Chapter Ten
Lady Mary
Amelia Massey was still not at home, at least according to her tight-lipped doorman. He had no knowledge as to her whereabouts or the time of her expected return.
With an irritated sniff, I gave my driver the direction to my next quarry. The information requested on the application to join The Minerva Club was most helpful when it came to a murder investigation.
Miss Lydia Abbott was also not at home, But the sour-faced woman who owned the lodging house where Miss Abbott rented a room was much more helpful. At this time in the afternoon, Miss Abbott could usually be found at Hyde Park, riding.
It didn’t take me long to find her. Lydia Abbott was one of the few women seated on the back of a horse instead of enjoying the park in a conveyance, and the only woman riding astride.
Tan trousers peeked out beneath her Navy blue riding habit, with a man’s top hot placed rakishly atop her raven curls.
She was what I considered a young woman, though no longer in her first flush, her face and body composed of angles rather than curves.
Her eyes were dark, and tilted up at the edges, giving her a slightly exotic appearance.
My carriage being too large for the crowded paths, I hurried toward the woman on foot, ignoring any greetings tossed my way. “Ahoy, there.” I waved at her as she galloped past me on the lawn. “Miss Abbott!”
She slowed her horse and pulled up next to a life-sized bronze statue of a stag.
I double-backed and bustled up to her before she could take off again. “Miss Abbott,” I said again, only slightly out of breath. “How do you do?”
“Lady Mary?” Miss Abbott used her crop to swat at a fly. “What a surprise to see you here.”
I shaded my eyes as I looked up at her. “Indeed, but the fine weather has lured even me out of doors. I wanted to give you my condolences on the death of Lady Richford. I understand that you and she were particular friends.”
Miss Abbott pressed her lips tight, blinking. She cleared her throat. “Thank you. Her death is a great loss.”
The back of my neck started to ache. “Yes, and so shocking, too. As it happened in my club, the authorities have pressed me for answers to several questions. I was hoping you might be able to assist me with some of them.”
Her horse shifted, tossing his head. Tugging off one glove, she stroked its neck and spoke to it quietly before turning back to me. “I don’t see how I can help. And besides, I’ve already spoken with that Runner. A Mr. Rollins, I believe.”
My muscles tensed. Interesting. Mr. Rollins had failed to mention that interview. But no matter. “Sometimes a different perspective is necessary.” I rubbed the crick in my neck. “When was the last time you saw Lady Richford?”
“Earlier that day. I took tea at her house.” Miss Abbott looked down at her hands, gripping the reins. “She was so happy. I just can’t believe….” Sunlight glinted off a slender wrought gold band on the middle finger of the woman’s right hand, the flash catching me right in the eye.
I frowned. I was tired of the woman towering above me. I pointed at a young man walking nearby who seemed robust enough. “Excuse me, young man. Can I get an assist?” I patted the back of the stag statue.
“Uh.” The man stepped forward and scratched his chin. “Assist with what exactly?”
“Putting me atop the beast.” I tapped my walking stick against the stag’s back, a dull clank sounding. “Surely, you’re strong enough to lift me.”
Well, that comment got him moving. His hands were around my waist and I was seated on the bronze statue within seconds, the sun-blasted metal warming my behind. I adjusted my seat. “Thank you, young man.” I turned to Miss Abbott. She was still higher than me, but at least my neck no longer ached.
“Now,” I said, “what can you tell me about any troubles your friend was having? Did she have any enemies that you know of? Problems that were worrying her?”
Miss Abbott stopped gawking at my new chair long enough to frown. “Of course not. What type of woman do you think she was to have enemies?”
I wrapped my gloved hand around the stag’s antler and tried not to raise my eyes heavenward. Not many people, male or female, got through this life without getting on someone’s bad side. It was na?ve to think good people didn’t have enemies. Sometimes it was the best people who were most hated.
“So she hadn’t fought with anyone recently?” I prodded. “Not even a minor argument?”
Miss Abbott tugged on the cuff of her riding jacket.
“Well, everyone has arguments. I know she and Lord Richford had several disagreements, usually about that son of theirs. But much as I dislike Lord Richford, I hardly think family squabbles would lead to….” She trailed off, as though the word ‘murder’ was too distasteful to even say.
I wasn’t used to mincing my words, but this seemed a sound occasion for delicacy. “I had heard,” I began gently, “that relations between Lord and Lady Richford were strained. That perhaps Lady Richford had sought companionship from another man.”
Miss Abbott huffed. “That hardly seems likely. Sue found relations with her husband demeaning enough; she wouldn’t seek out another man to lie with.”
I considered that. Lady Richford and Miss Abbott had been close friends, but even so, it wasn’t likely that a woman would confess her infidelity.
Though confession was appealing at times. I should know. A lick of nausea rolled through my stomach.
My glum musings were interrupted by hoots of laughter. A group of fine, young dandies were pointing at me atop the stag and laughing, while the women on their arms hid smiles behind their parasols.
I ignored them. The young could never truly appreciate the value of comfort.
But the commotion sent Miss Abbott’s nervous horse to stamping in place. It made a couple of half-hearted attempts at bucking, but slender as Miss Abbott’s arms were, she seemed easily able to control the beast with a few sharp tugs on the reins.
When the animal was once more still, I asked, “Do you know what your friend was doing at my club that night? Why she would have stayed past closing?” It was uncharitable of me, but I wished Lady Richford could have been killed somewhere else.
“No.” Her horse stamped his foot, and Miss Abbott petted his tawny neck.
“I didn’t know she was intending to go to The Minerva Club that night.
I’d thought she was attending a burletta at Cogburn’s Theatre.
” She smirked as she nodded to a passing equestrian.
“She doted on her son, despite his lavish spending and ill humors.”
I sensed she was as impatient to leave as her horse was. My next question was perhaps too direct. “Where were you that night?”
Miss Abbott didn’t seem offended by the question though she must have understood the implication. “I was attending a salon at Oswald Poole’s house on Wells Street. Godwin spoke, mainly about his late wife Wollstonecraft. It was quite stimulating.” She waved at another rider, rising in her saddle.
“And the red ribbon found on the stage near Lady Richford?” From the description from the constable it hadn’t been that near the victim, but Miss Abbott didn’t know that. “It was yours, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.” Her jaw tightened. “Again, as I told that Runner, I don’t recall losing it, but I also don’t remember seeing it after I led that discussion group. It must have fallen off then.”
I nodded. “So you can’t think of anyone who would wish to harm your friend?”
Miss Abbott slid her hand back into her glove with a tug.
“She must have been in the wrong place at the wrong time. The only people she had conflict with were her son and husband, and they wouldn’t have done something so dreadful.
Now if you’ll excuse me, my horse has more energy he needs to run off.
” And with a tip of her hat, she was gone.
She quickly brought her mount up to a gallop, her hair coming loose from its low knot and streaming out behind her.
I watched her path. She was a fine horsewoman.
Her back was flat, her thighs absorbing any impact.
She looked like an untamed thing, and I felt a moment of envy.
I thought about the conversation. I hadn’t learned much.
In fact, my first attempts at investigation were quite disappointing. All I had were questions, no answers.
I looked at the ground several feet below me. I also had no answer as to how to descend from the statue without injury either to my person or my pride. I had enjoyed not having Miss Abbott looking down at me, but I hadn’t thought ahead to this moment.
If something caught my fancy, I tended to act quickly, without much consideration as to the pros and cons.
Rash, some called me. Eccentric, others.
My husband used to call my impetuousness my ‘spirit of adventure.’ I smiled at the memory.
But I’d always been able to figure a way out of any troubles that came from my actions.
This time would be no different.
I settled in to wait for the next robust young man to pass by.