My spine went as straight as an iron bar. “And if you could be shown that your opinion on a woman’s proper duties is as dunderheaded as the Cato Street Conspiracy plot to murder the cabinet ministers? What then would you do?”
He reached for a cup of tea, his lips twitching. “Apologize, of course, and retract my piece inThe Times. I hardly think it likely, however.”
I stood, irritation putting starch in my voice. “Perhaps a tour is in order. Then you can see that your vile insinuations are baseless.”
He looked at his tea sadly before placing the cup back down. He rose, as well. “I would love a tour, Lady Mary.” He extended his arm toward the door. “After you.”
I stalked past him, chin held high. The scent of fresh soap clung to his pressed dark suit. “The Minerva Club is similar in nature to White’s or Boodle’s. A place for women to gather to bethemselves instead of the person yourwholesomeexpectations demands of them.”
“And is anyone allowed entry?” He peered around a doorway into the archery room, where Mrs. Stewart had set a portrait of Lord Byron up as a target and was taking aim. For some reason I had yet to discover, the woman loathed the poet. “Or do you have ethical standards your members must maintain?”
I didn’t have a set of rules for members. It had never been an issue before. “The same standards as White’s. It would take roguish intrigue of the worst kind to be booted out of that club, would it not? Why should my women be held to a stricter standard? My members are fine, upstanding individuals, who only need a bit of space to be themselves.”
I showed him the Great Room where we heard lectures, the Tea Room where a group of women were clustered around the fireplace conversing, even the library.
I did not show him my replication of the tavern I’d once visited with my husband, the Old Ram. It wasn’t his concern.
We met Timothy, another one of my footmen, in the hallway used for lawn bowling. He was carrying a gold-painted chair. “I got it fixed, right as rain, milady. Took some doing finding the right color paint after replacing the leg, but I got it.”
“Thank you, Timothy.” I frowned. I didn’t remember the chair being broken, but then, many things constantly needed to be fixed in the club. Or walls needed to be patched. The women didn’t have the best of aim. Did White’s have similar repair bills?
“I think you should ask Mrs. Massey to cover the repair costs.” Timothy shifted the chair to his other arm. “She had no cause to smash it like that.”
“Smashing chairs?” Mr. Ryder arched a silver eyebrow. “Another fine, upstanding individual in your club?”
I raised my chin. “I’m certain Mrs. Massey was trying to demonstrate something and it got away from her. Perhaps thepounds per square inch necessary to demolish a structure. We did have an engineer in here last month to describe the new building processes involved in the construction of the Egyptian Hall.”
Timothy chuckled. “No ma’am. Mrs. Massey was in a right nettle. Arguing and yelling at Lady Richford something fierce. She picked up this chair and threw it right at the lady’s head. It smashed against the wall. I understand when damage happens from the bad aim of a thrown axe or something accidentally catches fire, but this was uncalled for.”
My mind whirred. I didn’t even care that Timothy had just given Mr. Ryder a feast of bad behavior for him to chew on. “When did this happen?”
“’Bout a fortnight ago.” He held up the chair. “But it’s all fixed now.”
“Why didn’t you tell Mr. Rollins this when he interviewed you?”
His eyes widened. “He only asked me about the day Lady Richford was killed. I didn’t think there was any connection. Do you—”
“I don’t think anything right now.” I tapped my boot. How had I not known of a fight within my walls? I needed to speak with my workers. Incidents like that needed to be reported. “Thank you, Timothy.”
He nodded, shooting a look at Mr. Ryder. “I’ll just go put the chair back in the Greek Room.”
“Thank you.” I stepped aside to let him pass.
Amelia Massey was one of the club’s original members. Married, with two children around twenty years of age, she and I had volunteered on several committees together. While I wouldn’t say that we were close, I knew her well enough to know that throwing chairs was decidedly out of character.
What had Lady Richford done to anger the woman so much?
Mr. Ryder tapped his walking stick against the wood floor. “Are arguments that lead to physical assaults common at The Minerva Club?”
“They are not.” I sniffed, trying to make his question sound as ridiculous as it was. “Timothy might have gotten his facts wrong.”
“And he might not.”
I ground my jaw. “Am I to expect this gossip to make its way into your next opinion piece? It isn’t only my reputation you are taking aim at, but it will also be that of a woman now deceased. I hope you will think of her family.”
He seemed to choose his words carefully. “It is not my habit to intentionally injure anyone, not unless by so doing I am affecting change for the greater good. I see no good that would come from gossiping about the fight between Lady Richford and your other member. So long as the proper authorities are notified, of course.”
“Of course.” I turned, heading for the front of the club. I would have to inform Mr. Rollins of this. Next time I might see him. I’d investigate further before making a trip down to Bow Street. “Now. As you can see, my club isn’t a den of iniquity. No pagan rituals…” I quickly closed the door to the Greek Room where the painting the Birth of Venus by Botticelli was being recreated by my members in person, large clam shell and all. “…no bacchanalian revels.”
