And perhaps Bannister still held a grudge against Miss Abbott for counseling frugality in Lady Richford’s dealings with her son and had never had the breeding instilled within him to hold his tongue.
Suddenly disgusted with Bannister, with the supple leather of the wingchair he sat upon, the brandy in the Bohemia crystal decanter on the sideboard that he was sure cost more than his month’s salary, Frederick stood and stowed his notebook and lead away. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Bannister. I will be in touch.” And with a nod, he strode from the room and from the club.
He ignored the hansom cabs rolling down the street and walked to his offices. The afternoon London air, while he wouldn’t exactly call it clean, held a freshness after the sterility of White’s. The odor of horses, the sweat of the man tugging a brewer’s wagon as he stumbled past, the smell of coal smoke, were real, scents of the world he knew and lived in. When he spent too much time with the upper class he sometimes forgot the true world. For a few select, it was expensive liquor and irresponsible gaming and carefree liaisons.
For the majority of the populace, it was back-breaking work, scraping to get by, hunger pangs in the dead of night. Frederick was one of the fortunate ones. He had a good job, steady pay.
But he would never be one of the elite.
He hung his coat and hat in the small cloakroom of the Bow Street office. Crossing to his desk, he nodded at the other men. This was his world. Runners shouting smutty jokes across the room, the drudgery of writing up reports for the magistrates, working long hours. He excelled in this world. Felt comfortable in it.
It was a world where young misses of gentle breeding and wealth beyond his imaginings didn’t belong, no matter how impertinent their mouths or kind-hearted they might be.
And for the first time in his life, he longed for more.
Chapter Sixteen
Eleanor
Eleanor kept herfocus on the fern as the door behind her opened and closed. Several of the leafy strands were turning brown, and she plucked those dying bits from the plant. She felt his gaze on her back like a magnet, tugging at her to turn around and face him, but she kept her focus on the poor fern.
Lady Mary’s desk chair squeaked as she nudged it forward. “You got my note,” she said to Mr. Rollins. “Good. I received one of my own.”
Finally, Eleanor turned. She could avoid it no longer without appearing churlish. And besides, she was curious about why Lady Mary had brought all of them here. It had only been three days since they’d agreed to investigate together, hardly enough time to come to any conclusions.
At least it hadn’t been for her. To be fair, Eleanor hadn’t asked many questions the last few days. She rubbed her sore wrist. Her mother had taken all of her attention.
Lady Mary pushed a piece of parchment across the desk, and Mr. Rollins picked it up. He raised one eyebrow and darted a glance at the older woman. “Where and when did you get this?”
“It was delivered by a child to my home two days past.” Her lips pressed flat. “My butler didn’t know to question the boy as to who gave him the note.”
“What does it say?” Eleanor asked.
“Those that inquire into an area often become the subject matter.”Rollins flipped the paper over, running his thumb along the grain. “Quality paper. The print neatly written.”
Lady Mary steepled her fingers. “Yes, and very indeterminate. I cannot tell if a man or woman wrote the letters, though it is someone who has the means to purchase expensive paper. Or steal it.”
Mr. Rollins shifted his gaze to Eleanor, and a shiver raced down her spine. She didn’t know if his look was one of suspicion or want. Either one sat uncomfortably. “That could mean many things. Why send such a strange message?”
He looked back at Lady Mary. “I only see one interpretation of the note. It is a pointed warning. It would be wise for both you and Miss Lynton to heed it.”
“Not that nonsense again.” Lady Mary pressed her palms on her desk and stood. “If you two would follow me, I would like to return to where Lady Richford was found.”
Mr. Rollins waited for Eleanor to pass before falling into step behind her. Watching her. Walking used to be a natural action, one she didn’t even think about while doing. But each step now needed concentration. She felt every press of her sole on the ground, each sway of her hip.
It was silly. Mr. Rollins most likely took no note of her, but his presence behind her was all her mind knew.
“All right.” Lady Mary strode into the middle of the Great Room, eyeing the space. “Let’s go through this logically.”
There had been no events in the room since the murder, so the floor was empty, the chairs and benches stacked along the walls. Late afternoon sunlight filtered in from the high windows on the east wall, dancing motes of dust caught in their beams.
Eleanor skittered toward the stage, putting space between her and the Runner. “Go through what?”
“The murder.” Lady Mary frowned at her, and a flush of embarrassment heated Eleanor’s cheeks. “We know that Lady Richford was found dead at twenty-three minutes after midnight six nights ago. Timothy came through this room around midnight, checking the doors and windows, and finding nothing amiss. Neither he nor Bobby saw Lady Richford, nor anyone else but me and Miss Lynton in the club while closing. So, were Lady Richford and her killer still in the club, or did they gain entrance somehow right before her death?”
“It wouldn’t be difficult to remain unnoticed after closing.” As two sets of eyes turned on Eleanor, one curious, one slightly accusing, she gripped her elbow and lifted her chin. “If I’m hiding, say in the music room, I would merely wait as Timothy checked the Quiet Room across the hall. When he was finished, he would move on to either the library or the Art Room next door, and I would slip into the Quiet Room when his back was turned.”
“You’ve thought about this a lot, have you?” Lady Mary eyed her shrewdly, but the edges of her mouth twitched.
