The door opened, and a beautiful young women entered. The burgundy of her dress was so dark it looked almost black, andthe fabric clung to her body like a second skin. Without sparing us a look, she went to Cooke’s desk and handed him a missive. “It’s here.”
Cooke’s face remained impassive, but I caught the flare of interest in his eyes. For the news the woman brought or for the woman herself?
He stood. “If you will excuse me, I have business to attend.” Raising his voice, he said, “Jocko will show you out.”
The man must have been standing right outside the door, waiting for his master’s instruction. The same man who had led us in stepped into the doorway. “Follow me.”
Rollins looked at me and shrugged. We had no cause to force our presence on Mr. Cooke, and I didn’t know what else he could tell us. He had confirmed Lord Anglia’s alibi. That was sufficient.
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Cooke.” Rollins slid his notebook away, inclined his head to the woman, and stood, one of the pillows sliding off his seat to the floor. He turned for the door, stretching his arm in front of him as an invitation for me to precede him.
I glanced once more at Cooke’s face, the woman, the missive, then dipped my own head and left his office. A few more patrons filled a table on the main floor. I wondered how crowded the hell would become when night fell. Activities such as these were best done under the cover of darkness.
Rollins handed me into the carriage, gave his driver instructions.
“Do you believe him?” I asked, once the carriage had started to move.
“I see no reason why not to.” Rollins turned his hat in his hands. “Lord Anglia was always a bit of a stretch as the murderer. It is good to clear him once and for all.”
I made a noise in the back of my throat. Yes, we were down yet another suspect, but the true culprit still remained a mystery.I suppose this was what investigations entailed. Tediously going over everyone’s alibis, eliminating the possibilities until only one person remained who could have committed the crime.
I looked out the window. I hated to admit it, since the entertainment value of an investigation should be irrelevant, but the routine procedure was dreadfully dull. I would have thought an investigator’s life more interesting. At least I didn’t have to complete the paperwork that Rollins complained about.
The carriage turned onto a familiar street. “We’re going back to my club? Isn’t there someone else we should speak to?” I had thought to pay a call to the Masseys, pretend to apologize for the dinner party, see if I could draw anything else out of them.
I didn’t want to. At this point, I felt as though we were going in circles, repeating questions, hearing the same answers. But going in a circle was still going somewhere. It had to be better than standing in one place.
Rollins shook his head. “I need to return to my office for the afternoon. I have duties there I can’t ignore.”
The paperwork. I was happy to climb down from the carriage and leave the man to that task. I waved goodbye. I thought about calling for my own coach, making that visit to the Masseys.
I turned into my club instead. After all, going in circles made one dizzy after a while. No, what this investigation called for was thought. An analysis of all that we’d learned up to this point accompanied by rational deduction.
A spot of tea wouldn’t go amiss, either.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Frederick
The deception didn’tsit right in his gut. Frederick stood across the street from Eleanor’s townhouse, wondering if she was at home. But he couldn’t trust Lady Mary to keep the information to herself that he still investigated Mrs. Lynton. Until he’d either cleared the woman or found evidence of her guilt, he didn’t want Eleanor to know.
The door at his back swung open. “Can I help you, sir?”
Frederick turned. This was the fourth neighbor’s home he’d questioned. He handed the butler his card. “I’d like to speak with the servants here. Can we meet in the kitchens perhaps?” He’d already spoken to the owners of the houses that neighbored the Lyntons. The servants, however, seemed more willing to gossip, and their knowledge surpassed that of their masters.
The butler was skilled at controlling his emotions. With just an incline of his head, he said, “Of course, sir. If you’ll follow me,” as though being questioned by an officer of Bow Street were an everyday occurrence.
Frederick was offered a cup of tea and a slice of nut bread while he waited for the remaining servants to gather. Their answers were similar to what he’d already learned from the neighboring houses. The Lynton servants were worried about their mistress. She’d always been such a kind, concerned lady, but lately she’d shown signs of temper. Of imbalance.
“She kept Mr. Grosse and Miss Olive on even through all that family’s troubles,” the cook said, pushing another wedge ofbread at him even though he hadn’t finished his first. “Treated like family, they are.”
“Do you think her servants would lie to protect her? Tell me she remained at home when she might have left?” Frederick asked.
An uncomfortable silence met his question. “They’re good people,” the butler finally said. “They wouldn’t lie to the law.”
“But they don’t know all the comings and goings,” one of the maids added. “Mr. Grosse, sweet man, doesn’t hear the best, and Miss Olive likes her sleep a bit too much if you ask me.”
“No one asked you.” The cook glared at the girl.
