Constantine Capers: The Pennington Perplexity Natalie Brianne (best summer reads of all time .txt) 📖

his side table and slid it across the top of each envelope, reading each in turn then setting them to the side.

“Aha! Here we have it.”

“A response?”

“Number 10, Caxton Street. It says we can come between noon and two o’clock on Mondays or Wednesdays.”

Mira glanced up at the clock. “Well today is Monday, and it is nearly noon now.”

“Yes. Indeed, it is. Let’s go.”

They cleaned up their tea things, and Byron grabbed his hat. Soon they were on the street. Byron called for a hansom cab and helped her into it before settling in beside her. They travelled in silence for a while, listening to the beating of the rain on the top of the carriage.

“We probably ought to stop by Scotland Yard on our way back. I haven’t come in for a few days,” he said.

“Will they worry?”

“Not as much as I worried about you this morning.”

“It was only an hour. For someone you hadn’t met before.”

“You mentioned that earlier. But I had met you. I’ve met you almost every day for twelve days, Mira.”

“But you don’t remember me.”

“And for that I am truly sorry.”

He gave her a soft smile, and the carriage pulled up in front of 10 Caxton Street before Mira could respond. Byron stepped out and offered a hand, which she took, stepping down.

He moved up to the door and knocked. Mira moved beside him as footsteps echoed on the other side of the door. The echoing stopped, and the door opened. There stood a tall, young lady, not more than thirty years old with curly red hair tied back tight against her head and red lips that caused severe contrast with her pale skin. Her brown eyes seemed dark as chocolate. Mira could see the chain of a necklace, but it was hidden underneath her lace bodice.

“May I help you?” Her voice rang out, timid and melodic.

“My name is Byron Constantine of Palace Court and this is my secretary Samira Blayse.” He gestured to Mira.

“Oh, you sent out the advertisement in the paper. You were wondering about Clement?”

“Yes ma’am. Are you Molly Bridges?”

“Yes, I am.”

“In that case, may we come in?” Byron asked.

“Of course. Please do.” She stepped back and allowed them past before closing the door. She led them into a sitting room. It was a simple room. The side tables sat bereft of books, ornaments, or portraits. The curtains hung limp near the window. There were several chairs of various sizes and levels of comfort. Mira did like how the light came through the window, though.

“Do sit down,” Molly said as she took a seat herself. Mira sat on the couch and pulled out her sketchbook. Byron sat beside her.

“I must warn you; I have an appointment in about thirty minutes, but I’m yours until then. What do you want to know?”

“How close were you with the deceased?” Byron began.

“Deceased?” Her eyes widened.

“Yes, Mr. Pennington.”

“You can’t mean…” Molly’s eyes filled with tears. Byron softened his voice.

“I didn’t realize you didn’t know. I’m sorry for your loss.”

“What happened?” Molly’s voice shook, trying to keep her composure.

“His landlord found him dead in his rooms on September tenth.”

“He killed himself?”

“That’s what we’re trying to determine. Could you tell us what you know about him?”

“I’ll try.” She stifled a sob. “With Clement, well, we had been courting for several months. Since April.” She fidgeted with her hands and looked down.

“Where did you meet?”

“Well it is rather silly now that I think about it.” She gave a watery laugh and looked out the window.

“We were walking in opposite directions actually, he came around the corner just as I was approaching, and we bumped into each other. We both had papers in our hands, and they went flying everywhere. I accidentally took some of his, and he took some of mine. I was home by the time I realized, so I put an advertisement in the paper. Then we met up to exchange the papers at a cafe. We accidentally bumped into each other again the week after that and purposefully met again the next week, and then we seemed to be meeting almost every day. Until now, that is.” Her voice cracked, and she looked down again. “You see, I was used to Clement disappearing for a few days without warning, even after he quit his job with the company. He’d say he needed to work on something, and I wouldn’t hear from him. If you hadn’t come, I probably wouldn’t have known until it came out in the papers.”

“Can you think of any reason why he would have killed himself?” Byron asked.

“Well, I do know he was melancholic. Working for the airship wasn’t everything he had hoped for. He thought he would travel the world and see the skies, but he was stuck in a stuffy, dark engine room. When he quit, I encouraged him to get another job, but he wouldn’t.”

“Can you tell me what happened the last time you saw him?”

“Yes. He invited me over for dinner. It was the ninth, I believe. We made dinner and talked for a while, and ate and talked some more.”

“Around what time did you arrive at his place, and when did you leave?”

Molly hesitated. “I’m not certain. I think it may have been around eight or so when I got there. I left around nine-thirty.”

“And he bought champagne and chocolates for you?”

“Yes, he did.”

“And this was after he quit his job. How did he pay for all of that?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t know where he was getting the money. Every time I asked him, he would get defensive.”

“Did you ask him that night?”

“Yes, I did. When he brought out the champagne. I hate to say this, but I was worried he was stealing, or involved in gambling or some other sordid business. I know he would have told me if he had gotten a job.”

“How did he respond?”

“He got defensive. He told me not to bring it up again, and I asked if he stole the money.