He watched her go with even more suspicion than when he’d first seen her. “Before we go to your office, if you would show me where you found Lady Richford?” He held his arm out to the door.
Lady Mary did so, pausing several times to greet members. Frederick was a great object of interest, and he foresaw no issue in getting the ladies here to speak with him. An interview by an officer of Bow Street would likely feed theiron ditfor a month.
He was led down a central hall with rooms opening on both the right and the left. It ended at a pair of double doors, thrown open to a cavernous room, mostly empty, with a low stage tucked against the far wall. Lady Mary showed him where the victim had been lying, and he was pleased her account accorded with the sketches the magistrate’s assistant had made of the crime scene. After examining the space and testing the door to thealley, he nodded to Lady Mary and followed her out of the room and back down the hall.
Lady Mary’s office was in the corner of the club. It was a well-lit room with windows on two sides, which seemed primarily designed to aid the copious plant life. Ferns hung from the ceiling. Exotic agave crowded the window sills, their spiky leaves a deterrent to anyone who’d presume to climb through the casements. What looked like a banana tree in a wide oak tub commandeered one corner of the room.
Her desk was tidy, just one lone ledger resting upon it. A high-backed chair that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a throne room sat behind it, with two much smaller, but just as finely upholstered, guest chairs across.
Frederick brushed a fern frond from his face as he made his way to the desk. “This will do nicely. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” His stride was long, but Lady Mary’s was faster. She rounded the desk before he reached the corner and took her seat.
He narrowed his eyes. “My interviews require only the presence of me and the person with whom I’m speaking. Your presence—”
“You will be interviewing my workers, my members. I have already spoken with most of them, but I am curious to see how they answer a Runner.”
He inhaled sharply. “Lady Mary—”
“Or you can try to speak with everyone after they’ve left this club.” She leaned her walking stick against the desk. “Traveling to over fifty homes, hoping that they’ll be available, why it could take days.”
He considered his options. Throttling an older woman wasn’t one of them. Nor could he lock her up, not with the influence she wielded, not with the nephew she had. But to have an ordinarycitizen, and one who was a potential suspect in the murder, sitting in on his interviews just wasn’t done.
“Lord Richford hired you,” she added, “and he will not object. The more eyes, and all that,” she reminded him.
He was coming to loathe that phrase.
His shoulders sagged in defeat, but his mother had taught him it was always better to make the most of a situation rather than complain.
Frederick looked hopefully at her desk chair. “All right, I’ll allow you to remain, but I should sit—”
“My office. My chair.” She laced her fingers together and leaned back, looking as comfortable as a queen. The cushion was so thick her feet most likely barely reached the floor.
Biting back an oath, Frederick took one of the small chairs and dragged it from across the desk to the side end. He pulled out his notepad and piece of lead, smacking them to the desk with a bit more force than necessary before wedging himself into his seat.
“Would you like some goose fat?” Miss Lynton stood in the doorway, one eyebrow arched. “You might be able to slide your way into that chair more easily.”
Frederick scowled. “Please, have a seat.” He indicated the remaining chair, trying not to feel resentful that she dropped into it as though it had been formed for her body. This was a women’s club. The furniture was probably more proportioned to their smaller statures.
“Should I call for tea?” Lady Mary asked, her light blue eyes bright. “I’ve never sat in on a Runner’s interview. I’m quite unsure of the etiquette.”
He flipped open his notebook to a fresh page. “No tea.”
“Just as well.” Lady Mary crossed one ankle over the other. “With over fifty people at the club now, it could be a challenge keeping enough water boiling.”
He turned to Miss Lynton. “How long have you been a member of this club?”
“Almost since its inception.” She glanced at Lady Mary. “About eighteen months now?”
“That sounds about right,” Lady Mary said.
“And how long have you known the victim?” Frederick held his lead just above the paper.
Miss Lynton folded her hands neatly in her lap. “The Richfords have been a part of my family’s social set ever since I can remember, although I likely didn’t have any true conversation with the woman until we were both members of this club, and even then, we spoke of nothing of significance.”
Frederick scratched some notes down. Miss Lynton seemed most eager to downplay any association with the viscountess, whether from a natural inclination to avoid a connection with a murder victim or for more sinister reasons he didn’t yet know.
And she was circumspect enough throughout the rest of the interview to keep him in ignorance. She hadn’t seen Lady Richford enter the club, nor move through it. She’d only remained after closing to speak to Lady Mary about her family’s financial difficulties. She didn’t know anyone who would want to harm the viscountess. No matter from which direction he pressed, Miss Lynton remained stalwart in her claim that she had no useful knowledge of the murder.
