Page 17 of Honor Unbound

“Who might say?” Peg narrowed her eyes.

“Trent’s manager, Mr. Hicks, thought—”

“Him?” Peg loosed a harsh chuckle. “That sot? Acted all high and mighty when Edwin brought him here, like The Red Chemise was beneath him. But he didn’t leave until after he’d had his fun with Vanessa. And he left with a smile on his face.”

I rocked back on my heels. Mr. Hicks had failed to mention that tidbit of information amongst all his blustering.

“If you’re looking for people who were angry at Edwin, you should look at his family.” Peg planted her left hand on her hip. “His wife’s brother followed Edwin here once. Demanded Edwin stop seeing me, that it was an insult to his sister.” Her lips went white. “I bet if I’d been an expensive bit of muslin, he wouldn’t have thought it an insult. Nobody cares about what you actually do, only about how you look when you do it.”

The truth in that statement was slightly depressing. “You’re speaking of Mr. Platt?”

“That’s the only brother his wife has.” She jerked her wrapper back up her shoulder. “He was mean as a snake when he spoke to Edwin.”

“And when was this?”

Peg looked at the ceiling. “A couple weeks ago? Just a couple days before Edwin wrenched my arm. He went on and on about his family’s honor. I don’t think he thought a factory owner wasgood enough for his sister. His money was good enough for them, however.”

Peg was a surprisingly astute observer of human nature. In her line of work, perhaps she needed to be. “Can you think of anyone else who might want to hurt Mr. Trent?”

“No, but if Edwin was as tight with money as he was with me, there could be a long list.”

I nodded. “Thank you for your time, Miss Rogerson. One last question. Where were you when Trent was killed?”

I’d expected anger. At least a portrayal of her being offended. Instead, she answered straightforwardly. “I was here. Sleeping.” She held out her hand and named a sum.

My jaw dropped. “We only spoke for some fifteen minutes!”

“And that is a quarter of my hourly rate.”

I dug through my reticule, grumbling. I had the money, and Lord knew Peg needed it more than I. But it was the principle of the thing. After paying her for her time, I stomped along the hall and down the steps.

Mr. Ryder’s face cleared when I appeared. “Are you all right?”

“Fine.” I looked to the high desk Mrs. McKendrick had been standing behind before but it stood empty. I turned to the doorman. “Do you know if Miss Rogerson was here early Saturday morning?”

He stared at me blankly before opening the front door. Message received. I eagerly stepped into the sunlight. The day was warm and the heat felt cleansing. I shook out my skirts. “What’s the going rate for a prostitute? I believe I was robbed.”

Mr. Ryder planted a hand on the building and bent his leg, examining the bottom of his shoe. “I take it your questioning was without fruit. You shouldn’t have gone in there. If anyone were to see you, your reputation would be damaged.”

I dipped my chin and gave him a look. As someone who had tried his best to impugn said reputation in order to close my club, he should know better than anyone how absurd his statement was. I already had a reputation for eccentricity and unladylike behavior. If I weren’t the aunt of a duke and didn’t have piles of money, I would have already received the cut direct from high society.

“What are you doing?”

He straightened, frowning. “There was something sticky on that floor.”

I adjusted my bonnet. “You didn’t have to come in with me.”

“I couldn’t in good conscience let you enter that establishment alone.” He gave me his arm.

I blew out a breath. Ever the gentleman. And for once, he might have been right. Being seen visiting a brothel might have been too much, even for my reputation. I should have come under the cover of night when the only people seeing me enter such an establishment would have their own reasons for keeping silent.

“It did bear fruit,” I felt the need to inform him as we crossed the street. Rather small fruit, that might be full of holes. “She told me the victim’s brother-in-law was most unhappy with Trent’s visits to Miss Rogerson. Was quite angry at the insult to his sister.”

Mr. Ryder stared down a hackney driver who drove his horses a bit too near. “That’s understandable. Not exactly a strong motive for murder, however. Unfaithfulness in marriage is all too frequent.”

I nodded to Ernest to open the carriage door, my jaw tight. “Yes.”

Mr. Ryder sucked in a breath. “I apologize. I didn’t mean—”