The Sudbury School Murders (28 page)

Grenville had told me on the journey that
he'd decided to take my advice and allow Marianne to come and go as
she pleased from the Clarges Street house with no questions asked.
I knew she had not told him of her son in Berkshire, but I believe
he had realized she had been in Berkshire for some time. He had
spoken to Jeanne Lanier before her flight; perhaps Jeanne had told
him.

"Talk to her," I said. "Have a
conversation."

He snorted. "I do not believe I am strong
enough for Marianne's conversation. I will simply . . . ease away,
as you suggested. She has proved she will not be held, so I will
cease trying to hold her." He shielded his eyes by studying his
hands on the coverlet. "I will try, in any case."

*** *** ***

I left for my rooms above the bake shop in
Grimpen Lane, rooms I had called home for two years. Mrs. Beltan,
my landlady, greeted me effusively. Yes, she still had my rooms
open. She'd let the rooms above mine to another gentleman, but he
was away on business. She put the key in my hand, promised a bucket
of coal right away, and gave me a loaf of bread.

Bartholomew stoked the fire and helped me put
things to rights. Mrs. Beltan had kept the rooms aired, and so they
smelled clean and not musty. The rooms had once been a grand salon
and bedchamber when this entire house had been home to gentry one
hundred years ago. Now the paint had faded and the grandeur was
tarnished, but I was used to it.

If Bartholomew was disappointed that he'd had
to exchange his comfortable rooms in Grenville's lavish mansion to
the cold attics of Grimpen Lane, he made no complaint. He went
about his duties cheerfully, whistling a tune as usual.

I wrote my friends that I had returned to
Grimpen Lane, and the next day, letters began arriving. Lady Aline
wrote of her delight at my return then made it clear that she meant
for me to grace her gatherings the remainder of the season. Her
letter ended with a veritable schedule of card parties, soirees, at
homes, and garden parties certain to send fear into the heart of
the sturdiest male. I sincerely hoped that Grenville would
counteract it by taking me along to the more masculine pursuits of
boxing and horseracing.

Lady Breckenridge also sent me an invitation,
in the form of a personal letter, to listen to a new poet, a shy
young man who needed introduction to society. She would have a
gathering at her house to ease him and his wife into the right
circles. She would be pleased if I would attend, and she assured me
I would enjoy his poetry. "It is exquisite," she had written,
"rather like Lord Byron, so intelligent and rich, without the
bitterness or the airiness of the frivolous Mr. Shelley."

I had begun to realize that Lady
Breckenridge, for all her enjoyment of flirting with scandal, had
fine taste and the ability to locate it in obscure places. She
almost had a nose for it, like a hound who could find the choicest
grouse lost in the reeds.

I responded, telling her I would be most
pleased to accept.

I also received a packet from Rutledge. To
his credit, Rutledge had paid me in full for the three weeks I'd
been in his employ. My heart lifted slightly. I could certainly use
the funds.

His letter, brief and gruff as usual, said
he'd found another secretary, thank you very much. "The new fellow
has said that he found everything in order. Despite your
shortcomings, he tells me you were somewhat efficient.
Rutledge."

I tossed Rutledge's letter aside, not
surprised at his tone.

More significantly, I also received, later
that day, a hand-delivered message from James Denis.

My pulse quickened as I broke the seal and
opened it, and still more when I read the words.

"I found Jeanne Lanier and had her brought
back to London. She is more than willing to speak to you and your
magistrate. Please attend us this evening at six o'clock."

I folded the letter, grimly cheerful, and
ordered a hackney to Curzon Street.

* * * * *

Chapter Nineteen

Jeanne Lanier looked fresh and neat when I
greeted her in the front drawing room of Denis' house. Her dark
hair was sleek, her dress clean, in no way betraying that she'd
fled to Dover and been dragged all the way back by Denis' men. Her
face, however, was lined with worry.

Like the rest of his house, Denis' drawing
room was elegant, austere, and cold. Jeanne Lanier rose from a silk
covered settee as I entered. She looked quite surprised, then
relieved, to see me.

"Captain," she breathed.

I bowed to her. "Madam. Are you well?"

She nodded, though her eyes flickered
nervously. "Quite well. Mr. Denis has been courteous."

"Indeed, Mr. Denis can be very courteous," I
agreed.

The corners of her mouth trembled. "I do not
quite understand why I have been brought here. Am I being
arrested?"

"Not at all. I asked Mr. Denis to find you. I
wagered that he could more quickly than the Runners, and I was
right."

She looked confused. "You asked him?"

I gave her a nod. "You see, I believe
Frederick Sutcliff murdered the groom Middleton, as well as the
tutor, Simon Fletcher, and attempted to murder Lucius Grenville.
But I have no evidence of this to present to the magistrate.
Sutcliff's father is a rich and powerful man. If I have no proof,
how difficult would it be for him to convince the magistrates that
I am either a madman or persecuting Sutcliff for my own ends?
However, you can provide me with just the evidence I need to bring
about his conviction."

Her face had gone white during my speech. "I
see."

I stepped closer to her. "If you help me, I
can help you. I have a friend, Sir Montague Harris, who is a
magistrate. He is here. If you tell him the truth, he has promised
to believe that Sutcliff coerced you and concede that you are not
at fault in this matter."

Jeanne sat down abruptly. Her pretty face was
strained. "Captain Lacey, I am French, I am a woman, I am alone in
the world. I am not a fool. A magistrate will have no sympathy for
me."

"He will," I assured her. "He has promised
this, as a favor to me."

She gaped. "Why? Why should you ask him to
spare me?"

"Because," I responded, my voice hard,
"Frederick Sutcliff stabbed Grenville and I want him arrested. And
I believe that you helped him because you were dependent on him and
had no choice."

Her gaze fell, her dark lashes brushing her
cheeks. "I had a choice," she said softly. "I could have left him,
or betrayed him."

"Then where would you have gone?"

She would not look at me. "I do not know. I
do not know where I will go now. You have narrowed the choices for
me."

"He is a murderer," I said.

She lifted her head, and I saw a hardness in
her eyes that matched the hardness in Marianne's. Both women had to
grasp for their survival; Jeanne Lanier simply did it with more
grace. "If I will not speak, then I face possible arrest for
helping him. But if I betray him, then I betray myself. What man
will hurry to protect me if he knows I will not remain loyal?"

I allowed myself a smile. "Gentlemen, madam,
can be amazingly obtuse."

I remembered sitting in the shabby parlor in
Hungerford while she conversed with me. In that hour, she had made
me feel as though I were the only person in the world who
interested her, the only person with whom she wished to be. She had
a gift for making any man she faced believe that. I was willing to
wager that she could make a man believe that however much she'd
betrayed Sutcliff, she'd never betray
him
.

She met my gaze but did not return the smile.
"Well, Captain, I will see your magistrate. I do not love Frederick
Sutcliff, and what he has done is abhorrent to me. I will
speak."

"Thank you," I answered with sincerity. "I
will see to it that you do not regret it."

She smiled at me then. I was struck again by
her gift, and I found myself wishing that I could personally ensure
that she never regretted anything in life again.

Instead of saying anything so foolish, I
bowed to her, then left the room to summon Sir Montague.

*** *** ***

Sir Montague Harris seemed to be enjoying the
novelty of an invitation to the house of James Denis.

He limped into the drawing room and seated
his bulk in the chair a footman brought forward for him. The
footman arranged a footstool for his gouty leg, then poured out a
glass of port to place at his elbow. The footman poured port for me
as well, and offered Jeanne a glass of lemonade, which she
declined.

The same footman also assisted Matthias and
Bartholomew in settling Grenville. I'd known Grenville would be
furious if I did not let him attend the interview with Jeanne
Lanier, and so I'd sent for him. I also believed that he deserved
to hear the truth. Sutcliff would have killed him if he'd been
able.

Grenville sat back in his chair, I supposed
calling upon his sangfroid to hide the fact that he was in pain.
Dark patches like bruises stained the skin under his eyes.

Denis himself arrived last. He nodded coolly
to me, took the port his footman handed him, and sat in a
straight-backed, armless chair, the least comfortable-looking seat
in the room.

"Mr. Denis," Sir Montague beamed. "I
compliment you on your lovely home."

Denis gave him a nod, irony glinting in his
eyes. Sir Montague turned his gaze to the paintings and other
objects of artwork in the room, clearly speculating on whether they
had been procured by not-so-legal means. Denis ignored him.

He sent a cold nod in the direction of Jeanne
Lanier, who watched him, apprehensive. "Captain, please ask your
questions."

I moved uncomfortably. I had hoped that Sir
Montague would interview Jeanne Lanier, but the magistrate merely
drank port, a smile on his face, and motioned for me to carry
on.

"You told me," I began, addressing her, "that
Frederick Sutcliff came to you the night of Middleton's death at a
little after ten o'clock. I do not believe that is true. What time
did he actually arrive?"

Jeanne plucked once at her skirt, then she
raised her head and looked at me with clear eyes. "He arrived at a
little before midnight. I let him in through my bedroom window. He
climbed the tree outside."

I remembered the thick tree growing near that
window; Jeanne had waved at me through its branches one
afternoon.

She went on. "He was laughing and shaking,
nearly half-crazed. He had blood on his hands and quite a lot on
his coat. Blood was splattered over his face."

"What did he say to you?" I asked.

"He said, 'I've done it. Now the money need
be shared only two ways.'"

Sir Montague nodded thoughtfully. Denis
remained cold and still.

"What did he do then?" I prompted.

"He removed his clothes and washed himself.
He asked me to hide the clothes for him. He kept a second suit in
my room. I do not know whether he'd put it there for this purpose
or simply to have it on hand."

"Did he tell you he'd killed Middleton?"

"Not then." Jeanne flushed. "He was in quite
a buoyant mood, laughing and talking feverishly. He did not quiet
until very early morning, and then he rose and left me. But the
next day when I saw him, he was calmly triumphant. 'None know who
killed the groom,' he told me. 'And none will know. The magistrate
is a fool.' Since that day, he often boasted to me how cleverly
he'd done it."

"He was not ashamed at all, then?" I asked
softly.

"No, Captain. He was proud."

Denis gazed at her, his face unmoving, but I
saw the anger in his eyes.

"What happened was this," I said for Sir
Montague's and Denis' benefit. "Sutcliff runs after Middleton the
night of the murder. He might have seen Sebastian leaving the
school as well, and had the idea to push the blame for the crime
onto the Romany. He probably paid Thomas Adams to pretend to
overhear a quarrel between Sebastian and Middleton."

Grenville broke in. "Middleton must not have
seen Sutcliff as a threat, if he agreed to go with him to the place
where you found the knife."

"No," I said. "It was foolish of him, but
he'd been a man feared for his strength for so long, he likely did
not think a nineteen-year-old boy could best him. Or perhaps he'd
had the thought to thrash Sutcliff himself. But Sutcliff takes him
by surprise and cuts his throat. Sutcliff drops the knife in the
dark and bundles Middleton in the rowboat he's secured there for
the purpose. It is late and dark; the bargemen would have moored
for the night or gone to find a pint in the nearest tavern.
Sutcliff dumps Middleton's body into the lock, hides or abandons
the boat somewhere down the canal, and races to Hungerford to meet
with his mistress."

"A moment," Grenville said. "If Sutcliff did
not arrive until twelve, what about the landlady, who claimed she
heard the bed frame squeaking and all that, well before
midnight?"

"It was Marianne who'd told me that," I said.
Grenville flushed, although he did not look very surprised. "But,
she could not swear she heard
both
of them. How difficult
would it be for Jeanne to shake the bed and make the expected
noises? One does not like to listen to such things; one is
embarrassed and tries to ignore it. You were alone in that bed," I
said to Jeanne, "until Sutcliff arrived near to midnight."

"Yes," she said simply.

"Did he ask you to destroy his clothes?" I
went on. "Either by burning them or tossing them over the railing
of a ship heading for France?"

"He did not specify. He only told me to get
rid of them."

"And did you?"

She pressed her lips together a moment, then
answered. "No. They are still hidden under a board in the
Hungerford house."