Page 16 of Honor Unbound

“Rubbing their hands raw making soap for pence a day.” Mrs. McKendrick rolled her eyes. “No one should settle for that.”

Feeling too much like a spectator at my own show, I stepped forward. “Good afternoon. I’m Lady Mary Cavindish and I would like to speak to one of your workers. It has nothing to do with Mr. Ryder and his mission.” I discreetly put a few more inches between me and the man in question, hoping to make our separation apparent.

“And what does it have to do with?” Mrs. McKendrick drew her brows together as she examined me from head to toe.

“The death of one of her…customers.” The unreality of the situation suddenly struck me, and I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing. I was at a brothel asking to question a prostitute. I could only imagine my late husband’s reaction if he’d known I’d do such a thing. He’d been quite accustomed to my quirks but this would have shocked even him. I cleared my throat. “I’m hoping she can tell me more about the man.”

“You mean that Mr. Trent.” Mrs. McKendrick’s mouth twisted. “Good riddance to bad rubbish.”

“You knew him then?” I stepped forward, edging my way inside the building. I didn’t want something as easy as a closed door getting in my way.

“He was a regular,” she said. “That is until he hurt my girl. Then you couldn’t see the back of him soon enough. Didn’t respond to any of my or Peg’s requests for compensation. Put her out of work for a solid three weeks it did.”

I held up my reticule. “I will, of course, pay Miss Rogerson for her time.”

Mrs. McKendrick pursed her lips. “All right. But he stays here.” She jabbed her finger at Mr. Ryder. “I don’t want him giving my girls ideas.”

Ryder stepped inside and planted himself by the door. “I will be right here. If you need anything, holler,” he told me.

I nodded and followed Mrs. McKendrick up a narrow staircase and down a hall. Most of the rooms we passed were quiet, but a few emitted some noises I didn’t wish to identify. I wasn’t a prude. I’d been married and had a healthy intimate life with my husband, but that didn’t mean I was comfortable with the intimate lives of others. Especially when it was monetized.

Mrs. McKendrick knocked on a door and didn’t wait for a response to open it. “Peg, someone here wants to talk to you. Charge her your regular rate.”

A woman with lovely strawberry-blonde hair sat up on the bed. She looked to be in her early thirties and was pretty without being striking. She wore a faux-satin wrapper over a provocative night rail.

I started to close the door behind Mrs. McKendrick’s retreating form, then thought better of it. The aroma of the room wasn’t one I wished to be closeted in with. I turned to Peg. “Good afternoon, Miss Rogerson. I’m Lady Mary and I’d like to speak to you about Mr. Trent.” I looked about for a place to sit but there was none besides next to Peg on the bed. I remained standing.

“What about him? He’s dead.”

“Yes. On my doorstep.” I shifted my reticule to my other hand. My shoulder was beginning to ache from the weight. The only place to rest it was the low bureau that ran the length of one short wall and a cluttered dressing table. I considered how many men had probably deposited their clothes on top of the bureau, and other activities that may have occurred on its flat surface, and decided a small ache was preferable. “Do you know why he might have wanted to speak with me?”

She shook her head. “I never heard him speak your name, but then, we didn’t do much talking.”

Quite. “And how was your relationship with Mr. Trent? I understand he caused you some injury?”

Peg pointed to her right arm, an arm I now noticed she kept tucked against her side. “He wrenched my shoulder. It still hurts me.”

“He was violent?” There could be countless more suspects if the man went around assaulting people.

“He didn’t mean to,” Peg admitted. “But he was careless. He didn’t stop when I told him to.”

I scratched my chin. “How does one accidentally wrench a shoulder?”

Peg rolled onto her knees. “Well you see, I was kneeling like this.” She used her left arm to lower her face to the mattress, her rear end lifted in my direction. “And my arms were tied behind my back like this.” She brought her left arm behind her. Her right arm remained resting on the coverlet. “And Edwin was standing behind me—”

“Yes.” I cleared my throat. “I understand.” I didn’t need the playacted visual in my head. “So Mr. Trent was…careless and you were injured.”

She rolled back to sitting. “That’s right, and when I asked him to compensate me, he refused. After all we’d been through together. I always say, the way a man treats his mistress shows what kind of person he truly is.”

“Mistress?” My eyebrows shot up. Men like Trent had mistresses, but they weren’t usually women who worked in common bawdy houses. “Is that the sort of relationship you had?”

She lifted her left shoulder. “He never saw any other girls but me. He gave me some gifts. Define our relationship how you will.”

“I can understand how Mr. Trent’s refusal to compensate you would make you angry.”

She stood. “I know what you’re getting at. Edwin should have paid me what I was due, but I won’t get anything now with him dead. I didn’t have a reason to kill him.”

I’d underestimated the woman’s intelligence. But if Peg thought Trent would never pay her, revenge was a solid motive for murder. “I heard you pestered Mr. Trent, demanding what was yours. Harassing him even, some might say.”