My spine straightened. “Are you saying my members use my club for assignations? I can assure you that I would know if men were being secreted in for any purpose, much less an illicit one.” The nerve. Unlike some gentlemen’s clubs, I have no guest chambers for overnight stays. Where would such liaisons occur? On a divan in full view of the other members drinking tea or playing faro?
“So you say.” He stood. “But if you are to continue your insinuations—”
“Insinuations? I made none.”
He gave me a hard smile. “Don’t insult my intelligence. It was most unfortunate that Lady Richford got herself killed the day my opinion piece was printed.” His face tightened. “I might have to put up with a visit from Bow Street, but I don’t have to tolerate your gauche questions.”
I sniffed. I was the daughter of an earl. The aunt to a bloody duke. I was never gauche. And if Anglia had noticed that I might have another reason for my inquiries, a proper, civic-minded reason, well, it was tastelessof himto point it out.
“Instead of poking around in other people’s business, you’d best be more mindful of what goes on inside your own walls.” He indicated the door. “You might find that you have more opponents than just Mr. Ryder.”
Because he so clearly desired our interview to be over, I settled myself more firmly into the chair. “Is that a threat, my lord? I hardly think the goings-on of one club would be of interest to Parliamentarians.”
“You have no idea how determined, and petty, some of my colleagues can be.” He jabbed his hand toward the door and the butler who now stood in the threshold. “I have an appointment shortly. I thank you for your visit.”
Short of tying myself to the chair, I could think of no excuse to extend my call. I stood and gave him a short curtsy. “Thank you for your time.” I met the butler at the door and paused. “One last question. Now that Lady Richford is dead, do you think her husband will be more in line with your way of thinking when it comes to how he votes?”
“As my piece said, the viscount is a very persuadable man.” He smoothed his hand down his cravat, his customary smirk back in place. “Without his wife whispering nonsense in his ear, I would bet he can be made to see reason.”
I nodded and took my leave. And with the viscount in a distraught state after the death of his wife, I would bet the chances of Anglia’s success would be even higher.
Which gave the earl a very good motive for murder.
Chapter Ten
Lady Mary
Amelia Massey wasstill not at home, at least according to her tight-lipped doorman. He had no knowledge as to her whereabouts or the time of her expected return.
With an irritated sniff, I gave my driver the direction to my next quarry. The information requested on the application to join The Minerva Club was most helpful when it came to a murder investigation.
Miss Lydia Abbott was also not at home, But the sour-faced woman who owned the lodging house where Miss Abbott rented a room was much more helpful. At this time in the afternoon, Miss Abbott could usually be found at Hyde Park, riding.
It didn’t take me long to find her. Lydia Abbott was one of the few women seated on the back of a horse instead of enjoying the park in a conveyance, and the only woman riding astride. Tan trousers peeked out beneath her Navy blue riding habit, with a man’s top hot placed rakishly atop her raven curls. She was what I considered a young woman, though no longer in her first flush, her face and body composed of angles rather than curves. Her eyes were dark, and tilted up at the edges, giving her a slightly exotic appearance.
My carriage being too large for the crowded paths, I hurried toward the woman on foot, ignoring any greetings tossed my way. “Ahoy, there.” I waved at her as she galloped past me on the lawn. “Miss Abbott!”
She slowed her horse and pulled up next to a life-sized bronze statue of a stag.
I double-backed and bustled up to her before she could take off again. “Miss Abbott,” I said again, only slightly out of breath. “How do you do?”
“Lady Mary?” Miss Abbott used her crop to swat at a fly. “What a surprise to see you here.”
I shaded my eyes as I looked up at her. “Indeed, but the fine weather has lured even me out of doors. I wanted to give you my condolences on the death of Lady Richford. I understand that you and she were particular friends.”
Miss Abbott pressed her lips tight, blinking. She cleared her throat. “Thank you. Her death is a great loss.”
The back of my neck started to ache. “Yes, and so shocking, too. As it happened in my club, the authorities have pressed me for answers to several questions. I was hoping you might be able to assist me with some of them.”
Her horse shifted, tossing his head. Tugging off one glove, she stroked its neck and spoke to it quietly before turning back to me. “I don’t see how I can help. And besides, I’ve already spoken with that Runner. A Mr. Rollins, I believe.”
My muscles tensed. Interesting. Mr. Rollins had failed to mention that interview. But no matter. “Sometimes a different perspective is necessary.” I rubbed the crick in my neck. “When was the last time you saw Lady Richford?”
“Earlier that day. I took tea at her house.” Miss Abbott looked down at her hands, gripping the reins. “She was so happy. I just can’t believe….” Sunlight glinted off a slender wrought gold band on the middle finger of the woman’s right hand, the flash catching me right in the eye.
I frowned. I was tired of the woman towering above me. I pointed at a young man walking nearby who seemed robustenough. “Excuse me, young man. Can I get an assist?” I patted the back of the stag statue.
“Uh.” The man stepped forward and scratched his chin. “Assist with what exactly?”
