Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

H adrian looked across the coach at Miss Wren as they began moving. Today had not progressed as he imagined. Indeed, it was exceeding his expectations. It felt good to have an official investigation of his stabbing with someone who seemed to know what she was doing.

Normally, he would have sought a reference, but he wanted Miss Wren. Sir Henry was somehow tied to Hadrian's attacker, and Miss Wren was connected to Sir Henry.

The question that remained, however, was how he would convey the connection between the ring and Sir Henry, for she would soon learn the ring hadn't belonged to him. Then what? Hadrian would reveal his inexplicable visions so she could stare at him in disbelief then suggest he consult with a doctor regarding his clear mental illness?

He noted that she'd taken the rear-facing seat. He would insist she take the forward facing in the future.

He actually had no trouble believing she conducted investigations. He could practically feel her skepticism and curiosity. They were like an aura about her.

Had she inherited those traits from her father who'd worked for Scotland Yard? Her grandfather had been a magistrate. It seemed law and order must flow through her veins.

"Does your aptitude for investigation come from your father?" he asked idly, not only to pass the time to Huntley Street but to get to know Miss Wren better. He found her most engaging.

Her long, light lashes fluttered as she glanced toward him. "I should hope so. He was an excellent investigator. At the time of his death, he was to be promoted to inspector."

"I'm sorry he passed in what was surely the prime of his life."

"He was just forty-one years," she said softly. "That was eleven years ago. There is not a day that goes by that I don't miss him."

He heard the love in her voice and was doubly sorry for her loss. "How wonderful that you shared such a closeness with him." In an effort to dispel any sadness, he asked, "It's just you and your grandmother now?"

"Here in London. I do not have any siblings. My mother remarried and now lives in Birmingham. I chose to remain with my grandmother."

"I'm sure she was delighted when you did," he said with a smile.

Her gaze turned wary. "As my client, you don't need to befriend me, Lord Ravenhurst."

"Forgive me if I am being intrusive." He didn't wish to make her uncomfortable. "I am making idle chatter as one does, but I also find you fascinating, Miss Wren."

"Why?" she asked bemusedly, the corner of her mouth lifting.

"You are a capable, independent young woman. I don't meet a great many of those. Honestly, I don't meet a great many young women anymore."

"And why is that? I should think an unmarried earl would be in high demand on the Marriage Mart." She paused. "Or perhaps you are already married."

"I am not," he confirmed. "Nearly, but I was thankfully spared what I now realize would have been a dreadful mistake."

One of her brows arched in an elegantly mischievous manner. "That sounds like an interesting story. Too bad we have arrived at Sir Henry's."

It was indeed too bad, for Hadrian found himself wanting to confide in her. And he rarely ever spoke of his broken betrothal. The coach drew to a stop, and Hadrian reached for the door. "I shall regale you with it on the return trip if you like."

She did not respond, but he was already climbing out of the coach. He helped her down, and they made their way, side-by-side, to the door, which still bore the yew wreath with the black ribbons.

The door was soon opened by the elderly, stooped butler. His faded blue gaze fell on Miss Wren. "Good afternoon, miss."

"How are you, Vaughn?" she asked with deep concern.

"We are forging ahead," he said with a slow nod. "Cook has found a new position and will be gone in a fortnight, and the maid seems close to securing employment." He opened the door wide, and Miss Wren moved inside.

Hadrian followed her into the entrance hall.

"Vaughn, allow me to present Lord Ravenhurst," Miss Wren said as she removed her gloves and tucked them into the pocket of her cloak.

The butler's eyes narrowed to focus as they moved over Hadrian. "You attended the funeral." It wasn't a question.

"I did," Hadrian replied, impressed by the man's memory and attention to detail.

Vaughn took Miss Wren's cloak and hung it on a peg. "If you'd care to wait in the parlor, I'll inform Mrs. Forsythe you are here."

"Thank you, Vaughn." Miss Wren moved into the parlor where the funeral had taken place. The room was still draped in black, and the coffin stand was still present, as were Sir Henry's mementoes.

Hadrian recalled the funeral and specifically what Miss Wren's grandmother had said about her granddaughter wanting to speak with her cousin about financial matters. He may regret what he was about to do, but he apparently couldn't help his curiosity. That shouldn't have come as a surprise as he was always asking questions at Westminster, much to the chagrin of many. Could he help it if he liked to be well informed about everything?

"Have you come to speak with Mrs. Forsythe about whatever financial issues you'd hoped to discuss with Sir Henry?" he asked.

Miss Wren sent him a furtive glance and pursed her lips. "My, but you are inquisitive. I don't see how that's your concern."

"It seems we both had business with Sir Henry that became unfinished by his sudden death. I only meant to point out we have something in common."

"Our business with Sir Henry was quite different," she said somewhat tersely.

"I didn't mean to offend," he murmured, but he still wasn't sorry he'd said it. She was clearly troubled by these financial concerns. Her tension was palpable when the subject was mentioned He was glad he'd hired her and hoped it would ease her worry.

Mrs. Forsythe entered then, her black dress rustling as she walked. About fifty with light-blonde hair and a round face supported by a double chin, she smiled upon seeing Miss Wren. "Cousin Tilda."

Miss Wren met her in the middle of the room, and they briefly embraced. "Please forgive our intrusion. Allow me to present Lord Ravenhurst. He attended the funeral, so perhaps you met then."

Mrs. Forsythe's brow puckered as she regarded Hadrian. "I don't recall. How do you know each other?"

"I am conducting an investigation for Lord Ravenhurst," Miss Wren replied. "Though that is not why he attended the funeral. He was an associate of your father's." She glanced over at Hadrian.

He stepped forward. "Please accept my condolences, Mrs. Forsythe. I worked with Sir Henry over the years when he was with the Home Office. I'd planned to introduce myself to you at the funeral, but my timing was poor, and I didn't have the chance."

"Well, I do thank you for remembering my father," Mrs. Forsythe said. "He was never proud of anything as much as his work with the Home Office."

Hadrian detected a faint note of bitterness in her tone. Had he neglected his family in favor of his work? He would not be the first man to do so. Hadrian's own father had been egregiously inattentive to his wife and children when compared to his duty as the earl.

Miss Wren continued, "Lord Ravenhurst has accompanied me today because we wish to speak with you about a matter involving his investigation. The earl was stabbed several weeks ago, and he took a ring from his assailant. He thinks he recognizes it as one that Sir Henry wore."

"It bears an M, which I assumed was for Meacham." Hadrian hadn't removed his gloves, so when he retrieved the ring from his pocket there was no faint sensation or hint of a vision. It was just like any other object. He opened his hand and moved the ring to his palm. "Did it belong to him?"

Mrs. Forsythe squinted at the ring and leaned toward it. She reached for it then paused, meeting his gaze. "May I?"

"Of course." He had no expectation she would be familiar with it, of course. This was all a farce. Though the M corresponding to Meacham was another striking coincidence.

She picked up the ring and brought it closer to her face. "I don't recognize this, and I've never known my father to wear a ring. But you've seen him wear one?"

"I thought I had, but I could be mistaken."

"I think you must be," Mrs. Forsythe said, placing the ring back onto Hadrian's open palm.

And that was the end of that. He tucked the ring back into his pocket.

"I didn't think Sir Henry wore rings either," Miss Wren said. "However, I thought it was worth asking. If it did belong to him, I would think you'd want it back." She gave Mrs. Forsythe a supportive look. "How are you doing? This all must be terribly taxing."

Mrs. Forsythe seemed to relax, her shoulders flattening. "It is. Things would be far more manageable if Belinda were helping. However, she can't be bothered, particularly since there is no inheritance."

There was no mistaking the bitterness in her tone now. Hadrian presumed Belinda must be her sister.

"There's nothing?" Miss Wren asked, her features creased with alarm. She glanced toward Hadrian and pressed her lips together then looked back to her cousin. "We can discuss it later," she murmured.

"It's most distressing," Mrs. Forsythe said.

Miss Wren nodded in agreement. Hadrian wondered how bad her own financial situation was. He recalled the dated furnishings at her grandmother's house, but that could just be due to Mrs. Wren having a preference for things she'd had for years and didn't wish to replace. Hadrian had also noted Miss Wren's outmoded mourning garb. She was wearing the same gown today that she'd worn at the funeral. And when they'd first met, she'd been wearing a gown that was also out of current fashion.

Had Sir Henry been in control of her grandmother's finances? He was a male relative and perhaps the closest one. Had he mismanaged everything and left them, as well as his own daughters, in poor circumstances? But no, his daughters at least had husbands, as far as he knew. He wasn't sure Miss Wren and her grandmother had anyone. He was even gladder now that he'd retained her services.

Miss Wren waved her hand. "It's all distressing. Your father died so suddenly. It was a shock as we weren't aware he had any problems with his heart."

Mrs. Forsythe clucked her tongue. "He wasn't doing a very good job taking care of himself since Mama died a few years ago. He was likely ignoring the symptoms."

"I do wonder if they may have mistaken the cause of his death," Miss Wren mused. Hadrian suspected where she was going and marveled at her skill. "I don't remember if you said, but was an autopsy conducted since he died so unexpectedly?"

"I only know that his physician declared his cause of death to be natural decay. He sent a copy of the death certificate along with my father's body." Mrs. Forsythe's gaze turned contemplative, and she ran her fingertips along her jaw. "I would assume he'd had an autopsy. He had a wound on his side, and autopsies leave wounds, don't they?"

Miss Wren frowned, her forehead creasing. "The wound was only on one side? I'm not sure that is how an autopsy is conducted."

"How would you even know that?" Mrs. Forsythe asked. Then she gave her head a shake. "Never mind. Your father worked at Scotland Yard."

"You're sure that was his only wound?" Hadrian asked. "Was it stitched closed?"

Both women turned their heads to look at him. They blinked, their expressions mildly surprised, either by his presence or that he'd dared speak.

"Yes, that was his only wound, and it was stitched." Mrs. Forsythe's shoulders twitched, and she held up her hand. "You must forgive me, but I'm afraid I can't continue this topic of conversation."

"Of course not," Miss Wren said soothingly. "I'm not even sure how we got here." She flashed her cousin a comforting smile. "Why don't I show Lord Ravenhurst out, then I'll stay for a while to help you with some of the sorting."

Mrs. Forsythe relaxed again, as she'd done earlier. "Thank you, Tilda. That would be ever so wonderful."

Hadrian bowed. "Thank you for allowing me to call, Mrs. Forsythe. I am deeply sorry for your loss."

"Thank you, my lord."

Miss Wren led him from the sitting room into the entrance hall where he put his hat back on. The butler was not present. "I'm sorry we are no closer to determining where that ring may have come from, though I must say I can't imagine what sort of connection Sir Henry would have had to the man who stabbed you."

"I assumed the man stole it from Sir Henry," Hadrian said with a shrug.

She looked at him shrewdly. "But I think we're agreed that this man who stabbed you is not a thief."

Damn, she had him there. "True. I'm very glad I hired you, Miss Wren. You are much better at this than I am."

She inclined her head. "I have experience and the benefit of the knowledge my father imparted to me."

"Well, I must congratulate you on your investigative skill with Mrs. Forsythe. That was a deft turn bringing up the wound."

Miss Wren lifted a shoulder. "It is not difficult to steer conversations in certain directions."

"Do not discount your abilities," he said earnestly. "It is a skill some do not possess. I suppose the next step in the investigation will be visiting Scotland Yard tomorrow." He cocked his head. "What of your own investigation?"

"My investigation?"

"Regarding Sir Henry," Hadrian said. "The circumstances of his death seem somewhat suspicious."

"They do, and I will look into it. You needn't concern yourself with the matter."

Except Hadrian was completely concerned with how Sir Henry was connected to his attacker. He would need to find a way to obtain information from Miss Wren, or he'd have to tell her the truth about the connection between himself and Sir Henry. And that simply wasn't happening, not if he wanted to stay clear of an asylum.

"You may fetch me at ten tomorrow," she said.

"How will you return home today?" he asked. "If you like, I can wait in my coach until you are finished."

"Thank you, but I don't know how long I'll be, and I wouldn't wish to trouble you. I will take a hack."

"You must include the expense with your invoice for your services. I shall see you tomorrow." He touched the brim of his hat before departing.

As he settled into his coach, he realized what a fool he'd been not to touch whatever he could in Sir Henry's home today. There could be no doubt that Miss Wren was the superior investigator.

A fter seeing Ravenhurst out, Tilda returned to the parlor, but it was now empty. She assumed her cousin had gone to Sir Henry's study, which was just through a doorway from the parlor.

Tilda removed her hat as she walked into the study but there wasn't a place to set it down. Every surface was covered with something. Stepping back into the parlor, she set her hat on a chair and returned to the study where Millicent sat at the desk, her faced creased in what was likely a perpetual frown since she'd begun her task of sorting through her father's things.

"This is a great deal to manage," Tilda said lest she jump straight to querying Millicent about the lack of inheritance form her father. The fact that more money had gone missing was of dire concern.

Millicent looked up at her with a weary gaze. "It's overwhelming. I do appreciate your offer of help. I should have thought to ask you."

"What can I do?" Tilda asked, tamping down her eagerness to discuss the financial situation.

Millicent turned her upper body toward Tilda. "I started going through everything in the house to determine if I wanted to keep or dispose of it. I plan to sell most of the furniture and some of the contents, but a great deal will need to be burned, probably. Such as all this." She gestured to stacks of correspondence on the desk. "Since the solicitor informed me there is no inheritance, I've started looking for any mention of money. I'm hopeful my father had other investments or accounts."

"Were you relying on inheriting money?" Tilda asked, glad for a way to broach the topic at last. Perhaps Millicent and her family were in similar financial straits to Tilda and her grandmother.

"I was expecting it, but we can manage without." Millicent pursed her lips briefly. "I do wonder if that's the case with Belinda. She has avoided committing to helping me, but she eagerly accompanied me to see Mr. Whitley on Monday regarding Papa's will. That was when we learned the house was mortgaged to the rafters, and Papa had no money. I'll have to sell what I can from the house just to pay for the funeral expenses and a few outstanding debts. I'd no idea my father was in such horrible financial straits."

Tilda didn't like hearing any of that one bit. She hesitated telling Millicent about her grandmother's missing investments. However, if Millicent had been expecting money and there wasn't any, perhaps the potential embezzlement of funds extended to more than just Tilda's grandmother's investment. "I also met with Mr. Whitley. As it happens, an investment your father made on my grandmother's behalf has gone missing—Whitley has no record of it. What's more, he said the prior solicitor, whose business he assumed about three years ago, embezzled money from a client."

Millicent gasped, her fair brows shooting up her forehead. "Do you think that solicitor stole your grandmother's investment?"

"I don't know, but I plan to call on him and ask for his records as Whitley didn't have those."

"Oh, please do," Millicent said earnestly. "Perhaps he'll know what happened to all of Papa's money. Whitley only said that Papa was a spendthrift, which I knew. I just didn't expect he would have spent everything . I suppose my mother kept him in check. But if the previous solicitor has more information, I'd be keen to hear it."

"I'll inquire and let you know." Tilda noticed a brooch on the desk. It was a cameo made of coral. "That's a beautiful cameo."

Millicent reached over and ran her finger over it, her lips curving into a warm smile. "Isn't it? I found it yesterday in my father's jewelry box. I'd never seen it before, but I suppose it could have belonged to my mother and she never wore it. She wasn't one to wear much jewelry."

"I'll wager it did belong to your mother. It's a nice memento."

Millicent smiled. "I was so happy to find it. It's been the one spot of brightness in this dreary, overwhelming task."

"You deserve brightness and joy, especially right now."

Millicent lifted her attention from the brooch. "I really do, and I'm glad you're here to help. You could start by going through those ledgers on the table over there."

Nodding, Tilda sat at the table and opened the first one. It was from more than twenty years ago. Pushing it aside, she looked at the dates of the others. They were all from the 1840s. She was really hoping to find some from the time of her father's death or afterward since that was when Sir Henry took over management of her grandmother's money.

"Are there more ledgers besides these?" Tilda asked.

"I suspect so, but I haven't found them yet. I've set everything from this room out where we can see it—that is why there isn't anywhere to put anything in here. I'm sorting the books from the personal documents. There is a great deal of correspondence to my mother. I didn't realize he'd kept all this."

"What will you do with it?" Tilda recalled her mother throwing away most of everything that had belonged to her father. Still, Tilda had managed to keep a few of his things—a letter opener, one of his hats, and his pistol. She also had the club he'd carried when he'd patrolled the streets, though he'd done less of that after becoming sergeant.

She wished he never had, for it was how he'd met his end. Always eager to serve, he'd been filling in one night when they were short of constables. Public safety and justice were his guiding principles. One night, he'd caught a thief breaking into a shop. The man had killed her father, cutting his throat.

Tilda squeezed her eyes shut. She hated thinking of that. Indeed, she mostly avoided doing so. But here in this house where death had so recently been, she was perhaps struggling to keep those thoughts at bay.

"I'm not sure," Millicent answered, drawing Tilda back from her melancholy. "I find myself reading them and then I've lost an hour or more. Some of them are quite engaging—from my mother's sister and her cousin who moved to Scotland. I've started setting them aside and will keep those to read later. Perhaps I'll dump all the boring ones on Belinda's doorstep."

Laughing Tilda said that was a good idea then stood to poke about the room and see if she could find more ledgers. "Would you mind if I took these ledgers home to review?"

"Not at all. If you don't find anything useful, please go ahead and burn them."

Tilda nodded as she picked up books and letters, moving things about in search of ledgers or anything financial. There was nothing. There appeared to be ledgers on the corner of the desk, however. "What about those?" Tilda asked, gesturing toward the small stack. "Should I review them?"

"These are from the past few years, but I already went through them. Please feel free to take them home and do so again. I know you are looking for your grandmother's investment, but I daresay you won't find anything since it sounds as though the previous solicitor embezzled the funds." She clucked her tongue. "He should be in prison."

Tilda didn't disagree. "I understand he returned the money that he stole to the client and went into retirement to avoid being prosecuted."

"But he could have stolen from other people," Millicent said, aghast.

"That is what I intend to find out."

"Bless you, Tilda. You've more heart for such things than I ever could."

It wasn't heart but intelligence and deductive skill. Tilda was eager to determine the truth. "What else can I do whilst I'm here?"

"You could look through the cabinet in the sitting room," Millicent suggested. "I doubt there is anything of import, but if you want to put the contents out somewhere I can see them, that would be helpful."

Tilda went into the sitting room and felt a chill. She blamed it on the funerary hangings and coffin stand. Moving to the cabinet in the corner, she opened the cupboard and found linens. Rather than take them out, she just left the cupboard open. The drawers held candle stubs, a couple dozen newspapers that looked to be from the last month, and odds and ends. She looked about for a place to put the items, but the hard surfaces in the room were still covered with Sir Henry's mementos.

She went to the nearest table, which bore photographs. They'd been turned down at the funeral but were now sitting upright. There was a rather nice one of Sir Henry with his wife and daughters. Tilda imagined Millicent would be happy to have that.

Her gaze fell on a particularly old image. It was fuzzy and pale with age. She picked it up and squinted to recognize Sir Henry on the left side. There were three other men, but the two on the right weren't identifiable. Their images were too blurred and faded, as were many photographs Tilda had seen from that time.

Setting the photograph back down, she moved them all to one side to make room for the items from the cabinet. When she'd removed everything and organized the table, she turned and went back to the study.

Millicent was massaging her brow. She looked up as Tilda came toward her.

"I've emptied the cabinet drawers," Tilda said. "I put the contents on the table with the photographs, which I moved to one side. I hope you won't mind that I did that."

"No, that's fine. Thank you for your help. You needn't stay any longer."

Tilda was eager to review the ledgers. "I should get home to Grandmama, but I'll let you know if I find anything in the ledger books."

"I doubt you will. And even if you did find something questionable, what would we do?"

"We'd notify Scotland Yard, and there would be an investigation." Tilda would make certain of it.

"I'm not sure I believe they would investigate, but perhaps with your lofty new friend, you might persuade someone." Millicent's mouth tipped into a slight smile.

Tilda wasn't sure who Millicent meant at first but then realized she was referring to Ravenhurst. "The earl isn't my friend; he's a client."

Millicent appeared skeptical, her eyes gleaming with something akin to amusement. "Well, that's a shame. You could do worse than an earl."

"Millicent, you can't imagine I'd be socially connected to Ravenhurst."

"I suppose not, but it would be lovely, wouldn't it? I imagine your grandmother would be delighted."

Tilda wondered what her grandmother would think of him calling today. She assumed Mrs. Acorn will have told her. Later, Tilda would inform them both that the earl had hired her as an investigator. Grandmama may not entirely approve, but Mrs. Acorn would likely be delighted.

Millicent narrowed her eyes. "I just realized what you said, that the earl is a client, and earlier you said you were investigating something for him." She gaped at Tilda. "Are you a private investigator? I've never heard of a woman doing that."

Tilda laughed. "Because we aren't allowed. I've actually worked for a solicitor to help with divorces, but this is my first case." She could still hardly believe it. In hindsight, she should not have put Ravenhurst off until tomorrow. But this time with Millicent had been important.

"That's exciting," Millicent said warmly. "I imagine your father would be proud."

I hope so , Tilda thought.

"Millicent, I am going to use my investigative skills to determine what happened to your father's money and my grandmother's investment. If there is a way to recoup any of it, I will find it."

Tilda was more motivated than ever, and not just because she and her grandmother were in dire need. She'd warmed to the investigation itself. There were so many questions, and she would not rest until she'd answered them all. If only she could be paid to solve this mystery too.