Chapter Twenty-Seven
Brett
“You didn’t have to come,” Brett said for the third time. Marie had accidentally brushed into the entry wall of The Red Chemise, and she was scrubbing at her arm as though it had been covered in rats.
They’d had another lovely day together. He knew Lady Mary was irritated with them, but her pique had worked in their favor when she’d gone off to her club alone.
He could hardly complain when she’d sent a note requesting him to ask Miss Rogerson for her alibi for Hicks’s murder, not when he’d had an afternoon of secluded strolls and illicit kisses with his Marie.
“If you think I’m letting you come to this place alone again,” she whispered, “you’ve taken leave of your senses.”
“I never actually came in here the last time,” he whispered back.
“Even more reason for me to accompany you.” Marie’s lips pressed into a white slash.
Mrs. McKendrick leaned her elbows on the high desk that took up most of the narrow foyer, her bosom straining against her bodice. “Peg will only have ten minutes between patrons. Not much time to talk, unless you want to pay for a full session with her.”
“Ten minutes will be fine.” Marie’s smile was brittle and she pressed closer to his side.
Brett leaned down and put his lips next to her ear.
“I thought nothing shocked you after growing up in the country. That you were well-acquainted with things that would make other young misses blush.” He thought about Marie’s blushes, and how far down her neck they spread, and shifted his weight uncomfortably.
She gave him a reproachful look, one that made the edges of his lips twitch. “I’m not shocked. It doesn’t mean I have to enjoy visiting such a place.”
A man sashayed down the stairs, adjusting the buttons of his waistcoat. The doorman for the establishment followed after him.
“See you next week, Mrs. McKendrick,” the customer said. He shot Marie a curious look, Brett a disapproving one, then slipped out the door.
Brett’s shoulders drew back. Taking Marie to such an establishment probably wasn’t proper, but he didn’t think the man had call to look down on him, considering the activity he had just been engaged in.
“Show them up to Peg, Bosko.” Mrs. McKendrick shut a ledger that rested on the desk. “Then come down to the kitchen. I’m making some tea.”
Bosko didn’t answer, but dutifully led them up the stairs and to a room halfway down the hallway. He knocked and the door swung inward. “Some people here to talk to you. Mrs. McKendrick said it was all right.”
It had only been all right because Brett had passed a sizeable note to Mrs. McKendrick when making the request. If that had only bought him ten minutes, he didn’t want to think what a full session cost.
“You again?” Peg asked when the doorman had left. “I don’t do couples.”
Marie started coughing, and Brett tapped her back. “As the doorman said, we’re here to talk. Have you heard about what happened to Fenton Hicks?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Who?”
Marie cleared her throat. “Fenton Hicks. The manager of Mr. Trent’s factory. We know you knew him.”
“Oh. Him.” Peg shrugged, and her silky wrapper slid down her shoulder, exposing an expanse of skin.
Marie’s body tensed next to his. Brett rested his hand on her lower back, trying to communicate he wanted to see no woman’s bare shoulder but hers.
“What happened to him?” Peg asked. “He finally lose his placement?”
“He was killed.” Brett examined her face, looking for surprise. “Stabbed, just like his employer.”
Her lips formed a pout. “How sad for him.”
“Sadder for his wife,” Marie grated out.
Peg chuckled. “Perhaps not. Vanessa entertained her husband once and told me all about it. She’s better off.”
Brett ground his teeth. “You don’t seem disturbed by another man of your acquaintance being murdered. These men didn’t die peacefully.”
“What of it?” She pushed up from her bed and stalked to her tiny dressing table. “What does it have to do with me?”
Marie tilted her head, one of her crimson curls kissing against her shoulder. “That depends on where you were last night. You didn’t have an alibi for Trent’s murder. Do you have one for Hicks’s?”
Peg gripped a silver-handled hairbrush, her knuckles going white. “Get out.”
“We will leave you be forever if you just tell us where you were, and if anyone can verify that,” Brett said.
Peg raised the hairbrush, cocking her arm back.
Brett grabbed Marie and bundled her out the door. “If you ever want to talk—”
Peg slammed the door in his face.
A door down the hall opened and a young woman peeked out. Too young. She disappeared back into her room.
“Well.” Marie tugged at the hem of her pelisse. “News of Mr. Hicks’s death didn’t seem to affect her overmuch.”
Brett took her hand and led her down the hallway. “Indeed. But then, should it? She barely knew the man.”
Marie chewed on her bottom lip. “We didn’t do so well learning where she was at the time of Hicks’s death. Lady Mary will be disappointed.”
Brett was less concerned with Lady Mary’s disappointment and more with the fact a killer who’d attacked Marie was still running free.
They descended the staircase to find the foyer empty. Mrs. McKendrick and Bosko must still be taking their tea down below.
Marie turned for the front door, but Brett pulled her back. “One moment,” he said. “I want to see something.”
With an eye on the door to the lower floors, he circled behind the high desk and flipped open the ledger that lay there.
Yes. Just what he’d wanted. He began flipping backwards to the correct date.
“What are you doing?” Marie whispered.
“Mrs. McKendrick keeps records of the clients who patronize this establishment, as well as the women who…entertain them.” He ran his finger down one page and flipped to the next.
Marie peered over his shoulder. “It’s so neatly kept. Name, date, time…is that how much it costs to…?” She made a gesture with her hand. “You know?”
The edges of Brett’s lips twitched. “Some of these girls make very good money.” More often than not, however, the house took more than its fair share.
“Cor, I went into the wrong line of work.”
Brett leveled a glare at her. “No, you didn’t.”
She sighed. “No, I didn’t. Being a maid suits me fine.”
“Here.” He found the night Hicks was murdered. “Suzie, Hibby, Mary, Lizzie….” He finally found Peg’s name. He scanned until he found all instances of her name. “She’s marked in the books as having a client at ten that night, midnight, and two.”
“So orderly.” Marie sniffed.
“She was kept busy, but there would be enough time.” Brett tapped the page. “It is only a ten minute carriage ride to the factory from here. She could have gone between engagements.”
“Wot night?” The voice came from their feet.
Marie jumped.
Brett was hard-pressed not to leap back, as well. Bending down, he looked into the nook beneath the desk. It was Harold, the boy he’d paid to point out Peg on the street. “What are you doing down there?”
The boy shrugged. “It’s warm, innit?”
It was unseasonably warm both inside and out, but Brett supposed it was better than huddling on the street.
“Wot night do you want to know about Peg?” he asked. “I can tell you if she was here or not.”
Marie knelt next to him. “What do you know about it?”
The boy tapped his nose. “I know things. You went up to see Peg just now, didn’t you? You was asking about her before.” He nodded at Brett. “I know there’s been murders. Wot night?”
“Monday night or early yesterday morning.” Brett crossed his arms over his chest. “Don’t you have a home to go to?”
“Never mind that,” the boy said. He shook his head. “T’weren’t Peg. She was here all that night.”
“How would you know that?” Marie asked. “You can’t see everyone’s comings and goings.”
“I can.” The boy pointed at a crack in the desk’s wood. “I can see the front door from here. But that don’t matter. I know because I was with Peg when she weren’t working.”
Marie’s jaw dropped open. “You were what?”
“Teaching me my letters, she is.” The boy sat up straight, lifting his chin. “Every night this past week. When Peg don’t have a customer, she’s helping me to learn.” His shoulders drooped. “Only reason I’m not up with her now is I dropped my book in a bucket of water I was carrying for the maid.”
Marie rocked back on her heels. “Miss Rogerson is teaching you how to read?”
The tone in her voice matched the disbelief Brett felt. Peg didn’t seem the charitable type.
“I’m getting good,” the boy said, eyes narrowed.
“I’m certain you are.” Marie patted his shoulder, then used the edge of the desk to pull herself to standing. “And you’re absolutely certain it was two nights past that you were with Miss Rogerson?”
The boy scowled. “It was only two nights ago. Course I’m sure.”
Brett pulled some coin from his pocket and gave it to him. He hoped it was enough to keep the boy from telling Mrs. McKendrick that Brett had been poking about her books. “Thank you. You’ve been most helpful.” Taking Marie’s arm, they left The Red Chemise.
Marie blew out a breath as they climbed into the waiting hackney. “I believe him.”
“Yes.” He settled next to her and bumped her shoulder with his own. “This is a good thing. We’ve managed to eliminate a suspect.”
She rested her head on his shoulder, and something in his chest squeezed. “You’re right, only it doesn’t have the same satisfaction, does it, eliminating a suspect as it does catching the culprit?”
Brett pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “That will come.” As for him, he was done chasing murderers for the night. All he wanted was to go home and make love to his wife.