A Body in Berkeley Square
by Ashley Gardner
Book 5 of the
Captain Lacey Regency Mysteries
A Body in Berkeley Square
Copyright 2005, 2011 by Jennifer Ashley (Ashley Gardner)
All rights reserved.
Excerpt from A Covent Garden Mystery copyright 2011 by Jennifer Ashley (Ashley Gardner)
Published 2011 by Jennifer Ashley (Ashley Gardner)
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
* * * * *
Chapter One
At two o'clock in the morning on the fifth of April, 1817, I stood in an elegant bedchamber in Berkeley Square and looked down at the dead body of Mr. Henry Turner.
Mr. Turner was in his twenties. He had brown hair arranged in fashionable, drooping curls and wore a black suit with an ivory and silver waistcoat, elegant pantaloons, and dancing slippers. An emerald stickpin glittered in his cravat, and his collar points were exceedingly high.
Only a slight red gash marred the waistcoat where a knife had gone in to stop his life. Except for the waxen paleness of his face, Mr. Turner might be asleep.
"And he died where?" I asked.
"In a little anteroom off the ballroom downstairs," Milton Pomeroy, my former sergeant, now a Bow Street Runner said. "Right in the middle of a fancy ball with the creme de la creme. Lord Gillis had him brought up here, so the guests would not be disturbed by a dead body, so he said."
Lord Gillis was an earl who lived in this opulent mansion on Berkeley Square. Tonight he had hosted a ball which the top of society had attended, including Lucius Grenville, Lady Breckenridge, Lady Jersey, and the Duke of Wellington.
Colonel Brandon and Louisa Brandon had been invited also because Lord Gillis had been an officer before he'd inherited his title, and he loved to gossip with military men--at least those ranked colonel and above.
After supper had finished and dancing had recommenced--about midnight--Mr. Turner had been found in a small anteroom, alone and dead.
"What about the weapon?" I asked.
For answer, Pomeroy held up a knife. It was slim and utilitarian, with a plain handle, unmarked. I'd had one much like it in the army and regretted its loss when I wagered it away in a game of cards.
Pomeroy laid it carefully on Mr. Turner's chest.
"Belongs to one Colonel Aloysius Brandon," he said.
I stared at it in sudden shock, then back at Pomeroy.
"I am afraid so, sir," he said. "He admitted the knife was his, but has no idea how it came to be a-sticking out of the chest of Mr. Turner."
I at last understood why Pomeroy had so urgently sent for me. Colonel Brandon had been my commanding officer during the recent Peninsular War. He'd also at one time been my mentor and my friend.
Currently, Brandon was my enemy. His actions had ended my career as a cavalry officer and brought me back to London tired and defeated.
"And where is Colonel Brandon now?" I asked tersely.
"Bow Street. I sent him off with my patroller. He'll face the magistrate tomorrow."
Like a common criminal, I thought. The magistrate would examine him and decide whether he had enough evidence to hold Brandon at Newgate for a trial.
I studied the knife. Nothing remarkable about it except that it had belonged to Colonel Brandon.
"Did Brandon offer any explanation as to how the knife got there?" I asked.
Pomeroy rocked on his heels. "None whatsoever. Our colonel looked blank, said he didn't do it, and that I should take him at his word." He cocked his head. "Now what kind of Runner would I be if I believed every criminal what told me that?"
I could imagine Brandon, his back straight, his blue eyes chill, telling Pomeroy that his word should be enough to clear him of a charge of murder. He had likely marched off with the patroller, head high, indignation pouring from every inch of him.
"That the knife belongs to Brandon does not mean that he stabbed Turner," I said. "Colonel Brandon could have used the knife at any time this evening--to pare an apple or some other thing. He might have laid down the knife, and anyone might have picked it up."
Pomeroy tapped the side of his nose. "Ah, but the good colonel told me that was nonsense. Said he never remembered taking the knife out of his pocket."
Typical of Brandon to make everything worse with heated protests. He would expect Pomeroy to obey him without question, as though we still stood on the battlefields of the Peninsular War.
But we'd left Spain three years ago, Napoleon had been defeated, and Brandon and Pomeroy and I were now civilians. Brandon, with a large private income, lived in a rather opulent house on Brook Street, and I, with no private income, lived in rooms over a bake shop near Covent Garden.
Even so, Pomeroy's instant acceptance that Brandon had stabbed this young man through his so elegant suit irritated me a bit. Pomeroy liked solutions to be simple.
"I never remember Brandon mentioning having acquaintance with Mr. Turner," I said. "He does not look like the sort of young man Brandon would even consider speaking to."
"True, the colonel did not know Mr. Turner, he says. I believe him, for the reasons you give. But he didn't have to know him, did he? Turner was annoying the colonel's paramour, and the colonel killed him in a fit of jealousy."
I stared at Pomeroy in abject astonishment. "Paramour?"
The Colonel Brandon I knew would never have anything so common as a paramour.
Pomeroy nodded. "A woman named Mrs. Harper, Christian name, Imogene. According to guests at the ball, Colonel Brandon became angry at Mr. Turner's pursuit of Mrs. Harper and threatened to kill him."
I stood still in incredulity. Brandon in a temper might call out a man who behaved badly to a lady, but what Pomeroy said was unbelievable.
"Sergeant, you are speaking of Colonel Aloysius Brandon. He does not have a paramour. He never did. He is the most moral and faithful husband a wife could have. He is tiresome about it. The idea that he murdered a rival lover in a fit of jealousy is beyond absurd."
Pomeroy held up his forefinger. "And yet, not a few witnesses put him walking off alone with her several times during the evening, never mind escorting her in to supper. These same witnesses say they overheard quarrels between himself and Mr. Turner about Mrs. Harper. Besides"--Pomeroy played his trump card--"Colonel Brandon admitted to me that Imogene Harper was his mistress."
My mind whirled. "Pomeroy, this is astonishment on top of astonishment. I cannot credit it."
"It has much credit, sir, and 'twill be the colonel's debit, so to speak." He chuckled at his joke.
I stood still a moment, trying to take it all in. "Mrs. Brandon was at the ball with him, you say?"
"Aye. That she was."
"Did he admit this in front of her?"
Pomeroy nodded, losing his smile. "Aye, that he did. Mrs. Brandon refused to leave his side while I questioned him."
She would have insisted on staying, thinking it must all be a mistake. I imagined the blow of Brandon's admission striking her, her face whitening, her gray eyes growing moist with pain. I would wring Brandon's neck when I saw him.
"Where is Mrs. Brandon?" I asked sharply.
"Gone home."
"Alone?"
"No, sir. Her maid toddled off with her, and the Viscountess Breckenridge and Lady Aline Carrington."
Aline Carrington was Louisa's closest woman friend, and I was happy that the lady had chosen to take care of her. The addition of Lady Breckenridge surprised me. She was a young widow, friend to Lady Aline, but she'd not been acquainted with Louisa. Also, Lady Breckenridge was a woman about whose motives I was not always clear.
Pomeroy went on, "Mrs. Brandon told me to fetch you here."
"Mrs. Brandon is a wise woman."
"Aye, sir. I always obey when Mrs. Brandon gives orders."
"Good man."
I lifted the knife and held it between my palms, the point touching one hand and the handle touching the other. The knife told me little. The blade was slim and stained with blood. Neither blade nor hilt contained any markings or engravings. In itself, the knife indicated nothing.
I laid the knife on the table. "Please show me where he was found."
Pomeroy raised thick yellow brows. "Don't know what good that is. It's just a room."
"All the same."
Pomeroy gave me the look he'd always reserved for my more questionable orders, but he lumbered away.
Before I left I looked down at Turner once more. A young man, his life abruptly ended. Did he have a father and mother, brothers, a wife, an affianced? His face told me nothing. He'd been a dandy and a well-to-do young man--his clothes and the emerald stickpin attested to that.
Lucius Grenville would know all about him. Grenville would know the young man's crowd, his intimates, his family. Grenville would also be able to tell me where Mr. Turner went to school, what wagers he liked to place at White's, and what kind of horses he drove. The Polite World knew everything about everyone, and this was definitely a crime of the Polite World.
I followed Pomeroy down the staircase. This house was opulent, with no expense spared to impress the invited guest. The staircase lifted three stories from a wide hall paved with marble, and paintings of Gillis ancestors marched up the walls to the domed ceiling at the top. The stair railing was wrought iron, shaped in fantastic curlicues.
Pomeroy's boots clumped swiftly as we descended. I followed more slowly, my footsteps punctuated by the sharp tap of my walking stick. At forty-one, I already walked like an old man, courtesy of a painful wound in my left leg--a wound for which Colonel Brandon was directly responsible.
Lord Gillis had remodeled his abode with modern conveniences--large windows, airy rooms, and hidden halls and staircases through which servants could pass without being seen by the inhabitants or their guests. But the house did not want us there. The cream-colored walls and marble floor were cold, and the ancestors by Reynolds and Holbein frowned upon us. The house did its best to shut out all that was not beautiful and glittering, and so was disdainful of a former sergeant and a captain of limited means tramping through its halls.
We left the staircase and trudged through an equally grand corridor that led to the ballroom. A short staircase from this took us to the ballroom floor. Ladies and gentlemen would sweep down these graceful stairs, announced by the majordomo at the top.
The ceiling was punctuated with ponderous chandeliers, each holding about fifty candles. All but a few candles had been extinguished, rendering the room gloomy. Hours ago, this room had blossomed with light and music, with gentlemen in evening dress and ladies in velvets and jewels gliding elegantly about.
Lucius Grenville waited for us with Lord Gillis. Lord Gillis drank brandy, and from his pink complexion, he'd consumed quite a few glasses.
Grenville, brandy glass in hand, cool sangfroid in place, greeted us with a nod. "Lord Gillis, may I present my friend, Captain Gabriel Lacey. Captain Lacey, Lord Gillis."
We might have been at a soiree. Lord Gillis was fifty and gray, but he had the physique of a man who enjoyed hearty walking and riding. He looked up at my six-foot height with strong eyes.
According to Pomeroy, Lord Gillis had been serving as a major on the Peninsula in 1811, when he'd received word that his cousin, the previous earl, had died. He'd quit the army and returned home, but he still retained his military bearing and his interest in military men and events.
"I wish the circumstances of the meeting were happier, Captain," Lord Gillis said shaking my offered hand. "Our little ball will be a nine days' wonder."
"Will you show me where it happened?" I asked.
Lord Gillis pointed. "In the room just at the foot of the stairs. Forgive me, but somehow I never want to see it again."
"I am sorry," I said. "Did you know Mr. Turner well?"
Lord Gillis looked surprised. "Not at all. Henry Turner was the friend of a friend of my wife's. So she tells me. But murder is a grim business, Captain. It was a gruesome sight."
Death in battle was far more gruesome. I recalled piles of bodies before the walls at Badajoz, young men torn in half by blasts, some ripped open but still alive, screaming in pain and fear. Henry Turner had looked peaceful, hardly touched.
Grenville volunteered to show me the room. His face, which was rather pointed, revealed no emotion, and his dark eyes did not glitter with as much curiosity as I'd thought they would.
Tonight, Grenville wore the finest clothes I'd ever seen on him. His coat was black superfine, cut in a style likely invented this morning and which would be all the rage by tomorrow. Next week, Grenville would return to his tailor and invent yet another fashion, and this week's coat would be discarded by one and all.
Black pantaloons hugged muscular legs that ladies liked to admire. I'd seen caricatures and cartoons in newspapers about his legs and the way ladies ogled them. The diamond stickpin in his cravat was large and elegant, though not so large as to be vulgar.
"It was not pleasant, I must tell you," Grenville said as we crossed the inlaid floor toward the stairs. We walked alone; Lord Gillis stayed behind to speak to Pomeroy. "Mrs. Harper found him a little past midnight. She began screaming in a horrible way, half mad with it. She had blood on her hand and it seemed to make her crazed."
"Blood?" Turner's wound had been small and nearly clean.
"I saw it on her glove. The poor woman was horrified. The ladies near her seemed more inclined to recoil from her than to help her. I was able to take her aside to pour brandy into her."
"Where is Mrs. Harper now?"
"Home. Her servants rallied round and got her away."
I was becoming more and more intrigued by this Imogene Harper. Why had she gone into the room where she'd found Turner? How had she gotten the blood on her glove without putting her hand on the knife or the wound itself? And why the devil did Brandon agree to Pomeroy's accusation that Mrs. Harper was his mistress?
"I must meet this woman," I said.
Grenville gave me an odd look. "I'd never seen her before tonight. You did not know her?"
"No."
"Hmm."
He opened a door with panels picked out in gold. The room behind the door was small, a retiring room for the convenience of the guests.
Scarlet damask covered the upper walls which were framed by gold-painted panels. The wainscoting was pale gray, also framed in gold leaf. The ceiling, much lower than that of the ballroom, had been painted with a gaudy scene of Apollo and his chariot chasing nymphs across an arch of sky.
The only furniture in the room was a slim-legged Sheraton writing table and a small Sheraton chair with two carved slats on its back. The tastefully austere table and chair contrasted sharply with the ornamentation of the walls and ceiling.
"He was found here." Grenville pointed to the chair. "Slumped forward, as though he'd fallen asleep or was foxed. Lord Gillis himself lifted him, and then we saw the knife in his chest. His eyes were open, but he was quite dead."
I studied the chair and writing table. Both pieces of furniture were innocuous, betraying nothing of Turner's sudden and violent death. The desk presented a smooth, golden satinwood surface with an inlaid design on its edges. Nothing rested on its top.
The chair faced the desk, away from the door. I circled chair and desk once then stopped.
"Grenville, would you mind?"
"Show you how he looked, you mean?" Grenville gave his usual cool shrug, but his face was white. He strolled to the chair and sat down. "Slumped over the desk, as I said." He arranged himself in an untidy hunch, resting his head and one arm on the desk and letting the other arm hang to the floor. "Like this, I think." His voice was muffled.
I moved to the doorway and looked in. "Interesting."
Grenville sat up. "I found it rather appalling, myself. Are you finished?"
I started to tell him to stay a moment longer, then I realized that he found sitting in the dead man's chair distasteful. "Of course. I beg your pardon."
Grenville stood, removed a handkerchief from his pocket, and dabbed his lips. "I know you must have seen worse sights than a man dead in a chair, but the entire business gave me a turn. It was so quick-- "
He broke off and patted his lips again.
I thought I understood. The month before, Grenville had received a deep knife wound in his chest, one that had barely missed killing him. The sight of the knife and the fact that it had killed Turner instantly must have given him pause.
Grenville tucked his handkerchief back into his pocket and assumed his usual air of calm. If I hadn't come to know him well, I would think he'd found the whole thing a dead bore. But he betrayed himself with the twitching of his fingers and the tight lines about his mouth.
"If Imogene Harper entered and saw Turner sitting here, she might have thought him drunk or asleep," I said. "But as soon as she touched him . . ." I moved to the chair and laid my hand on an imaginary Turner's shoulder. "She would have noticed he was dead. How, then, did she get the blood on her glove?"
I saw Grenville's interest stir. "Yes, I see what you mean. He bled very little. If she'd merely shaken his shoulder, where would she have picked up the blood? She would have had to reach down to grasp the knife or press her fingers to the wound."
"And why should she?"
Grenville looked grim. "Unless she did the deed herself."
"Then why scream and draw attention to herself and the blood on her glove? Why not quietly walk away and dispose of the glove somewhere?"
"Perhaps she never meant to kill him. Perhaps there was a quarrel, she shoved the knife in, then realized what she'd done in her anger. Horrified, she began screaming."
I wandered around the desk again. "He was sitting down when he was killed, or the killer took the time to arrange his body so. He was a healthy young man. Would he not be able to deflect a blow from a woman? Even one crazed with anger?"
"Not if he were taken by surprise."
"As you were," I finished for him. "This is different. It was pitch dark when you were stabbed. You did not have a chance to defend yourself."
"No, I didn't."
I remembered fighting to save Grenville's life, remembered him lying in the dark on cold stone cobbles, his breath so very shallow. I had watched him, fearing every breath he drew would be his last. But Grenville's constitution was strong, and he'd recovered.
The incident had happened over a month ago, but the wound still pained him, I knew. It had made him a bit more nervous as well, though he strove to hide it.
"The circumstances here are entirely different," I said. "A brightly lit room, a hundred guests outside, a strong man facing his attacker. In addition, if Imogene Harper indeed killed him, how did she obtain Brandon's knife? I refuse to believe Brandon handed it to her and told her to kill Turner with it."
"She might have stolen it," Grenville suggested. "Or Brandon might have left it lying somewhere. Or it might be her knife, and Brandon lied to protect her."
"No, I do believe the knife belonged to Colonel Brandon. Such knives were common in the army--they are utilitarian and handy to have."
For a time we both looked at the desk and its herringbone inlay. I imagined Turner lying there, his curled brown hair, nearly the same color as the satinwood, splayed over the desk.
"Lacey," Grenville said in a quiet voice, "we can speculate all night, but the fact is, it looks pretty damning for your colonel. Brandon tried to place himself next to Imogene Harper from the moment he arrived. He was seen speaking sharply with Turner by more than one person--myself included. He even followed Turner into this room, although, admittedly, they emerged together not a few minutes later. An overheard quarrel, the knife, and Brandon seen chasing Turner from Mrs. Harper earlier, all point to one conclusion."
"I know that." I closed my fists. "And yet, it is the wrong conclusion. It feels wrong."
"Your Sergeant Pomeroy does not much care about how a thing feels."
"He is a practical man, is Pomeroy. It makes him a good sergeant, but not a good investigator."
"No?" Pomeroy boomed behind me.
He filled the doorway, the tall bulk of him crowned with pomaded yellow hair. His face was red, his right cheekbone creased by a scar from a cut he'd recently received from a thief reluctant to be caught. Pomeroy grinned at me, his stalwart good humor in place.
"No," I said. "You see much and see nothing at the same time."
"Now that, Captain, is why you are the captain and I am the sergeant. You do the plotting and the planning and the inspiring, and I do the drilling and the fighting. We get it done in the end. You should have seen him on the Peninsula, Mr. Grenville. His men would have followed him to the mouth of hell itself. A fine sight."
"You flatter me," I said dryly.
My men had followed me because they knew I'd make damn sure they'd come back. I'd seen no reason for us all to die in a heroic charge to satisfy a general's lust for glory. The generals had often disagreed with me, and I'd told them exactly what I'd thought. Shouting back at those above me, many of them aristocrats, had earned me the reputation as a hothead and made certain I never progressed to the rank of major. Colonel Brandon had, many times, had to intervene between myself and a superior I'd insulted, thus, if only temporarily, saving my future.
"He did not do it, Sergeant," I said.
Pomeroy shrugged. "That's as may be. But it's my duty to take in a man to face the magistrate. If you believe you can get him off, then I leave you to it. I won't hinder you."
He would not. Pomeroy liked getting convictions, because he would receive the reward money, but if a man were proved innocent, well then, the gent had had a bit of luck, and who was Pomeroy to rob him of it?
"I will certainly try," I said.
"Best to you," Pomeroy said cheerfully. "I'll be off then. Done all I can do here."
"What about Turner?" I asked. "If the coroner's been and gone, what is to become of his body? You cannot leave him in Lord Gillis's spare bedroom."
"Already taken care of, sir. Lord Gillis sent for Turner's man, who will trundle it back to Turner's ma and pa." He tugged his forelock. "'Night, sir. Mr. Grenville."
Grenville murmured his good-night, and Pomeroy trudged out, whistling a tune.
"Who is Turner's father?" I asked Grenville.
"Retired MP, lives in Epsom. Cousin to the Earl of Deptford."
As always, Grenville had everyone's pedigree in his pocket. "I would like to speak to him."
"I would, as well," Grenville said. "I will fix an appointment. But what about tonight? Will you speak to this Mrs. Harper?"
"Not yet," I said. I did need to visit her--she was key to this matter, but I had an even greater need to see someone else. "I must go to Louisa."
Grenville shot me a look. "She is with Lady Aline."
"I know. But I want to reassure her."
I broke off, uncertain of how I could reassure her. I wanted Louisa to know that I would pursue this inquiry and find out what had truly happened. Brandon might well be guilty, and, if so, I had to make that shock easier for her. If he were not guilty, I would work to get him free. I had to.
"Do you want me along?" Grenville asked.
I shook my head, and he cleared his throat. "Very well then, I'll leave you to it. I need to look in at Clarges Street."
He meant that he would visit Marianne Simmons, an actress who had lived upstairs from me in Grimpen Lane until recently. Grenville, whether wisely or not, had taken her to live in luxury in a house he owned in Clarges Street. Their relationship thus far had been stormy, any progress made usually followed by a painful regression.
"Greet Marianne for me," I said. "And send me word when you've obtained an appointment with Mr. Turner's father. It might be decent of us to attend the funeral."
"I will," Grenville agreed, and we parted.
Lord Gillis's quiet and efficient footmen let me out of the house. Berkeley Square was wet with rain, but the bitter chill of winter had gone, and my breath did not hang in the air.
I had expected to have to hike a long way to find a hackney, but another carriage already waited at the door, and a footman I recognized as Brandon's hopped down and approached me.
"Good evening, Captain," he said. "Mrs. Brandon said we was to have the town coach to fetch you to her. Will you get in, sir?"
* * * * *
Chapter Two
The Brandon house in Brook Street was a pale brick edifice inside which I'd endured many an evening with the hostile Colonel Brandon. When we'd returned from the war, Louisa had seemed to think we could resume our easy companionship in suppers and chatter, but the days of laughing in the Brandon tent late into the night had gone.
I missed that life. I missed it sharply. Even with the ever-present danger of battle and death lurking over us, my existence in the king's army had been good. I had been a whole man, fit and vigorous, enjoying my friends and comrades.
The footman assisted me from the coach and opened the door to the house. He took my greatcoat and hat and gloves but left me my walking stick.
"She's upstairs, sir," he told me.
I knew the way. I climbed the stairs, noting that the house was dark, cold, and silent. If the servants were up and awake, they were staying out of sight.
I found two maids in the room with Louisa, both looking upset and alarmed. Lady Aline Carrington, a stout, white-haired woman with a booming voice, was seated on a divan with Louisa.
Louisa reclined next to her, a blanket over her knees. Her maids had loosened her hair, and it hung down one shoulder in a golden swath. Despite that, she looked tired and old, well beyond her forty-three years.
When she saw me, she exhaled in relief. "Gabriel."
Lady Aline creaked to her feet. "Lacey, my boy. Dreadful business, this. You will find out what really happened, won't you?"
"That is my intention," I said.
"Louisa was a bit worried you wouldn't trouble yourself," Lady Aline said, always frank.
Louisa flushed. "Aline, will you please allow me to speak to Gabriel alone?"
"Of course. Come along," she told the maids. "Your mistress will not crumble to dust without you. At least not for ten minutes."
The maids, who had been straightening Louisa's blanket and holding a cup of tea for her, made every show of reluctance as they left the room. Lady Aline drove them out before her, then she shut the door.
"Louisa," I began, preparing to launch into my speech of comfort.
Louisa pushed aside the blanket and left the divan to fling her arms around my neck.
This was so unusual for Louisa, that I stood still, nonplussed, before I closed my arms around her and pulled her close.
Once, three years ago, Louisa had come to me for comfort. On that rainy, hot night in Spain, her husband had told her of his plan to end their marriage. She'd come, weeping, to my tent in the middle of the night, and I'd held her as I held her now, stroking her golden hair and giving her words of comfort.
"I will do everything I can, Louisa. I will help him. Never fear that."
She laid her head on my shoulder. It was unlike her to crumble, but tonight she had endured much. I wondered whether she had known about Mrs. Harper before this, and I silently cursed Brandon for raining everything upon her at once.
I held her for a time. The coal fire flickered quietly on the hearth, and rain pattered against the dark windows.
At last, Louisa lifted her head and wiped her eyes with her fingertips. "Forgive me, Gabriel. But I feel as if I cannot breathe."
I smoothed her hair. "Louisa, I know magistrates; I even know a man whom magistrates fear. Your husband will be released and brought home to you. I swear this."
Her gray eyes, luminous with tears, contained resignation and a strange finality. I realized with a jolt that she believed Brandon guilty.
"Louisa," I began, and then I felt a draft on my cheek.
The door had opened, and Lady Breckenridge stood on the threshold.
The widowed Viscountess Breckenridge was thirty years old. She was slender but not overly thin and had thick black hair and dark blue eyes. She was quite attractive and knew it, and I had let that attraction entrance me quite often of late.
Lady Breckenridge was outspoken and acerbic, but she could show touches of kindness, such as when she had purchased me a new walking stick when my old one had been ruined. She also enjoyed bringing up-and-coming artists and musicians to the attention of society, and she lived well in her status as widow of a wealthy and titled gentleman and only daughter of another wealthy and titled gentleman.
She had claimed once that she wanted friendship from me, but I never quite knew how to take her overtures.
Lady Breckenridge paused for one silent moment on the threshold, taking in Louisa in my arms without changing expression. Then she swept into the room, gesturing for the tray-bearing footman behind her to follow.
"Lady Aline suggested drink stronger than tea, Mrs. Brandon," she said. "I sent your servant to find your husband's cache of brandy and whiskey."
Louisa stepped away from me and moved back to the divan.
Lady Breckenridge instructed the footman to leave the tray on the tea table. She was still in her ball gown, a creation of deep blue velvet. The hem was lined with a stiff gold lace that rose in an inverted V in the front to be topped with a bow somewhere near Lady Breckenridge's knees. Her sleeves were long, but the ensemble left her shoulders bare. She'd draped a silk shawl over her arms, but did not bother to pull it up to warm her skin.
Lady Breckenridge gave me a sharp stare, as though daring me to ask what she was doing there. I was grateful to her for helping Louisa home, but I wondered at her motives.
I was grateful also to Lady Aline for suggesting the brandy. I poured a dollop into Louisa's teacup and pressed it into her hands. "Drink this."
Obediently, Louisa lifted the cup to her lips. I sloshed whiskey into one of Brandon's precious cut crystal glasses for myself, and sipped. The liquid burned a nice warmth through my body.
"Brandy, nothing better," Lady Aline said, coming back into the room. "Lacey, pour me some of that whiskey, and do not look shocked, I beg you. I am much older than you and can drink what I like."
I hid a smile as I obliged her and poured the whiskey. "May I give you tea, Donata?" I asked Lady Breckenridge. "Or will you be daring and drink whiskey as well?"
Lady Breckenridge hesitated, then made the smallest negative gesture. "Nothing for me, thank you."
Louisa gave me an odd look. Lady Aline raised her brows and drank her whiskey.
I realized after a moment that I'd betrayed myself. I called very few women by their Christian names; to do so was to acknowledge an intimate friendship. I addressed Louisa by her Christian name, and Marianne Simmons, who'd filched my candles when she'd lived upstairs from me. I should properly address Lady Breckenridge as my lady.
I decided that trying to correct myself would condemn me further, so I said nothing.
Lady Aline tossed her whiskey back as well as any buck at White's and told Lady Breckenridge to go home.
"I will stay with Louisa tonight, poor lamb," she said. "I will call on you tomorrow, Donata, dear."
"Thank you, my lady," Louisa said to Lady Breckenridge from the divan. "It was kind of you."
Lady Breckenridge raised her brows. "Not at all. Good night, Aline, Captain." She made a graceful exit from the room.
I could not leave it at that. I excused myself from Louisa and Lady Aline and followed her out.
When I caught up to Lady Breckenridge at the head of the stairs, she gave me a faint smile. "I am capable of finding the front door, Captain. Mrs. Brandon's servants are most obliging."
She began to descend, not waiting for me. She'd dressed her hair tonight in tightly wound curls looped through a diamond headdress. The coiffure bared her long neck, which I studied as I followed her down the stairs.
At the door, one of the maids helped her don a mantle, a heavy velvet cloak with a hood.
"Thank you," I told Lady Breckenridge. "For helping Louisa. It was kind of you."
"You are wondering why I did," she said as she settled the hood. "I am not known for my helpfulness."
"I know that you can be kind, when you wish to be."
A smile hovered about her mouth. "High praise, Captain. I helped her, because I knew she was your friend. And Lady Aline's." Her eyes were a mystery. "Good night."
I touched her velvet-clad arm. "May I call on you tomorrow? I would like to hear your version of events, if you do not mind discussing them. You were there and likely much less agitated than Mrs. Brandon."
"Of course." She inclined her head. "I will tell you all I can. Call at four o'clock. I intend to laze about tomorrow and be home to very few. Good night."
I released her arm and bowed. Lady Breckenridge acknowledged the bow with a nod, then swept out into the strengthening rain under the canopy that the obliging footmen held over her.
*** *** ***
By the time I returned to the sitting room, Louisa had regained some color. The blanket was tucked around her again, and pillows cradled her back. Lady Aline sipped a full glass of whiskey, her rouged face now bright pink.
"I should have been more gracious," Louisa was saying.
"Nonsense," Lady Aline said. "Donata Breckenridge is a woman of sense, despite her ways. She enjoys playing the shrew, and who can blame her? Her husband was appalling to her from beginning to his very nasty end. She has a good heart, but she hides it well."
"All the same," Louisa murmured. I realized that she was embarrassed. A viscountess, a member of the aristocracy, had witnessed her husband's humiliating arrest and confessions.
"She will say nothing, Louisa," Lady Aline assured her.
Louisa sank into silence.
I pulled a chair close to the divan. "Louisa, I will have to ask you questions about tonight," I said. "Can you bear to answer now? Or would you rather wait?"
"She needs her rest, Lacey," Aline said.
I looked at Louisa's drawn face, and my heart bled. I'd spent most of my adult life wanting to make things better for her, and I never had been quite able to do so.
"I would rather tell you at once," Louisa said. "I want to put it behind me."
I glanced at Aline, who gave me an almost imperceptible nod.
"Let us start from the very beginning, then. Why did you attend Lord Gillis's ball?"
"We were invited. I received the invitation a week ago. I decided to accept because we could fit it into our night." Louisa paused. "No, that is not entirely true. I was flattered to be asked. Aloysius had met Lord Gillis during the war. I was pleased that Lord Gillis remembered us."
"And he was willing to attend?" Colonel Brandon went to social occasions because of a sense of duty, not pleasure. When he reached the gatherings, he immediately sought the card room or his circle of friends and left Louisa to enjoy the event on her own.
"As willing as he usually is," Louisa said with the ghost of a smile.
"Tell me every detail you can remember," I urged. "Begin with leaving your house tonight. What was Brandon like? Did he behave in any way out of the ordinary?"
"Much as usual, I think." Louisa sighed. "I admit that I was not paying attention. I was much more worried that my gown would be not quite right, and what would Lady Gillis think of me? It seems so silly now."
I could not imagine Louisa looking anything but radiant, but I did not say so. The way ladies viewed other ladies, I had come to learn, was much different from the manner in which gentlemen viewed them. A woman would notice that the braid on another woman's bodice was two years out of date; a man would note how the color of the braid brought out the blue of her eyes.
"You looked splendid, Louisa," Lady Aline said. "I told you so, I believe."
Louisa gave her a wan smile. "You were very kind, I remember."
"What time did you reach the Gillises' home?" I asked.
"About ten o'clock, I think. Many others arrived at that time, as well. I remember that the square was packed with carriages."
"When you walked into the house, did you note who was around you? Who went in before and after you did?"
Louisa's brow furrowed. "I am not certain. I cannot remember, Gabriel. It seems as though it took place in another lifetime."
"Why is it important, anyway, Lacey?" Lady Aline interrupted. "Surely it's only important whether Brandon went near the Turner fellow."
"I am thinking along the lines of the knife. Brandon said he did not even know he had it with him. Perhaps he is lying, perhaps not. In either case, what if someone picked his pocket and obtained the knife that way? In the crush at the front door, with people milling about trying to enter the house all at once, a hand could easily slip into Brandon's pocket and purloin the knife."
Aline gave me an incredulous look. "Do you mean to say that a guest of Lord Gillis was an accomplished pickpocket? All of Mayfair would swoon."
"Not necessarily a guest. Footmen and maids surround their masters and mistresses. Lord Gillis's own servants usher in the guests and take their wraps."
"Well, good Lord," Lady Aline said. "Then everyone in the house, from the master to the scullery maid and everyone in between, could have murdered Mr. Turner."
"Yes," I said, feeling gloomy. "They all could have. We need to pare down the number to the ones most likely, and from there we will find the culprit."
"You make it sound alarmingly simple," Aline said, a wry twist to her lips. "How can we?"
"By asking rude and impertinent questions. Something I excel at."
Lady Aline looked amused. I was not known for my patience, especially in situations with dire consequences, like this one.
I returned to the question. "Do you remember, Louisa? To whom did you speak when you first entered the house?"
She sat in silent thought for a moment. I knew it would be a difficult task for anyone to remember what they did every minute of one particular evening. The events that followed would make it doubly difficult for her, but I had to try.
"Mrs. Bennington, the actress," Louisa said at last, naming a young woman who had recently taken the crowned heads of Europe by storm.
From what I'd heard, Claire Bennington had an English father but had been raised on the Continent, taking the stage in Italy about five years ago. She had become a success there, and recently returned to London, where she had quickly won over audiences. She was still quite young, only in her early twenties, and married to an Englishman whom she'd met on the Continent. This season, it was quite popular for hostesses to have Mrs. Bennington attend one of their events and give a short performance for the guests.
"She seems a rather vague young woman," Louisa went on. "I have seen her perform and enjoyed it very much. I remember remarking on the contrast, how brilliantly she plays a part, to her blank stares when anyone greeted her tonight."
"I noted that, myself," Lady Aline said. "Probably she plays others so well because she has no thoughts of her own."
"I can hardly imagine her picking my husband's pocket, however," Louisa said.
"Who else was nearby?"
Louisa closed her eyes, as though shutting out the room to remember the streams of guests entering Lord Gillis's house. "I suppose I remember Mrs. Bennington because she is so famous. Oh, yes, Mr. Stokes was behind us. He is rather loud. I could not mistake him."
I glanced at Lady Aline. "I do not know Mr. Stokes."
"Basil Stokes," Aline answered. "Knew him since I was seventeen. Always tried to look up my skirts then--said he only wanted to see my ankles. I boxed his ears. Still likes to look up a lady's skirt, the devil."
"Would he have a motive for murdering Mr. Turner?" I wondered.
"I have no idea. Don't see why. I could ask him, I suppose."
Lady Aline's idea of investigation might be more like interrogation by enemy soldiers. "That might not be necessary," I said quickly. I turned back to Louisa. "What happened when you entered the house?"
Louisa plucked at the blanket's edge. "The usual sort of thing. The footman took my wrap. My maid and I went to a retiring room, where she brought my slippers from their box and helped me put them on. Then she re-pinned my hair. Lady Breckenridge was in the retiring room with her maid, as well. We greeted each other."
"Where did you rejoin Colonel Brandon?"
"Near the entrance to the ballroom. He was speaking to Mr. Grenville and looking impatient. Aloysius so dislikes the ceremony of balls. I have no idea who else spoke to him while I was in the retiring room."
And Brandon was not the sort of husband to say breezily to his wife, Oh, my dear, I've just been talking to Mr. Godwin and Lord Humphreys about our ride in the park the other day. Brandon kept his mouth closed unless asked a direct question. Louisa had by this time mastered the technique for prying information from him when she needed to, but she'd have had no reason to on that occasion, unfortunately.
"No," I agreed. "Go on."
"I entered the ballroom with him. We were announced, though no one took much notice. Not of an obscure colonel and his wife."
Lady Aline patted her hand. "But we know your true worth, Louisa."
Louisa tried to look grateful, but I could see her struggling with exhaustion.
"I dislike to ask you about everyone you and Brandon talked to after that," I said, "but I am afraid I will have to. Did Brandon stay with you or flee as soon as the formalities were over?"
"Fled, of course," she said with a tired smile.
"To the card room? Or the billiards room?"
"Neither. I had stopped to speak to ladies of my acquaintance, and when I turned around again, Aloysius was approaching Mrs. Harper." Louisa faltered. "I did not know who she was. I remember feeling surprised because he began speaking to her as though he knew her and did not have to be introduced."
"They stood alone?"
"No." Louisa's lips tightened. "Mrs. Harper appeared to be with Mr. Derwent and Lady Gillis. Mr. Turner was also nearby, and he joined them."
"What did you think?" I asked as gently as I could.
"I did not think anything, not then. I did not know that the lady was Mrs. Harper--I'd never seen her before. But when Aloysius turned and walked away with her, I wondered if she might be the woman called Imogene Harper. You see, Mrs. Harper had been sending Aloysius letters."
My brows rose. "Had she? Did he tell you that?"
"Goodness, no. One morning at breakfast, I'd finished and started to leave the table while Aloysius was still reading his correspondence. I paused to kiss his cheek, and I happened to see the signature on the letter he was reading. Imogene Harper. I knew no one of that name. I must have startled him, because he immediately turned the paper facedown. He looked relieved when I merely wished him good morning and continued on my way."
What sort of man read letters from his mistress at breakfast with his wife? Knowing Brandon, I would assume that the woman had simply written him a letter about some business interest--except that Brandon had admitted to being Mrs. Harper's lover.
"She wrote more?" I asked.
"Yes. Several days after that, I saw a letter by his plate at breakfast, written in a woman's hand. Aloysius had not yet entered the room, so I picked it up." Louisa flushed, as though ashamed of herself. "It smelled of a woman's perfume. It was then that I began to suspect."
Tears swam in her eyes. I rested my hand on hers. "Louisa, I am sorry."
"If the connection were innocent," she said, "why should Aloysius not mention it? Mrs. Harper's husband, it seems, was a major who died at Vitoria. Why not tell me, or ask whether I remembered her?"
Why not, indeed? The evidence and admission were there. And yet, it still seemed unbelievable for Brandon. His sense of moral exactness had always been strong. Or had he simply been moral because he'd never been tempted? It is easy to reject sin when one has no interest in it.
"When he walked away with Mrs. Harper tonight, where did he go?" I asked.
"To an alcove. There were several such niches that opened around the ballroom where the guests could adjourn to talk."
"So he walked into a private alcove alone with Mrs. Harper for everyone in the ballroom to see? The bloody idiot."
"Yes." Lady Aline nodded. "He does not seem to be gifted in the ways of discretion."
Louisa put her hand to her mouth. "Forgive me. Gabriel, I cannot speak of this any longer."
Lady Aline's grim look softened. "You poor darling. You must be put to bed. Captain Lacey can ask his questions in the morning."
Tears slid down Louisa's face and pooled on her lips. I itched to know everything immediately, to run through the streets of London putting everything aright, but I knew that Lady Aline was correct. Louisa was exhausted and upset and needed to rest. I had rarely seen her this wretched.
I silently vowed that when I saw Colonel Brandon, I would make him pay for every one of Louisa's tears.
* * * * *
Chapter Three
Aline signaled me to wait for her as she led Louisa into her bedchamber, so I paced Louisa's feminine sitting room while she and a maid tucked Louisa into bed.
The room reminded me of Louisa. She liked yellow, because she said it brought the sunshine to her and made her feel cheerful even on the gloomiest days. Tonight, the cheerfulness did nothing for me. The cream and yellow striped wallpaper, the white drapes with gold tassels, and the matching gilt and yellow silk chairs and sofa could not chase away the darkness.
I had known Louisa Brandon for twenty years. She'd been a fresh young woman of twenty-two when Brandon had proudly introduced her. I, already married at twenty, had marveled at her forthrightness and good sense, as well as her prettiness. My own wife, Carlotta, had been an ethereal beauty, all gold ringlets and soft white skin. Louisa had a wide smile, a crooked nose, and shrewd gray eyes that noted everything.
I hadn't understood that Carlotta, shy as a mouse, had been intimidated by her, and I had not helped by holding up Louisa as a model for Carlotta to follow. Carlotta, after we'd been married six years, had left me, deserting me for a French officer. I had been furious and blamed her entirely at first, but then I'd shifted the blame to myself. I'd been an appalling husband.
Lady Aline returned through the white and gold door that led to Louisa's bedchamber and closed it behind her. She was shaking her head. A pure white curl came loose from her coiffure and fell to her shoulder.
"She's overset." Aline wiped a tear from her eye, smearing the kohl she'd applied liberally around it. "I am not certain what has horrified her more, the fact that her husband has been arrested for murder or the fact that he betrayed her with another. All gentlemen take mistresses, she said to me, a wife must learn to bear it. What rot. Men fill women's heads with that nonsense so that they can do what they like. Don't you think so, Lacey?"
"I agree," I said.
She gave me a look of surprise. "Well, well. If that is the truth, then you are the most remarkable gentleman I have ever known. Ring for the maid, please. We need more tea."
I crossed the room to tug a bell pull.
"I've given Louisa a drop of laudanum," Aline said. "That and the brandy should ensure that she sleeps well into the morning. I will stay with her until she's stronger. I do hope you clear up this mess quickly, Lacey."
"I appreciate your faith in me."
Lady Aline folded the blanket Louisa had used and drew it onto her lap. "You have impressed me so far. You cleared up the murder at the Sudbury School in Berkshire, discovered who killed Lydia Westin's husband and that barrister's wife, not to mention put up with Lady Clifford and her blasted missing necklace. I much prefer having you look into the matter than Bow Street. So unsavory."
"It is unsavory no matter who looks into it," I said. I gathered up the tea things to give my hands something to do.
"Perhaps, but this is Louisa's life. Her husband. Their secrets. You can at least be gentle."
"I can be gentle with Louisa, true. I'm certain I'll throttle Brandon when I see him. As far as I can discern, he's been a complete idiot."
The maid entered with a fresh pot of tea on a tray. She removed the dirty cups and saucers and departed. I noted that the maid's eyes were red with tears.
Lady Aline poured tea in a businesslike manner. She sloshed a dollop of brandy into mine without asking me before handing me the cup.
"Now then," she said, lifting the teapot to pour for herself. "I will tell you the entire nasty tale. I arrived at the Gillises' ball not long after the Brandons did. I entered, in fact, in time to see the damn fool colonel lead Imogene Harper from her friends to a private alcove. Louisa watched them go with a look of dismay. Tongues around me began to wag on the instant. Mr. Bennington, the husband of the actress, drawled to me, I say, he's no model of discretion, is he? He sounded delighted to be entertained. Others speculated about who this Harper woman truly was. She is a friend of Lady Gillis's, I gather, though Mrs. Harper claimed to me that she'd known the Brandons during the war."
"And yet, Louisa says she does not remember her."
"Precisely. At any rate, Louisa's friends took her under their collective wing and went on as though nothing had happened. Colonel Brandon and Mrs. Harper stayed in that alcove for a very long time. They did not emerge, in fact, until the dancing began. Brandon stood near Mrs. Harper after that, and whenever I happened to glimpse him, he did not look best pleased. I saw Mr. Turner approach Mrs. Harper, possibly to ask her to dance. Colonel Brandon more or less shooed him away. Mr. Turner looked unhappy, but he went. But later on, I happened to be standing near when he approached again.
"Mr. Turner claimed that Mrs. Harper had promised him the waltz. Mrs. Harper looked a little confused, then she said, Oh yes, of course. Colonel Brandon turned bright red. He said, Mind your manners; the lady does not wish to waltz. Mr. Turner said, You are mistaken, sir. She promised. Then Colonel Brandon said, rather loudly, If you do not cease pestering her, I will thrash you. People began to stare at that, I do not have to tell you. Mr. Turner smiled a bit and said, No, you won't. He bowed to Mrs. Harper and wandered away."
"Damn," I said, exasperated. "Brandon appears the very picture of a jealous rival."
"Yes, it was not well done. Soon after that, supper was called. Leland Derwent escorted me in, sweet boy. Colonel Brandon immediately stuck out his arm to Imogene Harper. Never mind that Louisa was standing near to them. I know it's not the thing for a husband to always escort his wife, but the snub was apparent. Brandon was red and uncomfortable. He knew what it looked like."
"And Mrs. Harper? Was she uncomfortable as well?"
"Not a bit of it." Lady Aline clicked her cup to her saucer. "She smiled sweetly at him and took his arm. He led her to the supper room and seated himself next to her, stayed glued to her throughout the meal. Louisa was not far from him, trying not to look mortified, poor lamb."
"What the devil was he thinking?"
"Precisely what Mr. Bennington asked me. He was seated on my other side. My wife runs about where she pleases, he said with a cynical smile. But she pretends to be the very picture of devotion. Of course, that is what makes her a celebrated actress. Perhaps the colonel could take lessons from her."
"Dear God," I said. "Brandon's made himself and Louisa a laughingstock."
"I know," Lady Aline replied sadly. "That was not the worst of it."
I drank down my tea, the bitter liquid burning my tongue. "Go on," I said.
"After supper, Colonel Brandon led Mrs. Harper out of the dining room again. He monopolized her in her ballroom, kept her near him. They did not dance, but neither did she dance with anyone else. When Mr. Turner approached again, Brandon snarled at him. Mr. Turner laughed and walked away. I heard Mr. Turner say, Soon, sir. Very soon. What that meant I have no idea, but Mrs. Harper looked distressed, and Brandon grew even redder."
"Did anyone else approach them?" I asked. "Or Mr. Turner, for that matter?" I knew I needed to tamp down my anger at Brandon in order to decide what had happened. Anyone near Brandon might have stolen his knife, including Mrs. Harper herself.
"Basil Stokes spoke to them. I saw him laughing about something in that loud way of his. Colonel Brandon and Mrs. Harper endeavored to be polite. Leland Derwent spoke to them, but then, young Mr. Derwent is a stickler about making the polite rounds. He is too shy to be much of a conversationalist, but he knows to ask about one's mother or ailing sister and to remark upon the weather." Lady Aline put her forefinger to the corner of her mouth. "Let me think. Lady Gillis herself approached them. The irritating Rafe Godwin. He is an annoying young man, tries to imitate Grenville, but Grenville has nothing to do with him, and so he should not."
"What about Mr. Turner? To whom did he speak?"
"Oh, a good number of people. He circulated the room, danced with a few debutantes--whose mothers ought to have known better, but he is an earl's cousin, after all. He spent much time with Leland Derwent. I believe they knew each other at school, though I would not think that innocent Leland was much Henry Turner's type. But Leland suffers from over-politeness and doesn't have the bad manners to tell Turner to go to the devil."
I thought about the people Lady Aline had named, some of whom I knew, some I did not. I would have to discuss them with Grenville later, to obtain his opinion. One person, I noted, Lady Aline had not mentioned. "What about Lady Breckenridge?"
Lady Aline opened her mouth to answer, then she closed it again and eyed me shrewdly. "Lacey, my boy, what is exactly between you and Donata Breckenridge?"
I stopped. "Between?"
"I am not blind. I know you're not courting her, and yet . . . "
She left it hanging. My face heated as I touched the handle of the walking stick Lady Breckenridge had given me. "We are friends," I said. But I had kissed her lips on more than one occasion, and she had helped me when I'd needed it. I had not liked her when I'd first met her, over a billiards game in a sunny room in Kent. I'd found her abrupt, abrasive, and overly forward. "Perhaps more than friends," I finished.
"She had a wretched marriage to Breckenridge," Lady Aline said, a rather unnecessary statement. I had met Lord Breckenridge and knew exactly what kind of man he'd been. "Marriage to him would have killed a woman with a lesser strength than Donata's."
"I have no desire to make her wretched," I said.
That was the truth. On the other hand, I had not the means to marry her, either. My own wife, I'd discovered, was still alive, and in France, with my daughter. I had been given her exact whereabouts a few weeks ago, and I had been contemplating traveling across the Channel to find her.