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Electra eyed him as she slipped her right glove from her hand, then hovered her fingers over the jagged edges. “May I?”
The temptation was strong, but the call to logic, the desire to assemble these pieces of the case himself, warred with that temptation. Yet saying no to her held no appeal either.
He dipped his chin once, and she immediately laid her fingers against the pages as he held the book out between them.
It struck him once again how strangely intimate it felt to watch her call on her strange gifts and await what might be revealed.
“A young woman, I think,” she said, opening her eyes. “I saw feminine hands. A small pearl ring on her pinkie, and I suspect she is young. Her hands looked youthful. She was frightened. That’s why she tore them out.”
The lady who had given him the diary, Gideon surmised. Miss Lucy Faraday. He’d need to speak to her again too, as well as Lance Pennington. Most of all, he wanted to visit Roderick Beecham and determine whether the man had an alibi for the night of Pennington’s murder. It struck him that Aurora Beecham had attended Pennington’s inquest, but not her father.
As their carriage began to slow, Gideon’s gaze met Electra’s.
“You needn’t admonish me,” she said in a slightly teasing tone. “I shall let you take the lead and say nothing.”
“That’s not what I was thinking,” he admitted. “I was wondering if you were uncomfortable going into such an establishment, and then I reminded myself that you’d likely not appreciate my worry over such a thing.”
She twisted her mouth in a thoughtful moue and then gifted him with a smile. “I’m glad you came to that realization. I know most would assume my sex needs protection from the realities of life.” One of her arched black brows winged up. “I trust that you know me better than that.”
He did know her well, but he feared it would never stop him from wishing to protect her. Thus, he still wanted to know why Percival Pennington had her card in his hand, just as much as he was determined to discover who’d ended the man’s life.
“You have a worried frown on your face,” Electra mused.
“Just thinking about the case.”
Before he could say more, the carriage stopped and he climbed out, then helped Electra to step down onto the pavement.
The house on Regent Square was an elegant red brick building with a gleaming sapphire front door. It was a more fashionable thoroughfare than Charlotte Street, but quieter too.
Gideon looked up at the townhouse’s windows. All of the curtains were drawn. He gave the door three sharp raps, and almost immediately a tall, imposing older woman with graying dark hair opened the door.
She had dark eyes and an imperious attitude in the way she kept her chin up while looking down at them.
“Good afternoon,” Gideon began. “I am Detective Inspector Gideon Pierce.”
The woman looked immediately wary. “What may do for you, Inspector?”
“I have just visited with Miss Mahoney. Would you mind if we come inside?”
The woman looked as if she yearned to refuse him, then she flicked a glance at Electra, and that somehow seemed to steady her.
“Of course, Inspector.”
Once they entered, Gideon gestured to Electra, who seemed to fascinate the housekeeper. “This is Miss Poole, my associate.”
Electra eyed him at the choice of word.
“I recognize your name,” the older woman said quietly, gaze still fixed on Electra. “I’m Mrs. Earnsley, Miss Mahoney’s housekeeper.”
Electra felt the lady’s curiosity about her like a tangible thing in the room with them, and with it, there came a sense that Mrs. Earnsley had lost someone dear to her and wished to speak to them beyond the veil.
She seemed on the verge of saying more when Gideon stepped forward.
“May I ask who else is in residence in the house right now?”
“At this very moment, there is no one. I'm not sure what Miss Mahoney told you, so I'm not sure what I am at liberty to say.”
“I understand this is a meeting place of sorts between ladies and gentlemen.”
