A Body in Berkeley Square Read online

  "I am full of bread and coffee, thank you. I have been wandering about London eating from vendors' trays."

  She gave a slight shrug as though she did not care one way or the other. "I assume you had some reason for this call."

  "I did." I hesitated. I'd thought it a good idea to come when I'd made the decision, but Lady Breckenridge did not seem happy to see me. After the manner in which we had parted the last time, I could hardly blame her.

  "I came to ask if you might give me an introduction to Lady Gillis," I said. "I would like to speak to her about the night Turner died, and I would like to look over the ballroom again."

  Lady Breckenridge folded her arms, and the lace shawl slid down her shoulders. "I see." Her voice was cool; her stance, unwelcoming.

  "I have presumed," I said quickly. "I beg your pardon. I did not mean to take advantage of you."

  "You do presume." She gave me a quiet look. "But I am happy that you did."

  Something inside me relaxed. "The last thing I want is to take advantage of you."

  She gave me a humorless laugh. "The last thing? I do not believe you, you know. There must be plenty of other things that you do not want more than that. But very well, I will take you to visit Lady Gillis, so that you may once more look at the scene of the crime. Give me a day or two to speak to her. From what I've been told, Lady Gillis is most distraught about the murder, and has refused to leave her bed."

  "I am sorry to hear that. I do not wish to distress her, but I truly need to see the anteroom and the ballroom again."

  "You will," Lady Breckenridge said, tone confident. She trailed her long-fingered hands down her arms. "I will give you a bit of advice, however. If you wish to speak to courtesans by the pillars at Covent Garden Theatre, you should not speak so loudly or so obviously."

  Her face was very white, and I saw something flicker in her eyes. Hurt, I thought, and anger.

  "Damn it all," I said feelingly.

  I had hoped that my conversation with Marianne would go unnoticed, but I ought to have known better. My face warmed. "As I have observed before, you are a very well-informed lady."

  "Good heavens, Gabriel, it is all over Mayfair. I could not stir a step last night without someone taking me aside and asking me whether I knew that my Captain Lacey had been pursuing a bit of muslin under the piazza."

  "They should not have spoken to you of such a thing at all," I said indignantly.

  "Yes, well, my acquaintances are a bit more blunt than necessary. They seemed to believe that I would find this on dit interesting."

  "They ought to have better things to talk about."

  "I agree. I did tell them quite clearly to mind their own business." She was rigid, her eyes glittering.

  "Gossip is misinformed, in this case," I said. "She was not a bit of muslin. She was Marianne Simmons."

  Her brows arched. "And what, pray tell, is a Marianne Simmons?"

  "Hmm," I said as I thought about how to explain Marianne. "Miss Simmons is an actress. She occupied rooms above mine for a time, and made the habit of stealing my candles, my coal, my snuff, and my breakfast whenever she felt the need. I let her; she never had enough money. She is shrewish and irritating, intelligent and bad-tempered, and has fallen quite in love with Lucius Grenville, although I must swear you to silence on that last point. She has a habit of accosting me whenever she perceives something wrong between herself and Grenville, which, unfortunately, is often."

  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 des
cend 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."

  Honor, yes. I agreed with him. But I thought of the missing document Colonel Naveau wanted. Something dangerous was going on here that might make a man throw honor to the wind.

  "Of course," Stokes went on, "I might have done it. Oh, good form," he shouted at Knighton as the man began punching his opponent.

  "You might have," I said. "But why would you?"

  "Because I owed Mr. Turner a ruinous amount of money." Stokes kept his gaze on the boxers. "Should have learned my lesson when I lost to him at the races, but I wagered on the outcome of a cockfight, and lost heavily. Not my fault. I could not have foreseen that the champion bird would expire of apoplexy so soon into the match. The lad had a nose for wagering. Saved my pocket when he died. But I didn't kill the chap. I'd have paid up. I always do."

  Stokes was just ingenuous enough for me to believe him. He seemed a straightforward, no-nonsense sort of gentleman, one who might be persuaded to bet on a ridiculous outcome but turn over his money amiably when he lost.

  Then again, Turner was dead.

  "So," Stokes said, "if I didn't murder the chap, and Brandon didn't murder him, who did?"