Chapter Three
Frederick
The Minerva Club lived up to its storied reputation.
It had only been in operation for a year or so, and the sentiment of London society had been mixed: anger at the impertinence of a club for women, amusement, and practiced indifference.
Frederick Rollins’s own colleagues regarded it with a sort of horrified fascination, and he knew more than a few of his fellow officers were jealous that his latest investigation brought him within its fabled doors.
Frederick opted not to remain in the waiting room where the footman had left him to fetch Lady Mary, but wandered amongst the club, blinking at the sights that met his eyes.
An archery range, with more holes in the surrounding walls than in the targets.
A hallway cleared for lawn bowling, without the lawn.
A room that had been designed to recreate a country pub, complete with some wisps of hay on the floor. Two women sat at the weathered bar, cheroots clasped between their fingers, large mugs of ale before them.
Frederick turned his hat in his hands. No evidence of orgies or Satan worship. The lads would be disappointed.
A furtive movement caught his attention.
He followed the flounce of lavender fabric as it disappeared into a room down the hall.
There was a window high in the back wall, allowing enough sunlight to stream in to show the young woman’s actions.
She pulled the pillows off a crimson settee and dug her fingers along the back of the upholstered seat cushion before moving to the next piece of furniture.
This room was obviously situated for conversation, with plump chairs, settees, and even a divan or two arranged throughout.
Low tables held a smattering of newspapers and one abandoned glass.
When the woman had finished examining each piece of furniture, she planted her hands on her hips and heaved a sigh.
Frederick leaned against the door jamb, curiosity spiking.
Something about the woman seemed familiar.
Her hair, an average brown, was swept up in some sort of twisting knot, a few soft tendrils framing her face.
Her features were even, attractive, and from what he could see beneath the gown and pelisse she wore, her body was pleasing without being striking.
He couldn’t see the color of her eyes, but they seemed as agreeable as the rest of her, neither too beautiful nor unpleasant.
Her mouth, however, was designed to give a man certain ideas.
The lips were pressed together in pique at the moment, as she tapped one boot-clad toe.
Her gaze narrowed on a deep purple settee pushed against the far wall, half-hidden in shadow, and she made straight for it.
Dropping to her knees, she stuck her head beneath, leaving her arse tipped up in a most indecent fashion.
Frederick made his way over to her, making sure to stick to the rugs scattered about the hardwood floor so he made no sound. He stood behind her, trying not to notice how her hips swayed enticingly as she swept her hand along the baseboards.
“Looking for something?”
She stilled. “Yes?”
“Perhaps I can assist.” Though if she wanted to continue poking about on her own and providing him with the delightful view, he didn’t want to seem churlish by complaining.
“I thank you, but that’s not necessary.” Her words were only slightly muffled from coming from under the settee.
His duty got the better of him. “But I insist.” What could she be looking for so intently?
She’d been looking over her shoulder as she’d entered the room, a sure sign she didn’t want others to know what she was up to.
With a murder in this club to solve, no aberrant behavior could be overlooked.
“A lady should not be on her hands and knees when there is an able-bodied man available to help.”
She sighed, then started making her way out. This process included much wriggling, and the hem of her gown shifted up to her knees.
Frederick drew his brows together. He was certain he’d seen this woman before, but where?
“Well?” She sat with her gloved hand raised to him for assistance.
He pulled her to her feet. More hair had escaped her knot, and a line of dust crossed her pelisse where her bosom must have pressed into the floor. “What is it you’re looking for, Miss….?”
“Lynton.” She made a half-hearted attempt at brushing herself off. “And I lost a pin the last time I was here. Square. Gold. About so big.” She held her thumb and forefinger about an inch apart. Her voice was sure, brisk, but her gaze didn’t meet his eyes.
“Are you certain you lost it in this room?” He didn’t recognize her name, and if she were a member of this club it was unlikely they ran in the same social circles. Had she been a part of a previous investigation?
“Yes.” She gave up on the dust. “I think so. It is of no great import, however.” She looked him up and down. “Who are you? Not one of the club’s workers.”
As the servants were all in livery and he was not, it was an easy deduction. “Mr. Frederick Rollins, an officer of the Bow Street magistrates.”
Her eyelid twitched. “I wish you luck in finding whoever killed that poor woman. We are all most distraught.”
From what he’d seen, distraught wasn’t the word he would have used.
There was an excitement among the club’s patrons, an energy not uncommon among the casual acquaintances of a murder victim.
Everyone wanted to discuss the tragedy, chew over each horrifying detail until nothing was left, not even bones.
It was an escape from a typically dull life. It also helped to make the survivors feel safe. If they could examine every detail, they could see why it would be impossible for such an event to befall them or their loved ones.
“Since I have you here, I’d like to ask you a few questions,” he said.
“Of course.” Miss Lynton went to a mirror on the wall and began to fix her hair. “But I hardly knew the woman. I’m sure nothing I can tell you would be of interest.”
“Mr. Rollins!” Lady Mary Cavindish stomped into the room, jabbing the floor with her walking stick more in anger than as any sort of support. “I have been looking all over for you.”
He held his arms out. “And you’ve found me.
” He wasn’t sure what to make of the woman yet.
She’d created this outlandish club and had a reputation for eccentricity, but surely she hadn’t been in earnest about aiding in his investigation.
He felt like he had fallen in her disfavor when they’d met, and her declaration had most likely been an attempt to provoke him.
“I would like a space to interview your workers, if I may.” Frederick tapped his hat against his thigh. “And the club’s members who had any relationship to the victim.”
“You can use my office.” Lady Mary nodded at Miss Lynton. “And I see you’ve made a good start. I know you’ll want to interview both of us who found the body, so I will make myself available to you at your convenience.”
Frederick blinked, then slowly turned to the young woman. “You discovered the body?”
Miss Lynton refocused her attentions on her dusty pelisse. “Hmm? Oh, yes. Did I not mention it?”
“You did not.” He tilted his head. “I find that of much interest. I’ll start my interviews with you.”
She gave him a smile that was all politeness but no warmth. “Of course.”
Lady Mary examined the woman. “Bernard didn’t take your coat and gloves? You must be quite warm.”
The girl flushed, and he didn’t think it was from the alleged warmth. “I only came in to try to find my pin. I didn’t mean to stay long. I’ll give him my coat now and meet you in Lady Mary’s office.”
He watched her go with even more suspicion than when he’d first seen her. “Before we go to your office, if you would show me where you found Lady Richford?” He held his arm out to the door.
Lady Mary did so, pausing several times to greet members. Frederick was a great object of interest, and he foresaw no issue in getting the ladies here to speak with him. An interview by an officer of Bow Street would likely feed their on dit for a month.
He was led down a central hall with rooms opening on both the right and the left.
It ended at a pair of double doors, thrown open to a cavernous room, mostly empty, with a low stage tucked against the far wall.
Lady Mary showed him where the victim had been lying, and he was pleased her account accorded with the sketches the magistrate’s assistant had made of the crime scene.
After examining the space and testing the door to the alley, he nodded to Lady Mary and followed her out of the room and back down the hall.
Lady Mary’s office was in the corner of the club.
It was a well-lit room with windows on two sides, which seemed primarily designed to aid the copious plant life.
Ferns hung from the ceiling. Exotic agave crowded the window sills, their spiky leaves a deterrent to anyone who’d presume to climb through the casements.
What looked like a banana tree in a wide oak tub commandeered one corner of the room.
Her desk was tidy, just one lone ledger resting upon it. A high-backed chair that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a throne room sat behind it, with two much smaller, but just as finely upholstered, guest chairs across.
Frederick brushed a fern frond from his face as he made his way to the desk. “This will do nicely. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” His stride was long, but Lady Mary’s was faster. She rounded the desk before he reached the corner and took her seat.
He narrowed his eyes. “My interviews require only the presence of me and the person with whom I’m speaking. Your presence—”
“You will be interviewing my workers, my members. I have already spoken with most of them, but I am curious to see how they answer a Runner.”
He inhaled sharply. “Lady Mary—”