Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

T ilda wasn't certain that allowing Lord Ravenhurst to assist with her financial situation was the right choice. She could not deny, however, that she was sorely tempted to have an earl at her side when she called on Mr. Hardacre.

As the coach returned toward Marylebone, Tilda thought back over the interview with Lowther as well as the encounter with Teague. She also kept thinking of Ravenhurst's certainty that Sir Henry's death was somehow connected to the attack he'd suffered. And the death of Crawford.

Tilda couldn't dismiss the feeling that the earl wasn't telling her everything. Perhaps that was why she'd endeavored to keep her own investigation into her grandmother's investments from him. That and the fact that she didn't wish him, or anyone outside of their family, to know of their financial difficulties.

Ravenhurst flicked a miniscule speck from the sleeve of his expertly tailored coat of burgundy superfine. Tilda tried not to look too closely at his clothing. She felt like a pauper next to him. A terribly unfashionable pauper.

"When we speak with Dr. Selwin, we will need specific roles," Tilda said.

When her father had taught her to pretend certain behavior, he'd also said that on occasion he had to adopt an entirely different demeanor, as if he were a character in a play. That had been thrilling to Tilda, and she'd looked for opportunities to pretend to be someone else. She hadn't realized how valuable the skill to assume a role would be until her father had died and she'd had to pretend for her mother that she wasn't completely devastated.

Pushing that maudlin thought away, she went on, "I will be the bereaved family member who desires the truth, and you will be the helpful family friend, who is asking the troubling questions we all have. My hope is that the doctor will respond better to an earl demanding answers." She hated that he would hold more sway, but her pride would not stand in the way of investigative progress.

"Roles?" He sounded surprised. "Your investigative prowess exceeds my expectations, Miss Wren."

She couldn't help feeling flattered. "I'm glad, since that is what you are paying me for."

Tilda was prepared for the doctor to be irritated by their questions. She was already suspicious of what happened the night Sir Henry died, and the doctor would have had to be complicit in whatever had gone on. How else would he have missed a wound? She doubted he had, since it had been sewn. Who had done the stitching?

More and more, she suspected Sir Henry's death had not been due to a heart attack. But if there had been foul play, someone—or multiple someones, including the doctor—was going to a great deal of effort to cover that up. And what did this concealment have to do with her grandmother's missing investments, if anything?

They arrived at Dr. Selwin's in Harley Street, and Hadrian departed the coach. As he had at Scotland Yard, he helped her down. It was silly, but Tilda wished she looked more the part of someone who would be associated with an earl. Her gown was atrocious, but there was nothing she could do about that. She looked forward to returning to her regular wardrobe next week. Whilst it also wasn't up to noble standards, it had at least been chosen by her and wasn't a horridly uncomfortable reused frock. The neck of the black crepe gown made Tilda want to itch. How she hated donning it every day.

She walked with Ravenhurst to the door of the physician's office. Ravenhurst opened it for her, and she moved inside.

A clerk sat behind a desk and greeted them with a stern look. Middle-aged with gray hair and spectacles, the woman looked as though she could herd sheep with a single glower.

Ravenhurst gave the clerk a smile that should have melted her into a puddle, but she didn't seem affected at all. "Good afternoon, I'm Ravenhurst and this is my associate, Miss Wren. We'd like to see Dr. Selwin, please."

"Do you have an appointment?" the woman asked.

"Do we need one?" Ravenhurst asked in surprise and perhaps a bit of affront.

"My cousin was a patient of Dr. Selwin's," Tilda added with a slightly pleading tone. "He died recently, and I have a few questions that are troubling me." She wrung her hands for added effect. "I was hoping Dr. Selwin could offer some comfort."

The clerk was only slightly more affected by Tilda's performance than she had been by the earl's smile. She pursed her lips in response then stood, much to Tilda's relief. "I will see if he is available."

The woman opened a door and closed it behind her with a firm click.

"I do hope she isn't expected to provide any form of solace to Dr. Selwin's patients," Ravenhurst noted in a quiet tone.

"I can't imagine she possesses that skill," Tilda replied softly, pleased when Ravenhurst smiled.

The fearsome clerk returned a moment later and said Dr. Selwin would see them. She gestured for them to go through the door she'd used.

"Thank you," Ravenhurst said with another charming smile that did nothing to impress the woman.

They entered a small sitting room just as a gentleman, who was likely nearing sixty, came in through another doorway. He smiled warmly, already far more genial, at least in appearance, than his clerk.

"Good afternoon, my lord," he said to Ravenhurst before transferring his gaze to Tilda. "Miss Wren. If memory serves, you are related somehow to Sir Henry Meacham? I am sorry for your loss."

"Yes, he was my grandfather's cousin. His death was very sudden. We are still somewhat in shock, especially my grandmother."

Selwin's jowled face drooped as he met her gaze with sympathy. "I'm sorry to hear that. Sir Henry was a fine man. My clerk says you had some questions?"

"I do, and I appreciate you seeing me." Tilda smiled prettily. "I understand he died of a heart ailment; however, we were not aware that he had any problems of that nature. Neither was his daughter, Mrs. Forsythe."

The doctor exhaled. "It's odd that he didn't tell you, but not surprising. He didn't seem terribly interested in taking the diagnosis seriously. He'd been having pains for a few months, and we discussed the need for him to simplify his diet and not become overexerted. But I fear he must not have followed my advice."

Tilda glanced toward Ravenhurst to signal that he should speak next.

The earl gave the doctor a brief, benign smile. "Are you certain it was his heart? As there doesn't appear to have been an autopsy, the family wants to be sure. And since he was brought here after collapsing, we knew you could confirm this."

"I can assure you it was his heart," the doctor said firmly, though Tilda noted his right eye was twitching. "And why have you accompanied Miss Wren?" he asked.

"I am a friend of the family and sought to provide support." He gave Tilda a comforting smile, and she thought he was rather good at playing a role. Add that to his incessant curiosity, and he had the makings of a fine investigator.

Ravenhurst's expression turned contemplative. "You must have performed a thorough examination of Sir Henry's body."

The doctor pushed his chest out. "I most certainly did."

"And the wound to his side?" Ravenhurst asked. "Did that not figure into Sir Henry's death at all?"

Dr. Selwin's face lost a shade of color. "Er, I don't recall seeing a wound. I am certain he died of a heart attack. He'd been suffering pains. The men who brought him from the club said he grabbed his chest."

"What men were those?" Ravenhurst asked politely, though his eyes glittered with expectation.

"I'm sure I don't recall." The doctor's eye was twitching again, and he looked away. "They weren't people I knew."

"Not friends of Sir Henry's?" Ravenhurst prodded. Tilda would love to know who those men were so they could question them. As it was, they would need to visit the place where Sir Henry had collapsed.

"What was the name of the club again?" Tilda asked softly. "I've forgotten, and I should like to send a note of gratitude to them for taking care of Sir Henry."

"I'm sure I don't know that either," Dr. Selwin said as he clasped his hands together then immediately pulled them apart.

Tilda sent the doctor a hopeful stare. "And how long ago did you diagnose his heart ailment, Dr. Selwin?"

The doctor frowned more deeply. "I can't recall."

"I'm sure your clerk will have a record of it." Ravenhurst glanced at the door that led to the reception room.

"Yes, yes, I'm sure she does. However, you are disrupting our day." Selwin rubbed his hand over his forehead, which appeared damp. Though he didn't meet either of their eyes, Tilda could see that he was agitated. "I would prefer you set an appointment to return another time."

"We can certainly do that," Ravenhurst said affably. He removed his glove and offered his hand to Selwin. "We're sorry to have troubled you, and thank you for your time."

Selwin shook his hand, and the connection between the two men seemed to go on a trifle longer than would be typical. The earl flexed his hand before he replaced his glove. A single furrow deepened across his brow only to be followed by several more. Lines bracketed his mouth.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Selwin," Tilda said as Ravenhurst turned and went to the door to the reception room.

Once they were with the clerk again, Tilda asked for an appointment to see Dr. Selwin to obtain Sir Henry's medical records. The clerk pursed her lips and said there was no availability until the following week.

"That is fine," Ravenhurst replied, his brow still creased. "We'll take the earliest opportunity, if you please."

"Next Tuesday at one," she said. "Unless there is an urgent matter requiring his attention, you understand."

"Of course," Tilda said. "Thank you." She moved toward the exterior door, and Ravenhurst hurried to open it for her.

They didn't speak until they were settled in the coach once more. It would be a relatively short ride to Tilda's grandmother's.

"I found him completely lacking in credibility," Tilda said as the coach pitched into motion. "Unless Millicent was mistaken about the wound in her father's side."

Ravenhurst massaged his forehead briefly. "Listening to her discuss it, I would say that isn't possible. One remembers things they've seen preparing their father for a funeral," he said wryly. "Not that I would know personally. I also found the doctor's replies and behavior dubious."

Tilda couldn't allow herself to be distracted by talk of fathers and funerals. She had not prepared her father either, and she wished she'd been allowed to. "I would wager he told us to come back to see proof of Sir Henry's diagnosis because it never happened, and he needs time to fix his diary to add it."

Ravenhurst's brows shot up. "You think he would fabricate an appointment in his diary?"

Tilda lifted a shoulder. "I think it's possible. As you noted, he was upset by our questioning. Why not just show it to us now? Then he wouldn't have to see us again since that was clearly stressful for him."

"But why was he agitated? And why was he lying about Sir Henry's cause of death?"

"It seems to me that if Sir Henry had a wound, he was stabbed, and that fact was concealed by Dr. Selwin. But why?" Tilda couldn't deny the rush of anticipation coursing through her at the onslaught of questions their interview with Selwin had prompted. "I can't believe the men who brought Sir Henry to Harley Street were people unknown to him. Was he truly at the tavern alone? How would these unknown men even know to take him to his personal physician? The whole scheme appears to be covering for something else. I would dearly like to know what this has to do with the state of his finances, if anything."

"You pose excellent questions," Ravenhurst said with something akin to admiration. "We must discover the name of the club—Sir Henry used the word club—where he collapsed and interview the employees and patrons about what happened that night."

"Do you think Selwin was lying when he said he didn't know where Sir Henry had collapsed?"

"It seems he could be lying about a great many things."

Tilda nodded. "I will ask Millicent for the name of the club or tavern or whatever it is."

"You mentioned the state of Sir Henry's finances," Ravenhurst said almost cautiously. "I have the sense that you don't wish to discuss the matter, but I hope you know you can trust me. Whatever you share will be kept in the strictest confidence."

Though she still thought he was keeping something from her, she decided she could confide in him. She would have to if she wanted him to accompany her to see Mr. Hardacre, and she was all but certain she did. "Sir Henry died in debt; his house mortgaged. As my grandmother's nearest male relative after my father died, he oversaw her investments. I've been troubled by the fact that the interest payments from her investment have not changed since I began managing her household finances eight years ago. There was also a second investment, and that has simply disappeared."

Ravenhurst leaned forward. "What do you mean it disappeared?"

Tilda explained the timeline of the investment and Mr. Hardacre's embezzlement of a client's funds. The earl's eyes had grown larger as she spoke.

"You think your grandmother's money has been embezzled?" he asked.

"I think it's likely. And Millicent—his daughter—was expecting an inheritance, but you heard her say there was none. I do wonder if the solicitor stole a great deal of money."

He settled back against the squab, his expression determined. "We must speak with Mr. Hardacre."

"Yes. I'd hoped to do so today, but I should get home to my grandmother."

"I imagine she's distressed about the possible embezzlement," Ravenhurst observed.

"I haven't told her that part," Tilda said. "She would be very upset, and she's already unsettled by Sir Henry's death. What's more, she feels badly that she didn't keep better records." Tilda stretched her neck by moving her head from side to side. "I've been combing through all the ledgers I can find—both my grandmother's and Sir Henry's."

"You shoulder a great deal of responsibility," he said softly. "How old were you when you began managing your grandmother's household? You couldn't have been twenty."

"Seventeen," Tilda replied. "It gives me pleasure to care for my grandmother. The loss of my father was difficult for us both. I think when I came to live with her, we both found joy again."

"That's lovely." His mouth curled into a warm smile.

The coach drew to a stop in front of Tilda's house.

"Have you looked through Sir Henry's correspondence?" Ravenhurst asked. "Perhaps there is a letter or letters between Sir Henry and his solicitor, probably the former one—Hardacre—I'd guess."

Why hadn't she thought to look through the correspondence? She'd been too focused on the ledgers and the actual accounting of money. Except if there was no accounting, she ought to look elsewhere. "Millicent had a great deal of correspondence to review. I didn't even think to ask if she'd found anything, though we've discussed this matter, so I do think she'll tell me if she discovers anything helpful."

"Would she know what is helpful? Perhaps you should offer to assist."

He was right. She wanted to call on Millicent now.

"Would you like me to take you there now?" he offered, as if hearing her thoughts. "I don't mind. In fact, I'd like to, if it's convenient."

He really did seem to want to help her.

She was glad for his offer, for she was burning with a sense of urgency. "That would be most kind, thank you."

"I'll just inform the coachman." Ravenhurst departed the coach and returned a moment later.

They were shortly on their way to Huntley Street.

When they arrived, Ravenhurst helped Tilda from the coach once more. "You're becoming rather accomplished at this," she quipped.

"Was I lacking before?" he responded with a smile.

"I couldn't say." They walked to the door, but Tilda's knock was not answered.

They waited a few moments before Ravenhurst tried again, rapping his knuckles against the wood more loudly. Tilda hoped nothing had happened to Vaughn. But perhaps he'd taken his retirement, as was his due. Though, she doubted that would have occurred since yesterday.

At last, the door opened. Millicent stood on the other side, her face pale, and her eyes somewhat glazed. "Thank goodness you're here. Please, come in."

Tilda entered and the earl followed. "Is something amiss?" Tilda asked.

"It's poor Vaughn. He's through here." Millicent led them to the back of the house to a small sitting room.

The butler was stretched out on the settee, his frame too long for it, so his legs dangled off one end. He was paler than Millicent—no, he was gray. The maid was standing near his head, a cloth in her hand. It appeared another cloth was wadded beneath his head.

"What happened?" Tilda asked amidst a wave of concern for the elderly butler.

Vaughn's eyes slowly opened, and he started to speak, but Millicent went to put her hand on his shoulder. "I'll tell them. You rest. The doctor will be here soon."

"Did you send for Dr. Selwin?" Tilda thought it might be awkward to encounter the doctor again this afternoon.

"I don't know what doctor is coming," Millicent said. "Cook went to the neighbor to ask for help. They sent for a doctor. She returned and is downstairs fetching hot water and a tonic for Vaughn's head since he will likely be quite sore."

"What happened?" Ravenhurst prompted. Tilda sent him a grateful look.

"I left to take a short walk," Millicent said. "My eyes were tired from going through correspondence, and I was weary of being caged in here. But I should not have gone." She looked down at Vaughn with great distress. "Someone stole into the house. Vaughn heard something and caught them in my father's study. The brigand hit Vaughn in the head and fled."

"I'm so sorry this happened," Tilda said, her gaze moving to the poor butler.

"I'm sorry he—or she—surprised me," Vaughn muttered, his eyes closed.

"Why would you think it was a woman?" Tilda asked.

"Smelled like one. Never known a man to wear so much perfume. And it smelled like flowers, perhaps lilies?"

"Were you able to see him at all?" Ravenhurst asked.

"He wore something covering his face," Vaughn said. "His hat was pulled low over his forehead. That's all I can remember. And the powerful scent."

"That is all helpful," Ravenhurst said encouragingly. "Did you lose consciousness?"

"I think so, at least for a moment or two." Vaughn grimaced. "I wondered how I came to be on the floor before I recalled what happened. Then Mrs. Forsythe returned and found me."

"I didn't hear a thing," the maid put in, her eyes damp and her cheeks red from crying. "But I was on the second floor, cleaning out one of the rooms." She wiped the back of her hand over her nose and sniffed.

The cook came in with a tray bearing steaming water, cloths, and a bottle. There was also a pot of tea and a cup. She set it on a table, and Tilda moved to help her, though she wasn't sure what to do.

"Did you bring tea?" Vaughn asked.

"I said I would," the cook replied.

As she prepared his tea, Tilda moved closer to Millicent. "What did the thief steal?"

Millicent turned her head toward Tilda and blinked. "I don't know. Everything is such a mess. I'm not sure I'd notice what was missing."

Vaughn spoke from the settee. "If he stole anything, it would have had to be small because his hands were free. He would have had to tuck it into his coat or pocket."

"Despicable that someone would prey upon a house in mourning," the cook said bitterly as she took the tea to the settee. The maid helped Vaughn to sit up and sip the tea while the cook held the cup.

Ravenhurst looked to Tilda, his gaze skeptical. Was he thinking what she was, that this was not a simple instance of someone taking advantage of a house in mourning?

"We should fetch Scotland Yard," Ravenhurst said. "I'll go at once."

"Thank you, my lord." Millicent looked to Tilda. "Why have you even come?"

"We can discuss it later," Tilda replied before patting her cousin's arm. "I'll just see Lord Ravenhurst out."

The earl inclined his head for Tilda to precede him then followed her into the entrance hall. She turned to face him.

"Something is not right here," she said quietly.

"I agree. There are too many strange happenings. I do think we can conclude that there was definitely something amiss the night Sir Henry died."

"Yes, though I am still not convinced it has anything to do with your attack." She studied him intently. "I must say it seems you are keeping something from me on that score. I do hope you'll take the time you are fetching someone from Scotland Yard to reconsider whether you would like to trust me completely. I trusted you enough to tell you about our financial problems."

The way his nostrils flared told her she was right. She did not feel victorious about it, but she was glad her instincts had proven accurate.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," was all he said before he departed.

Tilda thought back over everything she knew and observations she'd made about the earl. Something wasn't quite right, but she couldn't identify what. And yet, while she was certain he hadn't been fully honest, she didn't think he was untrustworthy. He had a reason he was withholding information from her.

If he wouldn't tell her when he returned, she would need to tell him that she couldn't properly investigate his case if she didn't have all the facts. If he didn't confide in her after that, she'd have to reconsider whether she could continue working for him.

She hoped it wouldn't come to that. Besides needing the income, she was too invested to walk away.