Chapter Five
Lady Mary
“Lady Mary?” Bernard stood in her office doorway. “A man is here to see you.”
I laid my fountain pen next to the ledger I was going over. “Who?”
Bernard crossed the room and handed me a card.
Enoch Ryder, Esq.
I inhaled sharply. It took some nerve to show his face here. “Show him in, please. Oh, and bring us some tea, if you would.”
“Of course, milady.”
I closed my ledger and put it and my pen in a drawer. I made sure that nothing was out of place, nothing would catch the eye of a moral ninny. Then I rested my elbows on my desk, steepled my fingers, and waited.
I didn’t wait long. Bernard stepped through, followed by Mr. Enoch Ryder.
“Mr. Ryder, milady,” Bernard announced, then slipped out the door.
I examined the man. He was about my age, his hair a muddle of what I assumed was his original golden-brown mixed with silver and just a touch of white at his temples.
He had a nice square jaw, his chin just beginning to go soft.
He’d had to lower his head as he’d crossed the threshold of my door, his height even more accentuated by his lean musculature.
He carried a nondescript cane capped with a thick silver knob, though by the surety of his stride it appeared he carried it more for effect.
I sniffed. If the man couldn’t afford an eye-pleasing walking stick, then why bother carrying one at all?
I pointed to a guest chair. “Please, have a seat.”
“Thank you,” he said, his voice a pleasant baritone, and sat. “I’m pleased you’d see me. I was hoping to find you a reasonable woman.”
Even though I considered myself quite reasonable, it wasn’t an adjective that had ever been applied to me. I didn’t think Mr. Ryder would leave here thinking such, either. “A reasonable man might have come to speak with me before writing lies about my club in The Times. Or at least a decent man.”
His shoulders stiffened. Apparently he didn’t like his decency challenged.
Well, neither did I. I might have started The Minerva Club to allow women to let their hair down when society preferred they keep it tightly pinned up, but there was nothing indecent about that.
He crossed one leg over the other and leaned back, giving me a tight smile. “Perhaps you’re right, but I am here now. It sounds as though you’re familiar with the London Society for Morality and Decency? Our purpose is to encourage healthful activities and wholesome living.”
I gave him a smile as sweet as my cook’s iced cakes. “I also would encourage wholesome living. I fear that our ideas of wholesome are not in accord, sadly.”
He inclined his head. “That would be concerning, but I find it best to look for common ground instead of focusing on our differences.”
I muffled a snort. Nothing irritated me more than someone sounding reasonable when they made unreasonable demands. “I see no common ground in me closing my club because you wish it.”
“A woman was killed in these walls. Has that no call on your conscience?”
My chest burned. I wanted to make a vicious remark in turn, but Bernard returned just then with the tea.
He set the tray on my desk and poured two cups.
I waited for him to leave before answering.
“Thomas Becket was assassinated in Canterbury Cathedral. I assume you don’t use that as an indictment against the church’s morality, but only as against his killers. ”
Mr. Ryder inclined his head. “Before Lady Richford’s unfortunate death, I still had concerns.
If you could be shown that a club that beguiles women away from their proper duties is harmful, what would be your response?
” He cocked his head and gave me an assessing look.
There was judgment in his gaze, but also a hint of sympathy.
Like I was a sinner to be pitied rather than shunned.
My spine went as straight as an iron bar. “And if you could be shown that your opinion on a woman’s proper duties is as dunderheaded as the Cato Street Conspiracy plot to murder the cabinet ministers? What then would you do?”
He reached for a cup of tea, his lips twitching. “Apologize, of course, and retract my piece in The Times. I hardly think it likely, however.”
I stood, irritation putting starch in my voice. “Perhaps a tour is in order. Then you can see that your vile insinuations are baseless.”
He looked at his tea sadly before placing the cup back down. He rose, as well. “I would love a tour, Lady Mary.” He extended his arm toward the door. “After you.”
I stalked past him, chin held high. The scent of fresh soap clung to his pressed dark suit. “The Minerva Club is similar in nature to White’s or Boodle’s. A place for women to gather to be themselves instead of the person your wholesome expectations demands of them.”
“And is anyone allowed entry?” He peered around a doorway into the archery room, where Mrs. Stewart had set a portrait of Lord Byron up as a target and was taking aim. For some reason I had yet to discover, the woman loathed the poet. “Or do you have ethical standards your members must maintain?”
I didn’t have a set of rules for members.
It had never been an issue before. “The same standards as White’s.
It would take roguish intrigue of the worst kind to be booted out of that club, would it not?
Why should my women be held to a stricter standard?
My members are fine, upstanding individuals, who only need a bit of space to be themselves. ”
I showed him the Great Room where we heard lectures, the Tea Room where a group of women were clustered around the fireplace conversing, even the library.
I did not show him my replication of the tavern I’d once visited with my husband, the Old Ram. It wasn’t his concern.
We met Timothy, another one of my footmen, in the hallway used for lawn bowling. He was carrying a gold-painted chair. “I got it fixed, right as rain, milady. Took some doing finding the right color paint after replacing the leg, but I got it.”
“Thank you, Timothy.” I frowned. I didn’t remember the chair being broken, but then, many things constantly needed to be fixed in the club. Or walls needed to be patched. The women didn’t have the best of aim. Did White’s have similar repair bills?
“I think you should ask Mrs. Massey to cover the repair costs.” Timothy shifted the chair to his other arm. “She had no cause to smash it like that.”
“Smashing chairs?” Mr. Ryder arched a silver eyebrow. “Another fine, upstanding individual in your club?”
I raised my chin. “I’m certain Mrs. Massey was trying to demonstrate something and it got away from her.
Perhaps the pounds per square inch necessary to demolish a structure.
We did have an engineer in here last month to describe the new building processes involved in the construction of the Egyptian Hall. ”
Timothy chuckled. “No ma’am. Mrs. Massey was in a right nettle.
Arguing and yelling at Lady Richford something fierce.
She picked up this chair and threw it right at the lady’s head.
It smashed against the wall. I understand when damage happens from the bad aim of a thrown axe or something accidentally catches fire, but this was uncalled for. ”
My mind whirred. I didn’t even care that Timothy had just given Mr. Ryder a feast of bad behavior for him to chew on. “When did this happen?”
“’Bout a fortnight ago.” He held up the chair. “But it’s all fixed now.”
“Why didn’t you tell Mr. Rollins this when he interviewed you?”
His eyes widened. “He only asked me about the day Lady Richford was killed. I didn’t think there was any connection. Do you—”
“I don’t think anything right now.” I tapped my boot. How had I not known of a fight within my walls? I needed to speak with my workers. Incidents like that needed to be reported. “Thank you, Timothy.”
He nodded, shooting a look at Mr. Ryder. “I’ll just go put the chair back in the Greek Room.”
“Thank you.” I stepped aside to let him pass.
Amelia Massey was one of the club’s original members. Married, with two children around twenty years of age, she and I had volunteered on several committees together. While I wouldn’t say that we were close, I knew her well enough to know that throwing chairs was decidedly out of character.
What had Lady Richford done to anger the woman so much?
Mr. Ryder tapped his walking stick against the wood floor. “Are arguments that lead to physical assaults common at The Minerva Club?”
“They are not.” I sniffed, trying to make his question sound as ridiculous as it was. “Timothy might have gotten his facts wrong.”
“And he might not.”
I ground my jaw. “Am I to expect this gossip to make its way into your next opinion piece? It isn’t only my reputation you are taking aim at, but it will also be that of a woman now deceased. I hope you will think of her family.”
He seemed to choose his words carefully.
“It is not my habit to intentionally injure anyone, not unless by so doing I am affecting change for the greater good. I see no good that would come from gossiping about the fight between Lady Richford and your other member. So long as the proper authorities are notified, of course.”
“Of course.” I turned, heading for the front of the club.
I would have to inform Mr. Rollins of this.
Next time I might see him. I’d investigate further before making a trip down to Bow Street.
“Now. As you can see, my club isn’t a den of iniquity.
No pagan rituals…” I quickly closed the door to the Greek Room where the painting the Birth of Venus by Botticelli was being recreated by my members in person, large clam shell and all. “…no bacchanalian revels.”
“I’ve not been here a half hour,” he said mildly. “I’ve heard your members become more boisterous after dark.”
I exhaled sharply. “Mr. Ryder, you are determined to think the worst of my club regardless of the truth.”
“On the contrary. I hold the truth in the highest esteem.” Two women emerged from the Tea Room, one walking backwards and gesticulating wildly with her hands.
Mr. Ryder took my elbow and guided me out of their path.
He stopped me when I would have pulled away.
“And the truth is The Minerva Club is a degrading institution. It cheapens the women who are members, cheapens London society, and I fear, it cheapens you, as well. I entreat you to do what is right: close your club.”
His hand on my arm burned, or perhaps that was just my conscience.
A woman had died under my roof. In the club that I had created. Was he right that I emboldened bad behavior? Was I responsible for Lady Richford’s death?
I kept my expression even. “Even if what you say is true, there are many clubs in London whose sole purpose is depravity. You know the clubs of which I speak, the one gentlemen go to after their glass of port at White’s.
There are also the gambling hells and opium dens.
I find it curious that of all the wickedness in London, you spend your time trying to shut the doors of The Minerva Club, a place where women can come to have a bit of harmless fun. ”
He tilted his head. “You question my priorities?”
“I question your intent. Do you truly want to better London society, or do you only want to keep women in their place?” I didn’t wait for him to answer. I slid my arm from his grasp and stalked to the entrance.
Bernard pulled a coat and hat from the closet and handed them to Mr. Ryder.
The head of the morality committee laid his coat over his arm and turned his hat in his hands thoughtfully.
“Perhaps those other sins you speak of, those other clubs, wouldn’t hold such temptation if the women in those men’s lives attended to their families more instead of joining a club like yours. ”
Well, that was too much. I nodded to Bernard to open the door. “I have enough of my own sins to worry about. I won’t take responsibility for your sex, as well. If men engage in licentiousness, that is no one’s fault but their own.”
“Sin and licentiousness?” A man stepped through the door, his startling blue eyes twinkling.
He was a little under six feet, had the solid build of a dock worker, and thick, steel-grey hair.
His eyebrows were dark as a raven’s wing, giving him a devilish look.
He wore a Pomona green waistcoat, the only bit of color among his black jacket and trousers.
Even his cravat was dyed onyx. A gold lion’s head was pinned through its center.
“It appears that I’ve entered this conversation at precisely the right moment. ”