Chapter Thirty-Three
Lady Mary
Marie held a swatch of ornamental paper against the wall in The Minerva Club’s waiting room as she relayed all that she and Brett had learned the day before to me.
The paper was a soothing sage green and dotted with small palm trees.
It was lovely, and expensive, but I wasn’t certain it would fit into the rest of the décor of my club.
Just like I wasn’t sure how this latest information fit into my investigation.
“His fortune had changed, the captain said?” I gave her another swatch and stood back. “Blackmail do you think?”
Marie rolled her shoulder. “You mean that Mr. Hicks discovered who’d killed Mr. Trent, and instead of telling Sir Kelsey, threatened the killer with exposure in exchange for money?”
I tapped my toe. “Yes, Marie, that is a nice summation of what I mean.”
She lowered her arms. “If that is the case, I would almost say that Mr. Hicks deserved his fate.”
“No one deserves being stabbed repeatedly.” The image of all the blood surrounding Hicks’s body, splashing the walls, remained printed on my mind.
Marie came to where I stood. “I did say almost.”
I gave her a tight smile. “Indeed you did. Now, is there anything else you wish to tell me? Anything at all?”
She shook her head, one of her red curls escaping its pins. “No, ma’am. That was all we learned.”
I stared at her another second, giving her time to reconsider her obstinance. When the moment started to become uncomfortable, I sighed. “Very well. Which do you like better?” I pointed between the two ornamental papers.
She held up the one with the little palm trees. “But this room was repainted after the fire. Why do you want to change the walls so soon?”
“It’s too dark. With the neighboring building so close next to ours, even with those high windows it doesn’t get enough light.”
Bobby, a footman at the club, shuffled into the room. “Excuse me, milady, but Mr. Ryder is here and would like to speak with you.”
My stomach tensed. “He hasn’t brought an angry mob with him this time, has he?”
Bobby’s lips twitched. “No, milady. Today he is alone.”
“Very well. Show him to my office. I’ll be there shortly.” I turned to Marie. “Will you go to Clementine’s Papier and tell them we’ve decided on the palm trees? They’ve already measured the room. Tell them to start work as soon as possible.”
Marie nodded and started from the waiting room.
“Take Bobby with you,” I called after her. I didn’t want her husband angered at me for sending her into the streets alone. I followed more slowly. The outright conflict between Mr. Ryder and I had long subsided into an uneasy truce, but his seeking me out still boded ill.
When I passed the open double doors to the Tea Room, a bark made me pause.
Southey sat amidst three women. One held a tea saucer to his mouth. Another picked a choice morsel from the tea tray to give to him.
I rolled my eyes. “Southey. Come here.”
He stood and shook and much to my pleasure trotted over to me. “You need to stop feeding him,” I called to the ladies. “He became ill last time he visited the club.”
One of the women flapped her hand at me. “It was just a little treat.”
Yes, one little treat every two minutes. “It isn’t you who will be cleaning his sick up.” It wouldn’t be me, either, but I did have some consideration for my servants. I continued on to my office.
Southey’s collar bell announced our arrival. Ryder unfolded his tall frame from one of the guest chairs and gave me a small bow. “Lady Mary.”
“Mr. Ryder.” I circled behind my desk. “How unexpected seeing you here. Are you ensuring no pagan rituals have developed inside these walls since your last visit?”
He sighed. “You are never going to let me live those words down, are you?” Southey trotted up to him, placing his paws on the knee of Ryder’s trousers.
I pursed my lips, considering. “Most likely not, no. Tea?”
“Please.” He bent to scratch the dog behind the ear.
I rang the servants’ bell and sat behind my desk. “What can I do for you, Mr. Ryder.”
He sat and crossed one leg over the other. “I am here as a favor to a friend. A very small friend. Do you know Harold, the errand boy for The Red Chemise?”
I shook my head, and Ryder continued. “He runs errands for anyone on the street actually. He’s a nice boy, and very worried. He thinks there are a group of people trying to falsely implicate his friend, Miss Rogerson, in two murders.”
“Ah.” The boy Burton and Marie had told me about. “Is Miss Rogerson such a friend that he would lie to protect her?” We’d thought Peg had been wiped from our suspect list.
Ryder’s eyes crinkled. “He might, but in this instance he did not. He assures me that Miss Rogerson didn’t leave the brothel the night of the cannery manager’s murder, and I believe him.
I’ve had a couple of years acquaintanceship with the lad, and have learned to discern when he lies and when he speaks the truth. ”
My shoulders relaxed. Good. She was still off the list. “Well, you can tell your friend that we don’t suspect her any longer.”
“So you are persisting in your foolhardiness and continuing this investigation? We do have magistrates and Runners for a reason.”
“I am.” I must be growing accustomed to Ryder. His use of the word foolhardy to describe me didn’t even ruffle me. I tilted my head. “I’m surprised at you. Letting a child interact with such a sinful establishment. I would have thought you would have dragged him away.”
The lines around his milk chocolate eyes deepened. “Believe me, I have tried. I even invited the lad to come live with me as he seems to have no home to go to, but he refused. He likes his freedom, as he says.”
My breath hitched. Mr. Ryder was a study in contradictions. A thorn in many a boot, but capable of such generosity of spirit. I was tempted to say something complimentary to the man, but was saved by the appearance of Timothy and our tea service. “Just leave it on the desk,” I told the footman.
He did as I said, then hesitated. “Milady, you have another visitor. A Mr. Cooke.”
Ryder’s hand paused over the teapot. “Does he call on you often?” he asked, his voice flat.
“About as often as you do.” I frowned. “Did he say what he wanted?” I asked Timothy.
“No, milady.”
Ryder poured two cups of tea, then settled back with his. “Well, let’s not live in suspense. Why not invite him back?”
As I could think of no way to decline without appearing suspicious, I nodded to Timothy. As we waited, I added an extra lump of sugar to my tea, needing the fortification.
Southey sat at the side of my desk, looking between me and Ryder. Probably trying to determine who was more likely to feed him from the tea tray. But when Mr. Cooke appeared in my doorway, a slightly red-faced Timothy a step behind him, Southey slunk toward me, settling down beneath the desk.
The footman darted around the crime lord to stand in front of him as he announced his name.
I pointed to the chair next to Ryder. “Please, join us. Would you care for tea? I can ask Timothy to fetch another cup.”
“No, thank you.” If Cooke was surprised to see Mr. Ryder in my office, he did a good job hiding it. There was a brief head bob between the men, the barest of acknowledgements, and then Cooke took his seat.
I wrapped my hands around my cup, eyeing the two men in front of me. The moralist and the crime lord. I took a sip to hide my smile. I did lead a most interesting life.
“What brings you here, Mr. Cooke?” I asked.
He smoothed his hand down his waistcoat, the fabric a purple so dark it almost matched his black coat. “I came to see how you fared after the incident the other night. No lasting injuries, I hope.”
Ryder’s cup clacked onto its saucer. “What incident? What trouble did you get her into, Cooke?”
Cooke’s black eyebrows winged up. “I’m afraid the trouble was all of Lady Mary’s own making.” He turned his devilish blue eyes on me. “I’m sorry to say it, but it’s true. Traipsing about atop carriages is hardly conducive to one’s health.”
Ryder’s normally pleasant baritone deepened to a bass. “Atop a carriage?”
My pulse quickened. “I wasn’t traipsing. And besides, the injury didn’t occur while I was standing on my carriage’s roof. A hackney coach almost ran me down in the street.”
“That is so reassuring,” Ryder said dryly, his lips tight.
I tapped my thumb on the rim of my cup. “Aside from a bruise or two, I am unharmed. Thank you for your concern.” I dipped my head to Cooke.
I didn’t believe it. Believe him. Cooke didn’t strike me as the kind of man who called to check on one’s welfare.
I just didn’t know what he could possibly want.
“Might one ask why you were standing atop your carriage?” Ryder smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
“One might.” I shifted in my seat. “It was convenient for me at the time.”
Cooke snorted. He ran his fingers through his steel-gray hair. “What is convenient for you at the time tends to land yourself in a heap of trouble. Despite two dead bodies, an attack on your maid, and one on yourself, I assume you are continuing in your folly?”
I narrowed my eyes. “How did you know about Marie?”
“There isn’t much that happens in London that I do not know about,” Cooke said.
That I believed.
“What happened to your maid?” Ryder’s forehead furrowed.
Cooke continued as though Ryder hadn’t spoken. “It isn’t your duty to discover who killed Trent and his manager. Leave it to the magistrate.”
“On that you and I agree,” Ryder said.
I didn’t think I liked it when the two of them agreed.
“I’m glad I’m useful for something, even if it is only bringing the two of you into concordance,” I said sarcastically.
My gaze bounced from one man to the other.
One all dark—dark hair, dark clothes, dark employment.
The other clad in tan and cream, his hair a mix of blond, gray, and white.
One had the body of a fighter, the other a scholar.
I wouldn’t say Mr. Ryder’s calling was on the side of angels.
He was much too irritating for that, but on the whole I would say he was a good sort of man.
I leaned forward. “Since you both have felt free to question my decisions, might I ask about your relationship? How did two such disparate men ever become acquainted to begin with?”
Cooke tapped his thumb on the armrest.
Ryder stared into his tea. Finally, he said, “We weren’t so different when we were young.”
Which didn’t really tell me anything at all, but I knew I wouldn’t get more.
The rift between Cooke and Ryder wasn’t my concern, I told myself.
I turned my attention to what was. “Since you are here, have you heard of Mr. Platt being in trouble for owing someone money? Or any business deals he was in that might have gone bad?” The way the attorney, Mr. Plummer, had become tight-lipped when I’d asked about Platt had made me curious.
Cooke leaned forward, his black wool coat stretching across his wide shoulders. He plucked up a bit of cheese from the tea tray. “It has already been determined Platt couldn’t have been the one to commandeer the hackney and try to run you down. He was surrounded by witnesses in my hell.”
“Perhaps that incident is unrelated to the murders.” I pushed my spectacles up my nose. “Perhaps it was some young buck who stole the hackney on a dare and lost control.”
Cooke’s lips thinned. “Perhaps.” He leaned back, stretching his legs. “As to young Mr. Platt, he is involved in no business to my knowledge. He’s the typical son of a peer who expects everything to be given to him. That’s what makes him a worthless card player, and an even more worthless man.”
“And yet you provide him a platform for his vice.” Ryder arched an eyebrow. “How much worth does that give you as a man?”
“Quite a bit, actually.” Cooke’s nostrils flared. “You should see my bank balance.”
I held up a hand. “Has Platt run up large debts?”
Cooke’s steely gaze turned to me. “Not excessive for his crowd.” He lifted one shoulder. “Though I do hear his father has stopped being so forgiving of his son’s liabilities.”
I sank back, linking my fingers together over my abdomen. I imagined it would be hard, walking the line between supplying your child with everything he needed and overindulging him to the point of souring his character.
Either way, I felt badly for Platt’s parents. I believed at least one of their children to be involved in these killings. No amount of overindulgence would make a parent responsible for murders committed by the child.
Southey pawed at my boot, whining softly. If I’d been alone, I might have joined in with him. This investigation felt hopeless, like I was rowing toward a shore that never got closer.
I didn’t like the feeling. It wasn’t one to which I was accustomed. And it was a feeling to which I needn’t succumb. I scooted my foot out from under Southey and stood. “Thank you gentlemen, for calling, but I really must be getting back to work.”
I would find this killer. He might be ruthless, but I could be relentless. I’d never been beautiful, never had children to take pride in, but I’d had a mind unmatched by most of my acquaintance.
It was time to start using it.