Chapter Four
Eleanor
Eleanor Lynton watched from a curtain-draped nook in the Tea Room as the Runner left The Minerva Club.
Through the window, she saw him tug his top hat over his thick, wavy hair and give it a quarter-twist. He gave a speculative look at the club’s front doors before turning and walking away, his legs eating up the pavement.
Eleanor scraped her teeth over her bottom lip. That one could be dangerous. His eyes had been much too sharp for her liking, his questions much too piercing. Hopefully, they would never meet again.
Before she left the windowseat, she ran her fingers behind the pillows, not holding out much hope. Her mother had been quite specific as to which room she’d left it in.
“There you are.” Lady Mary’s voice made Eleanor jump. The older woman stood before her, her hands resting on the onyx falcon that made up the handle for her walking stick du jour. “You were in such a hurry to leave before, I thought I might have missed you.”
Eleanor made a show of plumping up her pillow before rising. “I had more free time this afternoon than I’d thought.”
Lady Mary’s eyes were a pale blue, like dried lavender that had seen too many years, but the intelligence in them was as sharp as ever. She held Eleanor’s stare until Eleanor was shifting on her feet, then turned and started across the room. “Come on, then,” she called over her shoulder. “Keep up.”
Disobeying didn’t even cross Eleanor’s mind. She hurried to Lady Mary’s side.
“This financial business with your mother,” Lady Mary began.
“I hope I didn’t overstate the case the other night.” Eleanor forced a light laugh. “I had seen a bill that made me worried, but it was a mistake. Our circumstances are not so dire that mother can’t remain a member.” No, the true obstacle to her mother attending this club was now gone.
“Is that so?” Lady Mary detoured to the side wall and pulled a fichu from a picture frame it had been snagged on. She folded it neatly before continuing on her path. “I spoke to your mother a fortnight ago. She had indulged a bit too much in our special tea. She seemed…agitated.”
“Whiskey does that to her.” Eleanor followed Lady Mary into her office, the light-filled room seeming much cheerier than when Mr. Rollins had occupied it. “She’s promised to stick to sherry from now on.”
Lady Mary tossed the fichu on her desk, then leaned back against it, facing Eleanor. “I know you and your mother are out of mourning for Mr. Lynton, but grief doesn’t follow a schedule. If she is having a hard time, I’d like to help.”
Eleanor pressed her palms to her thighs, hoping the muslin fabric would absorb the sweat that dampened them. “That is kind, but we’re making do.”
Lady Mary traced the falcon’s head on her walking stick with her thumb. “I, also, have lost a husband. Next time your mother comes to the club, perhaps talking to someone else who has experienced the same pain will help her.”
The last thing Eleanor needed was Lady Mary speaking to her mother. In fact, any interest on Lady Mary’s part was something to be avoided. “I’m sure my mother would appreciate that.” Her mother wouldn’t be coming back to the club, not if Eleanor could help it.
Eleanor went to the window and ran her finger down the spiny leaf of some type of succulent.
“But when I think about my mother, I think about poor Edgar Bannister, and how he must be feeling having lost his mother. And in such a way. I hope they were able to resolve their differences before Lady Richford died.”
It was despicable. The contents in her stomach curdled. She was despicable. But turning Lady Mary’s curious mind to someone other than her mother seemed the only way. Her mother was in a fragile state of mind, and Lady Mary’s prying could break her.
“There was trouble between Bannister and Lady Richford?” Lady Mary narrowed her eyes. “I didn’t know.”
“Well, it isn’t the sort of thing a family would advertise.
” Eleanor strolled to the next window, examining the small pink bud on another plant.
“Affections always seemed strained between mother and son.” At Lady Mary’s questioning look, Eleanor explained, “I grew up in the same social circle as them, went to many parties as a child with Edgar. But last year, at the Hardcastle’s garden party, Bannister told me he was expecting a large sum of money from his father.
He’d cornered me behind the folly. I believe he was trying to seduce me. ”
Eleanor’s skin crawled remembering it. He had been free as to where he’d put his hands, and his oily smile assumed she would delight to fall into his arms. She kept her voice light. “I heard later that Lady Richford forbade her husband from giving Edgar the funds and that there was a great row.”
She gave Lady Mary a tremulous smile. “Which is why I pray they made amends before her death, for Edgar’s sake.”
Lady Mary sniffed. “How…benevolent of you.” She laid her walking stick on the desk, then crossed the room. She opened the door to the closet nestled in the corner and dragged out a box.
“Put this on the desk, will you?”
Eleanor hurried to do as she’d asked, hoping any further questions about her mother were forestalled. “What is this?” The box had no lid, and was weighed down with an assortment of items, from a silk reticule to a fist-sized agate to a stained stocking.
“The Minerva Club’s box of lost items.” Lady Mary tipped the box on its side, letting the contents spill out. She crossed her arms over her chest. “I thought you might look for your pin.”
“Oh.” The pin that she’d invented. “Of course, how thoughtful.” Eleanor dug through the pile, trying to look as though she cared that she found it.
She pulled out a cup-and-ball toy, a broken gold chain. She prayed there wasn’t a pin that matched her description in here. That would be difficult to ex—
Eleanor jerked her hand back, a soft cry escaping her lips. Underneath a black-and-white checked turban, a mother-of-pearl handled flintlock pistol lay.
Her mother’s gun. The one she had taken to kill Lady Richford.
“Lovely piece, isn’t it?” Lady Mary picked it up and sighted one of her hanging ferns. “Whoever lost this must be missing it. I do tell the members to come to my office to check for lost items, but hardly anyone ever does.”
Eleanor nodded, though she knew the truth. Her mother didn’t miss it. She never wanted to see it again. Because as she’d held it in her hand, intending to hunt Lady Richford down, she’d become horrified of her desire to kill. She’d shoved the gun down behind a cushion in the club and fled.
At least that was what her mother had told Eleanor.
Finding the gun in the box of lost items was some proof of that.
But if anyone discovered what her mother had planned, they wouldn’t hesitate to believe she had only changed her mind as to the manner of execution and had strangled Lady Richford instead.
And Eleanor had to protect her mother at all costs. She’d already lost one parent. She wouldn’t lose another.