“Good evening, Bernard.” Lady Mary shook out her skirts. “You were on the door the night Lady Richford died until we closed, is that right?”
The man nodded, his jowls jiggling. “I left twenty minutes to midnight, milady.”
She nodded. “I know neither you nor the other workers saw any men in the club, but did you notice anything at all strange? An unusually tall woman, perhaps?”
He slowly shook his head. “No, milady. Nothing that caught my attention.” He hesitated. “But I think you would want toknow that you’re not the only one asking questions tonight. Miss Lynton has been here several hours talking to the other members about that night.”
Frederick ground his jaw. What was that woman up to? “Do you know where she is now?”
Bernard blinked at his gruff tone. “The Tea Room, I believe.”
Frederick nodded, then turned on his heel to find Miss Lynton. At the very least she was interfering with his investigation. At worst, she was attempting to muddle it for her own nefarious purposes.
Lady Mary maintained a surprisingly brisk pace in order to keep up with him. “She has been concerned about her mother.”
“Yes.” They reached the open double doors of the room. Miss Lynton was indeed within, seated with two matrons, each nursing a glass of amber-colored liquid.
She wore a lavender gown fitted at the bosom, and it irritated Frederick that he noticed just how fine a bosom it was. But even murderers could have fine figures, he thought dourly. He circled until he was behind her seat. She didn’t notice his approach, so engrossed in her conversation, and that only increased his irritation. A woman needed to be more aware of her surroundings.
Unless she was accustomed to being the predator and not the prey. Unless she knew she had nothing to fear from the person who’d committed murder in this club.
Frederick cleared his throat. The women who sat across from Miss Lynton looked at him, curiosity flickering across their faces.
Miss Lynton flicked her fingers at him, not turning. “We don’t need new drinks yet.”
“That’s good,” he said, planting his hands on his hips, “because you’re not getting one.”
The start she gave was gratifying, and went a little way to improving his mood. “Mr. Rollins. Lady Mary.” She nodded to the woman at his side. “How nice to see you.”
She wasn’t a good liar, a fact that should speak to her character. She looked anything but pleased to see them.
He turned his professional smile on the other women. He remembered their faces from their interviews with him, but not their names. “If you will excuse us, ladies. Miss Lynton and I have some business to discuss.”
That only stoked their interest higher. They gave Miss Lynton a new, inspecting look. “Of course,” one of them said. “Anything to help a Bow Street Runner.”
Frederick didn’t bother to correct them about his title. He stepped to the side of the chair, grasped Miss Lynton’s elbow, and helped her rise. “May we use your office?” he asked Lady Mary.
“Of course.” She turned and started walking. Over her shoulder, she said, “I was just heading there myself.”
Stifling a sigh, he and Miss Lynton followed. Miss Lynton gave gentle, discreet tugs to her elbow, but he didn’t relinquish it. The woman seemed like just the type to pull a scarper, and he didn’t relish the idea of chasing her through The Minerva Club.
“What is it you wished to speak to me about?” she asked as soon as the door to Lady Mary’s office had shut, enclosing the three inside.
Frederick guided her to one of the guest chairs. He wasn’t quick enough to acquire Lady Mary’s desk chair, the woman herself sliding into it with surprising speed, so he took the other guest chair and positioned it at the side of the desk, as he had when he’d conducted his interviews.
He wasted no time getting to the point. “Why are you questioning the members of this club?”
She lifted her chin. “I am eager to see a resolution to this matter. And as your suspicions are obviously pointed in an absurd direction, it’s clear I need to look into it myself.”
“So now there’s three of us.” Lady Mary drummed her fingers on the desk. “We’ll soon be tripping over each other.”
“We already are,” he snapped. He turned his frown on Miss Lynton. “You’re investigating because you’re worried your mother is guilty. You wish to implicate someone else to keep her from going to prison.”
“My mother didn’t do this,” she said hotly, her knuckles going white on the armrests of her chair. “If I have to discover who the true killer is in order to protect her, I will.”
“A noble sentiment.” Lady Mary steepled her fingers.
“She didn’t do this,” Miss Lynton repeated, her gaze beseeching Lady Mary.
