Her mother’s gun. The one she had taken to kill Lady Richford.
“Lovely piece, isn’t it?” Lady Mary picked it up and sighted one of her hanging ferns. “Whoever lost this must be missing it. I do tell the members to come to my office to check for lost items, but hardly anyone ever does.”
Eleanor nodded, though she knew the truth. Her mother didn’t miss it. She never wanted to see it again. Because as she’d held it in her hand, intending to hunt Lady Richford down, she’d become horrified of her desire to kill. She’d shoved the gun down behind a cushion in the club and fled.
At least that was what her mother had told Eleanor. Finding the gun in the box of lost items was some proof of that. But ifanyone discovered what her mother had planned, they wouldn’t hesitate to believe she had only changed her mind as to the manner of execution and had strangled Lady Richford instead.
And Eleanor had to protect her mother at all costs. She’d already lost one parent. She wouldn’t lose another.
Chapter Five
Lady Mary
“Lady Mary?” Bernardstood in her office doorway. “A man is here to see you.”
I laid my fountain pen next to the ledger I was going over. “Who?”
Bernard crossed the room and handed me a card.
Enoch Ryder, Esq.
I inhaled sharply. It took some nerve to show his face here. “Show him in, please. Oh, and bring us some tea, if you would.”
“Of course, milady.”
I closed my ledger and put it and my pen in a drawer. I made sure that nothing was out of place, nothing would catch the eye of a moral ninny. Then I rested my elbows on my desk, steepled my fingers, and waited.
I didn’t wait long. Bernard stepped through, followed by Mr. Enoch Ryder.
“Mr. Ryder, milady,” Bernard announced, then slipped out the door.
I examined the man. He was about my age, his hair a muddle of what I assumed was his original golden-brown mixed with silver and just a touch of white at his temples. He had a nice square jaw, his chin just beginning to go soft. He’d had to lower his head as he’d crossed the threshold of my door, his height even more accentuated by his lean musculature. He carried anondescript cane capped with a thick silver knob, though by the surety of his stride it appeared he carried it more for effect.
I sniffed. If the man couldn’t afford an eye-pleasing walking stick, then why bother carrying one at all?
I pointed to a guest chair. “Please, have a seat.”
“Thank you,” he said, his voice a pleasant baritone, and sat. “I’m pleased you’d see me. I was hoping to find you a reasonable woman.”
Even though I considered myself quite reasonable, it wasn’t an adjective that had ever been applied to me. I didn’t think Mr. Ryder would leave here thinking such, either. “A reasonable man might have come to speak with me before writing lies about my club inThe Times. Or at least a decent man.”
His shoulders stiffened. Apparently he didn’t like his decency challenged.
Well, neither did I. I might have started The Minerva Club to allow women to let their hair down when society preferred they keep it tightly pinned up, but there was nothing indecent about that.
He crossed one leg over the other and leaned back, giving me a tight smile. “Perhaps you’re right, but I am here now. It sounds as though you’re familiar with the London Society for Morality and Decency? Our purpose is to encourage healthful activities and wholesome living.”
I gave him a smile as sweet as my cook’s iced cakes. “I also would encourage wholesome living. I fear that our ideas of wholesome are not in accord, sadly.”
He inclined his head. “That would be concerning, but I find it best to look for common ground instead of focusing on our differences.”
I muffled a snort. Nothing irritated me more than someone sounding reasonable when they made unreasonable demands. “Isee no common ground inmeclosing my club becauseyouwish it.”
“A woman was killed in these walls. Has that no call on your conscience?”
My chest burned. I wanted to make a vicious remark in turn, but Bernard returned just then with the tea. He set the tray on my desk and poured two cups. I waited for him to leave before answering. “Thomas Becket was assassinated in Canterbury Cathedral. I assume you don’t use that as an indictment against the church’s morality, but only as against his killers.”
Mr. Ryder inclined his head. “Before Lady Richford’s unfortunate death, I still had concerns. If you could be shown that a club that beguiles women away from their proper duties is harmful, what would be your response?” He cocked his head and gave me an assessing look. There was judgment in his gaze, but also a hint of sympathy. Like I was a sinner to be pitied rather than shunned.
