“Do you think he’ll see us?” Rollins asked, examining a painting of deep greens and blues, a quaint hunting scene in the countryside.
“He’d better.” I thought about taking a seat to wait. Cooke would see us, he’d be too curious not to, but I wouldn’t put it past him to make us wait longer than necessary. Just because he could.
But much to my surprise, the doorman quickly returned to show us to Cooke’s offices. He took us to the main, central room, sunken a couple of feet into the ground and packed with gaming tables and a bar along the far wall. Only three men sat slouched at one of the tables, the rest empty, understandable at this time of day.
We went up one of the wide staircases that rose on both sides of the room up to the balcony on the first floor. Several doors ran along the hallways branching out in a T-shape, and the doorman took us to the right, to the door at the far end of the corridor. He knocked once, then pushed it open.
“Mr. Rollins and Lady Mary Cavindish, sir.” He announced us with a small incline of his head, then left, closing the door behind him.
Edric Cooke sat behind his stained mahogany desk, his gaze flicking over Rollins before settling on me. I couldn’t read his expression, and I had the first flicker of concern about arriving on his doorstep with a magistrate’s agent in tow. I hadn’tconsidered that he might think I had brought a government agent in order to prosecute him in some way.
I firmed my grip on my walking stick, a pure white one today, the shaft and knob all carved from a single piece of alabaster with the bottom end notched into a small piece of wood, its only nod to functionality. It had been a gift from my husband the summer I’d twisted my ankle, and I wondered why it had been the one I’d chosen this morning for this excursion.
Cooke indicated the two seats across from him. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked, his voice making it sound as though it was anything but.
I eyed the chairs. They were squat, little things, and I could only imagine Cooke had chosen them as it would put his guests in a lower position, forcing them to look up to him. It was a savvy, and petty, move, one I decided not to play along with. A settee backed up against a side wall, and I strode over to pull up the three pillows that adorned it.
I plopped one on the seat of my chair and handed Rollins the other two. “Here. With your long legs, you’ll need the boost.”
A muscle ticked in the Runner’s jaw, but he took the pillows. He probably thought it would make less of a scene if he just went along instead of arguing with me. I settled on the chair, wiggling a bit to even out the cushion. He would thank me later.
The flint had left Cooke’s eyes, his lips twitching. There was no amusement in his voice, however, when he said, “Why are you here?”
Rollins sat, his backrest only rising to his lower back with his extra cushions. “I’d like to ask you about Lord Anglia. The earl’s secretary says the earl was with him at the office the night Lady Richford was killed. Anglia says he was here.”
“And you want to know who is lying?” Cooke pulled a leather-bound journal from one of the desk drawers and flipped it open. “She died what, almost three weeks ago? That Wednesday?”
Rollins nodded in confirmation.
“You keep a registry of everyone who comes in to gamble?” I would love to track the attendance behavior of my members, see which nights were favorites for different people, but it was more record-keeping than I even wanted to think about.
“I keep notes on my high-stakes players.” Cooke ran his finger down a side column, then flipped the page. “And the Earl of Anglia doesn’t play small.”
“He has a problem with gaming?” Rollins asked. “Has he ever gotten himself into trouble?”
Cooke narrowed his gaze on something on the page. “You misunderstand. He plays for high stakes, but it isn’t usually money. Anglia is smart. He doesn’t risk much blunt, but he plays with the Quality in order to gossip. He wins in the information he gathers.”
Yes, mingling with the giants of industry and learning about their different business ventures would be helpful for a man who put his own profits above the well-being of the nation. It also wouldn’t hurt to know who had lost big and could be open to bribery.
Cooke huffed out a laugh. “I don’t know why Anglia’s man would say he was at his offices. It was no lie to say Anglia was working, but he was here while doing it.” He looked up. “He was at the hazard tables, from about ten at night until two the next morning. He played with Virgil Baldwin and Ross Collins if you wish for secondary confirmation.”
Knowing Cooke’s reputation, I was sure Rollins would be following up with the two men. Baldwin was the owner of a large import business, mainly cotton from the former colonies. The other name I wasn’t familiar with. But if Cooke hadn’t thought they’d be in accordance with him, he wouldn’t have mentioned their names.
“Do you know if Lady Richford’s son was an accomplice to her blackmail schemes?” I asked. His murder still got under my skin. Why kill a mother and son? Unless they were both involved in the same misdeeds.
“Blackmail?” Cooke ran his fingers through his steel-grey hair, the locks falling strictly back into their place. “I thought the lady was a thief.”
The look Mr. Rollins shot me could only be called reproachful. Yes, we were supposed to be garnering information, not giving it, but I thought it likely that the crime lord would know that information soon, if not already. He struck me as a man who wanted to know all the underhanded dealings in London.
“There’s not much difference between the two,” Rollins said, tapping his notebook against his thigh. “Had you heard that her son was involved?”
“I had not.” Cooke leaned back, steepling his fingers before his chin.
“And what of the other women linked to Lady Richford?” I scooted to the edge of my seat. “If we could speak with that man you told me of, the one who buys and sells stolen goods, he might be able to tell us if he knew of anyone else working with the viscountess. And with Mr. Rollins with me, you need have no fear for my safety.”
It seemed this night I was destined for disappointed looks. Cooke accompanied his with a heavy sigh. “I thought our conversations would remain private. But as it happens, you misunderstood me. I had only heard a rumor. I am a law-abiding businessman. I would never associate with a criminal such as that.”
Rollins snorted. “Of course.”
