Chapter 20

CHAPTER 20

W hen the coach turned onto Grenville Street near Clarendon Square, the rain started to fall in buckets. It suited Hadrian's dark mood. He'd wanted to throttle Selwin upon learning what he'd done to be complicit in concealing Sir Henry's death. And for what? Money?

And keeping his family safe, Selwin had said. Hadrian understood fear, but if the villains had been reported to Scotland Yard at any point during the past fortnight, they would likely already be in custody awaiting trial. Indeed, Fitch would probably still be alive.

He looked over at Miss Wren. She'd barely said anything since they'd left Selwin's. For her, this was even worse because Sir Henry was family. He could imagine how angry she must feel.

The coach stopped in front of the Crawfords' address. A mourning wreath still adorned the door, and he could see black hangings through the windows.

Hadrian wished they didn't have to bother Crawford's widow, but it was critical to move their investigation forward. They had to establish the link between Patrick Crawford and Sir Henry. "Ready?" he asked Miss Wren.

She blinked a few times and pushed away from the back of the seat. "Yes. Let's make the most of this black dress, shall we?" A small smile passed over her lips, and Hadrian was grateful for the moment of levity.

He stepped from the coach and helped her down then escorted her to the door. "I hope this isn't too upsetting for Mrs. Crawford. I'm not sure what to do if she refuses to see us."

"I know. I've tried not to think about that," Miss Wren said, sending him a worried glance.

Taking a deep breath and sending up a prayer, he knocked on the door. A moment later, it opened to reveal the butler, an older, stern-faced man with dark, bird-like eyes that moved over Hadrian and Miss Wren with speed and intensity.

Hadrian presented the man with his card. "Good afternoon. We would like to see Mrs. Crawford, if she is receiving. I was a colleague of her late husband. I was also attacked in the same manner as he was, only I am here to tell the tale." He felt it was important to mention the latter as it may increase their chances of being received.

"I see," the butler said. "Come in while I ask if she is available to see you. She is not currently receiving callers outside of family."

"We understand," Miss Wren said softly with a gentle nod.

The butler looked over her again, his gaze lingering on her mourning costume. "If you'll just wait here." He departed the entrance hall for the staircase hall which was visible through an arched doorway.

Hadrian removed his gloves and noted Miss Wren watching him. "Just in case," he whispered.

The tension grew palpable as they waited. What would they do if Mrs. Crawford refused to see them? They'd continue to Scotland Yard. Hadrian wanted to return to Farringer's, but as they'd been banned from visiting, that was not an option. Hadrian was keen to confirm Fitch as an employee.

The butler appeared in the staircase hall and came back into the entrance hall. "Mrs. Crawford will see you. I'll take you up to the drawing room."

They followed the butler into the staircase hall and up to the drawing room. Candles flickered, but the space was dim and held a melancholic air as the curtains were drawn and black crepe covered multiple mirrors. Mrs. Crawford was not present, but she would presumably be along directly.

Miss Wren moved farther into the room toward a central seating area. Suddenly, a cat jumped up from the settee over the back onto a table situated behind it. Several photographs were turned down, and the feline knocked one off as it leapt from the table to the floor and dashed from the room, cutting a wide berth around Miss Wren and Hadrian.

Miss Wren lifted her hand to her chest. "That surprised me."

"Apparently we surprised the cat." Hadrian moved to pick up the photograph. He couldn't help looking at it and froze. It was identical to the one of the four men at Sir Henry's. And it provoked the same flash of the dead woman in Hadrian's mind. But the vision was different. He viewed the woman from a different angle. And he could see the lower half of a man's legs on the other side of her body.

Hadrian sucked in a breath, and the vision flitted away like a butterfly. He blinked at the photograph in his hand. It wasn't exactly the same as Sir Henry's. The figures on the left weren't quite as blurry. Indeed, the second from the left was almost identifiable, as if he'd been convinced to hold still for this version of the photograph.

"What is it?" Miss Wren asked, moving to his side. She gasped. "Oh!"

"What are you doing?"

Hadrian and Miss Wren turned toward the doorway at the sound of the shaky, feminine voice.

"That is supposed to be turned down," Mrs. Crawford said. She was about Hadrian's age, beautiful but terribly thin. She was also pale with dark circles beneath her eyes, perhaps indicating she didn't sleep well.

"It was," Hadrian replied. "I'm afraid we spooked the cat, and it knocked the photograph to the floor. I was merely picking it up."

"I see," Mrs. Crawford said, walking slowly toward them. She wore a high-necked ebony gown. It was far more fashionable than Miss Wren's, but it was terrible that Mrs. Crawford should have to wear it. She was a young woman and ought to be laughing and wearing vibrant colors.

Miss Wren gave her a warm smile. "This is Lord Ravenhurst, and I am Miss Matilda Wren. My grandfather's cousin is in this photograph." Miss Wren took it from Hadrian and showed it to Mrs. Crawford. "Here." Pointing to the man on the far right, Miss Wren went on, "This is Sir Henry Meacham. He died a fortnight ago. That is why I am also wearing black."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Mrs. Crawford said. "My father-in-law is the man next to Sir Henry."

"Is he?" Miss Wren studied the photograph. "I didn't know that. They must have been friends."

"I think they must have been, though that image was taken some thirty years ago, I believe. The date is on the back."

Hadrian took the photograph from Miss Wren. "May I?" He was asking Mrs. Crawford if he could remove the plate from the frame. "I'd like to see the date. Sir Henry's didn't have that." Actually, it might have. They'd never thought to look.

"You can take it out of the frame, if you like," Mrs. Crawford said.

Anticipation curled through Hadrian as he removed the plate from the frame. He read the year etched on the back. "1839," he said, thinking the clothing that the woman in his visions wore fit that time period. Except she wasn't in the photograph, just the visions that accompanied it. How he wanted to find out who she was!

Hadrian put the plate back into the frame. "I don't suppose you know who the other men are?"

Miss Wren gave Mrs. Crawford a faint smile. "Sir Henry's daughter doesn't know, and she is wondering if they were good friends of her father's."

"I don't know, I'm sorry," Mrs. Crawford said.

Loath to set the photograph down in case he might glimpse the vision once more, Hadrian held it for a moment longer. He fixed on the image, on Sir Henry and then on Martin Crawford beside him.

The vision burst into Hadrian's mind once more, along with a searing pain. He saw the woman, but she was nearly upside down due to the vantage point. Was he seeing her from Crawford's perspective versus Sir Henry's? He tried to see more of the man whose legs were visible. Up, up to the man's middle…higher. There.

It was Sir Henry, but thirty years ago.

The pain in Hadrian's head intensified. He felt Miss Wren touch his arm. She took the photograph and set it face down on the table with the others. He blinked and saw the concern in her gaze.

"Thank you for seeing us, Mrs. Crawford," Miss Wren said softly. "I can imagine how difficult this time has been for you. I am so very sorry for the loss of your husband."

"He was such a good man." Mrs. Crawford's voice broke on the last word. Her nose twitched as she pulled a handkerchief from her pocket. "Can't manage without a steady supply of these," she said with a fleeting smile. She pressed the handkerchief to her nose.

"Yes," Hadrian said, sounding gruff. He cleared his throat gently. "He is much missed in the Commons."

"So many of his colleagues have sent notes and flowers. Their concern is much appreciated." Mrs. Crawford focused on Hadrian. "My butler told me you were also attacked. I didn't know anyone else had been."

"Yes, the prior Tuesday and in the same location, in fact."

Mrs. Crawford's blue eyes rounded. "What a striking coincidence."

"Exactly my thoughts," Hadrian replied. "I didn't even learn your husband had been attacked until recently. I find it very troubling. So much so that I visited Scotland Yard to determine what they had done to investigate the two crimes."

"They didn't do much, in my opinion," Mrs. Crawford said with clear acrimony. "They closed Patrick's case quickly after concluding a footpad had killed him. Then the inspector told me they would likely never find the perpetrator. Of course they wouldn't as they didn't even look."

"Was this Inspector Padgett?" Hadrian asked. "I understand he was assigned to both cases."

Mrs. Crawford wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Yes. I didn't care for him."

"Neither did I," Hadrian said in solidarity. "I have been trying to review the reports, but he classified them as confidential, so I haven't been able to see them." Perhaps Superintendent Newsome was even now trying to deliver them to Hadrian. He hoped so but would not hold his breath.

"Can I ask why you are here?" Mrs. Crawford asked. "It almost seems as if the two of you are investigating these cases since Scotland Yard is not."

Miss Wren smiled. "That is what we are doing. As you can imagine, Lord Ravenhurst has a particular interest and hired me to conduct an investigation."

"He hired you?" Mrs. Crawford asked with surprise.

"Miss Wren is incredibly qualified in such matters," Hadrian said. "She is close to proving the man who attacked me and killed your husband also killed her grandfather's cousin."

Mrs. Crawford put her hand to her mouth. She blinked, but a tear escaped each eye. Lifting the handkerchief, she quickly swabbed her cheeks. "You know who killed Patrick?" She looked from Miss Wren to Hadrian.

"We think it's most likely he was killed by the man who attacked Lord Ravenhurst," Miss Wren replied. "The earl has positively identified him. However, he is, unfortunately, dead."

The woman wobbled, and Miss Wren rushed to her side, sliding her arm around Mrs. Crawford's waist. "I've got you," Miss Wren murmured.

"I'm sorry," Mrs. Crawford said softly. "This is shocking to hear."

"Come and sit." Miss Wren guided her to the settee, and they sat down together.

Hadrian took a chair opposite them. "I'm sorry this is so upsetting. Please know that we are only trying to discover the truth. What we are missing is the link between your husband and Sir Henry." Although, it seemed the connection may actually be between Sir Henry and her father-in-law, the man in the photograph, particularly since Martin Crawford had loaned Sir Henry money.

"All I can say is that my father-in-law was friends with Sir Henry. I'd forgotten we even had that photograph, but it was one of many things Patrick's mother gave him when his father died last year." Mrs. Crawford fell silent a moment, then her eyes rounded briefly. "Wait, I do remember who one of the other gentlemen is. He came to my father-in-law's funeral. His name is Erasmus Blount."

Hadrian felt a rush of excitement. Hopefully Blount was still alive and well. "I don't suppose you could give us Mr. Blount's direction?" He held his breath and glanced toward Miss Wren whose attention was entirely focused on Mrs. Crawford.

"He lives in Brighton. He's infirm. I think it was difficult for him to come to London last year. He sent a card after Patrick died saying he wasn't able to make the trip for the funeral." Mrs. Crawford shook her head. "I don't know why I didn't recall all that sooner." She looked at Miss Wren. "I suppose grief takes up too much space in my head sometimes."

Miss Wren patted the woman's hand. "We're just grateful you recalled something that could help us."

"How does this help?" Mrs. Crawford asked.

"We will speak with Mr. Blount," Hadrian said. "Hopefully, he will be able to tell us more about how your father-in-law and Sir Henry are connected."

Miss Wren tipped her head toward Mrs. Crawford. "Would you know anything about an IOU Sir Henry had with your father-in-law?"

Mrs. Crawford shook her head. "No. You could ask my mother-in-law, but I do not recommend it. She is completely devastated by Patrick's death. She has removed to the country. Not even her grandchildren could bring her joy." Mrs. Crawford sniffed.

"That's a shame," Miss Wren said consolingly.

Mrs. Crawford looked toward her. "Was Sir Henry also stabbed?"

"He was, and someone tried to make it appear as though he'd died of natural decay," Miss Wren replied. "I would surmise that your husband's death was made to appear a random attack by a footpad who'd gone too far."

"But a footpad stabbing his victims didn't make sense to me," Hadrian said. "Which is why I hired Miss Wren to look into the matter."

Mrs. Crawford's brow pleated with confusion. "But you said you identified the culprit and that he's already dead. Is the matter not resolved?"

Miss Wren shook her head. "No. We don't believe the man who killed your husband and Sir Henry had a motive to do so. It's much more likely that he was paid to…do what he did."

"How cold." Mrs. Crawford looked down at her lap and sniffed.

"We won't bother you any longer." Miss Wren touched Mrs. Crawford's hand briefly before standing. "Thank you again for permitting us to see you. I will keep you in my thoughts."

"And my children please," Mrs. Crawford said before dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief. "They're so young. I worry they won't remember him at all. Forgive me." She squeezed her eyes shut and hurried from the room.

"Poor dear," Miss Wren said.

"I feel very badly for her loss and more committed than ever to finding out what happened." Hadrian stood and went to the photograph. Without hesitation he picked it up as he cleared his mind, opening it to whatever he might see.

A bolt of pain shot behind his eyes. The dead woman, Sir Henry…to the right, another man but only his midsection was visible. And his hand. He was wearing a ring on his little finger.

" Ravenhurst. " Miss Wren jolted him from the vision.

"I liked Raven better, actually," he said without thinking. His head throbbed. That must be why his hand was pressed against his forehead. He'd been completely engrossed in what he'd been seeing. And what he'd seen…Excitement shot through him, obliterating the pain for a moment.

"You saw something touching that photograph," Miss Wren said in a low voice. "It happened when you picked it up from the floor too. I saw your reaction."

He still held the photograph, but for now, he was just feeling a mash of emotions: fear, horror, guilt. "I saw the same dead woman," he said. "But from a different perspective. From Crawford's, I would imagine. I could see Sir Henry standing on the other side of the woman's body. There was a third man. I saw part of him—his hand." Hadrian blinked and fixed on Miss Wren. "He was wearing a ring on his little finger. A ring bearing the letter M."

She gasped, her eyes growing wide. "The ring you have?"

Hadrian removed it from his pocket, glad he hadn't had to surrender it—yet. He did not see or feel anything touching it, and he realized he hadn't since they'd found Fitch. Looking at the ring, he was confident it was the same one he'd seen in his mind. "Yes. Whomever originally owned this ring was with Sir Henry and Crawford and the dead woman. Probably thirty years ago." He looked down at the photo. "I believe that when I touch this, I am seeing the memories of the person it belonged to. Looking at the photo triggers these images."

"So, today you are seeing Martin Crawford's memories. And with Sir Henry's photograph, you saw his. Both men share the horrible memory of this dead woman," Miss Wren said darkly. "Why don't you see the memories of the man wearing the ring? You have the ring."

Hadrian handed her the photograph and pulled the ring from his pocket. Slipping it onto his finger, he took a deep breath. His head still ached horribly. Nevertheless, he took the photograph back. There was nothing for a long moment, then a flash of color—the dead woman's blue patterned dress. The pin on her bodice.

The woman wasn't dead. She smiled prettily, her eyes narrowed with desire. She said something, but Hadrian couldn't hear her. He thought it might be, "Kiss me." Then her eyes closed, and her mouth opened, as if she were moaning.

Hadrian's view was from above her. Hands encircled her neck. She didn't flinch. She arched her head back, seeming to welcome this abuse. The hands squeezed. Her eyes flew open, and she began to struggle. Her hands closed around the man's wrists. Her face paled. She opened her mouth, her eyes wide with panic. Then she went limp.

The photograph fell from his grip. He blinked. It took him a moment to focus on Miss Wren. She held the photograph. Her face was a mask of worry. "What did you see?" she whispered.

"The man who wore this ring killed her. He choked her." Hadrian tried to make sense of it all. "She didn't mind at first—they were…intimate." They'd been having sex. Hadrian was sure of that now. The man had begun to choke her, and she'd seemed to enjoy it. Until he'd gone too far.

Miss Wren's jaw dropped. "How ghastly. Are you all right?"

"I am very glad this curse doesn't belong to you." His head felt like it had been split open with an axe. He removed the ring and slipped it back into his pocket. Then he massaged his forehead. "We should go."

"We need to visit Erasmus Blount with due haste," she said quietly.

Hadrian nodded then wished he hadn't, for his head was still throbbing. "Tomorrow. I'll purchase our tickets to Brighton. We'll leave early."