A Curse of the Heart
Freddie hurried to meet him, pointing to number fifteen. “This is it. I believe Pennington said the house has been converted into apartments.”
“Which one’s his?” Gabriel asked scanning the numerous windows.
“How should I know? I’ve never been inside.”
A waft of brandy drifted past Gabriel’s nose. “Have you been drinking?”
Freddie shrugged. “Only a nip from a hip flask. Do you want some?”
“No, and if you don’t start thinking quick, the only thing you’ll be drinking is the piss from the bottom of a chamber pot.”
Freddie blinked rapidly and, despite the arrival of George and Sarah, fell silent, chewing on the corner of his bottom lip as he stared at the floor in concentration. “Wait,” he said lifting his head and pointing to the upstairs window. “It’s the one on the right. I remember calling by in a hackney and he raised the sash and hollered to me.”
“What now?” George asked. He turned to Sarah. “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to wait in the carriage?”
“I couldn’t possibly sit waiting while Miss Linwood is out there all alone and in need of our help. Besides, with a lady as a companion, it looks as though we’re making a house call.”
“She’s right,” Gabriel said turning the large brass knob in the hope some fool had left it open. “It’s locked.”
“If we knock, someone is bound to hear us,” Freddie said.
Gabriel used his weight to push against the door, but it didn’t budge. “Yes, and so will everyone else on the street.”
“Stand aside if you will.” Higson’s monotone voice caught them all off guard, and the coachman squeezed through the group. Rummaging around in the deep pocket of his overcoat, he removed a ring of keys and began sifting through them. “No, not that one,” he muttered trying a brass key in the door. “But this one should do it.” Leaving another key in the lock, he delved into his pocket and retrieved a length of wire and after some fiddling, said, “There you go.”
Without another word, and oblivious to the shocked gazes that followed him, Higson stomped back to the carriage and climbed back on top of his box.
“My word, he’s a handy fellow,” Freddie said. “Just the sort one needs after a night at the tables.”
George sighed. “After a bottle of brandy, you mean.”
“I’m fine after the first bottle,” Freddie said as they entered the terrace house. “It’s after the second that I struggle to get my hands in my pocket.”
They made their way up the stairs and rapped lightly on the door. When Pennington failed to answer, Gabriel sent Freddie back out to fetch Higson, who came and performed the same trick with a little more ease, before returning to his post.
Pennington’s lodgings consisted of a large room overlooking the street, a master bedchamber with canopy bed, a small one for guests and a study. No doubt the owner of the property occupied the lower level apartment and provided meals upon request. A faint smell of tobacco lingered in the air, mixed with the sickly-sweet smell of an excessive consumption of wine.
Gabriel made a quick scan of the rooms, to be certain there was no one home. “Take a room each,” he said. “Look for anything that might relate to Rebecca, anything you think is strange, anything you feel is out of place.” Noticing the crystal decanters on the sideboard, he added, “Freddie you take the small bedchamber, George the larger one. Sarah, will you be alright in here?”
“Don’t worry about me,” she said rushing to the side table and opening the only drawer.
Gabriel strode into the study, rifled through the papers on the desk, pulled books off the shelves and shook them, flicked through the pages of a ledger.
“There’s a bill here for the hire of a carriage,” he shouted. “For one week dated yesterday.”
Freddie raced in. “Let me see it.” His eyes flitted across the crisp note, his finger following the words. “It doesn’t make any sense. You think this is proof he abducted Rebecca?”
“Most definitely,” Gabriel barked, feeling a rush of anger for Freddie’s naivety. “But there doesn't seem to be anything else here. Nothing to offer any explanation for his actions.”
George and Sarah met them in the hallway.
“There’s nothing of interest in his bedchamber,” George said looking forlorn. “I’ve even rummaged through the man’s smalls.”
Sarah’s eyes filled with panic. “I found nothing of interest, either. Oh, Gabriel. What are we to do?”
Gabriel thrust his hand through his hair, the crippling feeling of despair causing a rush of emotion he could not suppress. “There must be something here to implicate him, something to explain motive, some blasted clue as to where he’s taken her. He’s planned this and has probably been watching her for the last two days. There must be something else here other than a bloody bill.”
Sarah placed her hand over her stomach as if soothing some imaginary pain. “In the carriage, you mentioned the damaged portrait. It stands to reason that Pennington is responsible. With an act so personal, you would imagine the culprit has a tangible object to focus on, to remind him of his motive, to keep the fire of vengeance burning within.”