A Body in Berkeley Square Page 18

  "That is the question." I returned my attention to the boxers. The gentleman called Knighton had just landed another good facer on his opponent. I felt relieved I had not bet against him. "And at this moment, I have no bloody idea who."

  *** *** ***

  Grenville invited me back to Grosvenor Street for brandy and hot coffee to chase away the chill of the evening after we left Gentleman Jackson's. I readily accepted.

  The Knighton fellow had done well. I'd bet on him in a round against a tall, muscular boxer, and won a few guineas. I resisted the temptation to let it all go again and, flushed with success, accompanied Grenville home.

  Now in his upstairs sitting room, the one that housed curios from his travels, Grenville reclined in a Turkish chair, clad in slippers and a suit meant for relaxing in his own house. He fingered a small golden beetle he called a scarab and let out a wistful sigh.

  "Egypt is a magical place, Lacey," he said. "All the wonders of a lost world buried in the sand, waiting to be discovered. The Turks don't care about it one way or another. I have followed the career of that Italian fellow, Belzoni, out there looking for treasure. He used to do a strongman act at Tunbridge Wells. Would carry seven men on his back. Amazing fellow."

  "And you wish to travel to Egypt to help him?"

  "Not help, watch and learn. I doubt I would do much good chucking blocks of stone about. I long to go back. It is a beautiful place."

  "You speak of it much."

  "I told you before, we could go together. I believe you'd enjoy it."

  I poured my brandy into my coffee and sipped the spicy, warm mixture. "What would Marianne say?"

  "I believe she would be furious with me. That is the trouble with falling under a woman's enchantment. A man becomes reluctant to leave her side."

  "Are you reluctant to leave her side?" I asked.

  Grenville gave me a self-deprecating look. "I am, as you have guessed. That young lady has gotten under my skin." He took a drink of brandy. "Well, you warned me about her. Perhaps I should flee to Egypt so that I might come to my senses."

  "She would never forgive you, I think."

  "She might be happy to see the back of me. Especially if I left her with a great deal of money. Yes, I believe that is my solution."

  "I believe you wrong her," I said.

  "Do I?" he asked in vast disbelief.

  "You stayed last night with her, did you not?"

  His smile was cynical. "A night with a lady does not mean a softening of that lady's heart. You are a romantic."

  "Perhaps. What about Mrs. Bennington?"

  His brandy glass stopped halfway to his mouth. "Mrs. Bennington?"

  "I visited her after her performance last night. Her husband introduced me. She asked me to speak to you."

  Any friendliness vanished. "Did she?"

  "I found it rather incredible what she told me, that you shouted at her over a gentleman called Carew and threw your walking stick across the room. I was shown the mark you left in the wallpaper. I must wonder why you did so."

  Grenville sat stiffly, his eyes glittering with anger. "Lacey, I often am amused by your curiosity, but this time, I am not. Please cease to ask me questions."

  "You frightened her."

  "Good. She ought not to let young fellows make up to her, nor should she have married that God-awful Bennington. The man is a mountebank."

  "She told me his name was not Bennington. Who is he then?"

  "The devil if I know."

  "You seem extraordinarily angry. Do you know Mrs. Bennington well? I never heard you speak of her before she came to London."

  "I told you, Lacey," Grenville said in a hard voice. "Cease asking me questions about Mrs. Bennington."

  "I admit, her story seemed incredible. I thought it likely that you'd have a reasonable explanation for the entire matter, even if I had to thrash you for frightening a rather pathetic young lady."

  Grenville stared at me in outrage, then he began to laugh. "Good God, you have audacity."

  "I know. That is why I anger so many people."

  "I admire it, you know--even when it makes you a bloody nuisance."

  I noted that his backhanded compliment let him nicely avoid the question. "Will you not tell me the explanation?"

  He stopped laughing. "No. I will not. This incident with Mrs. Bennington is none of your damned business. That is all I will say on the matter."

  I inclined my head. My curiosity was not satisfied, but I saw I would get no further with him tonight. "Very well, but I must ask you to cease frightening her. If she tells me again that you have thrown your walking stick or shouted in her face, I will consider the thrashing."

  He gazed at me, lips parting. "You truly do have audacity, Lacey."

  "Yes."

  I knew I jeopardized my friendship with him by being high-handed, but Mrs. Bennington had been truly frightened, and Grenville had not denied her accusations. Mrs. Bennington was not the most apt young lady in the world, but that was no reason for a gentleman to threaten her or terrify her. That Grenville, who prided himself on impeccable manners, had done so, was astonishing.

  Grenville drank his brandy in silence for a moment then said, tight-lipped, "I suppose we should turn the conversation to other things. What do you think of what Stokes told you?"

  "It is the first time I have been able to verify the truth of Brandon's story that he was wandering the house just before the body was discovered. But there are other things going on that I do not understand."

  I told him of my meeting with Denis and Colonel Naveau, and the request to find the document that Turner had stolen from Naveau. Grenville listened, his animosity fading as his interest rose.

  "I agree with you that Brandon most likely gave the paper to Imogene Harper," he said. "However, she must have been looking for it when you caught her entering Turner's rooms, which tells me she does not have it."

  "This is what I have concluded. I plan to ask Mrs. Harper when I visit her and try to force her to tell me the truth. But if she does not have it . . . " I trailed off, taking a sip of coffee. "That means Brandon got rid of it somehow. I cannot imagine him passing it to any other person, except perhaps Louisa. But she has given no indication that she knew anything about a letter, nor do I think he'd had time to give it to her."

  "Then what is your theory?"

  I clicked my cup to its saucer. "That Brandon hid it somewhere. That he found a place to put it in the Gillises' house where even their servants would not find it. He hid the document before Pomeroy arrived, knowing he might be questioned about Turner's murder. An awkward thing to have on him if Pomeroy simply arrested people right and left and let magistrate sort it out in the morning. He probably meant to return to retrieve the letter or to send Mrs. Harper for it. But Pomeroy whisked him to Bow Street so quickly that he did not have the chance to pass on the message. Mrs. Harper has not visited him, nor has Louisa. And he does not want me to find the damned thing."

  "Hmm." Grenville tapped his fingertips together. "How could he be certain the servants would not find it?"

  "He must have thought the hiding place a good one." I studied the shelf beside me, which was filled with oriental ivory. "If a Gillis servant did find it, would they be able to read it? It was in French, and not all servants can read even English. They might think it a stray bit of paper and destroy it."

  "Or wrap fish in it or polish furniture with it," Grenville said. "My footmen use my old newspapers to polish the silver. So they tell me."

  "Perhaps Bartholomew and Matthias can infiltrate the Gillises' servants' hall again and find out. I am not certain how I will explain to Lord Gillis that I want to search his house from top to bottom for a stray piece of paper, but I will try."

  "I can speak to Gillis at my club."

  "Lady Breckenridge has promised she will gain me entry through Lady Gillis."

  His brows climbed. "I see. Lady Breckenridge has been quite helpful to you of late, I've observed."

&
nbsp; I poured more coffee into my cup from the pot on the tray. I felt Grenville's keen gaze resting upon me, but I chose to ignore it. "Some things are none of my business," I said, keeping my voice light. "Some things are none of yours."

  He looked pleased. "You will never have a moment's boredom with Donata Breckenridge, Lacey. She is decidedly unconventional."

  "She is intelligent," I said. "And does not waste time on frivolous conversation."

  "Exactly."

  He wore a faint, superior smile. I said, "Her marriage to Breckenridge I know was unhappy. She loathed him. I gather it was an arranged match?"

  Grenville nodded, always ready to delve into the affairs of his fellow man, or woman. "It was a good match on the basis of pedigree and financial benefit. Her father, Earl Pembroke, was great friends with Breckenridge's uncle. Both men had large and prosperous estates, and Pembroke wanted his daughter and grandchildren provided for. Breckenridge's uncle was a man of sterling worth, but Breckenridge grew up spoiled, hard-nosed, and selfish. As you noticed." Grenville turned his glass in his hands. "Interesting thing. I met Lady Breckenridge at her come-out, when she was Lady Donata. She was quiet and well mannered, never spoke a word out of place. A regal young lady. Not until after she married Breckenridge did she blossom into what she is now."

  I contrasted Grenville's picture of the quiet ingenue to the frank, acerbic lady with the barbed sense of humor I'd come to know.

  I said, "Breckenridge must have infuriated her until she grew fed up and dropped her polite veneer in self-defense."

  Grenville shot me a look. "Breckenridge was horrible, Lacey. You knew him only a couple of days. Very few people could stick him. He paraded his mistresses about in front of his wife; I hear he even took a few home and forced her to share her dining room with them, took them to his bedchamber under her nose. I admire Lady Breckenridge for not running mad or shooting him outright. She must have the strength of ten to live through what he did to her."

  "She does have strength," I said in a soft voice. "She can stand up to me and tell me to go to the devil."

  He chuckled. "So very few men would prize that in a lady."

  And yet, I did. My wife Carlotta had been a fragile, tender creature. I'd needed a wife who could bash crockery over my head and tell me not to run roughshod over them. Carlotta had said nothing and let me become more and more heavy-handed. I doubt I'd ever be able to be heavy-handed with Donata Breckenridge.

  "Lady Breckenridge is a lovely woman," I said.

  Grenville grinned. "That does not hurt, either." He lifted his glass. "To comely ladies with sharp tongues. Bless them."

  I lifted my cup and joined him in a toast.

  *** *** ***

  The next afternoon, I returned to the court near Portman Square to attempt another visit to Imogene Harper. This time, I found her at home.

  She received me in a tidy parlor whose windows overlooked the foggy lane. This was a quiet court, rather like the one I lived in on the other side of the city, though a bit more prosperous. The house was respectable, the sort a well-to-do widow might hire.

  Mrs. Harper looked the part of the respectable, well-to-do widow. Again, I was struck by what a comfortable-seeming woman she was--not a beauty, but not displeasing, either. The disheveled look she'd had when I'd encountered her in Turner's rooms was gone. Her yellow-brown hair had been combed back into a simple knot, and she wore brown again, a high-waisted gown trimmed with black.

  Once the requisite politeness had finished and a maid had settled us with the requisite tea, I told her, "I have met Colonel Naveau."

  Mrs. Harper's eyes widened, and she set down the teacup she'd just lifted. "Oh."

  "He has commissioned me to find a letter stolen from him in Paris by Mr. Turner. I believe that same letter was sold to Colonel Brandon for five hundred guineas in the anteroom of Lord Gillis's Berkeley Square townhouse."

  Mrs. Harper bowed her head, but a flush spread across her cheeks.

  "Am I correct?" I asked.

  "You believe so," she answered, her voice hard. "What does it matter what I think?"

  "It matters a great deal, Mrs. Harper. I need to find that document. I want to find it. Will you tell me where it is?"

  * * * * *

  Chapter Fifteen

  Mrs. Harper lifted her head. "And if I tell you I have no idea where the bloody letter is, will you believe me?"

  "I will, actually."

  She looked surprised then skeptical. "You will? Why?"

  "Because I know Colonel Brandon better than you do."

  She stared at me a moment then sagged back into her chair. "Oh, what does it matter? No, Captain, I do not have the letter. I begged and begged Aloysius to give it to me, but he would not."

  "But you do have the draft for the five hundred guineas that Brandon gave Mr. Turner, do you not?"

  "Yes, I found it in the pocket of Mr. Turner's coat. I took it and put it into my reticule."

  "You searched his dead body for it. I admire your coolness."

  "I was anything but cool! Believe me, Captain, when I screamed, I did so from the heart. Mr. Turner was still warm when I searched his pockets. It was ghastly. But I knew I had to take the money away before someone else found it. When I saw that I'd gotten his blood on my glove, it sent me into a horrified panic. I do not know much of what happened after that."

  "Grenville sat you down and gave you brandy. He also took your glove away."

  "Yes, he did." Mrs. Harper drew a long breath. "When I could no longer see the blood, I calmed somewhat. Even so, my maids had to take me home. It was awful."

  "You made the Bow Street magistrate feel sorry for you. He did not want to summon you there for questioning."

  "No." Her lips thinned. "Sir Nathaniel came here, instead."

  "And what did you tell him?"

  "That I'd danced and talked and done things one does at a ball. Yes, I stepped away with Colonel Brandon to speak to him privately, and why should I not? I went to the anteroom later to snatch a quiet moment and found Mr. Turner."

  "This is the story you told the magistrates?"

  "Yes."

  I took a sip of tea, which was weak and too sweet. "You and Colonel Brandon tell slightly different stories. He admitted to Sir Nathaniel that he spent most of his time with you and that you were upset by Mr. Turner's insolence more than once. So much so that Brandon had to stalk out of the ballroom to find you a glass of sherry at the moment Turner was being murdered."

  She flushed. "I never wanted to find Mr. Turner dead in the anteroom. My sole purpose in attending the ball was to obtain the letter and destroy it."

  "So his death and Brandon's arrest inconvenience you greatly."

  "Inconvenience?" Mrs. Harper sprang to her feet. "It has been hell, Captain Lacey. I do not know where the letter is. Colonel Brandon might be hanged for murder. Now you tell me that Colonel Naveau has come from France to ruin us all."

  I came to my feet with her. "How can he ruin you? What is this letter?"

  She stopped, her eyes steady. "What do you believe it is?"

  "I first thought it a love letter between you and Brandon, but I only assumed that. You never corrected me, and neither did he. I have since learned that it is a document that Colonel Naveau very much wants returned. You and Brandon have each told me that the pair of you had an affair, but is that true?"

  Mrs. Harper nodded. "We did. At Vitoria, just after my husband's death."

  "You were grieving," I said, "and alone, and he was helpful."

  "I was not simply grieving. I was devastated. I loved my husband desperately. I was so angry that he'd been taken from me, and I was also in a good deal of trouble. Colonel Brandon was there. He was strong and helped me, and he was . . . I cannot explain what he was to me. I should not have surrendered to him; I felt the betrayal of my husband, but I could not help myself. I admired Aloysius, and I was so grateful."

  She broke off. But I understood. Brandon could be a compelling leader when
he chose. He needed followers and needed to be admired, and Aloysius Brandon had the confidence and the strength to make men follow him. I had felt the same pull when I'd first met him, the compulsion to do anything for him.

  "Why were you in a great deal of trouble?" I asked.

  "Because of my husband, Major Harper. He'd done a terrible thing. And I was afraid, so afraid that he'd be disgraced, even in death, stripped of his rank, branded a traitor. And I would be branded a traitor's wife. I did not understand the horror until I went through my husband's things in preparation to return to England. I did not know where to turn. Brandon, unbelievably, said he'd help me."

  "I am supposing that your husband had dealings with this Colonel Naveau?"

  The look she sent me was filled with appeal. Though she did not have the beauty of Lady Breckenridge or Louisa, I was touched by the need in her eyes.

  "Mrs. Harper," I said. "My purpose today is to prove that Colonel Brandon did not murder Henry Turner. I am not here to condemn your husband for what he might have done in the past, or you for helping him. The war is over. What happened then no longer matters to me."

  "It ought to matter," she said savagely. "What my husband did could have cost lives, the lives of your men. Perhaps your own life, if you'd been unlucky."

  "Naveau was an exploring officer," I said. "Did your husband pass him information?"

  "That is what I discovered when I went through his things. My husband had been taking money from Colonel Naveau in exchange for dispatches."

  I let out a breath. Spying could be a lucrative game but a deadly one. If her husband had been caught sending information to the French, he would have been tried for treason. Shot at best, drawn and quartered at worst. Major Harper had been fortunate to die in battle.

  I did not tell the entire truth when I said I no longer cared what had happened on the Peninsula. Men who sold secrets were the worst of humanity. A dispatch sent to the enemy could destroy battle plans and slaughter thousands of soldiers, for nothing.

  "What did you do?" I asked quietly.