I walked back through my club with fresh eyes. There were definitely more empty seats than usual. There was no game of lawn bowling occupying the hall, no shouts from the archery room.
Thereweresome whispered conversations that abruptly cut off when I entered a room. Several pairs of eyes darted my way, some glowing with the natural joy of gossip, some with malicious glee. Even as the owner of a club these women obviouslyenjoyed, I wasn’t exempt from their disdain or mockery. Human nature reveled at seeing others brought low. Perhaps it made us feel safe somehow. That if a tragedy was happening to someone else, we would be spared.
But no one was spared in this life. Lady Richford was a stark reminder of that.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Lady Mary
The rest ofthe day passed quickly. I readjusted my orders in deference to the expected loss of patrons I was to have for the next few weeks at the least. Wrote a few letters asking the recipients to inquire with their contacts as to who the author of that anonymous piece had been. Even started a timeline of everything we knew about the murder and its suspects. That outline spanned several pages of paper, and only a lack of pins kept me from attaching it to my wall.
Tea time had come and gone without me partaking, and when my stomach rumbled for the third time, I decided it was time for supper. Instead of ringing a bell for a servant, I stretched my back as I straightened from behind the bar in the Country Pub room where I’d been taking inventory, and headed for the kitchens next to the Tea Room.
I passed by a sitting room where two women sat on the circular settee, faces close together, red staining their cheeks as I passed.
I lifted my chin and kept marching. My steps paused at the doorway to the Tea Room. My partner in crime-solving sat on one sturdy wooden stool at the bar along the east wall, tracing a pattern on the mahogany bar top with the tip of her finger, a half full sherry glass in her other hand.
Changing course, I made my way over to her. “Miss Lynton, are you all right?” We were the only ones in the room, except for Bobby, who stood slouched behind the bar, looking bored.
“Just lovely.” She blew out a breath, a lock of hair lifting from her cheek before slowly drifting back down.
“You don’t look lovely.” She looked half-sprung, not the appropriate condition for a gently-bred young miss.
Mr. Ryder’s voice whispered through my mind, murmuring the barest of ‘I told you so’s’, but I shoved it aside. My club did not encourage licentiousness.
Miss Lynton threw back the rest of her drink, her face twisting into a grimace. “Another please,” she asked Bobby.
“Are you certain?” I asked. “You don’t look as though you enjoyed that one.”
“I detest the taste of sherry, but it is the drink for ladies.”
I considered sending her home. Or ordering her coffee instead. I slapped the bar. It had been a trying day for more than just me, apparently, and a stiff drink or three sounded like a good idea. “Try a brandy instead. It’s my drink of choice. Make it two,” I told Bobby.
He slid the glasses in front of us, taking the sherry glass to clean. I took Miss Lynton’s elbow and guided her off the stool before she could drink. “Let’s take these to more comfortable seats.” Hard wood stools were a trial for my back. I nodded to Bobby. “Our patronage is slim tonight. Why don’t you start closing up the other rooms. Anyone who wants a drink can join us in here.”
“I don’t want to be surrounded by people,” Miss Lynton complained.
I sighed. “Don’t worry, you won’t be.”
I led her to the sofa along the wall covered in a lovely lavender brocade. When it was daylight, the large windows across the room let the sun warm this seat. This evening, the airy room was reflected in watery lines on the panes of glass against an ebony backdrop.
Miss Lynton took a large swallow of the brandy. Her face contorted, her tongue pushing against her lips as though trying to push the taste of the liquor out. “This is worse than sherry.”
“Sip it, don’t quaff it like ale.” I took my own sip. My brandy was from the Cognac region of France, aged four years in an oak barrel. It was delicious, and obviously wasted on the youth. “Now, what brings you here tonight seeking answers in the bottom of a drink, Miss Lynton? And you should know, liquor answers no questions.” Though it could soften the jagged edges of a day quite nicely.
“You may as well call me Eleanor. We are trying to solve a murder together.” She sat back and rested her glass on her abdomen. “I didn’t want to be in my house any longer.”
“Ah.” Some women wanted to escape their husbands when they came here. For Eleanor, it could only be her mother she wished to avoid. “Is Mrs. Lynton fretting about Lady Richford’s murder? Does she worry about being a suspect?”
“I don’t think she’s aware she is a suspect.” She took a tiny sip, grimaced. “It wasn’t losing our fortune that hurt my mother the most. It was losing her place in society. From being a respected woman of theton, having her opinions and well-wishes sought after, to being cast out and into the ranks of a Cit. Even now, it still weighs on her. She never truly recovered.”
“And her company is unpleasant as a result?”
Eleanor averted her gaze, staring at a round table across the room where three ladies had taken up occupancy. “Not unpleasant. Only…difficult.”
I was hard-pressed to see the difference. I thought of the woman in question. When she’d petitioned to join the club, her smile had seemed just a little too bright, a little too brittle, but I’d accounted that to her struggle to regain her place in society. She had trod a difficult road, and I respected her resiliency.
Perhaps Mrs. Lynton hadn’t been as resilient as I’d thought. “You are always welcome here, but whatever problems you’re having with your mother, hiding won’t help them.”
