The Missing Partner (The Adventures of Xavier & Vic Book 2) Page 20

  Vic had to bite her tongue to prevent from observing that placing twenty thousand pounds of jewels on the cat was sufficient to guarantee her harm. In fact, a mere thousand pounds of jewelry would do the trick.

  In all probability, the new servant, one of Vic’s rescued youths, was to blame for the cat’s disappearance. She prayed it was only a coincidence, but the lump in her stomach indicated otherwise. Her only hope was the cat remained alive to rescue.

  “I would like to interview your servants now.”

  Mrs. Eaton’s eyes rounded in shock. “Why?”

  Vic would have thought that obvious, but if the woman did not suspect a servant, Vic would not alter her trust at this time. “Procedure. Mr. Thorn has very strict rules on how an investigation occurs.”

  “Oh, yes, of course.” Mrs. Eaton rang for the butler. When he arrived, she introduced them and left the room.

  While Vic would never trade Gregory for the world, she liked Mrs. Eaton’s butler. Mr. Shelton ran a tight ship and seemed both open and candid.

  “I do not know how the cat left this house. I have worked very hard to ensure that could not happen. I am well aware that if the creature ever placed a single paw outdoors, a thief would grab it for the collar. I have firm rules concerning the opening and closing of doors to prevent an escape when someone enters or leaves. A servant follows the animal about whenever it leaves Madam’s boudoir. I have footmen at each door to ensure no one enters or leaves if it is in the front entryway.”

  The butler sighed and twisted his hands. “Yet, despite all my precautions, Lady Love appears to be gone.”

  “Could a servant have snuck the animal out?”

  The butler rubbed his temple as if the whole matter had given him a headache. “Because of the cat, I have altered the normal rules for servant’s days off. Servants here do not receive a half-day off each week. Instead, they receive two full days each month. When they leave on their holiday, I personally check their bags to ensure nothing leaves this house that does not belong to them.”

  The lump in Vic’s stomach grew heavier. The new servant had not yet left on his first holiday. “Do you tell new servants that you’ll search their bags?”

  “No, I do not. And the other servants are forbidden to warn them. It helps me sort out trouble early on.”

  “How many servants are new?”

  “One…Lowell Dobbs.” Mr. Shelton studied her and then frowned. “I understand why your suspicion should fall his way. However, he has proven to be an honest lad on more than one occasion.”

  Vic leaned forward. “How so?”

  “On his first day of work, he found a shilling on the kitchen floor and brought it to me so I could find the owner.”

  “And did you find an owner?”

  Mr. Shelton shook his head. “No, but that doesn’t lessen the boy’s part.”

  Vic grimaced. Actually, it lessened it a great deal. The fellow probably ‘found’ it simply to establish his credentials as a reliable, forthright servant. “What other feats of honesty has he shown?”

  “Lowell found Mrs. Eaton’s pearl bracelet in the garden and brought it to me.”

  “Did Mrs. Eaton know her bracelet was missing?”

  “Yes. She had discovered it gone in the morning. I was about to initiate a full search of the house when Lowell found it.”

  “Would a full search of the house include the servant’s quarters?”

  Mr. Shelton looked offended by the question. “Of course it does. A full search begins with the first floor.”

  “And have you performed a full search for the cat?”

  “I personally entered every room with the cat’s favorite sardine treat. She is not in this house.”

  His words bode poorly for the life of Lady Love. Vic shook her head. “Let us begin the interviews. You may send them in any order you wish.”

  Mr. Shelton went to retrieve the servants.

  Vic’s interviews with the cook, housekeeper and footmen substantiated Shelton’s claims of security. Most of the servants appeared nervous when they arrived, but once Vic put them at ease, they calmed and answered her questions.

  Unlike the other servants, Lowell Dobbs was not nervous when he arrived. Vic thought him a most charming and congenial lad. He might have convinced her of his innocence if he had not tossed his head while talking, allowing her to see four parallel red slash lines on his forehead. Like a hound on its scent, she searched for additional signs of fighting with a cat. She noticed a tiny red dot on his white gloves.

  Spotting the focus of her attention, he covered the blood with his other hand. All the while, he chatted on amiably. “This is a fine place to work. I recognize you as the fellow who got me my job here. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate it…and me mum. I send her my pay so she can feed the little ones. You’re a good fellow, you are. Not many gents care about the likes of us.”

  Vic smiled. “You hand is bleeding. May I see your injury? I can tell you if it needs to be tended by a doctor.”

  He pulled his hand behind his back. “It’s nothing.”

  “Still, I would like to see.” Vic met his eyes. When Lowell didn’t offer his hand, Vic added, “Remove the gloves and show me your hands now, Dobbs.”

  “It was a stupid thing. Nothing serious. I fell into a barberry bush in the garden while looking for Mrs. Eaton’s lost bracelet.” He brought his hand from behind his back, but did not remove the glove.

  Vic grabbed his hand in exasperation and pulled the glove away. She examined the four puncture wounds: Two on top of the edge of his palm and two on bottom. The two on the fleshy part of his palm looked almost a half-inch deep. “These wounds are infected. Have you shown them to Mr. Shelton?”

  “No! If he thinks I’m sickly, he’ll toss me out.”

  “Well, you will be sickly if you don’t have these wounds tended.”

  “I have holiday in two days. I’ll go to a doctor then.”

  Right after he sells the jewels ‒ if he survives selling such a valuable item. She sighed and rang the bell for Mr. Shelton. He entered less than a minute later.

  “Mr. Shelton, come look at poor Dobbs’ hand. He says he fell into a barberry bush in the garden.”

  The butler frowned at Dobbs.

  Vic smiled and added, “When finding Mrs. Eaton’s bracelet…”

  Mr. Shelton studied the wound and walked to the door. He returned with two strong footmen.

  Seeing the game up, Dobbs leapt from his chair and headed to the bay window. He might’ve made it if Vic’s feet had not tangled with his, sending him crashing to the floor. The two strong footmen picked him up.

  Shelton glared at the boy. “Lock him in the pantry.”

  “For what?” Dobbs demanded. “I ain’t done nothing wrong. I got hurt by the barberry bush!”

  Shelton huffed in agitation. “We have no barberry bushes in the garden.” Shelton turned his attention to Vic. “I suppose you wish to see Dobbs’ room now?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Shelton’s shoulders slumped as he led her through the servants’ quarters. “Would you like help searching for the jewels?”

  She wasn’t looking forward to this. She expected to find a dead cat inside. “No, I can manage.”

  He stopped at a door and looked at Vic. “I assure you, I had nothing to do with this. However, I understand why you might believe otherwise. I failed to notice the puncture wounds.”

  Vic almost mentioned the claw marks upon his head, but stopped so poor Mr. Shelton would not feel worse about his failure.

  “I do not think you are involved. In fact, if I find the jewels in this room, which I expect I will, their recovery will be due to the precautions you have taken to protect Mrs. Eaton.”

  Mr. Shelton breathed in deeply as if her words gave him some comfort. He then stiffened his spine and left.

  She entered the room and took a deep breath. The room stank of musk and urine. When she neared the bed, the odor grew heavier. She followed he
r nose. As she peered into the dark gloom a flash of grey shot towards her face. She pulled back just in time to prevent from losing her highly skilled nose to a foot wide ball of angry fur with slashing claws.

  She shuffled further out of attack range and tried to see if the ball of white still wore a collar. All her senses detected was a growling, white, smelly terror from hell.

  She sat on the floor and sighed. Either the collar hid beneath six inches of excited fluff, or Dobbs had already removed and secured it somewhere. The room seemed the safer bet to search, but her money was on the vicious cat.

  Vic glanced under the bed. “You’re a lucky cat. I thought you dead for sure.”

  The ugly pug face hissed at her in return.

  “Would you like some milk? I expect you might be thirsty and hungry by now.”

  It hissed again.

  Vic left the room and walked to the kitchen. Seeing the cook, she asked if she might have a saucer of milk.

  The woman glanced at Vic as if she’d lost her mind, probably because she was cooking lunch and had her hands full.

  “Nan, see to the gentleman’s request.”

  A young girl brought Vic a glass of milk.

  “Umm, I actually need a saucer.”

  The girl rolled her eyes, but found a saucer and set the glass of milk upon it and handed Vic both.

  Returning to Dobbs room, she set down the saucer two feet from the bed, and poured the milk. “Come on, Lady Love. Have some milk.”

  An angry growl emanated from beneath the bed.

  When ten minutes had passed and no kitty stepped out, Vic returned to the kitchen and asked for sardines.

  “Oh, for the love of God!” the cook yelled. “Why is it my job to feed you?”

  No question about it, Vic liked Mrs. Yarrows a thousand times better than this cook.

  The same young girl acquired the sardines, put them on another saucer, and shooed Victor out of the kitchen.

  Easing the door open, Vic hoped to discover Lady Love drinking milk, but the dish sat alone in the middle of the floor and the bed growled upon her arrival.

  She waved the dish of sardines beneath the bed and received a painful slashing across her hand. Yanking her hand away, she abandoned the sardines to the vicious ball of fur.

  “I’ll search the room; seems less dangerous,” Vic informed the bed and headed to the Chester drawers.

  Chapter 25

  In the evening, Victor returned from her lost pet case wearing a shredded linen shirt. Blood smeared not only on it, but her hair and face as well.

  “What happened to you?” Davy demanded.

  She intended to ignore him and go upstairs to tend her wounds and change, but Mr. Tubs blocked the stairs like a giant mountain.

  He firmly took hold of her right arm, and examined the wounds visible through the gaps in the fabric. “I see you found the lost pet.” He shook his head. “I hate cats.”

  “I’m getting there,” Vic grumbled. “Along with ungrateful servants!”

  Mr. Tubs brow furrowed. “Did you want me to come with you? I would have.”

  Vic placed her hand on his massive shoulder and looked up at him. “I wasn’t talking about you. You are not a servant. You are a highly skilled employee who was not needed to find a damn cat.”

  Upon studying her bloodied shirt, his frown deepened. “You sure?”

  “Well, if you know how to pull a frightened cat from under a bed without being eviscerated, I’ll add it to your skills list.”

  He tilted his head to the side. “Dead or alive?”

  Vic’s eyes rounded in horror. “Alive! My client would have been most upset if I returned her beloved cat dead!”

  “Then you were probably the best man for the job.” He looked at Vic’s red lined hands. “At least, it didn’t bite you. They can bite hard and deep so that your hand don’t work right ever again. Those teeth will go through thick leather too.” He opened and closed his left hand several times as he said this.

  Vic sensed Mr. Tubs had battled with a few cats in his time. She hated the thought, but she feared the cats might have lost their lives in the battle. “Don’t worry, I’ll never send you in for a cat.”

  “Well, not ones you want alive.” He stepped aside, so she could go upstairs. “You might want to be quiet. We just put Mr. Thorn to bed.”

  She laughed at his words. Mr. Tubs made Xavier sound like a tiny baby who had escaped his cradle. Then she frowned and looked closer at Mr. Tubs’ face and the hint of grey long fingers stretching down one side of his face. “Did Xavier throw an inkwell at you?”

  “Not at me, at the ceiling above me. I scrubbed my face as hard as I could and changed to my other set of clothes.”

  Vic sighed. “I’m sorry, Mr. Tubs. I promised you’d get a better employer and you probably think you’re working for a madman. I had broken him of the habit of throwing inkwells at the door. The opium must have caused him to vent his rage upon ceilings now. I’ll put a stop to it, and insist he buy you new clothes.”

  “He saved my life today. My old boss wanted me back so he could kill me for quitting. A little black ink on my face and a set of clothes is a cheap price for my life… least in my mind.”

  Fear filled her gut. “Seth came here…to Xavier’s room?” What if that bastard noticed her clothes in the closet? He would have no qualms in trying to blackmail Xavier.

  “Mr. Thorn had me take him downstairs soon after you left.”

  Davy spoke up from his bench where he sat, repairing one of Marybell’s bridles. “Spent most the day reading your case notes. Never asked for his tonic ‘til four hours ago.”

  She could hear the satisfaction in his voice. Yes, he was certainly the better skilled nursemaid. While his smugness annoyed, his success pleased her even more. “Excellent job, Davy! I am very proud of you. I only wish now, you would have taken over the job sooner. It appears I am the reason he has failed to get better.”

  Davy shook his head. “That’s not so. He’s always been difficult. Your case notes kept him distracted from his cravings. So I’m thinking you still had a major contribution in his improvement.”

  Vic went over and tried to hug him, but he held her off.

  “I don’t wish to be covered in blood. Now go clean yourself up, and be quiet about it. You don’t want Xavier seeing you like that. It’ll stop his heart for sure!”

  “They’re just scratches…”

  “Which look worse than they are. Take a gander in the mirror and you’ll see what I mean.”

  Victor hurried upstairs to their bedroom. She wanted to check on Xavier first, but a glance in the mirror almost made her jump with fright. How the hell had one furry, flat-nosed cat caused so much damage?

  She was grateful for her anaconda shirt. The thick muslin and padding had protected her from chest wounds. However, the linen shirt showed several long gashes from the chest to stomach area. No doubt, from those racking back claws when she secured and hugged the cat to her chest.

  When she removed the muslin shirt, she noticed it had suffered critical harm in the battle as well. The poor anaconda would require hours of stitching to recover from its day. Thankfully, she possessed ten undershirts. With three additional employees on the payroll and Xavier addicted to opium, everyone depended on her to solve cases. This was no time to lose her masculinity.

  She stared at herself in the mirror. She did look a sad sight just now: Cobwebs in her hair, blood streaks on her face. No wonder Mrs. Eaton gasped in fright before her attention focused onto the shivering cat crushed to Victor’s chest.

  Once Mrs. Eaton extracted her ‘darling precious Lady Love’ from Vic’s arms, Vic could have burst into flames and the woman wouldn’t have noticed. Her beloved cat was back and in need of adulation and a bath.

  Vic wished she could have a bath, but another client was expected at seven. Not enough time to heat water, fill a tub, and take a bath. She growled as she washed the blood from her face and hair. Then she scrubbed her arms
and hands clean. On the deeper scratches, she applied alcohol, which burned like bloody hell, resulting in soft curses toward the cat.

  She retrieved a clean, non-eviscerated anaconda-shirt and pulled it over her head, cursing the cat further as she struggled to get it on.

  “Come here so I can help,” Xavier spoke from the bed.

  She turned and looked at him. “You’re supposed to be asleep.”

  “I was until a bloodied warrior entered my room cursing some Persian cat to die an ugly death by hairballs.”

  Vic frowned. “How’d you know the cat’s breed?”

  Xavier sat up and placed his feet on the floor with only a faint hint of pain. “Allow me to save you, before you tangle yourself in a knot.”

  Vic stood before him so he could tug the shirt into its proper placement. She tilted her head in suspicion. “Have you met Mrs. Eaton before?”

  “I have. Only she didn’t have a cat then. She had a Pekinese dog, which she had foolishly given a collar of jewels. The dog lasted a mere three days before someone snatched it during its daily walk.”

  “Did you take the case?”

  “And have Doyle write about such foolishness?”

  “Then why did she come to you again? If you refused to take the case before, why was she so certain you would help her this time?”

  “I have no idea. Perhaps she heard I have a partner in training with a kind heart.”

  Vic grimaced. Xavier might be half-right. Mrs. Eaton probably came here because Mrs. Collins told her to go to Victor. Now that Vic thought about it, the woman had never once asked if Mr. Thorn would work on her case.

  “Well, hopefully, Mr. Doyle will get his facts straight and have Mr. Watson find the cat.”

  With a final yank on the back of her anaconda shirt, Vic resumed her masculine shape. She attempted to rise, but Xavier stopped her. “Let those wounds air dry, or you’ll stain your shirt.”

  Vic knew Xavier didn’t give a damn about her ‘dandified shirts,’ he just wanted to interrogate her about this silly case. She decided to try for a counter attack. “So how did you know Mrs. Eaton’s cat was Persian?”