Chapter Five #3
“Thank you.” I could just imagine my cook’s expression if I presented this can to her and asked to have it prepared for dinner. I tucked it in my reticule, the drawstrings barely closing above the rim. “Can you think of any reason Mr. Trent wanted to contact me?”
He shook his head. “None.”
“And what about who would want to hurt him? Do you know of any enemies your employer had?”
“Enemies?” He huffed. “Of course not. Trent was a businessman. Of sorts.”
I tucked that “of sorts” away for later. “What about Driscoll Gray? Trent was suing him I understand.”
Hicks shifted in his chair. “That was business. Mr. Gray wouldn’t kill over it.”
“So you know Gray?” I asked.
“We’ve met.” He lifted one shoulder. “I’m the one that ordered from him.”
“And how much was the lawsuit for?”
Hicks cleared his throat. “Fifty thousand pounds.”
My eyebrows shot up. People had been killed over ten quid. Fifty thousand pounds seemed ample motive for murder.
The manager must have noticed my reaction. “Mr. Trent asked for an outrageous amount hoping to settle for a much more reasonable sum. The suit wasn’t enough to make Mr. Gray worry.”
“And what about you?” I scooted forward, then clutched the armrest as the chair teetered. “I heard you and Mr. Trent had a disagreement.”
Hicks stilled. “There was no disagreement.”
“Come now.” I dipped my chin. “Even the best working relationships have friction. And you were observed in a loud argument with Mr. Trent. Why were you so angry with him?”
His face went ruddy. “I was only asking for what was right. What Trent promised. He owed me,” Hicks shouted. His lips twisted, and he took several deep breaths. “But I wouldn’t kill a man over a disagreement.”
Considering how quickly the man’s temper exploded, I had my doubts. I eyed the distance to the stairwell. “What had he promised you?”
“Ownership in the company.” Hicks pushed at a pile of papers.
“Not a large one, but even a small percentage would give me a tidy sum in profits. I worked for a lesser wage in expectation of that ownership interest. But I hadn’t given up hope.
I know Trent didn’t want to lose me. He would have come around eventually. ”
I wished I had known Mr. Trent to know if that statement bore any relationship to the truth. Had he been an accommodating man? A harsh taskmaster? He’d angered someone enough to plunge a blade into him several times.
Hicks twisted the end of his wrinkled neckcloth.
“If you want to know someone who was angry at Trent, and angry enough to kill, in my opinion, you should look to his light-skirt.” He snorted.
“If you could even call that harlot such. The last time Trent refused to give me the ownership portion he’d promised, he took me to The Red Chemise, thinking that would mollify me.
That he could bribe me with his debauchery.
But his girl wasn’t happy to see him. She gave him an earful, she did. ”
“The Red Chemise?”
“A bawdy house.” Hicks had the grace to flush. “It’s next to the tavern The Red Flag, but the painting on the sign is worn and it looks like the undergarment. And because the establishment caters to…well, you know….”
I held up a hand. “I understand.” It was named for the women’s undergarment that men were paying to reveal.
For some reason, the knowledge that the murdered man had visited a prostitute made my heart sink. I’d met his wife. I didn’t like to think that her husband had been unfaithful to her.
But as I knew all too well, there were a myriad reasons why people looked outside their marriages. It wasn’t my place to judge.
“What is the woman’s name?” I asked.
“Peg Rogerson. Rogerson.” He snorted, then cleared his throat as he shot me an apologetic look.
“Do you know why Miss Rogerson had a quarrel with Mr. Trent?”
Hicks scratched his head. “It’s hard to say why women are angry. There was a lot of yelling and dark looks, but I don’t know the reason. And I didn’t stay long, did I, to find out? But she was angry enough to burn down the house.”
Since he seemed eager to direct my suspicions away from himself, I asked, “Anyone else who held a grudge against Mr. Trent?”
He sank back in his chair, deflated. “Not that I know of.”
I nodded and rose, my reticule thumping against my leg. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Hicks. Perhaps Mrs. Trent will be more amenable to giving you the promised ownership interest than her husband.”
He smoothed his hand down his neckcloth. “She’ll definitely need me as she knows even less about running a business than her husband did. You’re right.”
I left him to consider how much more he could petition the widow for and returned to my coach.
My driver’s eyebrows rose when I told him our next stop, but he knew better than to argue.
I settled back and sighed. Delving into a man’s life was never a happy matter. People were too complex to ever paint a purely pretty picture.
I twisted my wedding ring around my finger.
Perhaps all one could hope for was to be remembered as a generally good sort of person. That we’d helped more than we’d hurt in this life. And perhaps, if I found out who killed Mr. Trent, I could add another positive mention to my ledger.