Richford nodded. “She considered herself one of my wife’s particular friends. I think Susan was just too kind to send her away. But Miss Abbott has shown kindness herself. She’s always asking what she can do to help. Just this morning she went through Susan’s things to pick out a gown for Susan to be… to be dressed… for the funeral.” He blinked rapidly.
Miss Abbott was one of The Minerva Club’s most vociferous supporters. She proclaimed to one and all that if men had their own clubs, women should too. A sentiment I appreciated, even though the stridency of her opinions was somewhat off-putting.
She didn’t strike me as the kind of woman to impose her presence where it wasn’t welcome. And Lady Richford certainly had never been too kind to refrain from speaking her mind.
Lord Richford picked at another nail. “I don’t know what to do,” he murmured.
All the resolve I’d started with drained out of me. I knew what it was to grieve. I didn’t have the heart to intrude on Lord Richford any longer. I stood. “If you think of anyone else I should talk to, please let me know.”
Mr. Rollins jerked straight. “Surely you mean anyone whom I should speak to. Lord Richford has engagedmeto investigate his wife’s death.”
“And I’m certain you’ll do an admirable job.” I tugged at the cuff of my gown, the lace trim irritating my skin. “However, as you yourself pointed out, the more eyes looking into this tragedy, the better.”
“You said that.” Rollins straightened to his full height. “I didn’t.”
Hmph. I was certain he had agreed.
A devious smile creased young Bannister’s face. “Crazy Cavindish is becoming a detective? Your nephew is rubbing off on you.” He hooted. “I can’t wait to tell my friends.”
“Edgar!” Lord Richford rose slowly, as though he wore a weighted yoke. “I apologize Lady Mary. The grief, you know. It makes us all say things we don’t mean.”
It had been a while since I’d been called that name, at least to my face. I repressed a smile. I’d been born The Lady Mary Griffin. Upon my marriage I’d become The Lady Mary Cavindish. My nephew and his closest friends had given me the pet name Aunt May. By far, the title I’d derived the most amusement from, however, had been Crazy Cavindish. Having money and being thought eccentric had given me more freedom than I’d ever known.
“Of course, Richford.” I stepped forward and took his hand. “Again, my deepest sympathies. And with a Runner and myself looking into matters, we’ll find an answer in no time, I’m sure.”
He patted my hand before sinking back into his chair. “Thank you. I have a speech I’m to give in next week’s session of Parliament. I have to write that.”
And taking that as the dismissal it was, I strode from the room, Mr. Rollins hot on my heels.
Once outside the house, Mr. Rollins turned on me. “Lady Mary, as commendable as your zeal for justice may be, your services are not required. I have things well in hand.” He settled his hat on his unruly auburn hair and nodded at me smartly, as though the issue were resolved.
I signaled to my driver to open my carriage door and looked back at the house. The servants were just finishing hanging black crepe in the windows. “It’s sweet that you think my services are yours to decline.” I took my driver’s proffered hand and climbed inside. I lowered the window after he closed the door and leaned out. “I assume you’ll wish to see where her body was found. Come to the club at tea time. It is usually less frequented then, and you’ll be less of an intrusion.”
I sat back on my maroon crushed velvet seat. By the look on the man’s face, I could tell I’d shocked him, either by my dismissal or the confidence I showed in my abilities to detect.
I only hoped my skills merited the boldness of my mouth.
Chapter Three
Frederick
The Minerva Clublived up to its storied reputation. It had only been in operation for a year or so, and the sentiment of London society had been mixed: anger at the impertinence of a club for women, amusement, and practiced indifference. Frederick Rollins’s own colleagues regarded it with a sort of horrified fascination, and he knew more than a few of his fellow officers were jealous that his latest investigation brought him within its fabled doors.
Frederick opted not to remain in the waiting room where the footman had left him to fetch Lady Mary, but wandered amongst the club, blinking at the sights that met his eyes.
An archery range, with more holes in the surrounding walls than in the targets.
A hallway cleared for lawn bowling, without the lawn.
A room that had been designed to recreate a country pub, complete with some wisps of hay on the floor. Two women sat at the weathered bar, cheroots clasped between their fingers, large mugs of ale before them.
Frederick turned his hat in his hands. No evidence of orgies or Satan worship. The lads would be disappointed.
A furtive movement caught his attention. He followed the flounce of lavender fabric as it disappeared into a room down the hall. There was a window high in the back wall, allowing enough sunlight to stream in to show the young woman’s actions. She pulled the pillows off a crimson settee and dug her fingersalong the back of the upholstered seat cushion before moving to the next piece of furniture. This room was obviously situated for conversation, with plump chairs, settees, and even a divan or two arranged throughout. Low tables held a smattering of newspapers and one abandoned glass. When the woman had finished examining each piece of furniture, she planted her hands on her hips and heaved a sigh.
Frederick leaned against the door jamb, curiosity spiking. Something about the woman seemed familiar. Her hair, an average brown, was swept up in some sort of twisting knot, a few soft tendrils framing her face. Her features were even, attractive, and from what he could see beneath the gown and pelisse she wore, her body was pleasing without being striking. He couldn’t see the color of her eyes, but they seemed as agreeable as the rest of her, neither too beautiful nor unpleasant.
Her mouth, however, was designed to give a man certain ideas.
