Chapter Two #2
He turned back to Lord Richford, effectively dismissing me. “How can I be of assistance? You wish me to look into Lady Richford’s death?”
“Yes.” Richford picked up his cup of tea, a bit sloshing over the rim. “I don’t have faith in that magistrate who came around with the other Runner, er, officer, and I know I can trust you.”
So I wasn’t the only one who thought the magistrate a simpleton. “Quite right,” I said. “Besides, the more eyes looking into this tragedy, the better.”
Richford swiped his palm across his bristly jaw. “My thoughts exactly.”
“Sir John Stauncey has already appointed another officer to this case, but if I tell him you’ve requested me, I’m certain there won’t be an issue with my replacing him.” Rollins rubbed his jaw. “I would like to interview you in priv—”
“It can’t have been easy, the same day you lost your wife to read in the paper that dreadful opinion piece by Lord Anglia.” I leaned forward. I excelled at making it difficult to dismiss me. I wouldn’t let today be an exception.
“Detestable man.” A red flush stained the viscount’s cheeks. “The lies. The insinuations. I have half a mind to sue him and The Times for publishing such tripe.”
“What piece?” Rollins asked.
“A strong-willed woman can ruffle feathers.” Of insecure birds, I thought sourly. “It is of no account if a husband accepts some advice from his wife.”
Richford stood and started pacing. “Just so. Susan might have told me her opinion on some legislation, but that doesn’t mean she made my decisions for me. And she certainly didn’t—” His cheeks flushed darker.
“Didn’t what?” Rollins looked between me and the viscount. “What did the opinion piece say?”
“I hate to broach such an unpleasant thought,” I began, “but was your relationship with Lord Anglia acrimonious enough that he’d wish harm on your wife?”
Richford lurched to a stop and blinked. “No. He couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Just because we voted differently?” His chest rose and fell like bellows. “He couldn’t.”
Not a resounding negation of the idea. I kept my voice even. “Perhaps not. But can you think of anyone else who would want to harm Lady Richford?”
A snort came from the doorway. “That list would be long and varied.” A man in his early twenties stood at the entrance to the room, his features similar enough to Lord Richford’s to confirm he was the viscount’s son.
“Edgar….” Lord Richford’s voice was weary, as though he and his son had butted heads over Lady Richford many a time.
Mr. Rollins unfolded from his chair and gave a respectful nod. “Sir. I am—”
“I know who you are.” The young man strolled to a wingchair by the window and sprawled onto it, one leg dangling over the armrest. “And I know who this one is, too.” He nodded at me. “You look exactly as I remember from childhood.”
As it had been near fifteen years since I’d last seen Mr. Edgar Bannister, it should have been a compliment.
His tone indicated that it wasn’t.
“And I remember you, as well.” I tapped the end of my walking stick into the Aubusson carpet. “If I remember correctly, there was some incident at the Whitney’s house party involving a large bowl of cherries and a handmade blow dart.”
Bannister shrugged. “I was eight.”
His youth didn’t excuse the loss of one of my favorite day gowns, though his ingenuity was to be admired. “This list of your mother’s enemies, anyone in particular we should be concerned about?”
“There is no list,” Lord Richford said sharply. “My wife was beloved by all.”
The silence after that sentiment became awkward.
Mr. Rollins, instead of wedging himself back into his chair, stepped behind it and gripped the backrest. “Sometimes animosities aren’t rational,” he said carefully.
“Lady Richford might have made enemies through no fault of her own. It is best, however, if I gather a full picture of all her relationships.”
Richford picked at one of his nails. “She had friends. Many of them. That’s why she wanted to join that club.
” He nodded at me. “I know it was bordering on scandalous, but my darling was always so impetuous. When she wanted something, she dove right in.” His smile was faint, reminiscent.
“We met when she was but seventeen. I was willing to wait a couple of years to marry, but she wouldn’t hear of it.
She’d made up her mind, and had her father announce the banns in just three months’ time. Edgar came a year later.”
Edgar Bannister rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “They don’t want your life history, father.”
“No.” Richford stared down at his clenched hands. “We were so happy. I don’t know what to do.”
“Any particular friend your wife might have confided in?” Mr. Rollins asked. “Anyone she was worried about?”
“You should talk to that Abbott woman.” Bannister flicked at a bit of dust on his jacket. “She came over here incessantly. Still does.”
“Abbott?” I tilted my head. “Miss Lydia Abbott?”
Richford nodded. “She considered herself one of my wife’s particular friends.
I think Susan was just too kind to send her away.
But Miss Abbott has shown kindness herself.
She’s always asking what she can do to help.
Just this morning she went through Susan’s things to pick out a gown for Susan to be…
to be dressed… for the funeral.” He blinked rapidly.
Miss Abbott was one of The Minerva Club’s most vociferous supporters. She proclaimed to one and all that if men had their own clubs, women should too. A sentiment I appreciated, even though the stridency of her opinions was somewhat off-putting.
She didn’t strike me as the kind of woman to impose her presence where it wasn’t welcome. And Lady Richford certainly had never been too kind to refrain from speaking her mind.
Lord Richford picked at another nail. “I don’t know what to do,” he murmured.
All the resolve I’d started with drained out of me. I knew what it was to grieve. I didn’t have the heart to intrude on Lord Richford any longer. I stood. “If you think of anyone else I should talk to, please let me know.”
Mr. Rollins jerked straight. “Surely you mean anyone whom I should speak to. Lord Richford has engaged me to investigate his wife’s death.”
“And I’m certain you’ll do an admirable job.” I tugged at the cuff of my gown, the lace trim irritating my skin. “However, as you yourself pointed out, the more eyes looking into this tragedy, the better.”
“You said that.” Rollins straightened to his full height. “I didn’t.”
Hmph. I was certain he had agreed.
A devious smile creased young Bannister’s face. “Crazy Cavindish is becoming a detective? Your nephew is rubbing off on you.” He hooted. “I can’t wait to tell my friends.”
“Edgar!” Lord Richford rose slowly, as though he wore a weighted yoke. “I apologize Lady Mary. The grief, you know. It makes us all say things we don’t mean.”
It had been a while since I’d been called that name, at least to my face.
I repressed a smile. I’d been born The Lady Mary Griffin.
Upon my marriage I’d become The Lady Mary Cavindish.
My nephew and his closest friends had given me the pet name Aunt May.
By far, the title I’d derived the most amusement from, however, had been Crazy Cavindish.
Having money and being thought eccentric had given me more freedom than I’d ever known.
“Of course, Richford.” I stepped forward and took his hand. “Again, my deepest sympathies. And with a Runner and myself looking into matters, we’ll find an answer in no time, I’m sure.”
He patted my hand before sinking back into his chair. “Thank you. I have a speech I’m to give in next week’s session of Parliament. I have to write that.”
And taking that as the dismissal it was, I strode from the room, Mr. Rollins hot on my heels.
Once outside the house, Mr. Rollins turned on me. “Lady Mary, as commendable as your zeal for justice may be, your services are not required. I have things well in hand.” He settled his hat on his unruly auburn hair and nodded at me smartly, as though the issue were resolved.
I signaled to my driver to open my carriage door and looked back at the house.
The servants were just finishing hanging black crepe in the windows.
“It’s sweet that you think my services are yours to decline.
” I took my driver’s proffered hand and climbed inside.
I lowered the window after he closed the door and leaned out.
“I assume you’ll wish to see where her body was found.
Come to the club at tea time. It is usually less frequented then, and you’ll be less of an intrusion. ”
I sat back on my maroon crushed velvet seat. By the look on the man’s face, I could tell I’d shocked him, either by my dismissal or the confidence I showed in my abilities to detect.
I only hoped my skills merited the boldness of my mouth.