Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

T he day after Tilda had met with Mr. Whitley, she sat at the desk in the library, which had been her grandfather's study before his death. She went through every drawer and cranny searching for anything to do with Sir Henry and her grandmother's money. Grandmama sat next to her, alternately fidgeting with her hands and commenting that she still didn't understand what happened with the secondary investment.

Upon returning from her appointment with the solicitor, Tilda had queried her grandmother about the specifics of the secondary investment: the amount, the date, anything she could remember. Unfortunately, Grandmama wasn't able to recall anything with specificity, just that she'd asked Sir Henry to invest a sum of money that wasn't already in an investment that Tilda's father had made while he'd managed the money. Then Tilda had asked her where she might find a record of the investment. Grandmama hadn't known that either.

"It can't be gone," Grandmama said again as Tilda carefully studied a ledger she'd found in the bottom drawer of the desk. It was old, and she hoped it contained something about the money given to Sir Henry.

"Mr. Whitley has no record of it, Grandmama." And neither do we. Tilda hadn't told her that she suspected embezzlement by the former solicitor. She didn't wish to upset her grandmother further when nothing was certain.

Grandmama sucked in a breath. "Did someone steal it? You must tell me the truth, Tilda."

Looking up from the ledger, Tilda turned her head toward her grandmother and offered her a comforting smile. "I am not aware of any theft at this time. But I am worried that we can't find a record of the investment. This ledger is from years after Grandpapa died, and it is the oldest one I've found." It was also not terribly detailed as far as Tilda could tell.

Tilda recalled how devastated her grandmother had been when Tilda's father had died. To think she'd taken the time to accurately record the distribution of funds amidst her grief was too much to hope for. Indeed, Tilda didn't think she could have done it, for that had been the most painful time of her life.

Shaking that dismal thought away for the moment, Tilda finished reviewing the ledger.

"I don't think there are any ledgers stored elsewhere, but I will ask Mrs. Acorn to look in the storeroom on the top floor." Grandmama stood.

"Yes, please." Tilda should have already thought of that and silently chastised herself for not doing so. She reasoned that she was simply overtaxed with the situation and how to resolve it.

"I do wonder if it's worth you calling on Millicent," Grandmama suggested. "There ought to be records in Sir Henry's study."

Millicent was staying at her father's house whilst she cleaned and prepared it for sale. Whilst Tilda hated to bother the woman after her father's death, it appeared to be necessary. Tilda was running out of places to look for evidence that the investment existed. Tomorrow, she planned to call on Mr. Hardacre. She'd first wanted to thoroughly search her grandmother's house.

"I will call on Millicent and pray it isn't too much of an imposition," Tilda said.

"She will understand." Fine lines tracked across Grandmama's forehead, revealing her concern before she turned and left.

Tilda finished reviewing the ledger, which was—as expected—completely unhelpful. Still, it had needed to be done.

A thought struck her—what if Millicent had already disposed of things? The records could be gone by now. Tilda stood, deciding she would go to see Millicent right now.

Driven by a sudden apprehension, Tilda started toward the door but halted upon seeing Mrs. Acorn. "I need to go see Millicent. Did Grandmama speak with you?"

Mrs. Acorn nodded. "Yes. She is resting now. I will look for ledgers on the third floor shortly. First, however, I came to inform you that Lord Ravenhurst is here to see you."

Tilda could not have been more surprised. She wondered if he'd forgotten her offer to help him—or hadn't wanted to accept.

Botheration, she was incredibly eager to reach Millicent before she disposed of anything. Exhaling, she brushed her hands over her skirts. "I don't suppose I can tell an earl that I don't have time to see him?"

"Of course you can," Mrs. Acorn replied firmly. "I'll inform him."

Before the housekeeper could turn, Tilda stopped her. "No, just show him to the sitting room, and I'll be down directly." Whilst she didn't really want to take the time, she had to admit she'd been wondering when he might call. It seemed he was ready to discuss his private matter . The investigator in her thrilled at the idea of solving at least one small mystery.

"If you're sure." Mrs. Acorn didn't sound as though she was.

"Were you looking forward to refusing an earl?" Tilda asked with a small smile.

Mrs. Acorn smiled, her features softening with affection. "I always look forward to supporting you, my dear girl, especially during trying times. I'm not entirely certain what is troubling you, but I can guess, and I'm sorry for it."

The housekeeper knew about the household finances suffering, but Tilda hadn't told her about the investment's disappearance.

"Thank you, Mrs. Acorn. Do not offer the earl tea. If you could put my hat and gloves in the entrance hall, that would be most welcome."

Nodding, Mrs. Acorn left, and Tilda followed her out, going downstairs to the parlor at the front of the house off the entrance hall. Lord Ravenhurst stood near the bowed window facing the street, his hat in his gloved hands. His dark, wavy hair was combed back from his high forehead. He offered her a smile as she entered, and she was reminded that the earl was a rather handsome gentleman. "Good afternoon, Miss Wren. I appreciate you seeing me."

She stepped farther into the room but did not invite him to sit. There wasn't time for such hospitality. "May I presume you've come to discuss the private matter you had with Sir Henry?"

"Yes." He took a deep, almost hesitant breath, as if he were about to reveal something of great import. "I was stabbed several weeks ago, and during the attack, I removed a ring from my assailant's hand. I thought I had seen Sir Henry wearing that ring and wished to ask him about it."

Of all the things Tilda might imagined he would say, this hadn't been anywhere in her mind. "You could have asked about this the day we met."

"I didn't want to trouble you with such a thing when you'd just learned Sir Henry had died."

Tilda supposed that made sense. "I am not aware of any rings that Sir Henry wore, but that doesn't mean he didn't ever wear one. Why would a man who stabbed you—and I am very sorry to hear that happened—have a ring that may have belonged to Sir Henry?"

"That is the question I would like answered. I do realize it seems far-fetched, but it's all I have to go on at the moment." His gaze fixed on her more intently. "When I was at Sir Henry's funeral, I overheard his daughter describing a wound to his side that sounded suspiciously like the one I sustained—both to our right sides. It seems too much of a coincidence."

Tilda's investigative senses came fully alert. The earl certainly sounded as if he were conducting an investigation. "It seems as though you are investigating your attack. Didn't Scotland Yard do that?" If he hadn't reported the incident, her estimation of him would plummet.

A deep frown creased the earl's features. "They did; however, the case was closed but not solved. They did not capture the assailant, nor did they even appear to look for him."

Though she wasn't surprised to hear this had happened, Tilda was as frustrated by it as the earl appeared to be. "My father was a sergeant at Scotland Yard. Unfortunately, a great many cases suffer from a lack of investigation, particularly those that are difficult."

"That is disappointing to hear," Ravenhurst said, still frowning. "The inspector resolved that I was attacked by a footpad, but why would a footpad stab their mark? That doesn't make sense to me, especially because the man didn't even steal anything from me." He took a deep breath, his expression smoothing. "My apologies, Miss Wren. I nearly died, and I am frustrated this matter wasn't investigated more thoroughly, as far as I can tell. I should like to know why I was stabbed. This does not seem to me to be the case of a footpad who resorted to violence. In fact, he stabbed me straightaway and did not ask for my valuables at all."

Why would the inspector have concluded this was the act of a footpad? Footpads did not normally nearly kill their marks, as far as Tilda was aware, and she knew far more than the average person about crime. Her curiosity had been piqued when she'd met the earl, and now it was completely engaged. "That does sound very strange. Who was the inspector on your case?"

"Padgett. Do you know him?"

"The name is familiar," she said, thinking of the many people she'd met at Scotland Yard over the years. "I believe he was with the police when my father worked there. He wasn't one of my father's friends, however, so I am not acquainted with him personally." She knew a few sergeants and a handful of inspectors, all of whom had worked with her father. But he'd died eleven years ago, and she hadn't kept in touch with most of them. Though, her investigative work for Mr. Forrest had led her to become reacquainted with a couple of them over the past few years.

Tilda's investigative instincts took over. "What did Scotland Yard say about the ring?"

The earl's gaze darted to the side, and Tilda instantly knew he wasn't being entirely honest with her. "They don't know about the ring. I'm afraid I didn't realize I had it until after the case had been closed. Given Scotland Yard's lack of persistence with the case, I decided I didn't want to surrender the only piece of physical evidence I have."

That was completely understandable to Tilda. It was also very smart. But the earl was keeping something from her, and she would tread carefully. She reviewed in her mind what he'd already told her and made a deduction. "You think this ring may have belonged to Sir Henry and once you heard he had an odd wound, you wondered if he may have been stabbed as you were?"

"I am wondering a great many things. At this point, I'm only trying to ascertain if there was some connection between Sir Henry and my assailant."

Tilda recalled what she knew of Sir Henry's death and shook her head. "Whilst I am also perplexed by a wound in Sir Henry's side, he wasn't stabbed." Tilda would most certainly be asking Millicent about this wound. "He collapsed in a public house or a club of some kind and was taken directly to his physician who determined he'd died of a heart ailment. Then he was taken home." Tilda now wondered why there hadn't been an inquest. Though, if Sir Henry had been determined to have died of natural decay, there would likely not have been one. Still, he'd collapsed in a public place. An inquest would have been best.

When she considered these oddities along with her grandmother's missing investment, she began to think that investigating Sir Henry's death was necessary.

"And there was no inquest despite his sudden death?" the earl asked.

Tilda nearly smiled at how the earl's mind had followed her own. It seemed he possessed some measure of deductive skill. "There was not. You have piqued my interest in this matter, Lord Ravenhurst." She didn't like it when things did not make sense or when there were unanswered questions. Such as why he'd allowed her grandmother's investment to go missing. And how long he'd been suffering from a heart ailment no one knew about, not even his daughters. Furthermore, there was the odd wound and her grandmother's missing investment.

She was compelled to solve any mystery, no matter how small. And this did not sound small. "Let us assume this ring you have belonged to Sir Henry. Why would the man who attacked you have it?"

He inclined his head. "You ask an astute question, Miss Wren. I find it beyond puzzling that Sir Henry's ring—and I may be mistaken about it belonging to him—would be on this alleged footpad's person. I should also mention that a week after I was stabbed, another man was attacked—stabbed in the same manner and in the same location along Parliament Street. Unfortunately, he did not survive." Ravenhurst paused briefly. "What sort of footpad returns to the scene of a crime he wasn't able to complete? As his victim, I would be able to describe him, and one would think the police would patrol that area more frequently and in greater numbers."

"One would think. However, Scotland Yard doesn't always have enough constables for every shift. They don't pay as well for those working at night." Tilda recalled her father taking extra shifts at night, even as a sergeant, because there hadn't been enough constables.

His gaze met hers and held it for a moment. "I will also tell you that I am fairly certain I was not his intended victim."

"Why do you think that?"

He lifted a shoulder. "While his blade was still embedded in my flesh, I gripped his wrist and turned on him. I looked into his eyes, and I saw surprise—he was not expecting me."

"Perhaps he was surprised because you were fighting for your survival. I would guess most victims do not have the wherewithal to grab their attacker." She had to admit she was impressed he'd done so. But Ravenhurst wasn't a doughy-faced nobleman who likely slept all day and drank all night. He appeared athletic and fit. And clever.

"I did consider that, and you may be right. However, I can't shake the sensation that I was not his target—and that was before I learned that someone else had been killed the very next week. On the same night of the week, in fact." He took a breath, his gaze intense. "The victim—Patrick Crawford—went to a card game every Tuesday night, and he and I share the same coloring and build. I think it's possible the assailant was looking for the man he killed the week after my attack but stabbed me by mistake."

Tilda could see where he was going with his logic, but that didn't make it true. "That is a great deal of circumstantial speculation."

The earl narrowed his eyes. "Why visit the precise same location on the same night of the week the following week to commit the same crime and then not once since?"

"Because he'd failed in his endeavor the first time when he stabbed you in error, then returned to make it right," she concluded, latching on to the earl's theory. "If your supposition is true. I can't help pointing out that much of your investigation and deduction relies heavily on your intuition rather than evidence."

He exhaled, sounding frustrated. "That is why I am trying to collect evidence and continue to bother you with my questions. I could be entirely wrong about everything, in which case I will have wasted your time—and my own. However, I can't give up until I am satisfied that I have chased every avenue of possible intelligence. Someone nearly killed me, and I would know why." He said the last with a cold determination that resonated with her more than anything else he'd said today.

She could understand a visceral need to learn the truth about something so primal. "Were you near death?"

"I sustained an injury to my head when I fell. That took weeks to heal, and I still suffer headaches. The wound in my side was serious, and I lost a great deal of blood." His right shoulder twitched, and she assumed he'd been stabbed in the right side. "I was fortunate to be repaired by an excellent surgeon."

"Indeed," she murmured. "Everything you've told me is a great deal to take in." Tilda planned to write down every aspect of this case at the earliest opportunity, for she was now more than intrigued—she was invested. The tale of a footpad stabbing an earl so close to Westminster and not stealing anything from him did not make sense, especially along with all the other things he'd told her. And if Sir Henry was somehow connected to this criminal, she absolutely could not turn away.

There was only one way to find out. "As it happens, I was about to pay a call on Sir Henry's daughter," Tilda said. "She is staying at his house and overseeing the dissemination of its contents. I will ask her about the ring you have and about Sir Henry's odd wound."

"Or I could come with you and ask her myself," he offered benignly, a placid smile doing a poor job of masking his anticipation. She noted the subtle rocking of his heels. It was slight, but she could see he was eager to join her.

Tilda recalled how he'd obtained information from her when they'd met. "Are you an investigator, Lord Ravenhurst?"

"No."

She smiled at him. "As it happens, I am. I consult with a solicitor regarding divorce cases. You could leave this to me, and I'd be happy to report what I learn."

"It seems more expedient if I just go with you," the earl said, his expression eager.

Tilda crossed her arms over her chest. "I can't help noticing you are somewhat aggressive in your search for information. As someone who regularly conducts investigations, might I advise you that this can be off-putting. You want people to help you not be annoyed by you."

This was a lesson her father had taught her when she was perhaps seven years old. Tilda had lost her favorite hair ribbon at school. Upset, she'd demanded the other children help her to look for it. Some did, but one girl in particular had said she wouldn't help because Tilda hadn't asked nicely. Later, when Tilda had cried about the loss of the ribbon to her father and how one girl refused to help search for it, he'd hugged her and said, "I know you were upset, my darling, but sometimes we have to set aside our true feelings and employ kindness and even charm. I must do this often in my work with the police, especially when I need information from someone who doesn't want to give it."

He exhaled. "My apologies. I do want your help, most fervently. Seeing as you are an investigator with connections to Scotland Yard, I wonder if I might hire you to assist me with this investigation."

Assist? Tilda didn't know whether to laugh or glower. "As you pointed out, my lord, you are not an investigator whilst I am. I would consider allowing you to engage my services as the investigator of your case. I will not assist you, nor will you assist me."

His expression darkened. "I'm afraid I'm not the sort of person who is content to wait at home for answers. I've been doing that for weeks whilst I recuperated. I nearly died, and I would be involved in the resolution of this crime."

Tilda could understand and appreciate his need to do that. Indeed, she could feel his tension. This matter was of the utmost importance to him, and she wanted to help him. "Let me clarify what you are asking for. You wish to hire me to solve the matter of your attack—who was responsible and why. And you want to accompany me throughout the investigation?"

"Yes, to all that," he said firmly. Enthusiastically. "Do you wish to be paid a flat fee, or will you bill for the time you spend?" He asked blithely, as if the cost were no matter to him. And why would it be? She imagined he didn't have to budget in the way she did.

Mr. Forrest paid Tilda a flat fee. However, she didn't know what this investigation would entail. "I would prefer to bill you for the time I spend." Her breath caught as she waited to see if he would agree. It seemed he would, but at the same time, she was overjoyed that this opportunity had come when she'd needed it most.

"Very good. Let us see what we learn from Sir Henry's daughter regarding the ring."

"If there is no connection to Sir Henry, do you still want my help?" Tilda asked, almost afraid of the answer.

He nodded. "I do."

"We will need to visit Scotland Yard," she said, feeling a joyous relief. "I would like to review the reports that were made on your case as well as that of the man who was stabbed the following week."

"As it happens, I met with an inspector last evening, and he is retrieving those reports today. I planned to stop by later this afternoon."

They could do that after visiting Millicent, Tilda supposed, however Tilda had things to discuss with her that she did not wish her new client to overhear. The earl did not need to be privy to her grandmother's financial concerns.

"I'm afraid I won't be able to do that this afternoon. We can go tomorrow morning," she suggested, though that would delay her visit to Mr. Hardacre. She hated to do that, but she was also keen to earn money. She could, hopefully, conduct both errands.

Ravenhurst's wide brow puckered. She could feel his disappointment. "I suppose that will suffice."

"Excellent. Now, let us go to Sir Henry's house. Do you have a coach?" She realized as soon as she asked the question that it was silly. Of course an earl would have a coach.

"It's right outside."

"Then let us depart." Tilda turned and went into the entrance hall where Mrs. Acorn had left her hat and gloves. She also donned her cloak, which hung on a rack along with her grandmother's. Her client hurried to assist her, and she murmured her gratitude.

Her client . Tilda pressed her lips together to keep from grinning.