“If she was such a good friend, you should want the one who killed her caught. You should have protected her against those who threatened her.” It was an abominable thing to say, but killers weren’t caught with kind words.
But Miss Abbott didn’t seem to take offense. Her shoulders lowered. “You mean Mrs. Lynton. I knew she hated Susan. Susan knew how much Mrs. Lynton hated her. We never believed she would make good on her threats, however, never believed she would turn violent.”
Frederick stilled. It always came back to Mrs. Lynton. “What threats did she make?”
Miss Abbott cocked her head, her forehead creasing. “The letter. Susan kept it in the secret compartment in her writing desk along with some other personal items. I thought you must have seen it if you were asking.”
“You saw a letter from Mrs. Lynton making a threat against the viscountess?”
She nodded. “Susan showed it to me. We laughed about it. Of all the people Susan had…crossed, she hadn’t counted Mrs. Lynton amongst them. It had been a little snub, over a decade ago. So many people hated Susan for much worse.”
“Hate is a strong word.”
She shrugged. “Susan didn’t care what others thought about her. It was the quality of hers that I loved most. Now”—she said, moving toward a coat rack by her front door—“I must show you out. I don’t want to be late.”
Frederick inhaled sharply. Every damned arrow seemed to point just where he didn’t want. He stomped out of the apartment and out of the lodging house. Temple Church was only a block away, and he turned toward it as he pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. He climbed into his carriage. He really did need to make an appearance at the office. And this way his words to Lady Mary weren’t truly a lie.
The office was unusually empty, just two other agents hunched over their desks, the door to Sir John’s office closed, the window above it dark. Good. He wasn’t in the mood to deliver another progress report. The progress he’d made he didn’t want to report. He hadn’t told the magistrate that Mrs. Lynton was his prime suspect, and he didn’t want to until absolutely necessary.
He would need to ask Lord Richford if he could search his wife’s desk again. What he found there could be another nail in Mrs. Lynton’s coffin, but perhaps something he found would lead him in a different direction. An easier direction. One that wouldn’t crush the woman he was coming to love.
He’d barely dropped his arse into his chair, however, before it became necessary.
“Oy. Rollins!” Simmons poked his head into the office. “I looked at that letter you brought.”
Frederick waved him in, dread filling his gut. “What have you got?”
The agent sauntered to his desk. “Preliminary studies show the author to have a fretful nature, clearly in high emotion at thetime of writing. The Swiss physiognomist Lavater thinks that if the tail on an—”
“I can read a person’s character on my own, Simmons.” He planted his palms on his desk. “I wanted to know your opinion from your other area of study. Please, no lectures from the Swiss or French or Italians.”
Simmons slapped the letter Frederick had taken from Mrs. Lynton’s house on his desk and more gingerly placed the scrap of paper from Bannister’s apartment. He sniffed before giving Frederick a broad smile. “They’re a match.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Eleanor
“Mr. Rollins hereto see you, miss.”
Eleanor hopped out of the large wingback chair, setting her book aside, when Mr. Grosse made his announcement. She’d wondered if Frederick would come for supper tonight. Pausing briefly in front of a mirror, she tucked a strand of hair back into its twist, pinched her cheeks, then hurried for the door.
She drew her brows together when she saw him. His handsome face looked haggard, his eyes dull. “Frederick, what are you doing standing in the doorway? Come in. You look like you need a stiff drink.”
“Eleanor.” He stepped forward and to the side, revealing another man standing behind him. “This is Simmons, another officer of Bow Street.” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I’m sorry. We’ve come to arrest your mother.”
Eleanor stopped so abruptly it was as though she’d walked into a wall. She blinked. “No.” She shook her head. “You’re making a jest. A poor one.”
Mr. Grosse made a motion as if to close the door, but the other agent pressed his palm against it, holding it open until he’d stepped inside. He gingerly closed it behind him.
“Miss?” Mr. Grosse wrung his hands.
Eleanor couldn’t think of a thing to say. Her mind was blank, her body numb.
Frederick stepped before her and gripped her shoulders. Without breaking her gaze, he said, “Find Mrs. Lynton. Bring her down please, Mr. Grosse.”
Eleanor opened her mouth to object.
Frederick squeezed her shoulders. “It will be worse if we have to restrain her or carry her out.”
