Chapter Twenty-Nine
Lady Mary
“I insist you tell me what you know.” I tapped the toe of my boot on the parquet floor of the boutique.
Southey pounced on my foot, and I shook him off.
He, Jane, and I were making the rounds of the Burlington Arcade, the latest place for all the fashionable people to shop.
The knowing looks, the abruptly ended conversation whenever I entered a room from Jane and my other servants had become too much.
Jane had too much of an advantage at home, so I’d insisted she accompany me shopping in order to get my answers.
“Is there a mutiny underfoot in my house?”
Jane leaned on her cane and guffawed. “A mutiny? That assumes that you’re in control now.”
I exhaled sharply. There might be some truth to that, and that only irritated me further.
I’d had little enough sleep the night before.
I kept seeing the hackney bearing down on me, over and over again.
It didn’t help my disposition. “Enough of this nonsense.” I frowned at the dressmaker who sidled in our direction.
I lowered my voice. “If there is something afoot in my house, don’t you think I should know it? ”
“You want me to peach on people we care about?”
“Of course.” I tugged the hem of my gown from Southey’s teeth. “I would have no interest of you informing against anyone we didn’t care about.”
Jane toddled over to a display of embroidered shawls stacked on a shelf. “Have you noticed Cook has made a cake for dessert the past nights?”
“Yes.” They had been some of her best works, and I looked forward to what might be in store tonight. “What has that to do with anything?”
“Joe knows ever so many people along his morning route.” Jane fingered a blue cotton square before moving on. “He delivers his milk to the Doctors’ Commons and several clergymen.”
I scratched my head. “Jane, what are you going on about? What does your milkman’s route have to….”
Realization dawned. “Oh my Lord. You and the milkman are getting married?”
Jane wheezed. Her lined face puckered like she’d sucked on a tart lemon. “Me? Heavens no. I might like a chat with Joe every now and then but I’m much too settled to think of marriage now.”
A weight I hadn’t realized was on my shoulders lifted.
Jane had been with me since I was a child.
I wouldn’t know what to do without her. “Then why…” I narrowed my eyes, understanding curdling in my gut.
“Those little fools. They’ve married, haven’t they?
” I thought back to the day they’d both requested off.
If Burton had gone to the Doctors’ Commons early enough in the morning to get a common license, and if there was a minister available, he and Marie could have been married by noon.
A mature, well-dressed woman approached. The tassels on her silk tippet kissed the floor. “You wished to speak with me, milady?”
I bit off a peevish reply. I had asked to speak to the manager but her interruption right when I’d learned of my servants’ betrayal was most unwelcome.
Jane smirked and wobbled off to peruse the goods some more.
I forced a smile at the woman. “Yes, thank you. I saw a woman wearing a gown at the theatre last night that was simply divine. Her name was Mrs. Trent, I believe. I was wondering if perhaps you had made it for her?”
Southey prepared to pounce at one of the tassels, and I scooped him up. The dog hadn’t wanted me to leave without him, and I had to admit, since nearly being run down by a hackney, I hadn’t minded his company, either.
The woman tapped her lips. “Mrs. Trent. Mrs. Trent. No, I don’t believe she is one of my clients. But perhaps you’ve seen one of my gowns on Lady Derbyshire? She is the acknowledged star of society this season.”
I admitted that I hadn’t and escaped as quickly as I could before I bought another gown I didn’t need. I put Southey back down and waited for Jane.
The afternoon was stifling, even under the covered colonnade, and I walked briskly to the next stop, which was only two shops down from the entrance of the arcade. I could see Ernest sitting atop the carriage on the street, shouting at someone out of view.
Jane huffed behind me. “Stop walking so fast. This isn’t a race.”
If it were, I’d win. I sniffed. “Activity is good for your rheumatism. But if you like, you can go sit in the carriage.” Now that she’d told me what I’d wanted to know.
“You know I’m looking for a new fichu. A blue one I think. To match my eyes.”
I spun on her. “Match your eyes?” I gaped. “You do have a tendre for the milkman.”
“Stuff and nonsense.” Jane waved her cane, nearly striking a passing man in the knees.
“I enjoy his company is all. Now, are we going to go into this shop to ask more questions or are we going to natter on out here all afternoon?” And with chin raised, she marched into the men’s clothiers at an impressive speed.
I looked after my lady’s maid. She’d been with me for more decades than I cared to count and never, not once, had she shopped for anything that matched her eyes.
I followed after her more slowly. I should support Jane. If she wanted to pass time with this Joe, if he made her happy, then I should encourage it.
The door was opened before me by a smartly dressed footman.
I was only happy I was past all that. I’d had my romance and many years with my lovely Christopher. This time of my life was meant for something different. Yes, I was past all that.
I gave Jane a sidelong look as I glided by her. Although I would have thought she would have been, too. Perhaps romance didn’t depend on age but state of mind.
I found the owner of the establishment and asked him the same questions I’d been asking shopkeepers all day, but switched the gown I’d admired for evening dress worn by Messieurs Driscoll and Platt.
The owner had a hard time containing his excitement at the thought he might be dressing my nephew, the Duke of Montague.
He had never heard of Mr. Driscoll but he did confirm he’d clothed Mr. Trent’s brother-in-law.
“Mr. Platt is a frequent visitor to this shop,” he said proudly.
He bent and scratched Southey behind his ear.
“He ordered a new coat just last week. Unfortunately, I may not be able to deliver on that order.”
Last week. He could have been replacing a coat after Trent’s murder, but that was before Hicks. “Oh? And why is that?”
“I run a business, madam.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “A business that runs on the trade of goods for payment. Mr. Platt at times doesn’t live up to his end of the bargain.”
“I see.” I nudged Southey away from a row of leather boots.
“That wouldn’t be a problem for someone of your nephew’s caliber, of course.”
“Of course.” I inclined my head. “I will have to let Montague know of your shop. Good day.”
Jane followed after me when I left. “We’ve been to half these shops, and what have you learned?”
“That no one carries a fichu in your color blue,” I said dryly.
Jane waved at Ernest to draw close. Apparently her time shopping with me was at an end. “These people, your suspects, have money. They lose one gown or coat, they have plenty more. They don’t have to get a new one right away to replace it.”
I sighed. “I know the chances are slim, but I have to ask the questions. One never knows what innocuous bit of information will turn the tide in an investigation.”
“An investigation you don’t have to involve yourself in.” Jane flapped her hand at a fly, the veins in her hand bulging. “If I were to kill someone, I would wash up before I went home.”
A woman walking past took two steps to the side to give us a wide berth. As though she’d never had a conversation about how to conceal a murder before.
“You have been passing off your duties to other maids for too long, Jane,” I said. “Blood isn’t easily washed off clothing. Not if it’s had many minutes to set. Besides, where would the killer wash up? The Thames?”
Ernest pulled up next to us and hopped down from his perch. He opened the carriage door and pulled out a small bowl and bottle of water. “It looks like it might rain, milady.” He poured water in the bowl and set it before Southey. “The roof of the carriage has yet to be repaired.”
I was well aware of that fact. My boot heel had made the tiniest of holes when it’d poked through the ceiling, and now my driver never failed to mention it.
“Course, it might not be worth repairing, as old as she is.” He scratched his jaw. “We could look into buying a new one?” His voice was hopeful.
“She’s a good old carriage.” I patted its side.
Yes, the velvet on the seats was showing its age.
And the springs had long since ceased to cushion the ride.
But she had character. “Just get the roof repaired.” I tilted my head.
“And perhaps have it reinforced. One never knows when one might need to stand upon it again.”
Ernest’s shoulders dropped. “Yes, milady.”
“Can we go now?” Jane asked.
I looked down the street. Savile Row wasn’t far and there were an awful lot of shops remaining in which to ask questions. “You haven’t found your fichu yet.”
Jane shrugged. “My desire for a fichu has declined as the ache in my feet has increased.”
“I’m going to go into a couple more shops.” I nodded to the carriage. “You wait inside. And take Southey.” I handed her the lead. “I won’t be too much longer.”
Jane didn’t need to be told twice. Southey hopped up the steps, and Jane followed him in, relying heavily on Ernest’s arm. When the door shut without me inside, Southey barked in betrayal.
I strode to the next dressmaker’s, my own feet feeling their aches. A couple was speaking to the proprietress, and I waited until their conversation finished. The man in the couple gave me a curious look as he passed, then stopped. “Lady Mary?”
“Yes?” He was middle-aged, with a shock of dark red hair. A feeling of vague recognition passed through me, but I couldn’t place where I knew him from.
“It’s Mr. Growse, and this is my wife.”
I nodded.
“We met at one of your nephew’s parties. It was a musicale, I believe. You remember,” he said to his wife. “They served those little ham croquettes you liked so much.”
Mrs. Growse gave her husband an affectionate look. “Of course, I remember. We don’t attend so many parties at the home of a duke that I would soon forget.”
I remembered that night, too, and now recalled the man. “Yes, Mr. Growse. You supply Montague’s ships, don’t you?”
He hooked his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets. “I do indeed. My company supplies the best biscuits in the business.”
“The sailors also eat dried vegetables and some meat.” His wife shook her head, smiling. “They don’t only eat biscuits.”
“They would if they could,” Mr. Growse said.
Not one to ignore opportunity, I asked, “And what about tinned food? Have you started to supply that?”
“Indeed. Marvelous invention, that.” He leaned close. “Isn’t quite the thing when it comes to flavor, you understand, but very healthful for long voyages.”
“And have you ever bought from Trent Canning Company?” It would be too good to be true that a chance encounter with a ship supplier would hold the answer to Mr. Trent’s murder, but then again, stranger things than that had occurred.
And perhaps the fates had decided to take pity on me, and had put me in this man’s path for a reason.
Mr. Growse rubbed his grizzled chin. “Trent’s cannery?
No, his prices were always too steep, that’s why he only sold to the government.
They feel free to spend other people’s money.
No, I buy from some smaller canners, get some surplus from the Royal Navy.
Even got a nice deal on a batch recently from an independent retailer. ”
My heart sank. Like I’d said. Too good to be true.
“It was just awful what happened to him.” Mrs. Growse shuddered. “And in his own home.”
I murmured agreement and excused myself from the conversation as quickly as civility allowed. I again waited until the proprietress finished assisting another customer before putting my questions to her.
She was very sorry, but Mrs. Trent wasn’t a customer of hers.
Shoulders drooping, I trudged from the shop. To my right, a row of clothiers awaited. More shops, more places to ask questions.
I turned left.
Ernest opened the carriage door and assisted me inside. Southey pounced. After jumping up and down on my lap, he flopped to his back on the seat beside me, presenting his belly.
I rubbed it. He deserved some thanks for always being excited to see me. It was nice to feel appreciated.
“So?” Jane asked. She laid a bit of embroidery aside.
“Where to now?” At my silence, she continued, “We could rally a mob to follow Mrs. Trent and her lover, shouting accusations of their infidelity, perhaps throwing the odd bit of fruit at them. Perhaps they would crumble under the pressure and admit to everything.”
I glared at her over my spectacles. “Are you finished?”
She pursed her lips, considering.
I flopped back on my seat, and the narrow beam of light streaming from the small puncture in the ceiling caught me in the eye.
I shifted left, sighing. I was trying to be civic-minded, but my lower back was starting to ache as much as my feet and no one seemed to appreciate all the effort it took to solve a murder.
I loosed a breath. “Oh, let’s go to The Minerva Club and have a large drink.”