The Sudbury School Murders (13 page)

Mrs. Albright wore a brown dress with rents
in several places mended with clumps of black thread. She had brown
hair the same shade as the dress and faded blue eyes. When I asked
to see Miss Simmons, she gazed at me doubtfully but ushered me into
a small, stuffy sitting room and departed to find her.

Dust lay thick on the furniture, and the
windows must not have been opened for a long while. I had given
Mrs. Albright my card, and as the minutes ticked past, I wondered
if Marianne had seen it and fled the house. After a time, however,
I heard her step.

She entered the sitting room alone. "You gave
me a fright, Lacey," she said, closing the door. "I thought you'd
brought him with you."

I had risen at her entry. "You know he's
arrived, then."

"Oh, yes. I saw his coach. You were correct
about him flying down here on the moment. He cannot keep his long
nose out of any business."

"Grenville has been most helpful to me in the
past," I told her, my tone cool. "I welcome his help now."

"Yes, yes, he is your dearest friend."

I ignored this and motioned for her to sit on
one of the chairs. She glanced at it in disdain, brushed it off
with her hand, then sank into it.

I seated myself, facing her. "Have you
decided to confide in me?" I asked.

Marianne studied her hands. In the dim light
of the room, the hair on her bent head looked more silver than
blonde. I realized, studying her, that though she dressed in a
young woman's clothing and wore her hair in ringlets like a girl,
Marianne was not as young as she pretended to be. She had the gift
that some women had of maintaining a young face no matter how much
time passed. But I saw in the droop of her shoulders the tiredness
that years bring.

"I have decided," she said. She looked up at
me, her blue eyes hard. "I will tell you everything."

* * * * *

Chapter Nine

She had no intention of telling me there and
then, however. "I will show you," she said. "That will be easier
than explaining. Tomorrow, when you go out for your preposterously
early ride, meet me by Froxfield Lock."

"Froxfield?" I asked, surprised.

"Yes. I will not tell you any more, so do not
press me. If you want to know, you will meet me; if not, then I
will tell you nothing."

"Very well, you have convinced me." I wanted
to shake her, truth to tell, but I could see she was troubled and a
bit frightened.

"I have another errand here," I went on. "I
came to see Jeanne Lanier."

Marianne looked surprised. "What on earth
for? She would not suit you, Lacey."

I ignored her needling. "What do you know
about her?"

Marianne shrugged. "She is French, but she
has lived in England all her life. She's young, pretty, wants
money. Typical."

"Typical of what?"

"Fallen ladies, my innocent friend. I do not
mean she walks the streets; but she makes contracts with gentlemen
to keep her. Her current protector is quite young, only nineteen, I
think, although she is not much older than he is, in truth."

"Yes, he is a student at the school," I told
her. "A vastly wealthy one, or at least his father is. Do you know
whether he visited her Sunday night? About ten o'clock it would
have been."

Marianne nodded. "Oh, he was here all right.
I never saw him, but I heard them." She grimaced. "I put my pillow
over my head and went to sleep. So I cannot tell you what time he
departed, if that is what you want to know."

"Could you be persuaded to find out? I mean,
could you keep an eye on Jeanne Lanier and let me know if she says
anything unusual about Mr. Sutcliff?"

"In case he had anything to do with the
murder?" She tipped her head to one side, and her childlike look
returned. "I might be persuaded."

"For a reasonable fee, of course," I said.
"But please be discreet."

"My dear Lacey, I am discretion itself. Were
I not, many a gentleman in London would fall. I am amazed at what
they confide in me."

I could imagine. Gentlemen said things to
their lovers that they told to no other.

Marianne agreed to fetch Jeanne Lanier for
me, and I waited while she made her way upstairs.

I had always wondered about Marianne's
origins. She spoke well, as though she'd come from at least a
middle-class family, and she did know manners, if she did not
always use them. At the same time, she could swear volubly with
words even an army man would hesitate to use. Her knowledge of men,
and her frank admission to manipulating them through their desires,
could be a bit embarrassing. And yet, she put herself above the
street girls who lured men to their dooms, and even above the other
actresses with whom she shared the stage.

Asking direct questions of Marianne had never
gotten me far, however. When she wanted me to know about her past
life, she would tell me.

After a few more minutes, Jeanne Lanier
arrived.

Marianne had been correct when she said that
Jeanne was not much older than Sutcliff. I put her age at about
twenty, possibly a year less. Dark brown ringlets trickled down her
neck from under a small white cap. She had a pretty face that was
not beautiful but pleasing. Part of its pleasantness came from her
dark-lashed blue eyes and wide mouth.

She made a curtsey, held out her hand.
"Captain Lacey?"

I bowed, took her hand, and said, "I've come
from the Sudbury School. Mr. Sutcliff told me about you."

She smiled wisely. "Ah, Mr. Sutcliff. Please
sit down, Captain. The chairs are horrid, but I can offer you no
others, unfortunately. Your leg must be tired from the ride."

She spoke with a very charming accent. Most
children of French emigres that I had met, born and raised in
England, spoke English in a manner quite the same as any English
person. But perhaps Jeanne Lanier had learned that a gentleman
finds a slight misuse of English intriguing.

"I would offer you refreshment, but again, I
fear . . ." She shook her head. "You would do better to visit the
tavern on the way out of Hungerford."

I returned the smile. She was indeed quite
charming. "I am sorry you must stay in such accommodations. Mr.
Sutcliff should do better for you."

She waved this away. "When we are in London,
I assure you, my accommodations are quite fine. Here in the
country, one takes what one can find. Mr. Sutcliff is most
generous. He is not to blame."

I had difficulty reconciling young Sutcliff,
the lanky youth with his nose in the air, with this quiet young
woman. Their ages were close, and yet, Jeanne Lanier was far more
sophisticated than Frederick Sutcliff would ever be.

"It is of Mr. Sutcliff that I wish to speak
to you," I said. "To ask you, specifically, if he visited you here
on Sunday night."

Her smile turned coy. "He visits me nearly
every night, Captain, so indeed, he visited me on Sunday."

"Will you tell me what time?"

"You wish to know because that was the night
the murder happened?" she asked, her expression intelligent. "Let
me see, he arrived a little after ten. He stayed quite late--or
quite early, I should say. I believe he left for home when the
clock was striking four. He made certain everyone at the school
would be asleep before he went. If his headmaster found him sidling
back into the school . . ." She made another gesture, but smiled as
she did it, imagining Rutledge's explosion.

"Thank you, that is most helpful."

"But why do you ask? I thought the murderer
had already been found."

"A Romany has been arrested, yes. But I like
to put everything in order."

She cocked her head. "So you must have
learned in the army. I admire a man who puts things in order."

I wondered whether, had I confessed to a
chaotic life, she would have admired that instead.

"Did Mr. Sutcliff ever speak of the incidents
at the school?" I asked. "The pranks and so forth?"

She spread one long-fingered hand on her
knee. "Goodness, yes. He finds them most annoying. As prefect, he
must make the younger boys behave, and he is distracted to know who
is doing these dreadful things. Mr. Rutledge is quite put out with
him."

"Mr. Rutledge is put out with everyone," I
remarked.

Her smile deepened, a glint of true humor in
her eyes. "That is so. I have not met Mr. Rutledge, but Mr.
Sutcliff tells me much."

"How did you meet Mr. Sutcliff?" I asked,
curious.

Her gaze shifted, though her charm did not
diminish. "Oh, in the usual manner."

I had no idea what was the usual manner,
never having looked for a contracted paramour myself. Only very
wealthy gentlemen were so able. She must have guessed this, because
she added, "My former protector introduced us. He thought Mr.
Sutcliff would suit me."

I had heard, through Grenville, that when a
gentleman tired of his mistress, he sometimes introduced her to a
friend and more or less suggested that she try her luck with him.
The previous gentleman said his good-byes at the same time the next
gentleman would offer her carte blanche. I wondered what kind of
man would suggest his mistress take up with a schoolboy, even if
the schoolboy, at nineteen, was a little older than his
fellows.

"Mr. Sutcliff will become quite a wealthy
man, I understand," I said.

"Oh, indeed." She radiated pride. "He will be
able to purchase the City of London twice over, I think."

"But not until the sad day that his father
passes away."

She nodded. "He will come into more money
when he reaches his majority. But his father is rather horrible. He
does not allow Frederick to have all that he could, does not trust
him, he says. Frederick is quite annoyed. His father has even kept
him in the school longer than most of the young men. He says that
Frederick must learn to be a man before he can come into the
business with his father. But I ask you, Captain, can a boy learn
to be a man in the company of boys?"

I had wondered why Sutcliff was a bit older
than his schoolmates. A boy could leave school when he or his
father felt him ready for university, at seventeen or eighteen. But
Sudbury was not a preparatory school. Most of the young men at
Sudbury would never attend university; they would slip right into
the family business and not seek the esoteric studies of theology
and law at Oxford or Cambridge. Perhaps Mr. Sutcliff wanted
Frederick to learn all he could learn before he took part in the
making of the family fortune. Sutcliff's disdain might extend from
anger at his father's lack of belief in him.

"Frederick will be quite wealthy one day,
however," Jeanne went on. "He is amazed at the vastness of his
father's wealth."

"When my father died, I was truly amazed at
the vastness of his debt," I said with a smile. "Mr. Sutcliff is a
fortunate young man."

"Indeed, he is."

I did not add that she was a fortunate young
woman to have found Sutcliff while he was still hungering for his
wealth. Later, when he realized just how much power his money gave
him, he might seek out a lady more expensive, more sophisticated,
one who hadn't known him as a callow youth.

But Jeanne Lanier did not look troubled. She
was shrewd and no doubt knew exactly how to obtain as much as she
could from Sutcliff before her carte blanche ran out.

She began to converse with me then, as though
I'd come to pay a social call. She asked me about the army and
mentioned gentlemen of various regiments until we discovered one or
two with whom we were both slightly acquainted. She asked more and
more questions, prompted more and more stories, until I suddenly
found myself speaking to her freely and at length.

She listened to me with avid attention,
smiled at my attempts at wit, laughed at my anecdotes. I found
myself speaking to her quite frankly of things that I had never
discussed with anyone but Louisa.

She knew how to put me at my ease, how to
entertain, how to make me feel as though she would like nothing
better than to sit in this dreary parlor and converse with me all
afternoon. I could well understand why Sutcliff was taken with
her.

Though I knew Jeanne was practiced at
chatting with gentlemen, I had not so enjoyed a conversation in a
long while. Because we did not know one another, she was easy to
speak to; no tension existed between us. Louisa and I had used to
converse as freely, but now I felt strain when I spoke to her, much
of which was my own stupid fault. My conversations with Lady
Breckenridge were always a bit odd. Lady Breckenridge was clever
and knew it and had never learned the art of pleasing. I admired
her frankness, but her frankness could cut.

So, as the hour drew to a close, I found
myself wanting to stay. I nearly asked to see her again.
Just to
talk,
I wanted to say.
To talk to someone who enjoys
listening.

Without doing anything so foolish, I rose and
took my leave. She had charmed me today because it suited her,
nothing more.

She said good-bye to me very prettily,
letting me bow over her hand. I thanked her for passing the time
with me and made myself depart.

*** *** ***

When I reached the school again, it was in
commotion. Rutledge was in an uproar, although most of the students
were swarming about snickering behind their hands.

Grenville informed me that, apparently, the
good-natured Simon Fletcher had lost his temper during a lecture
and given Frederick Sutcliff a sound thrashing.

"Fletcher did?" I asked Grenville in
amazement. Grenville had come to my chambers high in the Head
Master's house, looking relieved to escape the lower floors.
Bartholomew and Matthias had followed him.

"Yes." Grenville turned away from the window,
through which he'd been studying the canal and the overgrown strips
of land that lined it. "He was incoherent as to why. Something
about not regarding Virgil with proper respect."