Frederick’s stomach turned. “Truth? Justice?” He agreed that the public deserved the peace of an arrest, but he wouldn’t knowingly take in the wrong person. See an innocent person face the gallows.
His rebellion must have shown on his face because Stauncey jabbed his finger at him. “Wrap this up quickly, or I’ll assign someone who will.”
Someone who’d put politics above due process. Frederick nodded. He only had a couple of days to resolve the case before it was taken from him. He’d best make the most of them. He strode for the exit, only to be brought up short by one of the agents calling him back.
“We found something else in the back of the safe. It must have fallen out of the sack of other jewelry.” He held it up, the piece catching the light of the gas lamps.
It was another ruby necklace, but the stones on this one were larger, the filigree gold chain finer. Frederick took it from the agent, feeling its weight. It was a beautiful piece of jewelry, and worth a small fortune. He turned it over, and a small engraving in the clasp caught his attention. He moved to a wall lamp and held it closer to the light.
The engraving was only two letters: A.M.
The initials were common enough. Frederick wrote down a description of the necklace in his notebook, snapping it shut when he’d finished. Common, but to his investigation, telling.
He needed to have another conversation with Amelia Massey.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Lady Mary
The noise andtumult in front of my club matched that of my heart. I stared out one of the remaining windows from my Tea Room at the crowd protesting The Minerva Club. The boards across the other window were an ugly reminder of the hate someone had directed my way.
I examined some of the protesters’ signs, saw one with my name on it.
They weren’t just protesting my club. They were protesting me.
It was a strange feeling, having a mob deride your name. A few even called for my arrest, though I didn’t see what law they could claim I’d broken.
“Lady Mary?”
I turned, and saw Bernard standing in the doorway. Behind him, two painters were setting up a small scaffold.
I tried to give him a reassuring smile, like having someone try to burn your place of employment down was just a part of doing business. “Yes?”
“There’s a gentleman here to see you. A Mister Ryder.” Bernard’s sniff told me he knew who my caller was and didn’t approve of the man.
I considered turning him from my door. Mr. Ryder deserved a good snubbing if ever anyone did. But with an angry mob outside my club with the ability to destroy it before this roomhad even been restored, I put my anger aside and let my better sense rule.
“Send him to my office. I’ll see him there.” The smell of smoke in this room still made my eyes burn, and I wouldn’t have him think me so upset my eyes teared.
I passed Timothy in the hallway, a ladder slung over his shoulder. “Would you send a tea service for two to my office? And if we have any of those cakes left over from yesterday, I would appreciate it.” I needed something sweet right now when everything else seemed bitter.
In my office, I tipped the cushion I had on my chair for my back to the seat, wanting the extra inch of height for this conversation. A repetitive chant reached my ears from the street, muffled and the words indistinct. I thought I heard my name. I thought the rhyme made of it less than flattering.
Mr. Ryder nodded to Bernard as the doorman showed him inside. “Thank you.” He turned, his gaze latching on mine. “Lady Mary.”
My eye twitched. He wore a dark brown jacket, the knot of his cravat somehow managing to look both relaxed and pompous at the same time. “Mr. Ryder.” I indicated the seat across the desk. “Please. Sit.” If I gave the order with a bit more bite than usual, I thought I could be forgiven under the circumstances.
He sat, resting his plain walking stick against the desk.
Timothy entered, and I waited for him to set up the tea between us and leave before speaking again. “What brings you to my door today? And with such a large crowd accompanying you.”
He took a cup of tea and sat back, crossing one long leg over the other. “I can take no credit for today’s protest. Gathering into a mob and shouting obscenities isn’t my idea of an effective tactic to change a person’s mind.”
My eyebrows shot up. “You expect me to believe that it is mere coincidence that you have set your cap at shutting my doors, and the London public has crowded my street for just the same purpose of their own volition?”
“I hope you will believe me.” His soft, chestnut eyes crinkled at the corners. “I have been nothing but upfront with my opposition to your club. I hope you will not think that I’ve sunk to deception now.”
I stirred a lump of sugar into my tea, the spoon tinkling against the rim of the cup. “If you aren’t here to discuss terms, then why your visit?”
