Chapter Twenty-Five
Lady Mary
I took the proffered axe, but my heart wasn’t in my throw. The blade barely nicked the target and thunked into the wall behind, taking a wedge out of the plaster.
“Ooh, bad luck, that.” Mrs. Talbot winced. “Mr. Hardcourt is returning next week to give us more lessons.”
My jaw ached from how tightly I clenched it.
“Yes, I know. I wrote up the club’s schedule.
Speaking of which, we are to have another lesson on the preparation of gun powder.
” I looked at her eyebrows. “You might want to absent yourself that day.” And with a nod, I stepped out of the way so the next woman could try her hand at axe throwing.
I only felt a little bit guilty at the scarlet flush that crept up Mrs. Talbot’s face as I left.
The woman didn’t deserve my ire, but today was testing my patience.
I’d written up everything I’d learned in my investigation, the facts, my suspicions, my theories, and had it delivered to Sir Kelsey. It had filled a full three pages, and he wrote me back one line: Thank you. Interesting.
Then there had been more whisperings and significant looks among my servants, most especially Marie and Burton. When asked, repeatedly, if there was something I should know, my question had been dismissed. Ignored.
I slammed the door to the Archery Room, which should have been named the spiky-instruments-flying-through-the-air room, as we didn’t discriminate on what type of weapons we threw. But that would have been too wordy.
Spinning on my heel, I plodded down the hall. I wouldn’t stand for being ignored. When asked whether Marie or Burton should accompany me to the club, I had snapped in the negative.
Better to be alone than in the company of deceivers.
I detested not being included in matters.
“Lady Mary?” Bernard, the club’s doorman, toddled up to me, a large cloth sack in his hands.
“Yes?” I took a deep breath and tried again, taking the dagger out of my voice. “Yes, Bernard? What is it?”
“It’s arrived.” He held up the sack. “The equipment has arrived.”
As I’d only ordered one type of equipment recently, I knew just what he meant.
“Excellent. Follow me.” I turned on my heel and made my way to the Great Room.
Not all the chairs had been put away following our latest lecture, and a few scattered glasses and napkins needed cleaning up, but there was still plenty of space to experiment.
“Now,” I said, turning to Bernard, “let’s see what our magistrate likes about this so much. ”
Bernard set the sack down and pulled out three long clubs. Each had a slightly different head at the end. A box emerged next, and Bernard handed it to me. “The balls, milady.”
I took one out of the box and held it up to the light streaming through the high windows.
It was small, a leather pouch stuffed with what I was assured were the finest goose feathers in England.
Two rows of delicate stitching encircled the orb.
I dropped it to the ground and held out my hand for a club.
“Which one, milady?” Bernard tilted his head.
“Does it matter? Any of them.”
He passed the shortest one to me. It still felt unwieldy. I gripped the top of the shaft. “I don’t have a hole to aim for, but I don’t think that will matter.” I planted myself in front of the ball, raised the club, and brought it back down.
I blinked. The ball remained on the ground, unmolested.
I swung again. Missed again, saying something very unladylike in the process.
Bernard cleared his throat. “I believe it takes some practice, milady.”
My shoulders raised an inch. “Yes, I’m sure it does,” I snapped. I looked around. “Perhaps if I did have something to target, it would improve my aim.” I shoved my club into Bernard’s hand and marched to the nearest glass.
Of course, Sir Kelsey would enjoy such an unimaginative sport. Hitting a ball into a hole. How ridiculous.
I turned.
Bernard swung a club downward, the head of it tapping into the ball and sending it aloft. “How delightful.”
I gritted my teeth. “Don’t you have a front door to man?” I took the club from his hands. “Countless nonmembers might have infiltrated our club in your absence.”
“Yes, milady.” With a small bow, he left me to my practice session. It wasn’t five minutes later when he reappeared, delicately clearing his throat as I pounded the head of the club onto the floor in frustration.
“What now, Bernard?”
“His Grace, the Duke of Montague, here to see you, milady.” Bernard looked longingly at the golf clubs as he backed away.
I knew when his duties had ended, he, and probably every worker of the club would be back here practicing their swings, though why anyone would want to play this stupid, silly game was beyond me.
Marcus took in the scene. “I don’t believe abusing the equipment will improve your performance.”
“But it makes me feel better.” I took the peevishness out of my voice. “Now, how is little Mary?”
He strode to me and kissed my cheek. “Better. Elizabeth and I finally took a full night’s sleep last night.”
I looked up at his face. He did look rested, and my shoulders relaxed.
“That is good news.” I picked up another club.
Perhaps the other one was defective. “What brings you to The Minerva Club?” I narrowed my gaze, focusing all my attention on that tiny ball, and swung.
The head of my club caught the top of the leather sac, making it lurch a couple of inches from its original placement.
I threw the club at the wall, but Marcus stretched out his arm to catch it.
He arched a golden eyebrow. “Need you ask, Aunt May?” he said, using his pet name for me. “The intelligence of your finding a second body has been making the rounds. Are you all right?”
“Of course.” I frowned. I probably should be feeling more disturbed than I was. I might be a tad too nonchalant about discovering dead bodies. I tucked that thought away to consider later. “I don’t suppose you were acquainted with this victim, were you? A Mr. Fenton Hicks.”
Marcus shook his head. “He was the manager of Trent’s factory, I understand, but I know nothing else about him.” He toed the ball back into alignment with the glass I’d placed on its side near the wall. “I could look into him, if you’d like. You know—”
“No.” I flapped my hand. “I’m already knee-deep in this mess.
It would take too long for another to learn the ins and outs of the case.
” And besides, this investigation had dug its way under my skin.
I couldn’t just hand it over now. “The magistrate, Sir Kelsey, most likely wouldn’t appreciate yet another person looking into the matter, either. ”
“A rule follower, then?”
I smiled. My nephew had as much patience with pedants as I did. “I’ve come across worse,” I conceded.
“Have you learned anything?” Marcus asked. “I am available for consultations.” He stood behind the ball and languidly took a swing at it. It flew five feet through the air in a neat arc then rolled to the glass, kissing its rim before settling to a stop.
My eyes widened. “How…?”
“Sin has installed a couple of holes in his estate up in Scotland.” He shrugged. “I’ve played a couple of times.”
I wanted to think that my nephew was bragging.
That he’d actually dedicated months of his life to learning golf at his friend’s home and that explained his nearly perfect stroke.
But I knew he wasn’t. He had the most irritating aptitude to excel at almost anything he tried with little to no practice.
I grabbed the club from his hand and shoved it back in its sack.
Marcus watched my movements. “I’ve found that anger is oftentimes used to cover fears we might feel. You were a bit waspish with Bernard.”
And now with him. I stared into the sack, my shoulders drooping. I had been acting like a termagant these past days to those around me. Not everyone deserved it. “It isn’t fear I feel.”
“What then?” He rested his hand on my shoulder.
What was I feeling? Like time was running out.
Not just with this investigation, but for me, too, perhaps.
I enjoyed Marie’s presence in my house. Burton’s, as well.
The conversations with my other servants usually revolved around remedies to the various aches we all felt.
Marie and Burton were enthusiastic and full of life.
Even their hushed secrets had a sort of charm.
Whatever they were up to held an excitement for them that I hadn’t felt in years.
So while I appreciated their youth, it also served as a reminder of what I no longer was. No longer had.
I drew my shoulder blades back. And that was a ridiculous thing to feel.
Someday Marie and Burton would be complaining about their sore backs, as well.
We all had our turn at this life, and there was no use crying when your turn was coming close to an end.
I sniffed. No wonder I preferred ill humor to self-pity.
“So? A consultation?” I asked.
He gave me one last look before letting it go.
I collected the ball and glass. “Mr. Trent was stabbed by a metal file in his home study in the early morning two Saturdays past. Around four. The coroner said he couldn’t have survived longer than a half hour, and he landed on my doorstep at half past.”
Marcus inclined his head, acknowledging my arithmetic.
“Trent was patronizing the services of one Peg Rogerson, a light-skirt at The Red Chemise, a brothel in the Tower Hill neighborhood.” That bawdy house was a thirty-minute carriage ride from Trent’s house.
Closer to his factory. As I didn’t have any information confirming where she was at any time that morning, I supposed it didn’t really matter.
“Miss Rogerson was injured by Trent in…a delicate position, and demanded compensation. She also apparently wanted to be given carte blanche, but Trent denied both requests.”
“Understandable. Wealthy men don’t make mistresses of Tower Hill prostitutes.”