Page 77 of Honor Unbound

“It’s Mr. Growse, and this is my wife.”

I nodded.

“We met at one of your nephew’s parties. It was a musicale, I believe. You remember,” he said to his wife. “They served those little ham croquettes you liked so much.”

Mrs. Growse gave her husband an affectionate look. “Of course, I remember. We don’t attend so many parties at the home of a duke that I would soon forget.”

I remembered that night, too, and now recalled the man. “Yes, Mr. Growse. You supply Montague’s ships, don’t you?”

He hooked his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets. “I do indeed. My company supplies the best biscuits in the business.”

“The sailors also eat dried vegetables and some meat.” His wife shook her head, smiling. “They don’t only eat biscuits.”

“They would if they could,” Mr. Growse said.

Not one to ignore opportunity, I asked, “And what about tinned food? Have you started to supply that?”

“Indeed. Marvelous invention, that.” He leaned close. “Isn’t quite the thing when it comes to flavor, you understand, but very healthful for long voyages.”

“And have you ever bought from Trent Canning Company?” It would be too good to be true that a chance encounter with a ship supplier would hold the answer to Mr. Trent’s murder, but then again, stranger things than that had occurred. And perhaps the fates had decided to take pity on me, and had put me in this man’s path for a reason.

Mr. Growse rubbed his grizzled chin. “Trent’s cannery? No, his prices were always too steep, that’s why he only sold to the government. They feel free to spend other people’s money. No, I buy from some smaller canners, get some surplus from the Royal Navy. Even got a nice deal on a batch recently from an independent retailer.”

My heart sank. Like I’d said. Too good to be true.

“It was just awful what happened to him.” Mrs. Growse shuddered. “And in his own home.”

I murmured agreement and excused myself from the conversation as quickly as civility allowed. I again waited until the proprietress finished assisting another customer before putting my questions to her.

She was very sorry, but Mrs. Trent wasn’t a customer of hers.

Shoulders drooping, I trudged from the shop. To my right, a row of clothiers awaited. More shops, more places to ask questions.

I turned left.

Ernest opened the carriage door and assisted me inside. Southey pounced. After jumping up and down on my lap, he flopped to his back on the seat beside me, presenting his belly.

I rubbed it. He deserved some thanks for always being excited to see me. It was nice to feel appreciated.

“So?” Jane asked. She laid a bit of embroidery aside. “Where to now?” At my silence, she continued, “We could rally a mob to follow Mrs. Trent and her lover, shouting accusations of their infidelity, perhaps throwing the odd bit of fruit at them. Perhaps they would crumble under the pressure and admit to everything.”

I glared at her over my spectacles. “Are you finished?”

She pursed her lips, considering.

I flopped back on my seat, and the narrow beam of light streaming from the small puncture in the ceiling caught me in the eye. I shifted left, sighing. I was trying to be civic-minded, but my lower back was starting to ache as much as my feet and no one seemed to appreciate all the effort it took to solve a murder.

I loosed a breath. “Oh, let’s go to The Minerva Club and have a large drink.”

Chapter Thirty

Lady Mary

Sun streamed throughthe windows of the Royal Brew. Every table was occupied, and I thought the coffeehouse could benefit from a few rugs thrown on the floor to help muffle the cheerful din. The barrister was in the same spot at the same time, with the same jam tart in front of him as when I’d first been introduced to the man. I hoped that even without Mr. Ryder by my side, Mr. Plummer would be as forthcoming.

“Mr. Plummer,” I exclaimed, as though this was but a chance meeting. “This establishment is a favorite of yours, is it?”

He looked up and blinked, his whiskey eyes narrowing. His forehead cleared. “Ah. Lady Mary, isn’t it? What are you doing back here?”