Chapter Thirty-Two #2
Miss Abbott leapt to her feet, her hip knocking into the table. Glasses of wine trembled, and more than a few hands went out to steady them. “I will not be spoken to in this manner.” And with a flounce of her skirts, she turned on her heel and left the room.
“We have dessert coming,” Lady Mary called after her.
All right, Eleanor didn’t want Frederick causing more of a scene. Although this night would be memorable regardless of what else happened.
Lady Mary stuck another bite in her mouth and shrugged. “It’s a Bakewell tart. One of Cook’s specialties. No one should miss it.”
Mrs. Massey stood, wobbled, and grabbed for her husband’s shoulder. After she’d steadied herself, she tugged him up. “Miss Abbott might be as infernal as her friend, but she was right about this. We don’t have to subject ourselves to your…your…insinuations, either.”
She pulled Mr. Massey after her.
He looked forlornly back at the table. “I do love a good Bakewell tart.”
“I’ll have our cook make you one tomorrow.” And she stamped out of the room, dragging her husband after her.
Lord Anglia neatly folded his napkin. “There have been too many dramatic exits. I’m bored again.” Standing, he gave a smart bow and started for the exit.
Lady Mary popped to her feet. “Lord Anglia, a moment.”
He kept going, and Lady Mary disappeared after him.
Frederick and Eleanor locked gazes, then jumped to their own feet.
“Mother, stay here,” Eleanor said as she circled the table. They trotted after Lady Mary, catching up in the entry. The door had just closed on the Masseys. Anglia was winding a woolen scarf around his neck and took the coat Lady Mary’s butler held out.
Lady Mary stepped in front of the door, blocking Anglia’s exit. “I wished to speak with you about your connection with Mr. Edric Cooke. I hear he has become involved in the passage of your spending bills.”
“What of it?” Anglia shoved his hands into leather gloves. “As a private citizen, he has the right to advocate for bills he would like to see passed.”
“Even if he, and the lawmakers involved, stand to profit from them?”
Anglia tilted his head. “You’ve surprised me, Lady Mary. I thought this conversation would be about something altogether different.”
“You thought I called you here because of your anonymous piece in The Times?” Lady Mary said. “Or the threatening note you had delivered to my house?”
A smile curled at the edges of Anglia’s mouth. “Neither as anonymous as I thought it would seem. And the note was a kindly warning. Not a threat.”
“Not much is anonymous when I have powerful relations,” Lady Mary said. She’d admitted to Eleanor and Frederick that she’d gone to see her nephew finally. He’d found out who the author had been. Not many newspaper editors could stand firm against a duke.
Anglia lifted one shoulder. “Just like Mr. Cooke, I have a right to say my piece.”
“It was libel.” Frederick took a step forward, his shoulders seeming to widen.
“Was it?” Anglia took his hat from the butler. “Speak to a solicitor. I think you’ll find not many would take such a case.”
“Did Lady Richford threaten you with a lawsuit, my lord?” Lady Mary crossed her arms. “Perhaps you weren’t always so confident that you would win such a case.”
Anglia’s knuckles whitened around the brim of his hat. “I’m not the one who should take care with his words. Accusing me of murder is slanderous.”
“We are merely asking questions,” Frederick said. His body had tensed right along with Anglia’s.
Anglia smiled, his teeth appearing pointed in the glow of the gas lamps.
“Then I will tell you truly, I no longer had anything to worry about with Lady Richford. I know what Mrs. Massey was alluding to when she was shrieking at Miss Abbott. And I know that it is true. Lady Richford did have a light hand. I caught her wearing a pin that belonged to the wife of a colleague of mine. I told her I knew. And I told her what would happen if she continued to oppose me. That piece in The Times that morning had just been a reminder. One she understood.”
“So the blackmailer became the blackmailee.” Lady Mary shook her head. “Why do people make such a trial out of their lives?”
“Who was your colleague?” Frederick asked.
“None of your business.” Anglia tugged at the cuff of his coat. “He has nothing to do with the matter.”
“And he votes the way you want him to,” Eleanor added.
Anglia’s grin was genuine, and quickly gone. “Just so.” He stepped to Lady Mary’s side, looking from her to the door handle and back, eyebrows lifted.
With a sigh, she stepped aside. Her butler hurried between the two to open the door.
Anglia set his hat on his dark head, adjusted it.
“It’s ironic you brought up Mr. Cooke. While it has amused me to be thought one of your suspects, it has gone on long enough.
Speak with Mr. Cooke. I was at his club, The Cagey Vixen, the night of Lady Richford’s murder.
There are several witnesses who can attest to the fact I cannot be the killer.
Mr. Cooke chief among them.” And without a nod or backward glance, he stepped out into the foggy night and disappeared.
Eleanor hadn’t realized how tense their group in the entry had been until the door clicked shut behind him and everyone seemed to sag.
“Well, that was unpleasant.” Eleanor pressed her palm to her abdomen. “And unfruitful. We learned nothing new.”
Frederick took her hand, squeezed it. “Lord Anglia gave us an alibi. If I can confirm it, that eliminates one more suspect.”
“We also learned just how ill-advised it was to gather all the suspects together into one room.” Lady Mary pinched her lips tight. “It was like a plot point in a badly written Gothic novel. Truly, I can’t understand how I let you convince me to do this, Eleanor.”
Eleanor gaped as Lady Mary marched past her and back to the dining room.
Frederick gave her hand another squeeze, his palm warm and rough against hers. “She doesn’t mean it.” He leaned down to whisper in her ear. “And I, for one, am exceedingly fond of all your ideas.”
The tickle of his breath on her ear, the low timbre of his voice, the heat of his nearness, all sent an army of ants marching through her stomach. She glanced at the butler to see if he’d heard, but he studiously avoided her gaze.
“Let’s go have some of that tart.” Frederick tugged her down the hall. “There should be plenty now for second helpings.”
Eleanor traipsed after him. Dessert did sound good, but she couldn’t just let the matter drop. She sniffed. “I could have sworn the idea was Lady Mary’s.”