Chapter Thirteen
Lady Mary
His guest chairs were still abominably low. I took a pillow from the settee along the wall and plumped it before putting it on the chair cushion and sitting. Southey was being uncharacteristically incurious and settled by my feet without sniffing out his new surroundings.
It seemed even dogs understood to tread carefully before one of the most dangerous men in London.
Cooke sat across from me, his chair several inches higher than mine and regal as a throne. “I assume your visit has to do with the body you found at your doorstep.”
I pulled my foot from underneath Southey’s panting mouth. He tended to drool when agitated, and as Cooke was the one agitating him, better Cooke’s rug suffer the consequences than my kidskin boot. “Why do you assume that?”
“You only seem to contact me when there’s been a murder.” He leaned back, his jacket stretching tightly across his broad shoulders. “More’s the pity.”
As I had no response to that, I proceeded. “Were you acquainted with Mr. Trent?” I asked.
“No.”
I waited, but he didn’t offer more. I thought about how to word my next question. I’d never known Mr. Cooke to outright lie to me, but he didn’t readily offer up information, either.
“Were you aware of the man?” I tried again. “Ever heard his name mentioned?”
“I hear lots of names mentioned.” His small smile and the hint of Irish in his voice did everything they could to charm. I wasn’t immune to such things. Fortunately, I’d had many years to build up defenses against charming rogues.
“So you did know of him.” I ran my finger over the falcon’s beak on my stick. “What is your impression of the type of man he was?”
Cooke steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “What is your interest in the matter? Not every murder deserves your bewitching attentions.”
“The man died on my doorstep. His last wish seemed to be to speak with me. I want to know why.”
“Are you saying you weren’t acquainted with the man?” His dark eyebrows winged up.
I frowned. At some point, my interrogation of him had turned around on me. “I understand that Trent was involved with one of your…girls.”
His lips twitched. “I have many people who work for me. I can’t know of every interaction between them and the public.”
I’d bet he knew of most of them. Cooke hadn’t become lord of a vast criminal organization by ignoring the details.
Aside from gambling and prostitution, he was also involved in smuggling, theft, and protection schemes, or so I’d heard.
His name was usually uttered in hushed tones.
Noblemen came to him for loans the banks wouldn’t offer.
“Peg Rogerson. She works at one of your bawdy houses. She says Trent injured her, making her lose wages.” My mouth twisted. “Trent wasn’t receptive to the idea of compensating her for her loss.”
“Most men aren’t.” Cooke adjusted his cravat pin, a solid-gold lion’s head. “You don’t suspect this Miss Rogerson of stabbing Mr. Trent? Especially not if she’s injured, as you say.”
“Perhaps she had a champion.” I dipped my chin and looked at him over my spectacles.
Cooke burst out laughing. “A champion? Me? That is something of which I’ve never been accused.”
“But you have been accused of murder before.”
His laughter tapered out. “This is why I like you, Lady Mary. Most people tiptoe about me. You, on the other hand, seem to have no control over your mouth. You’d best be careful, however. Not everyone will find your forthrightness as appealing as I do.”
My abdomen tightened. Jousting with Mr. Cooke was like dancing with a tiger. He could be soft and playful one moment and rip your throat out the next. I gripped my walking stick more tightly. “What is your procedure when someone hurts one of your workers? How do you handle it?”
His piercing blue eyes bore into me. “It is my understanding that the injury was unintentional.”
“And if it hadn’t been?” The rumors about my foolishness might be true.
Even Peg hadn’t claimed that Trent had hurt her on purpose.
But it wasn’t often I didn’t know the measure of a man, and Cooke’s full character still eluded me.
I had a hard time reconciling the stories I’d heard of him with the friendly interactions we usually had.
“I don’t traffic in hypotheticals.” He dragged his fingers through his steel-gray hair. “If you are asking if I killed Mr. Trent, I did not.”
“What of Mr. Trent’s wife or business manager, Fenton Hicks? Do you know either of them?”
“I do not, although I’ve heard the widow is quite charming.
” There was a knock on the door and Jocko entered.
He went to Cooke and whispered something in his ear.
Cooke nodded and dismissed him. “Wait,” he called when Jocko was at the door.
“Lady Mary, can I offer you some refreshments? My cook at home likes to send me to work with a delectable luncheon. I still might have a tart or two left over that I can send Jocko for.”
My eye twitched. “That is uncalled for,” I said. “Is that jab to get me back for the murder accusation?” I had tried to forget that Cooke had stolen Cook Clem out from under me. The chef was a genius with sauces and especially desserts. It was insupportable to be taunted with my loss now.
Southey leaned against my leg, and I bent down to scratch his head.
Cooke gave me a shark’s smile. “I wouldn’t dream of such a thing. No?” He nodded to Jocko, who closed the door behind him.
“And what of Driscoll Gray or George Platt?” I tried to keep the peevishness from my voice. “Do you know either of them?”
“I know of Platt. He’s patronized a few of my clubs.” He twisted a ruby ring on his finger. “Not as much now that I’ve banned that friend of his.”
Mr. Platt likely had many friends, but as I had only met the one. I asked, “Pierce Randall?”
“That’s him. I didn’t like his attitude. Spoke a bit too much to my workers, trying to create grievances against me when none existed. Mocked the other patrons, usually without them realizing it.”
“Really?” I tapped my thumb on my stick. A reformer? I could understand why Cooke wouldn’t want that in his hells. The rich didn’t want to feel badly about their good fortune while indulging in vice. “Have you heard anything about Trent’s murder? Is there any on dit on the streets?”
He grinned widely. “I have not. If you would like me to ask around, I can do so. Just remember that I expect favors to be returned.”
A chill danced down my spine. I didn’t want to imagine what a crime lord might want in return. I stood. “Thank you, but I am not yet at that point. As always, Mr. Cooke, it has been most interesting.”
He rose to his feet. “A pleasure, Lady Mary.” He strode around his desk and opened the door. “A word of warning before you leave, however. I know you’re curious why Trent came to you, but have you considered that the reason he did is what got him killed?”
I should have considered that, but I hadn’t. Mr. Cooke’s next words sent ants skittering down my spine.
“And if you discover it, you might just be putting yourself in the killer’s sights, as well.”