Page 24 of Honor Unbound

“As have I.” Mr. Burton pulled out the chair across from me for Marie before pulling out his own next to mine.

Marie elbowed him aside and took his seat. She spread her piece of paper before her, smoothing out the wrinkles. “I found a sweet shop a street over from Mrs. Shaw’s house. That’s Mrs. Trent’s sister,” she informed me, as though that were something I would have forgotten. “One of her maids stops there every morning for a confection. I’ve struck up a conversation with her the past two days.”

Mr. Burton took the other seat. He leaned down and scratched the dog behind his ear. “I don’t suppose you brought any sweets with you?” He dropped his gaze to the reticule on her lap, looking as hopeful as Southey.

She tugged it closer to her abdomen. “I have not. What I have brought is information. Edith, that’s the maid, isn’t too happy about having another child in the house. Apparently, the Trent daughter is particularly messy. Edith isn’t too fond of Mrs. Trent, either.”

I shoved the invoices in their envelope, giving up on them for the day. “That is information, I agree. It isn’t particularly useful information though, is it?”

Mr. Burton smothered a snicker.

Marie flushed. “That wasn’t the interesting bit. Edith told me that every Friday and Sunday night Mrs. Trent has been living with her sister, she takes her carriage out at eight in the evening until early the next morning.”

“And goes where?” I scooted to the edge of my seat.

Marie pushed a lock of crimson hair behind her ear. “Well, she wasn’t exactly sure, but rumor is Mrs. Trent is going to meet her paramour.”

I drummed my fingers on the table. If true, that could be one more motive for the victim’s widow. But how reliable wererumors spread by a sweets-obsessed gossip? “Someone must know where she goes. Her driver would.”

“I mentioned that.” Marie rested her elbows on the table, dropping her chin in her hands. “She says he’s a most disagreeable man and doesn’t talk to her.”

But he might talk to someone more his station. I’d ask Ernest to see if the man was more communicative with him.

I pursed my lips. Or have my driver follow the other this Friday night. If the widow stuck to her pattern, it could be most interesting to see where she ended up.

Raucous laughter erupted by the long bar that ran along the far wall. Two members might have imbibed one drink too many, if their rosy cheeks were any indication.

I signaled my bartender to start the coffee. “Well, that is an interesting bit of information. And don’t put your elbows on a table.” I tapped her arm until she slid them off the wood. If Marie wanted to become a lady’s companion, she would have to stop forgetting basic proprieties. Though she was doing admirably with her diction.

“What’s on the paper?” Mr. Burton asked. He leaned closer to Marie to angle his head to read it.

She snatched it away. “Nothing. Just a recipe Edith gave me.”

“A recipe?” Mr. Burton and I both said.

“To explain why I was in the shop both days, I told her I was making a pudding with abon-bontopping and needed ingredients.” Marie shrugged. “We got to talking about desserts, and, well, she gave me a recipe for her favorite. It sounds good,” she said defensively.

Mr. Burton rested his hand on the seatback behind Marie. “I’d be happy to taste it after you bake it.”

So would I, but that wasn’t relevant right now. “And what have you learned?” I asked my under-butler. “Or did you merely escort Marie about?”

“I don’t need escorting.”

Burton grinned at her and gently nudged Southey off the boot he’d been chewing. “No. When I told her I was coming here to find you, Miss Murphy nearly raced me the whole way. A bit competitive, this one is.”

“You ran from home? You didn’t take a hackney?” My eyebrows shot up.

“We walked. Quickly,” Marie admitted. “It’s not that far.”

Indeed, one of the reasons I chose this location for my club was its proximity to my home.

I still preferred taking a coach.

The two women at the bar pointed in our direction, whispering loudly behind their glasses.

Not wanting to get engaged in yet another pointless conversation, I picked up my envelope of invoices and stood. “Let’s continue this in my office.”

They followed me out the doors and down the hall to the left. Southey’s bell tinkled as he brought up the rear. My office was in the corner of the building and past the kitchens. Loud bangs emanated from that room, and I scurried past. It seemed as though there was always something needing repair at the club, and now one of the ovens was down.