Once Upon a Time in Bath (The Brides of Bath #7) - Cheryl Bolen Page 0,47

one with her dark colouring. He thought again of that Italian opera singer whose colouring was very similar to Dot’s and to whom he’d been so attracted. “You thought I would be stupid?”

She shrugged. “I hadn’t actually considered whether you’d be intelligent.”

“But you were expecting me to be . . . surely you didn’t think I was as bad at that blasted Bath Chronicle paints me?”

She nodded sheepishly. “I thought you would be quite dissipated. A profligate, to be sure.”

His stomach dropped. She’d no doubt read that he kept a mistress. He hoped to God she did not bring that up. He cleared his throat. “So, it’s certainly a cold day today.”

She laughed at his efforts to redirect the conversation. “Indeed. I believe we’ll welcome a ride in your carriage.”

Once they were in his coach, they arrived at Lower Richard Street in just a few minutes. She turned to him. “You did bring your calling cards?”

“I’m a most obedient husband-to-be.”

“I shall take comfort in that.”

“Where do you think we should begin? I’m sure you’ll have thought it out.”

“Indeed. We ought to start at Mrs. Thorpe’s next-door neighbors on either side.” As she spoke, she peered from his coach window. “I see that the arrival of your coach has already resulted in more than one curtain being lifted.”

“Good.”

A moment later, he was knocking upon the front door of the house west of Mrs. Thorpe’s. Customarily, one of his rank employed his coachman to knock and announce him, but he thought these working class people might not be acquainted with the ways of the nobility. Better to come himself. That might even establish a more casual atmosphere in which to question the neighbor.

A middle-aged woman whose brown hair was streaked with gray opened the door warily.

Appleton presented her with his calling card. “Good day to you. Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Lord Appleton, and I wished to make inquiries about a young lady who resided next door to you.”

It seemed apparent to him the woman did not know whether she should invite him in, or if she should keep him on the step. She chose the latter. “The pretty one what was murdered?”

“Yes.” He bowed his head reverently. “My fiancée,” he indicated Dot, “and I were acquainted with the lady and distressed over her death. We wondered if you ever saw her with a man.”

The woman shook her head. “Never. And I wondered about her not having a fellow, seeing as she was such a pretty girl.”

“Did you ever see any man loiter around this street?”

“Loiter?”

This neighbor must not know the meaning of the word. “Did you ever see a man hanging about?” he asked.

She pursed her lips. “I don’t think so. I believe I’d have noticed if there was some deranged sex maniac ’anging about.”

He wasn’t surprised. “Do others reside here, others whom we could question?”

“Just me husband now, and he has trouble walking. He’s a shut-in and can’t even make it to the window to peer out.”

“Well, we thank you for your time,” he said.

“If you should think of anything,” Dot said, “please contact his lordship.”

The woman looked again at his card. “I’ve read about Lord Appleton in the Bath Chronicle! Fancy getting to meet you myself!”

“I beg that you not judge me by what is written in that newspaper,” he said with a smile and a wink.

“He’s really a very nice man,” Dot said. They bid farewell and walked to the house on the other side of Mrs. Thorpe’s.

At that house they got the opportunity to question three different persons, but none of them had ever seen Ellie with a man, and none had ever seen any suspicious men in the neighborhood.

“I suggest we try across the street,” Dot said. “Those people can more easily peer from their windows to watch the comings and goings from Mrs. Thorpe’s establishment.”

They met with no more success at the first two houses they tried, but got a glimmer of encouragement at the third where an elderly woman invited them in and asked them to sit in her parlor. She introduced herself as Mrs. Flint and said she’d lived alone since her husband had died twelve years earlier. Her cluttered parlor was similar in layout to Mrs. Thorpe’s sparsely furnished chamber.

“Now what can I help you with?” the old lady asked.

Appleton went into his practiced query.

Her brows lowered. “I was aware of the young girl who lodged with Mrs. Thorpe. She was—as you know—uncommonly pretty. I’d been noticing her for . .