The Thames River Murders (24 page)

Proof. I needed proof. A confession would be fine as well.

Stein regarded me calmly. I read in him no urge to confess his great sin to me. I would have to trick or frighten it out of him.

Or, Stein might have had nothing to do with it, had only made the best of his life after his disappointment. I hoped, for his wife’s sake, that he’d found a friend and helpmeet in the current Mrs. Stein, and appreciated it.

Stein tipped his hat. “If that is all, Captain, my wife expects me home.”

“Of course,” I said. “May I call upon you if I need to speak to you again?”

“Send word,” Stein said quickly. “I will meet you.”

He did not want me at his house, speaking to him of the past. If he were innocent, I could understand. If guilty—well, I’d make certain he paid.

Judith might have been like a butterfly, flitting after happiness as she saw it, hurting those she left behind, but she shouldn’t have been killed. Her family had known her as the young, rather silly thing who wrestled herself from the perceived confinement of her life.
 

I’d seen her as a collection of bones, lost, forgotten, an object of pity. I’d pot who killed her, never mind the trouble I’d cause.

“I will send word,” I responded. “Good day, Mr. Stein.”

We shook hands again, and parted.

“You never said you were coming to dwell among the Hebrews,” a voice at my back remarked.

I turned without much surprise to find Brewster. Likely, he’d seen me leave Bow Street and followed. Bartholomew lounged near the hackney I’d hired for the day, waiting for me.

“Are you converting?” Brewster asked when I turned to him.

“Trying to solve a crime,” I countered. “Tell me, did you ask your footman friend to infiltrate the house in Cavendish Square?”

“I did. And he did. He’s chuffed at the job. Says they took him on at once. Pay is decent, though the others there warned him servants don’t stick it long. They can’t stand that Bennett chap.”

I imagined I wouldn’t stick it long either.

I sought Molodzinski and thanked him for his trouble.
 

“Glad to help,” Molodzinski said. “I have been asking about Hartman and his family, but I haven’t learned much more than you have. Hartman is one whose father, and his father before him, embraced Englishness only reluctantly. Hartman is happy to live and work without impediment, but he yearns for the old ways. Me, I like the new days.”

“The new days are dangerous,” I pointed out, with a glance at his bruises.

“Ha. So were the old, Captain. At one point in history, and not so long ago as all that, it was a crime to be a Jew. I like the new, enlightened days.”

I agreed he had the right of it, and took my leave of him.

“Bartholomew,” I said as Brewster and I approached the hackney. “Would you like to do some covert investigation for me?”

Bartholomew brightened. “Of course I would, Captain. As I said, I’m your man.”

“Good. Then take yourself to Cavendish Square and become acquainted with the servants below stairs in Captain Woolwich’s house. Any time Mr. Bennett leaves that house, follow him and report to me what he does. I’ll give you some money so you can stay at a public house—I want you to observe him for some days.”

Bartholomew’s eyes lit, then he frowned. “If I’m following this gent about, who will look after you at home?”

I waved that away. “I will manage—as I did for many years.” I took coins from my pocket and dropped them into his hand. “Do not let Bennett see you. He has met Matthias, and you two are much alike.”

“He’ll never know I’m there,” Bartholomew promised. He touched his forehead in salute and jogged away.

“You know, my bloke Jack will find anything wrong going on in that house,” Brewster said, sounding the slightest bit hurt.

“Inside,”
I said. “Your man won’t be able to invent enough excuses to leave the house to follow Bennett every day. Believe me, I will be agog to hear Jack’s reports.”

Brewster looked mollified. “Where to now, Captain?”

“Home,” I said. “I have promised my wife to take great care when I am out. Although I need to look into two houses in Oxford Street, exact addresses vague. Damn it all, I wish my information wasn’t from so many years ago—if Bennett had been visiting a mistress, I might never find her. He might have long ago finished with her, or she has left London, or died, or she was not his mistress at all.”

“Tall order,” Brewster agreed.

“Hence, I asked Bartholomew to watch him. I am interested in what Mr. Bennett does with his day.”

Brewster grunted. “I understand. I might not be able to help you with this much longer, I have to warn you. Mr. Denis has suggested that, as he puts it, my talents be employed elsewhere, and another of his men set to watch you.”

My brows rose. “Truly? But you are excellent at it. I never know when you are going to pop up.”

Brewster’s cheekbones stained red. “Hap-parently, I am looking after you too well. His nibs wants no harm to come to you, but he’s not happy that you talk to me, like, and stand me drinks. Or that I took you to visit my missus for tea. Says I can’t intimidate you if I let you speak with me.”

“In other words, he wishes to protect me but also keep me in my place.”

“Somefink like that.”

I hid my annoyance. “Would it be helpful if I had you knock me about a time or two? I could show him my injuries as proof you are sufficiently intimidating.”

Brewster grinned. “Then
your
missus would light into me. Think I’ll risk the displeasure of his nibs, instead. But I’d be sorry to lose the post,” he said. “It’s not dull, following you about.”

He closed his mouth over this declaration and shoved me up into the hackney. Declaring it was overly hot inside, Brewster elected to ride on the box with the coachman.

I reflected, as the hackney pulled away and headed for Leadenhall, that with Brewster I’d begun to forge an unlikely, but not unwelcome, friendship.

***

I could do little myself to investigate Judith’s murder over the next few days, much as I longed to drag Bennett from his home and beat answers from him.
 

When I returned home Saturday afternoon, I found Lady Aline closeted with Donata. Both ladies pounced on me and recruited me to do errands that had left them in despair.

The come-out was to be held at Lady Aline’s very large house in Berkeley Square. When I’d asked, in all innocence, when that decision had been made, why it could not be held in Donata’s house, I was given stares that told me I was a blithering fool. Not enough room, Donata had said crisply. And this house was pokey, not like Aline’s lofty grandeur.

I could not agree, but I decided not to argue.

The hired musicians and music master had apparently had a falling out. I was sent ’round to reconcile them and make certain they would still come. The hired furniture—extra chairs, tables, and dressing tables for the withdrawing rooms—had to be directed into place with a firm hand, as did the many candles for the colossal chandeliers. I was also to ensure the temperamental pastry maker prepared exactly what was wished in the exact way Donata had instructed.
 

When I was not busy with these devastating tasks, I was writing letters to soothe the tempers of the gentlemen whose families had not been invited.

I drew the line, I said, at fighting duels over it.

I was glad I’d put Bartholomew and Brewster’s friend Jack in place to watch over Mr. Bennett. Bartholomew, true to his word, followed the man about but made certain to never be spotted. Bennett never noticed, Bartholomew said in his messages to me. The man never looked around.

Brewster reported to me what his friend discovered—Jack could not write a clear sentence, Brewster said, so had to convey the information through him.

Even so, between them, they learned nothing of great interest. Bennett had done nothing sinister, although both Bartholomew and Jack agreed the man was an ass.

I put forth one more inquiry. It occurred to me, as I sat in the elegant synagogue, having no idea as to the significance of the ceremony—would Judith likewise have had no sense of what was happening in an English church? Granted, our services were in English, but they were a bit archaic, and I imagine, somewhat byzantine to those not raised to them.
 

I wanted very much to know whether Bennett had tricked her into believing she’d married him. Why he should fool her, I didn’t know, but I wanted to see a record of their marriage in black and white.

Grenville, after I’d told him about the reports I’d found at Bow Street and my talk with Stein, offered to track down the marriage record. He knew the curates or vicars of every church in London, since he’d gone to school with most of them, or at least members of their families.

He cheerfully left me to the sphere of my womenfolk, who were driving me mad with this approaching event, and headed off to investigate.

Dreams of Judith still came to me, always the same. She’d walk to me, sometimes looking like her sister, sometimes Gabriella. She’d hold out her hand, which would turn skeletal, and then she’d fall to the street, broken and dead.

Tuesday dawned, and so we came to Gabriella’s come-out.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Lady Aline’s Berkeley Square house glowed with light. The candles I’d wrangled glittered from every sconce and chandelier that filled the ballroom on the first floor.

The musicians, reconciled, played in a gallery above the ballroom, so that melodies trickled down like starlight.

Denis had agreed to supply extra guards, and some of the footmen rushing about with trays were large, hard-faced men, bulging in their livery. Guests threw them startled glances, but they did their tasks with cool efficiency.

Gabriella made no grand entrance.
Nothing vulgar,
Donata had said.
Simply a ball given by Aline, and Gabriella will be introduced.

I’d had a vague notion that my daughter could not be “out” until she was presented to Queen Charlotte at one of her gatherings, as Donata had described happened to her. Donata had given me one of her looks that told me I was hopeless, then explained that Gabriella, if she married into the peerage, could wait to be presented after her wedding. Besides, Queen Charlotte, elderly and ill, rarely held Drawing Rooms these days. Gabriella was not the daughter of a peer, and Aline and Donata hosting her would be sufficient.

Donata also warned me that the lady patronesses of Almack’s might never give Gabriella a voucher to attend an insipid ball at that bastion of respectability. She was confident, however, that Gabriella did not need to appear there to find a husband. Donata and Aline, I was assured, knew exactly what they were about.
 

I’d backed away and left them to it.

Gabriella was so beautiful tonight I stopped, my heart aching, when she entered, quietly and without fuss, at Lady Aline’s side. She’d spent all day readying herself, and the result made my eyes sting.

Her dark hair was caught up from her neck by a thin bandeau that allowed several curls to cascade to her shoulders. Her gown was of a shimmering ivory satin, and her puffed sleeves were covered with silver netting that let the shine of the material below gleam through.

The gown was simple, almost unadorned. Three buttons decorated her short bodice. Then the high-waisted skirt flowed without hindrance to her slippered feet, where it was trimmed with one row of appliquéd cotton lace. Small diamond earrings, a present from Donata, dangled from Gabriella’s ears, and a thin gold necklace—my gift—rested on her bosom.

I went directly to her, took her hands, and kissed her cheek.

The cheek flushed beneath my lips. “Do I not look fine?” Gabriella asked me when I straightened. “I’ve never owned such a dress. I wish Mama and Papa could see me.”

The wistfulness in her words smote me. I’d brought her here to this city, far from anything familiar, because I wanted to get to know her. Gabriella had good-naturedly gone along with Donata’s plans, but the flash of homesickness in her eyes now tore at me.

“You must wear it for them, then, when you return to France,” I said.

Aline, overhearing, let her brows rise on her rouged face. She said nothing, however, because others were approaching.

Gabriella brightened. “I will show it off for them, then. That is, if Lady Donata does not mind.” She glanced around, her regret forgotten. “The room is so very beautiful, is it not?”

You are the most beautiful thing in it,
I wanted to say. I held my tongue, not wanting to look a foolish, doting father.

It was time for introductions. Gabriella had met most of the people here before—ladies and gentlemen of Donata’s and Aline’s acquaintance, and their sons and daughters. She’d made friends with some of the girls, and was pronounced “a lovely thing, so unspoiled” by their mothers.

Now, Gabriella would be one of them, ready to be married. Only Donata and Aline, Grenville, and of course, Gabriella, knew that her mother was still alive—they thought me a widower, Gabriella raised in France by a relative.

Carlotta Lacey, my first wife, had ceased to exist long ago. Colette Auberge, whom she’d become, had now married her major, after I, with much underhanded assistance from James Denis, divorced her. Though it had to go through the courts, Denis’s influence was such that the issue was never revealed to the public. I’d toady to Denis for a long time to ensure our disgrace never came to light, so Gabriella’s chances would not be ruined by it.

Not that, among the
ton
, elopements with lovers and divorces never happened. My first marriage and its end was almost unremarkable among some of the more famous cases.

The gathering began in earnest, and Gabriella was whisked away from me to meet the masses.

The masses were small for a Mayfair ball, I was grateful to see, though the room did fill. Ladies in finery, gentlemen in severe black—all had come to greet my Gabriella.

I knew everyone here, including the Brandons. Aline greeted Louisa with delight, and then I kissed her cheek, murmuring my thanks to her for coming. Brandon had already slipped into the card room, so I felt free to give Louisa’s hands a warm squeeze.