothing, but Hadrian had his answer. "Are you aware that Fitch is dead?" he asked next.

The doorman wiped his forehead. "Please, you must go," he croaked. Then he glanced over his shoulder at the door.

Miss Wren edged closer to him, her voice a sharp whisper. "Are you afraid for your life if you are seen speaking with us?"

The doorman nodded. "Especially now you've told me about Fitch. Please , leave me be."

The door opened suddenly, and the doorman grabbed Hadrian's elbow. His upper lip curled back in a threatening sneer. "I told you to go." He turned his head toward the manager who stood in the doorway. "This gent doesn't know when to stop asking questions that can't be answered."

"I see." The manager gave Hadrian a cold stare. "I must ask you to leave and not return. We have tried to put the unpleasantness of the death behind us, and it is not good for you to be here dredging it up. It was most upsetting for the employees, you must understand."

Hadrian pulled his arm from the doorman's grip. "I do. My apologies." He took Miss Wren's arm and guided her away from the doorway. He did not speak until they rounded the corner away from Covent Garden.

"If that didn't reek of concealment, I don't know what would," Miss Wren said.

Hadrian looked for a hack. "I do hope we didn't get the waiter or doorman into trouble."

"I do too. That could be quite dangerous for them, considering what happened to Sir Henry." She paused and cast her eyes down. "I want so badly to find out what happened to him. He deserves that. As does Millicent."

"So do you," Hadrian said, gently touching her arm.

She lifted her gaze to his and nodded. "Thank you." Taking a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders. "Given that we have already found a dead body and we are now worried about the safety of others embroiled in this series of crimes, perhaps it is time we share what we've learned with Scotland Yard."

"You may be right, though I worry their involvement will frighten some of the people we hope to convince to speak to us. Regardless, we must prioritize the visit to Hardacre. You've put it off long enough in favor of everything else." Hadrian waved down a hack and paid the driver to convey them to the Wren household first and then to his house on Curzon Street.

As they traveled to Marylebone, Miss Wren thanked him for his concern about calling on Hardacre. "After speaking with Millicent today, I would very much like to resolve the matter of my grandmother's investment and Sir Henry's lack of funds."

"That is more than understandable."

They then reviewed what they'd learned at the club, and Hadrian described what he'd seen and felt in the card room when he'd tried to use his ability. "I only wish this frustrating curse had been more helpful," he said somewhat bitterly. What good was the damned thing if he couldn't control it? At least he didn't have a lingering headache.

"I imagine it's difficult to use that ability when we are somewhere that there are or have been a great many people. How would you detect or see anything amidst a sea of sensations and visions?"

"I shall have to learn to use it better, I suppose. Though, I was rather hoping it would fade in time, as I continue to heal from my fall when I was attacked."

"It may yet do that, and then you won't be able to use it more efficiently. Or at all." She gave him an encouraging smile. "Though, without it, we would not have met."

She was right about that. "And there would be no investigation," Hadrian said. "I would be stewing in my certainty that a common footpad wouldn't stab me with no one to listen to my rantings."

Miss Wren laughed as the hack stopped in front of her house, and Hadrian climbed down to help her out. As soon as he did, a figure moved toward them. Hadrian tensed.

The man stepped into the light of the streetlamp. "Good evening, Lord Ravenhurst, Miss Wren."

"Good evening, Inspector Teague," Hadrian said. "I'm surprised to find you lingering about Miss Wren's house."

"I went to yours first, but your butler informed me you were out." Teague looked to Miss Wren. "Your grandmother told me you were out as well."

Hadrian felt Miss Wren stiffen. She would be concerned about her grandmother having to speak with an inspector who was looking for her granddaughter.

Teague glanced between them, his gaze moving back and forth. "I think it's time you told me precisely what it is you are up to with regard to Sir Henry Meacham."