Constantine Capers: The Pennington Perplexity by Natalie Brianne (new ebook reader TXT) 📕

He looked at her with slight concern, then composed his features, looking ahead.

“Have I upset you, Miss Blayse?”

“No. I’m just thinking.”

“You’re certain? Because if I have upset you, I’ll have to write it down, so I’ll remember tomorrow,” he said. She shook her head, and he continued. “Then what are you thinking about?”

“Quite a few things, really. I mean, I just found out that there is someone else out there who knew my parents. I might be able to come back and perhaps find out more about them and—” She looked up at him and tucked some hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry. You probably don’t want to hear all of this.”

“No, it’s fine. You’ve had quite a bit of time to think about all of this, and now you have someone to talk to about it. I understand.” He smiled.

“Thank you. I just always wondered what my parents were like.”

“Hasn’t your uncle ever told you?”

“I’ve heard plenty about my mother. My uncle has no problem telling me about her. But my father is a different story.”

“They didn’t exactly get along?”

“Not at all. My uncle blames him for the death of my mother. ‘If he hadn’t come along that wouldn’t have happened.’ That sort of thing. So, any talk about him usually gets shut down.”

“I can see why you’d be excited to find someone else who knew him, then.”

“I just wanted to ask him more questions, but they aren’t exactly relevant to the case.”

“We’ll come back, I’m sure. And feel free to ask any questions you like. After all this is your case.”

“Thank you, Byron.”

“Of course. Was that all that was on your mind?”

She hesitated. There was something else. Her green eyes. It was always her eyes. Her uncle was always commenting on them, even the professor and Landon; Mr. Graham had let them in because of them. Her mother’s eyes. That always bothered her. But when Byron looked at her, his entire demeanor had changed, and it felt different somehow. It didn’t bother her when he commented on them. But how was she to explain that to Byron? She managed to come up with a lie to tell him.

“You had just mentioned Scotland Yard, and that reminded me of something that Thatcher’s secretary, Juliet had told me.”

“Oh?”

“She said that if she were put into your journal, that perhaps eventually you would remember her.”

“Oh, she is in my journal.”

“She is?”

“Yes, marked as someone to be wary of.” His eyes laughed and Mira couldn’t help but laugh as well.

“So, you know of her…” She didn’t know how to phrase Juliet’s actions.

“Affections? Yes. I’m a detective Mira, and she doesn’t have much experience in hiding evidence.”

“She’ll be so disappointed.” Mira smiled, stifling another laugh.

“Which is why she won’t find out.” Byron laughed. “Right?”

“Of course, Mr. Constantine.”

She was so busy laughing, she hadn’t noticed that they were walking to the cafe until they were right in front of it.

“Well, I suppose this is where I bid you farewell, Miss Mira.” Byron tipped his hat.

“Don’t we need to go to Scotland Yard?”

“I think I can handle it, and you’ve had quite the day already. I’ll stop there and then go home and read through your police report. Tomorrow we’ll go to the newspaper to see if we can’t find Molly Bridges via an advertisement. Good evening, Mira.”

“Good evening, Byron.”

She watched him walk down the street. He stopped at the end of the street and looked back at her with a smile before disappearing around the corner. Mira turned and walked back to Campden Grove, trying in vain to stop her anxious feelings, and to sort out all the thoughts in her head.

The sun rose as Mira fed Nero, buttoned her boots, and slipped out onto the pavement. She bought a croissant from the bakery down the street and ate it on her walk to Palace Court. She hesitated outside of his door, thinking of the incident with the pistol the day before. She decided to knock just to be on the safe side. The door opened.

“Come on in…” Byron was still reading his journal, and he walked away from the door almost as soon as he opened it.

Mira walked in and picked up a few scattered papers and stacked them on a side table, before going over to the piano. She played a few keys before noticing a note pinned to the wall.

“Notice of Inquiry: Seeking information regarding Molly Bridges, in relation to a Mr. Clement Pennington. Please send correspondence to 27 Palace Court, London.”

She sat down in her usual place and began to sketch again. Byron paced in the outer hallway. Finishing his journal, he moved to his armchair.

“Good morning, Mira! We certainly got a lot done yesterday.”

“Yes, we did. How did Scotland Yard take the news?”

“Thatcher thinks it may still be a suicide, although the left-handedness bit did sway him slightly. He isn’t going to close the investigation just yet.”

“Well that’s good, I suppose.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Were you able to read through the police report?”

“Indeed. There is certainly something odd around it. Unfortunately, the officer who wrote it died about ten years ago. Otherwise we’d be able to ask him more about it.”

“That is unfortunate.”

“But with the information Mr. Graham provided us, we have a bit more to go off of.”

“He told us the same story, Byron.”

“Except your parents weren’t supposed to be there. By his account, your father was late, and your mother never came to those kinds of things. That means something was definitely wrong.”

“Why wouldn’t Scotland Yard have figured it out?”

“I don’t know if you remember this, after all, you would have only been a child at the time, but there was a major trial involving Scotland Yard in 1877.”

“I hadn’t heard about that. But wouldn’t you have only been a few years older than me?”

“Never mind that.” He cleared his throat before continuing. “It just so happens that there was some corruption. At this point I believe it has all been snuffed out, but at the