Chapter Twenty-One
Lady Mary
The arch for the king’s coronation had been taken down, but the newly scrubbed stone walls of Westminster Abbey still gleamed bright.
The clock on the left tower of the abbey tolled the hour.
Midday in September on a bench in the abbey grounds couldn’t have been more pleasant.
The sky was dotted with plump clouds. A cooling breeze stirred the locks framing my face.
A nearby rose bush gave the air a lovely scent.
Unfortunately, I could enjoy none of it. While the day had everything a Londoner could want, it didn’t have the man I sought.
“Confound it.” I looked down at Southey. “Can’t you sniff out Mr. Plummer? You’re supposed to be a hunter.”
And I was hunting alone today, much to my chagrin.
I didn’t mind Marie or Burton not wanting to accompany me.
I was quite accustomed to traversing London on my own.
No, it was the mystery of it all. They’d each left a note requesting to take this day as their free one instead of their normal day off, with no indication of why.
The not knowing made me more irritable than usual.
“Lady Mary. Imagine meeting you here,” a familiar voice said from behind me.
I turned.
Mr. Ryder stood before me, leaning on his own walking stick, a plain, unembellished black one.
I ran my thumb along the gold mane of the lion’s head that topped mine. “London is a large city yet we keep running into each other. What are the odds?”
The president of the moralist society inclined his head. “Whatever they are, they seem to be in my favor. How lovely to see you today.”
“And you.” I tilted my head as Southey trotted up to sniff his boots. “Is that a new coat? It’s quite tasteful.” That was a bit of an understatement. The navy-blue morning coat fit snugly around his lean figure, showcasing strong shoulders and a flat stomach.
Mr. Ryder wasn’t wont to spend his money on fine tailoring. I pushed my glasses up my nose. I wonder what had changed.
“It is, thank you.” He cleared his throat. He bent and patted Southey’s side. “What brings you here this fine day? Has this become a usual walk for you? I believe we met here once before.”
So we had. At the time, the meeting hadn’t been welcome. I rose. “I am looking for a man. His office said he liked to walk here.” And thanks to an oil painting of the three partners hanging on the office wall, I knew just what Mr. Plummer looked like. “I am looking for a barrister.”
“I hope you don’t have legal troubles.” The wrinkles at the corners of his chocolate eyes deepened. “I do know quite a few good attorneys if you need a recommendation.”
As a former attorney himself, I would hope so. In fact…. “I’m looking for one in particular. A Mr. Plummer. Do you know him?”
“Moderately well.” Ryder tipped his hat back and scratched at the patch of white hair at his temple. “He’s mainly in business litigation. I hope no one is suing you…. Oh.” He frowned. “This is about Mr. Trent.”
It was irritating when one’s opponents were clever. “Indeed.” I gave Southey a bit more lead. If the dog exercised his teeth on Ryder’s trousers, well, that was the consequence to approaching a woman and her dog in public. “Do you see him? I was told he likes to walk here on his lunch hour.”
“He only likes to walk here because it is on the way to his favorite luncheon spot, the Royal Brew,” Ryder said. “I’ve eaten there with him once or twice.”
I pointed my walking stick north. “It is in that direction?”
“I should say yes.” Ryder resettled his hat on the crown of his head. “It would be more fitting for you to waste an afternoon wearing out the soles of your boots searching for the coffeehouse than continuing your investigation.”
My chest tightened. “So then it’s this way?” I turned, and the shaft of my stick smacked into a strange man’s chest.
“Oi, look what you’re doing!”
I grimaced. “I apologize, but with all the space in this park you had to walk this close to me?”
The man reddened. “You’re blaming me?”
Southey abandoned Ryder’s boot and trotted to my side.
He placed himself between me and the irate pedestrian, the fur on his back raising.
It was quite sweet that he came if he thought I was in trouble.
I didn’t imagine a dog of his size would actually be useful in a scrap, but it was sweet nonetheless.
Ryder interceded. “Of course, she isn’t,” he said smoothly, “but as you’ve suffered no harm how about we all just go about our days. Hmm?”
He offered his arm to me. “Lady Mary? I believe you are in want of refreshment.”
I handed him Southey’s lead, then took his elbow. We marched from the square with chins held high. Ernest drove my carriage slowly, trailing behind us. When we had gone a sufficient distance, I glanced behind. The man fortunately wasn’t following and had continued on his day per Ryder’s advice.
“Phew.” I chuckled lightly. “I thought for a moment that I might actually need an attorney.”
Ryder pursed his lips. “I’m actually surprised you haven’t needed one before now.”
My amusement faded, and I scowled. “You are taking me to the coffeehouse, aren’t you?”
“You won’t beat any other unsuspecting gentlemen with your cane if I do?”
I sniffed. “I will not.” Probably.
He sighed. “Then I suppose I could do with refreshment, as well. And perhaps fortune will favor us. Plummer might not be there.”
Mr. Plummer was there, ensconced at a corner table, a jam tart in one hand and a piece of paper in the other. He looked up when Mr. Ryder called to him, blinking in confusion. “Ryder? Did we have an appointment? Have you returned to the practice of law?”
“No to both those questions.” Ryder scooped Southey up when he made a leap for a ham sandwich on a nearby table. “I’d like to introduce you to Lady Mary Cavindish. Lady Mary, this is Mr. George Plummer, barrister.”
I inclined my head. “A pleasure to meet you.”
He started to rise, his hip banging against the table.
His teacup toppled over, sending the dark brew rushing toward a pile of papers in the corner.
“Damn and blast.” He scooped up the papers, then tossed his napkin over the liquid.
He blotted at the table. “That’s the second cup of tea I’ve lost today. ”
Lady Mary waved over a server. “Miss, can you replace Mr. Plummer’s tea? I’ll have a coffee and Mr. Ryder will have…?”
“Tea, as well.” He pulled out a chair for me and I sat. He took another and placed Southey at his feet.
Mr. Plummer organized the papers in a clear corner of the table and settled back down. “What can I do for you, Ryder? No legal trouble, I hope. I told you your opinion pieces in the paper would ruffle the wrong feathers.”
I gave Mr. Ryder a look over my spectacles. As a few of those opinion pieces had been directed against me and my club, I could attest to that fact.
Ryder cleared his throat. “No. It is Lady Mary who wished to speak with you.”
“Indeed.” I waited as the server delivered our order.
I looked forlornly at their drinks. I much preferred tea to coffee but coffee seemed more appropriate when investigating a murder.
More businesslike. “I wished to speak with you about Mr. Trent and his lawsuit against Mr. Gray. You do know Trent is dead, yes?”
“Yes, of course. In fact…” Plummer dug through his stack of papers and pulled a bundle from the middle.
Jam from his fingers smeared onto the pages.
He rubbed at it, managing to make the damage worse.
“Blast. Well, the clerk will still file it. Here is the order ending the suit. I conferred with the widow. As she is now the owner of the factory, she could have cause to maintain the lawsuit, but she declined.”
Ryder stirred some cream into his tea. “Should you be speaking to us regarding private client communications?”
I aimed a kick at him under the table. Why had the man accompanied me if he was going to try to hinder my efforts?
A sharp yelp was my response, and my stomach tensed.
I bent under the table and petted the dog.
“Sorry, Southey. You were not my intended target.” When I righted myself, Ryder gave me an arch look.
I ignored him and turned a smile on the attorney. “Surely as Mr. Trent is dead….”
Mr. Plummer nodded. “And as the widow has confirmed that she will not be pursuing any action against Mr. Gray, the suit is officially over.”
I stirred two lumps of sugar into my coffee, considered, and added a third. “Can you tell me if you thought the lawsuit had a good chance of succeeding? Would Mr. Trent have bankrupted Mr. Gray if it had proceeded?”
Mr. Plummer hooked his thumb in his waistcoat pocket. “One can never tell in such matters. I had thought we had a very decent chance of success.”
“Had?” Ryder asked. “Past tense?”
Mr. Plummer nodded as he took another bite of his tart.
“Edwin Trent came to me a couple days before he died,” he said around his mouthful.
“He was most upset. He’d just learned that Gray was going to argue contributory negligence as his defense.
Argue that the contamination likely occurred because of Trent’s poor canning practices instead of Gray’s defective tins. ”
My stomach rumbled. “Mr. Trent knew of this?” I caught the server’s eye and pointed at Mr. Plummer’s half-eaten tart, then held up one finger.
The lawyer nodded. “Apparently in he and Gray’s most recent row, Gray had told him. Now, I don’t recommend engaging with opposing parties. That’s what attorneys are for. But Trent and Gray couldn’t seem to help themselves.”
“Was there truth to the accusation?” Ryder leaned forward. “Was the incident Trent’s fault?”
“That would be up to a jury to decide.” Mr. Plummer shrugged. “But it didn’t help our case. Especially when one of the accusers was Mr. Trent’s own manager. That certainly wouldn’t have helped our case.”
I coughed on my sip of coffee. “Excuse me, but Mr. Trent knew that Mr. Hicks was going to testify against him?”
Mr. Plummer nodded.
I pursed my lips. Hicks had a grudge against Trent over his salary.
He’d agreed to testify against his employer, and his employer had discovered it.
Their relationship was a powder keg. The tiniest spark would have set it off.
Once Trent learned of Hicks’s betrayal, he must have confronted him.
Dismissed him, perhaps. Leaving Hicks furious and desperate.
I jumped to my feet. “Thank you, Mr. Plummer. You’ve been most helpful.”
Ryder rose, as well. “Did you tell the authorities about this?” He dug into his pocket and tossed some coin on the table.
Mr. Plummer blinked. “About Mr. Hicks’s proposed testimony? I think so. Perhaps. Well, if anyone asked. I can’t remember.”
I reached for Southey’s lead. “I need to go.”
Ryder kept it hostage in his grip. “I’ll go with you,” he said grimly. “You’re going to have a talk with Mr. Hicks, aren’t you?”
I nodded and skirted a table, making my way to the exit.
“Didn’t you want a tart?” Ryder nodded to the server who carried one toward Plummer’s table.
I gazed longingly at the pastry, golden and crusted with sugar. My mouth watered. I straightened my spine. “No.” Some things came before my stomach’s desire. And confronting a likely killer was one of them. Mr. Trent would never eat another tart again.
I did take note of the coffeehouse’s location, however. When this was all over, I’d return and try that fruit tart.
Ernest saw us coming and jumped down from the driver’s seat of the carriage. He opened the door. “Where to now, milady?”
“The magistrate’s office,” Ryder said firmly.
“Mr. Trent’s canning factory.” I jabbed the tip of my stick into the pavement.
Ryder gripped the back of his neck. “Be reasonable. Let the authorities handle this.”
“The men of Bow Street have many good qualities, but timeliness isn’t one of them.
” I bounced on my toes. “They’re a bureaucracy like any other.
I feel we don’t have much time. Hicks could flee, or hurt someone else, while the authorities process our statements.
” And there was that wager of mine and Sir Kelsey’s.
Ernest’s gaze bounced between the two of us, as though he were watching a badminton match, eager to see who would win.
He should have known better. He’d been in my employ over twenty years.
“Your afternoon is your own, but this carriage and I are going to the Trent Canning Company. You can go to the magistrate,” I told Ryder, a hint of condescension in my voice, “and I will track down Hicks.”
I took Ernest’s hand and climbed into my carriage.
Ryder picked Southey up. “You know very well that isn’t happening,” he grumbled and climbed in after me.
Ryder was silent for many minutes after the carriage had started moving. “This is a poor idea,” he finally said. “The man could be a killer.”
“Yes.” That was the entire point of pursuing Hicks. “And there will be you, Ernest, and me there to confront him. And Southey.” I gave the dog a look. He seemed to have forgiven me for the accidental boot to his side.
“I appreciate your faith in my abilities to detain a man.” Ryder blew out a breath. “It has, however, been quite some years since I have engaged in one-to-one combat. I will assume the same for your man, Ernest.”
“We have the numbers on our side,” I said stoutly. My confidence lasted all the way to the factory. It lasted as the four of us approached the office door and pushed inside. It faltered a bit at the eerie silence that met us.
“She still hasn’t paid her workers, I see.” I shook my head. What good was advice if the recipient refused to take it? “Hallo? Mr. Hicks?” I opened the factory door and called again, only hearing my echo in response.
“I’ll check the floor,” Ernest said. He took off his cap as he trotted past me. He made a tour of the room, going up and down each aisle between the tables. He came back to stand before me. “Nothing.”
“Wouldn’t he have locked up when he left?” Ryder asked.
He would have. Or, he should have. Perhaps Hicks had become disgusted with not being paid, as well, and decided to walk off the job. He wouldn’t care if the factory was robbed. But something didn’t feel right. The silence seemed to hold a secret.
“Let’s check the upstairs office.” I led them to the narrow staircase.
Ryder handed me Southey’s lead and went up before me. Ernest took the rear. The only sound was Southey’s panting and the soft creaks of wood as we trod upon the steps.
“Mr. Hicks?” Ryder called as he summited.
I followed close on his heels. The sunlight streaming through the office windows was filtered by a light layer of dirt that coated the outside of the glass. It was enough, though. I’d not taken two steps when I saw him.
This time there was no question as to the murder weapon. The file stuck out of Fenton Hicks’s neck, a grim reminder of the triumph of iron over flesh.