Page 56 of Honor Unbound
Mr. Plummer hooked his thumb in his waistcoat pocket. “One can never tell in such matters. I had thought we had a very decent chance of success.”
“Had?” Ryder asked. “Past tense?”
Mr. Plummer nodded as he took another bite of his tart. “Edwin Trent came to me a couple days before he died,” he said around his mouthful. “He was most upset. He’d just learned that Gray was going to argue contributory negligence as his defense. Argue that the contamination likely occurred because of Trent’s poor canning practices instead of Gray’s defective tins.”
My stomach rumbled. “Mr. Trent knew of this?” I caught the server’s eye and pointed at Mr. Plummer’s half-eaten tart, then held up one finger.
The lawyer nodded. “Apparently in he and Gray’s most recent row, Gray had told him. Now, I don’t recommend engaging with opposing parties. That’s what attorneys are for. But Trent and Gray couldn’t seem to help themselves.”
“Was there truth to the accusation?” Ryder leaned forward. “Was the incident Trent’s fault?”
“That would be up to a jury to decide.” Mr. Plummer shrugged. “But it didn’t help our case. Especially when one of the accusers was Mr. Trent’s own manager. Thatcertainlywouldn’t have helped our case.”
I coughed on my sip of coffee. “Excuse me, but Mr. Trent knew that Mr. Hicks was going to testify against him?”
Mr. Plummer nodded.
I pursed my lips. Hicks had a grudge against Trent over his salary. He’d agreed to testify against his employer, and his employer had discovered it. Their relationship was a powderkeg. The tiniest spark would have set it off. Once Trent learned of Hicks’s betrayal, he must have confronted him. Dismissed him, perhaps. Leaving Hicks furious and desperate.
I jumped to my feet. “Thank you, Mr. Plummer. You’ve been most helpful.”
Ryder rose, as well. “Did you tell the authorities about this?” He dug into his pocket and tossed some coin on the table.
Mr. Plummer blinked. “About Mr. Hicks’s proposed testimony? I think so. Perhaps. Well, if anyone asked. I can’t remember.”
I reached for Southey’s lead. “I need to go.”
Ryder kept it hostage in his grip. “I’ll go with you,” he said grimly. “You’re going to have a talk with Mr. Hicks, aren’t you?”
I nodded and skirted a table, making my way to the exit.
“Didn’t you want a tart?” Ryder nodded to the server who carried one toward Plummer’s table.
I gazed longingly at the pastry, golden and crusted with sugar. My mouth watered. I straightened my spine. “No.” Some things came before my stomach’s desire. And confronting a likely killer was one of them. Mr. Trent would never eat another tart again.
I did take note of the coffeehouse’s location, however. When this was all over, I’d return and try that fruit tart.
Ernest saw us coming and jumped down from the driver’s seat of the carriage. He opened the door. “Where to now, milady?”
“The magistrate’s office,” Ryder said firmly.
“Mr. Trent’s canning factory.” I jabbed the tip of my stick into the pavement.
Ryder gripped the back of his neck. “Be reasonable. Let the authorities handle this.”
“The men of Bow Street have many good qualities, but timeliness isn’t one of them.” I bounced on my toes. “They’rea bureaucracy like any other. I feel we don’t have much time. Hicks could flee, or hurt someone else, while the authorities process our statements.” And there was that wager of mine and Sir Kelsey’s.
Ernest’s gaze bounced between the two of us, as though he were watching a badminton match, eager to see who would win.
He should have known better. He’d been in my employ over twenty years.
“Your afternoon is your own, but this carriage and I are going to the Trent Canning Company. You can go to the magistrate,” I told Ryder, a hint of condescension in my voice, “and I will track down Hicks.”
I took Ernest’s hand and climbed into my carriage.
Ryder picked Southey up. “You know very well that isn’t happening,” he grumbled and climbed in after me.
Ryder was silent for many minutes after the carriage had started moving. “This is a poor idea,” he finally said. “The man could be a killer.”
