Chapter Sixteen
Eleanor
Eleanor kept her focus on the fern as the door behind her opened and closed.
Several of the leafy strands were turning brown, and she plucked those dying bits from the plant.
She felt his gaze on her back like a magnet, tugging at her to turn around and face him, but she kept her focus on the poor fern.
Lady Mary’s desk chair squeaked as she nudged it forward. “You got my note,” she said to Mr. Rollins. “Good. I received one of my own.”
Finally, Eleanor turned. She could avoid it no longer without appearing churlish. And besides, she was curious about why Lady Mary had brought all of them here. It had only been three days since they’d agreed to investigate together, hardly enough time to come to any conclusions.
At least it hadn’t been for her. To be fair, Eleanor hadn’t asked many questions the last few days. She rubbed her sore wrist. Her mother had taken all of her attention.
Lady Mary pushed a piece of parchment across the desk, and Mr. Rollins picked it up. He raised one eyebrow and darted a glance at the older woman. “Where and when did you get this?”
“It was delivered by a child to my home two days past.” Her lips pressed flat. “My butler didn’t know to question the boy as to who gave him the note.”
“What does it say?” Eleanor asked.
“Those that inquire into an area often become the subject matter.” Rollins flipped the paper over, running his thumb along the grain. “Quality paper. The print neatly written.”
Lady Mary steepled her fingers. “Yes, and very indeterminate. I cannot tell if a man or woman wrote the letters, though it is someone who has the means to purchase expensive paper. Or steal it.”
Mr. Rollins shifted his gaze to Eleanor, and a shiver raced down her spine. She didn’t know if his look was one of suspicion or want. Either one sat uncomfortably. “That could mean many things. Why send such a strange message?”
He looked back at Lady Mary. “I only see one interpretation of the note. It is a pointed warning. It would be wise for both you and Miss Lynton to heed it.”
“Not that nonsense again.” Lady Mary pressed her palms on her desk and stood. “If you two would follow me, I would like to return to where Lady Richford was found.”
Mr. Rollins waited for Eleanor to pass before falling into step behind her. Watching her. Walking used to be a natural action, one she didn’t even think about while doing. But each step now needed concentration. She felt every press of her sole on the ground, each sway of her hip.
It was silly. Mr. Rollins most likely took no note of her, but his presence behind her was all her mind knew.
“All right.” Lady Mary strode into the middle of the Great Room, eyeing the space. “Let’s go through this logically.”
There had been no events in the room since the murder, so the floor was empty, the chairs and benches stacked along the walls. Late afternoon sunlight filtered in from the high windows on the east wall, dancing motes of dust caught in their beams.
Eleanor skittered toward the stage, putting space between her and the Runner. “Go through what?”
“The murder.” Lady Mary frowned at her, and a flush of embarrassment heated Eleanor’s cheeks.
“We know that Lady Richford was found dead at twenty-three minutes after midnight six nights ago. Timothy came through this room around midnight, checking the doors and windows, and finding nothing amiss. Neither he nor Bobby saw Lady Richford, nor anyone else but me and Miss Lynton in the club while closing. So, were Lady Richford and her killer still in the club, or did they gain entrance somehow right before her death?”
“It wouldn’t be difficult to remain unnoticed after closing.
” As two sets of eyes turned on Eleanor, one curious, one slightly accusing, she gripped her elbow and lifted her chin.
“If I’m hiding, say in the music room, I would merely wait as Timothy checked the Quiet Room across the hall.
When he was finished, he would move on to either the library or the Art Room next door, and I would slip into the Quiet Room when his back was turned. ”
“You’ve thought about this a lot, have you?” Lady Mary eyed her shrewdly, but the edges of her mouth twitched.
Unfortunately, Eleanor had thought about it.
She knew she needed to watch over her mother, but there had been nights when all she’d thought about had been escape.
There were several chaises and sofas that made a decent bed for an uninterrupted night’s sleep.
Unconsciously, she rubbed her forearm, letting the dull ache she found there remind her of her purpose.
It was only natural her mother would be unsettled, first with thoughts of revenge and then with the worry of being a suspect in a murder. Once the real killer was found, she would once again become the kind, gentle woman who had raised Eleanor.
Mr. Rollins’s gaze was heavy on her once more.
His eyes seemed to search for something she couldn’t let anyone find.
Eleanor cleared her throat. “It would be easier for Lady Richford to remain unnoticed by staying in the club rather than trying to gain entry after closing. She could have let her killer in the door there after Timothy made his rounds.” She nodded to the door beside the stage that led into a back alley.
“If the killer entered that way, how did he leave?” Mr. Rollins widened his stance. “He couldn’t have locked it after himself. Not without a key.”
“Which only I and my staff carry,” Lady Mary said.
Eleanor tugged at the cuff of her sleeve and cast a wary glance toward the open door that led back into the club proper. “Are we sure that one of the servants didn’t have a reason to kill Lady Richford? As the only men in the club, it would have been easiest for one of them to be the murderer.”
“The only men we know were in the club. And you’re assuming the killer wasn’t a woman.” Lady Mary tapped the floor with her walking stick for emphasis.
That didn’t answer Eleanor’s question. “But….”
Lady Mary sighed. “I have my men investigated very thoroughly before I hire them. They weren’t involved.”
“And I’ve checked their finances since the murder,” Mr. Rollins added.
“If one of them was paid to commit the murder, I’ve found no evidence of it.
And, of course, young Bobby does have an alibi.
” He ignored Eleanor’s scowl. “But you’ve brought up the possibility of a woman committing the crime again.
I’m still not sure a woman would have the strength to strangle another. ”
“Then let’s put it to the test.” Lady Mary briskly strode to the low stage and plopped her bottom down upon it. Her light blue eyes were lit with some amusement as she looked between Eleanor and the Runner. “Well, go ahead, Miss Lynton. Try to strangle him.”
An empty feeling opened in the pit of Eleanor’s stomach. “What?”
“Take Mr. Rollins’s cravat and see if you can choke the air from him,” Lady Mary explained patiently. She turned to Mr. Rollins. “I assume you have no objections to this little experiment. If she starts to hurt you, just raise your hand as a signal for her to stop.”
Mr. Rollins dipped his chin. “She will not hurt me.”
“Then there can be no objection.” Lady Mary stretched her legs out in front of her. “I have no cravat handy. We’ll have to use yours.”
Mr. Rollins sighed but brought his hands to his throat and began untying the knot. “Let’s list our suspects. Edgar Bannister. There was no love lost between him and his mother.”
Eleanor’s gaze was transfixed on the quick movements of Mr. Rollins’s hands.
The whisper of linen as one tail of his cravat dragged against the other, exposing the tanned skin of his throat.
His shirt gaped, a thatch of dark hair appearing in the vee it made.
She had never seen a man perform an action of undress, not even her father.
“What was that?” Lady Mary frowned. “What did you say, Miss Lynton?”
Whatever noise Eleanor had made hadn’t been for public consumption. She dragged her gaze away from Mr. Rollins’s dishabille. “Only that Bannister could have used his stage costume to gain access here, and escaped out of the club in the tumult after we discovered the body.”
“Anyone could have escaped out of the club in the same manner.” Lady Mary laced her hands together on top of her walking stick and rested her chin on top of her hands. “I still have a hard time believing a son could kill his mother.”
Mr. Rollins held out his cravat. “He says he was with friends, at Carpenter’s after the performance, but his friends lost track of him on a few occasions, notably around midnight.
He left for some minutes with an unknown woman.
He could have abandoned the woman to run here.
The timing would have been tight, but not impossible.
I have associates questioning jarveys in the area to see if he hailed a ride that night.
” When Eleanor hadn’t moved, he shook his neckcloth, like a matador waving a flag at a bull.
And like the stupid bull, Eleanor moved forward until she stood before the man. Without looking at him, she took his cravat, ignoring the warmth it still held from his skin. “Turn, please.”
Mr. Rollins let out a soft grunt, but turned as ordered.
“I spoke with Mrs. Massey.” Lady Mary cocked her head. “You’ll have to squat down some. Try to approximate Lady Richford’s height.” She nodded when Mr. Rollins sank lower. “She says her argument with the viscountess was because Lady Richford had become too friendly with Mr. Massey.”
“An affair?” Mr. Rollins dropped to his knees. “I know I am now lower than Lady Richford would be, but maintaining a squat while Miss Lynton tries to figure out how to put a cravat about my neck is untenable.”
All hesitation on Eleanor’s part evaporated. She grabbed the ends of the cravat in each hand and whipped the cloth over his head and down to his neck. She yanked back, but beside from a slight sway to his body, Mr. Rollins appeared unmoved.