Chapter Six #2
“Mistress?” My eyebrows shot up. Men like Trent had mistresses, but they weren’t usually women who worked in common bawdy houses. “Is that the sort of relationship you had?”
She lifted her left shoulder. “He never saw any other girls but me. He gave me some gifts. Define our relationship how you will.”
“I can understand how Mr. Trent’s refusal to compensate you would make you angry.”
She stood. “I know what you’re getting at. Edwin should have paid me what I was due, but I won’t get anything now with him dead. I didn’t have a reason to kill him.”
I’d underestimated the woman’s intelligence. But if Peg thought Trent would never pay her, revenge was a solid motive for murder. “I heard you pestered Mr. Trent, demanding what was yours. Harassing him even, some might say.”
“Who might say?” Peg narrowed her eyes.
“Trent’s manager, Mr. Hicks, thought—”
“Him?” Peg loosed a harsh chuckle. “That sot? Acted all high and mighty when Edwin brought him here, like The Red Chemise was beneath him. But he didn’t leave until after he’d had his fun with Vanessa. And he left with a smile on his face.”
I rocked back on my heels. Mr. Hicks had failed to mention that tidbit of information amongst all his blustering.
“If you’re looking for people who were angry at Edwin, you should look at his family.
” Peg planted her left hand on her hip. “His wife’s brother followed Edwin here once.
Demanded Edwin stop seeing me, that it was an insult to his sister.
” Her lips went white. “I bet if I’d been an expensive bit of muslin, he wouldn’t have thought it an insult.
Nobody cares about what you actually do, only about how you look when you do it. ”
The truth in that statement was slightly depressing. “You’re speaking of Mr. Platt?”
“That’s the only brother his wife has.” She jerked her wrapper back up her shoulder. “He was mean as a snake when he spoke to Edwin.”
“And when was this?”
Peg looked at the ceiling. “A couple weeks ago? Just a couple days before Edwin wrenched my arm. He went on and on about his family’s honor. I don’t think he thought a factory owner was good enough for his sister. His money was good enough for them, however.”
Peg was a surprisingly astute observer of human nature. In her line of work, perhaps she needed to be. “Can you think of anyone else who might want to hurt Mr. Trent?”
“No, but if Edwin was as tight with money as he was with me, there could be a long list.”
I nodded. “Thank you for your time, Miss Rogerson. One last question. Where were you when Trent was killed?”
I’d expected anger. At least a portrayal of her being offended. Instead, she answered straightforwardly. “I was here. Sleeping.” She held out her hand and named a sum.
My jaw dropped. “We only spoke for some fifteen minutes!”
“And that is a quarter of my hourly rate.”
I dug through my reticule, grumbling. I had the money, and Lord knew Peg needed it more than I. But it was the principle of the thing. After paying her for her time, I stomped along the hall and down the steps.
Mr. Ryder’s face cleared when I appeared. “Are you all right?”
“Fine.” I looked to the high desk Mrs. McKendrick had been standing behind before but it stood empty. I turned to the doorman. “Do you know if Miss Rogerson was here early Saturday morning?”
He stared at me blankly before opening the front door. Message received. I eagerly stepped into the sunlight. The day was warm and the heat felt cleansing. I shook out my skirts. “What’s the going rate for a prostitute? I believe I was robbed.”
Mr. Ryder planted a hand on the building and bent his leg, examining the bottom of his shoe. “I take it your questioning was without fruit. You shouldn’t have gone in there. If anyone were to see you, your reputation would be damaged.”
I dipped my chin and gave him a look. As someone who had tried his best to impugn said reputation in order to close my club, he should know better than anyone how absurd his statement was.
I already had a reputation for eccentricity and unladylike behavior.
If I weren’t the aunt of a duke and didn’t have piles of money, I would have already received the cut direct from high society.
“What are you doing?”
He straightened, frowning. “There was something sticky on that floor.”
I adjusted my bonnet. “You didn’t have to come in with me.”
“I couldn’t in good conscience let you enter that establishment alone.” He gave me his arm.
I blew out a breath. Ever the gentleman.
And for once, he might have been right. Being seen visiting a brothel might have been too much, even for my reputation.
I should have come under the cover of night when the only people seeing me enter such an establishment would have their own reasons for keeping silent.
“It did bear fruit,” I felt the need to inform him as we crossed the street. Rather small fruit, that might be full of holes. “She told me the victim’s brother-in-law was most unhappy with Trent’s visits to Miss Rogerson. Was quite angry at the insult to his sister.”
Mr. Ryder stared down a hackney driver who drove his horses a bit too near. “That’s understandable. Not exactly a strong motive for murder, however. Unfaithfulness in marriage is all too frequent.”
I nodded to Ernest to open the carriage door, my jaw tight. “Yes.”
Mr. Ryder sucked in a breath. “I apologize. I didn’t mean—”
“Of course.” I kept my gaze on Ernest as he unfolded the coach steps. Mr. Ryder was far too decent to slide an intentionally cutting remark into a conversation. And he didn’t know all the secrets of my marriage but had only heard vile gossip. But he knew enough.
I allowed him to help me into my carriage. He leaned his arm on the open doorway. “Lady Mary—”
“No need. Whatever you are about to say, I have no need to hear it.” I dropped my reticule on the seat next to me. “I know you meant nothing with your remark and I won’t have you purifying your words around me.”
The corners of his chocolate brown eyes crinkled.
“I hardly think that’s possible when most of our conversations revolve around murder and immorality.
” He sobered. “I must warn you against continuing your investigation in such sordid locales. Prostitution isn’t merely immoral in and of itself.
There are people who greatly profit from it, and where there is money, there is always someone willing to do violence to protect it. ”
I cocked my head. “Has Mrs. McKendrick threatened you for trying to convert her girls away from their work?” Even with all the dainty frills of her gown, the softness of her body, I could envision the brothel’s manager becoming violent.
There was something hard in her eyes, and all those frills could conceal any number of weapons.
“Mrs. McKendrick doesn’t have the authority to make that kind of decision.” Ryder straightened.
Meaning someone else did. “Who owns that brothel?” I examined Ryder’s hard face, and my stomach sank. I knew what he was going to say.
“Edric Cooke.” He looked away. “He owns many such establishments, and he is not a merciful man. You would do well to avoid him and any who work for him.”
Cooke. One of London’s crime lords. A man who’d assisted me in the past but of whom I held no illusions. If it ever became profitable for him to stop me, he wouldn’t hesitate.
I cocked my head. “Yet you take no such precaution yourself.” I knew there was some connection between Mr. Ryder and Mr. Cooke, one I couldn’t fathom.
How the president of a morality committee had become acquainted with the head of one of London’s largest criminal enterprises I couldn’t even begin to guess at.
But before he’d retired, Mr. Ryder had been an attorney.
Perhaps he had met Mr. Cooke in a professional capacity.
“I think he finds my efforts amusing.” Ryder blew out a breath. “In any case, I would counsel you to—”
“Leave the matter to the magistrate and focus my attention on more appropriate activities.” I flapped my hand at him. I’d heard it all before. “You do realize those activities would be the management of my club, the one you find so distasteful?”
Ryder shut the door and leaned in through the open window. “I’ve learned with you, Lady Mary, that one must pick one’s battles. Right now, The Minerva Club is the safer alternative.”
I’d found that too many people’s idea of safety meant cutting out any of the interesting bits of life. I had no desire to die before my time, but I wasn’t willing to sacrifice truly living until I was six feet under.
I shouted our next stop up to Ernest. “As always, I thank you for your concern. I’m sure it was kindly meant.”
“And I’m sure you will disregard it completely.” He sighed.
I repressed my smile. “At least we can take comfort in the fact that we know each other so well.” I rapped the ceiling of the carriage with my walking stick.
We jolted forward. Mr. Ryder jerked backwards so he wouldn’t be caught in the window, an amusingly shocked expression on his face, and disappeared from view.
His words lingered, however.
The darkly charming Mr. Cooke owned the brothel that my victim had patronized. The one in which Mr. Trent had harmed one of Cooke’s girls.
I had only met Edric Cooke a handful of times. Had corresponded with him once. When he’d understood my club wasn’t a threat to his business, he had been nothing but chivalrous in his dealings with me.
But Ryder was right. Cooke wasn’t a merciful man. What might a man like him do to make the person who’d harmed one of his investments pay for his offense?