A Body in Berkeley Square (23 page)

As I spoke, Lady Breckenridge relaxed, and
by the end of my tale she even looked amused. "So you have become
the peacemaker."

"To my dismay. I do not know how effective a
peacemaker I am. I generally want to shake the pair of them. I can
hope the storm has died down for now, but I know better."

Lady Breckenridge strolled to me. "Poor
Gabriel. Besieged on all sides. Your colonel and his wife;
Grenville and his ladybird."

"True. They resent my intrusion, but they
also expect me to have answers for them."

"That must be difficult for you." She spoke
as though she believed it.

"It is difficult. And my own fault. If I
minded my own affairs, I would not get myself into half the
predicaments I do."

"No, you would sit at a club and play cards
until numbers danced before your eyes. It is your nature to
interfere, and you have done some good because of it." Lady
Breckenridge laid her hand on my arm. "Besides, if you did not poke
your nose into other people's business, you would not have
journeyed down to Kent last summer."

She did not smile, but her eyes held a
sparkle of good humor. Last summer, I had gone to Kent to
investigate a crime and had met Lady Breckenridge in a sunny
billiards room, where she'd blown cigarillo smoke in my face and
told me that I was a fool.

I lifted her hand to my lips and kissed her
fingers. Her eyes darkened.

"Here is where things grew complicated on
your last visit," she said.

I kissed her fingers again. "And I very much
wish everything to be simple."

She grew quiet. Slowly, I slid my arm about
her waist. The lace cap smelled clean with an overlay of cinnamon.
She always smelled a little of spice, this lady.

I truly wished that things were simple, that
I could come here, as though I had a right to, and sit in her
parlor and hold her hand. I wanted more than that, of course. I
wanted to love her with my body and drowse with her in the
comfortable dark. I wanted things to be at ease between us--no
secrets, no jealousies, no fear. I leaned down and gently kissed
her lips.

She allowed the kiss then smiled at me as we
drew apart.

"You must continue prying into other
people's business until you put everything aright, Gabriel," she
said, touching my chest. "It is your way."

"I wish I could put it aright. But this
affair is a tangle."

"You will persist." Lady Breckenridge
stepped from my embrace, but slid her hand to mind. "Who are you
off to see this afternoon?"

"Mrs. Harper. I must discover what happened
to that piece of paper she and Brandon were willing to pay Turner
for."

"How exhausting for you. Go in my coach. No
need to take a horrid hackney."

"I had decided to walk."

She gave me a deprecating smile. "Your stay
in the country has made you terribly hearty, has it? There is a
dreadful damp. Take the carriage."

I gave her a mocking bow. "As you wish, my
lady."

She lifted her brows again, then she
laughed. "Oh, do go away, Gabriel. I will send word when I have
smoothed the way with Lady Gillis. And remember not to speak to
your Miss Simmons under the piazza again, or tongues will continue
to wag."

She mocked me as only she could, but as I
departed, I thought only on how much I liked to hear her laugh.

*** *** ***

Lady Breckenridge had apparently given
orders to Barnstable to prepare her coach before she'd even offered
it to me, because I found the carriage waiting for me outside the
front door. Barnstable helped me inside, and Lady Breckenridge's
coachman drove me straight to Mrs. Harper's lodgings.

However, when I reached the fashionable
house near Portman Square in which Mrs. Harper resided, the lady
was not at home. "You may leave your card, sir," said a flat-faced
maid, holding out her hand. I put one of my cards into it, and she
backed inside and closed the door. That, for now, was that.

I found myself at a standstill in my
investigation, so I took care of more personal business on Oxford
Street, such as paying some debts and purchasing a new pair of
serviceable gloves. Lady Breckenridge's coachman obliged me in this
too, saying it was her ladyship's orders to drive me about. I tried
to call on Grenville, but he, too, was not at home. Matthias told
me that Grenville had sent word he was be staying at the Clarges
Street house. He winked knowingly.

I hoped that the news meant a closing of the
breach between himself and Marianne, although I was disappointed
that I could not speak to Grenville himself.

I told Lady Breckenridge's coachman to leave
me there, seeing no reason for him to transport me across the
metropolis to my appointment with Sir Montague Harris, and took a
hackney to Whitechapel.

After Lady Breckenridge's cozy rooms and the
luxury of her carriage, the room in the Whitechapel public office
was a cold and austere place. The fire smoked and burned fitfully,
and the wine Sir Montague offered me was sour.

I told him all I'd discovered since I'd last
written, from Turner's funeral to my interview with Hazleton this
morning.

"What you say about Bennington interests me,"
Sir Montague said. He shifted his bulk in his chair, which had
grown to fit him. "If he is so clever, why does he tell his
featherheaded wife to keep secret that he's changed his name to
hers?"

"I cannot say. Either he is not as clever as
he pretends to be, or he counted on Mrs. Bennington spreading
around that secret, for his own purposes. Although what that is, I
cannot imagine."

"Why change his name at all?" Sir Montague
asked.

"Fleeing from creditors?"

"Or the law. I will focus my eye on this Mr.
Bennington. Dig into his past, find people who knew him in Italy,
and so forth. I will enjoy it."

I had no doubt he would. Sir Montague was
shrewd and intelligent and little got past him.

He turned that shrewd eye on me. "Anything
else you wish to tell me, Captain?"

I had avoided talking about Colonel Naveau
and the paper he wanted me to find. I was not yet certain what it
meant for Brandon, and I somehow did not want Sir Montague
examining the matter too closely.

"No," I said.

His eyes twinkled, as usual. "This is where
I, as a common magistrate, have the advantage over you, Captain
Lacey."

I tried to look puzzled. "What do you
mean?"

"I mean that when I investigate crime, I am
purely outside it. I can look at the facts without worry, without
knowing that a suspect is a dear friend."

I barked a laugh. "I hardly call Brandon a
dear friend these days."

"But you are close to him. His life and yours
are tied in many ways. You feel the need to protect him, for
various and perhaps conflicting reasons." He spread his hands. "I,
on the other hand, see only the facts."

I could not argue that he viewed things more
clearly than I did where Colonel Brandon was concerned. "And what
do the facts tell you?"

Sir Montague gave me a serious look. "That
Brandon was mixed up in something he should not have been. That the
death of Turner was an aid to him. That Mrs. Harper knows more than
she lets on. That you are afraid to trust yourself."

The last was certainly true. I had some ideas
about Brandon's involvement that I did not like. I had admired
Colonel Brandon once, and some part of that admiration lingered.
He'd disappointed me--as much as I'd disappointed him--but I still
wanted my hero of old to exist.

"What do I do?" I asked, half to myself.

"Discover the truth. The entire truth, not
just what you want to know. Did Saint John not say,
The truth
shall make you free?
"

I looked at him. "Will it?"

"It will." Sir Montague nodded wisely. "It
always does."

*** *** ***

I left Sir Montague more uncertain than ever
and returned home. I thought about all I had learned that day over
the beef Bartholomew brought me, and then tried to distract myself
with a book on Egypt that I'd borrowed from Grenville.

That evening, I put on a thoroughly brushed
frock coat and traveled to Gentleman Jackson's boxing rooms in Bond
Street to meet Basil Stokes.

When I entered the rooms at number 13, I saw
the unmistakable form of Lucius Grenville. He detached himself from
the gentlemen he'd been speaking to, came to me, seized my hand,
and shook it warmly.

"Well met, Lacey," he said. "And thank
you."

* * * * *

Chapter Fourteen

Basil Stokes came up behind Grenville and
eyed us curiously. "You seem damned grateful, Grenville. Has the
good captain given you a tip on the races?"

"More or less." Grenville released my hand
and turned away, his dark eyes sparkling.

"Perhaps I'll have more tips for you
tonight," Stokes said jovially. "What shall you do, Captain? Box?
Or just observe?"

"Observe, I think. The damp is making me
long for a soft chair and a warm fire."

"Too much of that renders a man weak,
Captain. You stride around well enough even with your lameness, but
better take care." He laughed loudly.

I decided that Basil Stokes was the sort of
man who said whatever he liked then laughed afterward to soften the
blow. He wore his white hair in an old-fashioned queue and dressed
in breeches and shoes rather than the newer fashion of trousers or
pantaloons.

He was an old Whig, much like my father had
been, probably a crony of the late Charles James Fox, the famous
statesman, and vehemently opposed to the now conservative Prince
Regent and his followers. I suspected that my father had embraced
Whigishness not only because it was traditional for the Lacey
family to do so, but because most of the men to whom he owed money
were Tories.

Stokes led us across the room and introduced
me to several gentlemen of his acquaintance. They already knew
Grenville, of course. We talked of the usual things: sport,
politics, horses. Then Gentleman Jackson entered and attention
turned to the lessons he gave in the middle of the room.

"Gentleman" Jackson had been a famous
pugilist until his retirement, when he'd decided to open a school
for gentlemen who wanted to learn the art of boxing. These
gentlemen, the cream of the
ton,
would never fight a match
in truth, but we all enjoyed learning the moves that made pugilists
prized. Grenville made a decent boxer; he was wiry and strong and
could move quickly. I was more ham-handed in my moves, but I could
hold my own.

Tonight, I sat on a bench next to Stokes and
watched while two younger fellows stripped to shirt sleeves and
took up positions in the center of the room, fists raised.

"A quiet wager?" Stokes said into my ear. He
might have said "quiet," but I am certain everyone in the room
heard him. "Ten guineas on Mr. Knighton."

"Done," Grenville said before I could speak.
Stokes beamed at him and nodded.

"Captain?"

"I do not know these gentlemen," I answered.
"Let me study their form before I throw away my money."

Stokes chortled. "I like a careful man. I do
not know their form myself. That is why it is called gambling." He
sat back, laughing, but did not prod me to wager.

The gentlemen commenced fighting. They had
apparently taken many lessons with Gentleman Jackson and boxed in
tight form, keeping arms bent and close to their bodies. After a
time, Jackson moved in and gave them pointers. Several of the
observing gentlemen tried to imitate what he told them to do.

"Well, then, Captain, what did you want to
ask me about the night poor Turner died?" Stokes said loudly into
my ear.

I glanced about, but the others, except
Grenville, were fixed on Gentleman Jackson and his instructions. "I
want only a report from another witness," I said. "No one seems to
have noticed much."

Stokes gave me a shrewd look. I sensed, for
all his tactlessness, that he was an intelligent man. "The truth on
it, sir, was that no one saw much, because all the gentlemen were
vying for the attention of the beautiful Mrs. Bennington. Many a
man would be glad to escort her home for an evening."

Grenville's smile died, and his eyes began
to sparkle.

"Is that what you did?" I asked, ignoring
Grenville. "Vied for Mrs. Bennington's attention?"

"Not me, sir. Oh, I'd love to give the woman
a tumble, but at my age, a warm glass of port is more to my taste
on a cold night than a lass who'd not look twice at me. That is
what I was searching for at the fatal hour of midnight--drink.
Gillis did not lay in near enough. I had to walk the house looking
for more. Your colonel was doing the same."

"Was he? You spoke to him?"

"He was growling about lack of servants.
Where were they all? he wanted to know. I told him that the house
had been built so that servants walked in passages behind the
walls. That's why we couldn't find a footman when we needed one.
The colonel said it was bloody inconvenient and walked away, toward
the back stairs. I assume he was about to descend to the kitchens,
but I don't know, because I went back to the ballroom, still
wanting drink. When I reached it, Mrs. Harper began her screaming.
She stabbed him, Lacey, mark my words. Women are easily excitable.
Lord knows my wife was, God rest her."

What he said interested me. "Would you be
willing to swear to this in court?" I asked. "If you saw Brandon
making for the back stairs at the time the body was discovered,
perhaps I can prove that he didn't have time to kill Turner."

"Oh, he might have had the time," Stokes
said cheerfully. "I did not see the colonel until a minute or so
before the screaming commenced. He might have done it before that."
Stokes chuckled at my expression. "But truth to tell, Captain, I do
not believe he did. If Colonel Brandon wished to kill a man, he'd
call him out and face him in a duel, not quietly shove a knife into
him. A question of honor, don't you know."