I rubbed the seam where my fichu met my neckline. Mr. Ryder appeared untroubled, serene even, an irritating quality for someone who was trying to destroy my business. And, I reminded myself, for someone at the funeral of a woman who was violently murdered. It was downright indecent to look so at peace.
Bannister raised his father to his feet and started guiding him out of the cemetery, an arm around the broken man’s shaking shoulders. A small form in a charcoal grey gown stepped in front of them.
Bannister’s eyebrows slammed together.
I tried to edge closer, threading my way between the departing mourners, to see who had brought such displeasure to Lady Richford’s son. “Pardon me,” I said as I pushed past the minister, ignoring his pained expression when I accidentally stepped on his foot. I skirted the open grave, found myself blocked by a group who had decided to chat instead of moveout of my way, and marched up the slight incline on my right to circumvent them.
I heard Bannister’s sharp voice, his father’s appeasing one, but couldn’t make out their words.
“Lady Mary.” A man stepped into my path, blocking my way. “How lovely to see you again.”
I flicked my gaze to Mr. Cooke. He looked as piratical as ever, his finely-tailored swallowtail jacket a navy so dark it was almost indistinguishable from all the blacks around him. He’d even managed to procure a rosebud of the same shade for the buttonhole in his lapel. His silk breeches ended at the top of leather boots so finely crafted I knew even my nephew would be envious of them.
Crime paid well, and Mr. Cooke seemed to be enjoying the fruits of his sins.
I clutched at my hat as a strong gust of wind whipped through the cemetery. “Mr. Cooke.” Angling my body, I put Bannister, Lord Richford, and the woman in my sights. “What can I do for you?” If she would only turn her head. I could only see a slice of her cheek, the hint of her jaw.
“I wanted to apologize for my previous behavior.” He pressed his large, brown hand to his chest. “I was operating under a misapprehension.”
“Is that so?” I said, straining to see past him.
The woman turned, her eyes narrow as she spoke in a low voice to Bannister. Miss Abbott looked as though she’d been crying, the skin around her eyes swollen, the tip of her nose red. With a last remark, cutting if her expression was anything to go by, she spun on her heel and marched out of the cemetery.
In my conversations with both Miss Abbott and Bannister, I knew there was no love lost between the two, but what could have caused an argument by the side of Lady Richford’s grave? And in front of poor Lord Richford?
When I returned my attention to Mr. Cooke, he was glaring at me, chin lowered and eyebrow arched. He probably wasn’t used to being ignored.
I faced him fully. “What misapprehension was that?”
He gazed around the cemetery. The crowd was thinning, and we were garnering some curious glances, including one from Mr. Ryder. There appeared to be a crack in his serenity now, a fact I found most interesting. “Perhaps this is a conversation best held somewhere private,” Mr. Cooke said. “Will you accompany me to the office at my club?”
I must admit I was curious what the office of such a man would look like. After he’d threatened me inmyoffice, I’d done a bit of research on Mr. Cooke. Only a certain type of person had knowledge of Cooke, and those people spoke of him in hushed tones.
A criminal, Mr. Cooke had his finger in all the seedy pies of London’s underworld. Gambling was his legitimate business, but I also heard tell of smuggling, robberies, and prostitution. He didn’t engage in any of those activities personally, of course, but he directed the illicit activities like a foreman managed his factory workers.
I could hardly countenance that such a man was now within my realm of acquaintances. Life took such interesting turns. But with the reminder of violent death just next to me, I couldn’t find it in myself to be so reckless as to disappear into his office. I also didn’t want the man at my club again.
“Do you know Button’s Coffeehouse? If not, your driver can follow my carriage there.”
He nodded. “Privacy amongst the many.” He offered his arm, and seeing no polite way to object, I took it and let him lead me to my carriage. As he handed me in, I felt a disapproving gaze on my back, but that could have been my own conscience.
Fifteen minutes later, I was seated across from the man, two steaming cups of coffee before the both of us, mine heavily laden with cream and sugar, his, the devil’s black. The coffeehouse was only half full, but the conversations were loud, bouncing off the uncovered wooden floors and walls, making it necessary to lean over the table to hear my companion.
“So, Mr. Cooke, what was it you wished to speak with me about?” I added one more lump of sugar to my brew before lifting it to my lips. Coffee wasn’t my normal beverage of choice. It was too bitter, too matter-of-fact. But there were some situations where the civility of tea seemed inappropriate, and the sweetness of chocolate, childish.
He watched all my motions with interest, his gaze assessing, curious. It would have been flattering if I didn’t have the impression that he was looking for weaknesses, a wedge to give him leverage. I’d seen a stuffed shark once at a naturalist exhibit, its black eyes and sharp teeth the thing of nightmares. I had a feeling that Mr. Edric Cooke would have felt right at home in the ocean.
He rested his forearms on the table and laced his fingers together. “I want to start with an apology, Lady Mary. When last we spoke, I had made some assumptions that I now believe to be false. They led me to speak to you in an unforgivable manner.”
I did enjoy being apologized to. “Go on.”
The edges of his lips twitched. “It had come to my attention that for some months there were members of your club who were engaged in what might be termed a business competitive to mine. On a very small scale, of course, but I do like to keep track of such things in case….”
“The scale becomes larger?” And a potential threat.
“Just so.”
I tapped my thumb against my cup. “Your business interests are quite varied. Which type are we speaking of?”
