Out of the corner of her eye, Ottilie glimpsed Lord Towne’s bristly brows furrow together, and her aunt’s lips press into a hard disapproving line.
*
“There is nothingof value downstairs,” Jack announced as he entered the study on the first floor. “All that remains in the parlor is a settee, two armchairs, and a few dusty novels. I did find a fine porcelain tea set in the dining room, though. And I’d be interested to know if it belonged to my grandmother.”
“There ain’t nothing of value to us here, neither.” Brandt gestured to an ornate mahogany desk. Its four open drawers lay bare, with the exception of a few broken quills and an empty inkwell.
“I see that,” Jack said, scanning the room. The bookshelves were empty of books and housed only a spinning globe and a stuffed eagle.
“Let’s get out of here and see what’s in them other rooms,” Brandt said.
They exited the study and crossed the landing into a massive dining room, papered in the same blue and gold floral pattern that decorated the walls outside.
“Ain’t this something!” Brandt ran his hand over the soft, blue velvet armchairs. “Your folks sure liked their comforts, didn’t they?”
“Don’t call them that,” Jack snorted and strolled to the window. He pulled open the heavy gold curtains and coughed as a cloud of dust filled his nose and lungs. “I should send Mrs. Wilson round to do some dusting.”
“What’s the point if you plan on tearing the place apart?”
“I suppose you’re right.” Jack fanned the dust particles from his face. He turned to see Brandt sitting at a small writing desk, frowning over a weathered notebook.
“Find anything?” Jack walked over to Brandt.
“I ain’t sure yet. This is an old account ledger. Your aunt was mighty particular about keeping track of her spending. Seems unusual, most rich folks don’t think too much about their spending, I imagine.”
“Not my uncle. He has always been a miser.”
“I don’t know about that. His wife sure did spend a lot at the seamstress, glovers, and milliners.” Brandt thumbed through the pages, paused, and scratched his chin while frowning at the figures in front of him. “How many dresses and hats does one person need?”
A trace of bile rose in Jack’s throat as he remembered his mother mending the holes in her dresses. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
“Wait a minute,” Brandt said, and Jack backtracked to the desk. “I think I’ve found something. See here?” He pointed to a line on the page.
“Five-hundred pounds paid to Canterbury Ladies’ College.” Brandt ran his finger down the length of the page. “Another five hundred to Canterbury Ladies’ College the following month. Here’s a note for three hundred paid to the college.” Brandt looked at Jack. “There are multiple entries here.”
Jack snatched the notebook and studied the entries. “What the hell does this mean?”
“I reckon it means your aunt and Miss Hamilton were close friends. Otherwise, it seems like a mighty big coincidence.”
Jack inhaled and exhaled heavily through his nose, trying to calm his thoughts. He snapped the ledger shut. He didn’t want to believe this of Ottilie, but he’d be a fool to ignore the evidence staring him in the face. Money had the power to corrupt the best of people, and manipulating a young woman sounded exactly like something Sir Richard would do. “I’m going upstairs and see what else I can find,” he said.
Brandt followed as Jack climbed the stairs to the second floor, which housed four large bedrooms, two dressing rooms, and a lavatory.
“I’ll check these two rooms, and you take the two across the landing.” Jack pushed open one of the doors and strode inside the first room. It contained a bed, stripped of its linen, and wide, empty wardrobes. “Nothing here.” He moved into the second bedroom. The pink carpeted floor, white laced curtains, and ornate, standing looking glass told him it had once belonged to a young lady. A silver tray containing a silver-plated hairbrush, comb, and a variety of hair pins lay on the dresser. Jack moved closer to the tray and picked up one of the silver hair pins embedded with sparkling glass stones resembling rubies. The same hair pin was found by Henry on his parlor floor after it had fallen out of Ottilie’s hair. “What the hell is going on here?” he muttered.
“Found nothing in them other bedrooms—” Brandt stepped inside the room—“except for your aunt’s dresses. They look expensive, so I reckon we can sell them. The furniture should fetch something too.”
“I don’t care to sell them. We’ll give them to charity. London is full of hardworking women who can’t afford a decent dress to cover their backs or a good bed to rest their weary bones at night.”
“Did your uncle have a ward?” Brandt asked, looking around the room.
“I’m starting to think so.” Jack held up the hair pin.
“What’s that?”
“A woman’s hair pin. Ottilie wore the same one in her hair two nights ago.”
“I reckon lots of young ladies wear them things. She can’t be the only one.”
