“Was it?” Anglia took his hat from the butler. “Speak to a solicitor. I think you’ll find not many would take such a case.”
“Did Lady Richford threaten you with a lawsuit, my lord?” Lady Mary crossed her arms. “Perhaps you weren’t always so confident that you would win such a case.”
Anglia’s knuckles whitened around the brim of his hat. “I’m not the one who should take care with his words. Accusing me of murder is slanderous.”
“We are merely asking questions,” Frederick said. His body had tensed right along with Anglia’s.
Anglia smiled, his teeth appearing pointed in the glow of the gas lamps. “Then I will tell you truly, I no longer had anything to worry about with Lady Richford. I know what Mrs. Massey was alluding to when she was shrieking at Miss Abbott. And I know that it is true. Lady Richford did have a light hand. I caught herwearing a pin that belonged to the wife of a colleague of mine. I told her I knew. And I told her what would happen if she continued to oppose me. That piece inThe Timesthat morning had just been a reminder. One she understood.”
“So the blackmailer became the blackmailee.” Lady Mary shook her head. “Why do people make such a trial out of their lives?”
“Who was your colleague?” Frederick asked.
“None of your business.” Anglia tugged at the cuff of his coat. “He has nothing to do with the matter.”
“And he votes the way you want him to,” Eleanor added.
Anglia’s grin was genuine, and quickly gone. “Just so.” He stepped to Lady Mary’s side, looking from her to the door handle and back, eyebrows lifted.
With a sigh, she stepped aside. Her butler hurried between the two to open the door.
Anglia set his hat on his dark head, adjusted it. “It’s ironic you brought up Mr. Cooke. While it has amused me to be thought one of your suspects, it has gone on long enough. Speak with Mr. Cooke. I was at his club, The Cagey Vixen, the night of Lady Richford’s murder. There are several witnesses who can attest to the fact I cannot be the killer. Mr. Cooke chief among them.” And without a nod or backward glance, he stepped out into the foggy night and disappeared.
Eleanor hadn’t realized how tense their group in the entry had been until the door clicked shut behind him and everyone seemed to sag.
“Well, that was unpleasant.” Eleanor pressed her palm to her abdomen. “And unfruitful. We learned nothing new.”
Frederick took her hand, squeezed it. “Lord Anglia gave us an alibi. If I can confirm it, that eliminates one more suspect.”
“We also learned just how ill-advised it was to gather all the suspects together into one room.” Lady Mary pinched her lipstight. “It was like a plot point in a badly written Gothic novel. Truly, I can’t understand how I let you convince me to do this, Eleanor.”
Eleanor gaped as Lady Mary marched past her and back to the dining room.
Frederick gave her hand another squeeze, his palm warm and rough against hers. “She doesn’t mean it.” He leaned down to whisper in her ear. “And I, for one, am exceedingly fond of all your ideas.”
The tickle of his breath on her ear, the low timbre of his voice, the heat of his nearness, all sent an army of ants marching through her stomach. She glanced at the butler to see if he’d heard, but he studiously avoided her gaze.
“Let’s go have some of that tart.” Frederick tugged her down the hall. “There should be plenty now for second helpings.”
Eleanor traipsed after him. Dessert did sound good, but she couldn’t just let the matter drop. She sniffed. “I could have sworn the idea was Lady Mary’s.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Lady Mary
Rollins had wantedto go alone to The Cagey Vixen. I had quickly disabused him of that notion.
I was only curious to see what a gambling hell looked like. I’ve been to quite a few places in my life that would make the society ladies gasp in horror, but a gambling den hasn’t been one of them. Whether I saw Mr. Cooke there or not was of little consequence.
Except, of course, we had to see Mr. Cooke, ask him about Lord Anglia’s alibi. A flutter that I felt much too old for batted behind my breastbone. If only the dratted man had come to my dinner party, we wouldn’t have had to seek him out now.
“You can still stay in the carriage.” Frederick stood on the coach’s steps, his body half in and half out of the coach. “Our driver will make sure no one bothers you, even in this neighborhood.”
I peered over his shoulder. The neighborhood was one of tall, sandstone buildings, only faintly stained by soot. The pedestrians striding behind Frederick looked like men of business, with a few tradesmen interspersed. As dens of sin went, this one was in a respectable location. I supposed men of consequence didn’t want to be looking over their shoulders for a cutthroat or foist whenever they went to indulge in one of their vices.
“I think I shall be fine accompanying you.” I started moving toward the steps, forcing Mr. Rollins to move back and offer hishand. On the pavement, I looked up. Mr. Cooke’s building was shorter than the rest, only two stories high, with tall Corinthian columns stretching to the portico over the top floor. Potted boxwoods stood on either side of the deep red door of the entrance, their branches shaped into wide coils. A discreet sign was nestled against the alcove above the door:The C. V.
Rollins handed his card to the doorman, who told us to wait in a small room off the foyer.
