A Disappearance in Drury Lane Read online

  I drew a breath to continue, but I let it out again. Donata was right that I had enough pride in me to float one of the Montgolfier brothers’ balloons, but I knew I’d never make her understand. I did not want her to have to clear up after me. She’d married all of me, the rough underside as well as whatever polish I’d acquired—not that there was much of the polish left.

  Donata’s dark blue eyes narrowed. “I have not convinced you, have I?”

  “We shall see.”

  “Hmm.” She folded her arms over the dressing gown, the blue embroidered with oriental patterns. “I suppose we have had our first quarrel. Who has won, do you think?”

  “No, this is by no means our first quarrel. I believe we have had plenty in the past, beginning with the billiards game in Kent. You did your best to ruin my shots every time.”

  She shrugged. “I dislike to lose. I was a bit generous in tallying up my points, I will admit. I waited to see whether you’d say a word, but you never did. You paid up like a gentleman.”

  “I’d never accuse a lady of cheating.”

  “Not out loud anyway.” The corners of her mouth turned up the slightest bit. “If you are not happy with my tally, we shall have a rematch.”

  “I would not mind. I will trounce you thoroughly.”

  Her brows rose. “Threatening a lady? And this hard on the heels of me being so very angry with you. I still am. Your overblown sense of honor is most aggravating.”

  “I’d rather have too much honor than not enough.”

  We regarded each other warily. Outside, winter wind swept against the walls, rattling shutters and howling through the eaves. Inside, I was truly warm and comfortable for the first time in years, and I was grateful. I had enraged this woman I had only just married, and humiliated her. And yet, she had not shown me the door.

  Donata unfolded her arms. “Regarding me in that way will not help you, Gabriel.”

  “Hmm? Regarding you in what way?”

  “As though you wish to devour me.”

  I felt something else stir through my frustration. “I beg your pardon. I will endeavor to school my expression.”

  She came to me, took my large and weather-beaten hands, and set them on her waist. “I do not mind. Please proceed.”

  I did. We spent the rest of that night infusing the room with still more memories, continuing to lay to rest Lord Breckenridge’s ghost.

  *** *** ***

  I breakfasted the next morning with the Auberges and my daughter, all of whom expressed thankfulness that I was not rotting in Newgate. Though Donata had told me Gabriella had been angry with me, this morning her relief had washed that away. I wished she felt comfortable enough with me to hug me in joy when she saw me walk into the breakfast room, but her smile and happy words would have to be enough.

  Gabriella informed me as I ate that Grenville had returned with them, but Marianne had chosen to stay in Bath, to finish her run in the play and also to look out for Mrs. Collins. I did not like the thought of Marianne in Bath alone, but I was still convinced that the greater danger was here in London.

  I partook of sausages, toast slathered with plenty of fresh butter, and a large pile of eggs, and best of all, strong, rich coffee, which Bartholomew kept pouring into my cup. I’d told Bartholomew to send Felicity the coin I’d promised her—for her assistance in the problem of Mrs. Collins, I’d be careful to let everyone, including Felicity, know.

  I was almost finished with my meal when Barnstable brought in a letter and laid it beside my plate. “Hand delivered, sir,” he said.

  I’d come to recognize the spare, slanting hand of James Denis, and broke the seal a bit hesitantly.

  I have found the man who created the incendiary device. Be at my house at ten o’clock this morning. Denis.

  A command, as always, but never mind. I wanted to see who he’d cornered, and Denis had known I would.

  I told Bartholomew to send word to Grenville to join me. I was not certain if Grenville would be awake after his journey from Bath, but I wanted his insight when we faced the culprit.

  Grenville arrived in his landau at half past nine. Though the time was far earlier than his usual rising hour, he was washed, shaved, and immaculately dressed. He showed no surprise that I wasn’t in Newgate awaiting trial—Bartholomew must have told him the entire tale of my adventures, which the lad had pried from me this morning.

  “I must ask you what on earth you did to Stubby,” Grenville said as soon as we rolled away together in the carriage. “He interrupted my supper at Watier’s last night and demanded to know why I’d befriended a ruffian like you. He would not go into detail, but he also would not let me enjoy my meal until I gave him the rough side of my tongue. When he realized I was about to cut him, he apologized and then blamed you for his bad behavior.”

  I listened to all this, perplexed. “Who the devil is Stubby?”

  “Lord Andrew Kenton Stubbins, only son of the Marquis of Chester. Known to his friends since Eton as Stubby. Ostensibly because his surname is Stubbins, though other chaps unkindly claimed the nickname meant something else. What the devil did you do to enrage him so?”

  “Is he a weedy gentleman, pale hair, pale eyes, sharp nose?”

  “Looks as though he doesn’t see the out of doors much?” Grenville asked. “Or lifts a finger to do anything for himself? Yes, that’s the chap.”

  “I thrashed him,” I said.

  Grenville started to laugh then he stopped. “Dear God, you are not joking. How did that come about?”

  I shrugged, not much wanting to talk about it. “I found him beating Felicity. With a whip. I took the whip away from him and gave him a taste of it.”

  “Good Lord.” Grenville let the laugh come then. “I had no idea he was a follower of the Marquis de Sade. No wonder he did not want to speak in too much detail in the middle of Watier’s.”

  “I hope I dissuaded him from the practice,” I said.

  “I doubt it. He is ready to punish you, Lacey. I would not be surprised if he either brings you up before a magistrate or claims a suit against you.”

  What a nuisance. If this Stubby did try to prosecute me, I’d have to go to Donata, climb down from my high horse, and ask for her offer of solicitors.

  “He would risk me revealing his proclivities in front of a public court?” I asked.

  “He might; and he’d deny them. I wonder what made him take it up?” Grenville snorted a laugh. “Perhaps the chaps at school were not the only ones to call him Stubby.”

  “Perhaps.”

  My amusement was small, though. I hadn’t much wondered whom I’d beaten last night in the public house, but I knew I would have done the same even if I’d been aware I was manhandling a marquis’ son. When I’d been at Harrow, a duke’s offspring and the son of the lowest gentleman had been the same to me. I’d been up before the headmaster often enough for engaging in pugilism with any and all of them. Not much had changed, it seemed.

  We’d arrived at Denis’s door. Instead of being made to wait in a reception room while we were announced, the butler took us straight to Denis’s study.

  On one occasion, when I’d arrived with Grenville, the men who worked for Denis hadn’t let him upstairs. This time we were both shown in as though Grenville had been expected.

  I noted that Denis had more bodyguards standing in his study today than usual, with two more placed outside the door. Brewster was one of the two guarding the door, and he gave me a curt nod as I passed him.

  A man, flanked by two of Denis’s bodyguards, stood in the center of the study. There was nothing remarkable about him—he was perhaps half a foot shorter than me, his build strong but not overly athletic. His clothing was that of an ordinary man: frock coat, trousers, and boots that could have been bought at any secondhand shop. His hair was light brown and thinning on top.

  He did not seem in any way unusual; that is, until he turned his head and looked at me. Then I saw a face that had been hardened into something
with no humanity in it. His eyes, hazel, were cold, colder even than Denis’s. He regarded me without interest. I was nothing, and neither was Grenville.

  I did not wonder now that Denis had positioned extra guards throughout the house. The man also had a peculiar odor about him, which I recognized from my army days as saltpeter. The scent of a man who constantly mixed dangerous concoctions.

  “Captain,” Denis said. He did not rise or offer either of us a chair. “This is Thomas Ridgley. He is the man who made the device sent to Abigail Collins at Drury Lane in August of this past year.”

  “Why?” I asked Ridgley before I could stop myself. “Why would you do such a thing?”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ridgley didn’t shrug, didn’t twitch. He looked straight at me when he answered, his face expressionless. “Hired, wasn’t I?”

  “Hired by whom?”

  Ridgley closed his mouth and fixed his gaze on a point between me and Grenville.

  “He has not told me,” Denis said. “Not yet.”

  Ridgley betrayed no fear at this veiled threat. Either he was a fool or so hardened nothing frightened him at all.

  Denis continued, “He is Cornish by birth but has lived in London and elsewhere for most of his life. He made incendiary devices for the emperor Napoleon as well as for the Prussian army, also for rulers of the Italian states and Russian generals. His loyalties are fluid. This he told me for nothing.”

  “My services are in demand,” Ridgley said.

  “Quite.” Denis moved a paper on his desk and turned his focus to Ridgley. “In August an unnamed person came to you and asked you to put together a box that would explode upon its opening. Why did you agree?”

  “Money.”

  “How much money?”

  The question must have touched upon what Ridgley considered confidential, because he closed his mouth again.

  “How did you do it?” Denis asked, as though he hadn’t noticed Ridgley ignoring the question.

  The words came out flat and uninflected. “Gunpowder and primed cord, flint poised to scratch across rough paper to create a spark when the box was opened. If it had gone off, it would have done extensive damage to the woman’s face and hands. Might even have killed her.”

  I took a step forward. Standing here listening to him so cold-bloodedly explain how he’d set a trap to maim Mrs. Collins made me angry. Who knew how many other such devices he’d made, how many others he’d hurt or killed with them?

  Grenville shot me a cautioning look, but I could not stop myself. “Coward,” I snapped at Ridgley. “Only a coward finds a way to kill another person while he hides in safety. You don’t even have the courage to face your victims.”

  Ridgley did not blink. “Not my victims. I am hired for my services.”

  “Even worse,” I said.

  Denis usually tried to quash me when I lectured in my hot-tempered way, but this time he said nothing, only let me run down.

  Denis was another man who dispensed justice from afar, but my assessment of Denis when I’d first met him, that he had no feelings, had proved to be wrong. Denis was a man of deep feeling, but he’d long ago learned to mask those sentiments for his own survival. I wondered if Ridgley was the same or whether he’d ever had a conscience at all. Looking into Ridgley’s unmoving eyes I saw nothing, only a frightening emptiness.

  Denis went on, “You made the device to order. Did you take it yourself to the delivery company?”

  “No. Was picked up, and I was out of it.”

  “Was the person who came for it the same as the one who hired you?” Denis asked.

  Ridgley was silent a moment, as though debating whether to answer. The debate didn’t trouble him—he was simply weighing what he told freely versus what he kept tightly inside.

  “Not the same person. Man who took it from me was a nervous fool. Surprised he didn’t blow himself up with it.”

  “Tell me the name of this person,” Denis said.

  “Don’t know. Thin chap, not very tall, large teeth, like a horse.”

  The same description had been given by the clerk at the delivery company, and that description did not fit Perry, Coleman, or even Spendlove. Whoever had taken the package from Ridgley, none of us had seen him yet.

  “Now we come to it,” Denis said. “I need the name of the person who asked you to make the device in the first place. Or his description if you never learned his name.”

  Ridgley did not debate this time. He instantly closed his mouth and stood in silence.

  Denis regarded him without heat. “The captain does not like my methods, but I have found them effective. Captain, you and your guest may wait in the sitting room if you like. My butler will bring you refreshment. Or you may go about your business, and I will send for you again when I have further information.”

  I wondered why he’d sent for us at all if he hadn’t yet managed to pry names from Ridgley. Perhaps Denis had thought Ridgley might be more forthcoming under my brand of temper. Or perhaps he’d wanted me to get a good look at Ridgley in case the man escaped him. Denis knew I’d search for him, send Bow Street after him, do whatever I could to bring him down.

  I debated whether to concede to Denis’s wish that I leave. Grenville, I could tell, was sickened by the proceedings. Not a year ago, he’d been stabbed in the chest by a villain, only because the villain had thought him in the way. Grenville had narrowly escaped death. His wound still ached when he was distressed, I knew. From the pain in his eyes, it was aching now. I ought to send him away to spare him this gruesomeness.

  There were too many people in the room. I wasn’t certain why I suddenly felt that, but I was reminded of times in battle, when men clustered together for safety, or so they thought. But in truth they proved to be in more danger when artillery rained down. One blast could take out many.

  I looked again at Ridgley’s stony face and expressionless eyes. I saw something in there, resignation, perhaps. He knew Denis would never let him go.

  My gaze moved to his clenched fists. Denis would not have let so dangerous a man into his study without his lackeys searching him thoroughly. But the odor of saltpeter and his unworried stance woke instincts I’d tried to push aside since leaving the Peninsula.

  I was moving forward at the same time Ridgley brought up his fist. “His hands!” I bellowed. “Get down!”

  Grenville, who’d traveled in wild and dangerous parts of the world, dashed for Denis, who was slowly rising from his chair. Grenville grabbed him, and they went down together behind the desk. Denis’s pugilists seized Ridgley, but I shouted at them.

  “No! Let him go!”

  The lackeys understood after a half second, and they boiled away from Ridgley, seeking cover. I grabbed Ridgley’s arm, clamping down with heavy fingers to pry open his hand. With a strength that belied his size, Ridgley threw me off and flicked his thumb across whatever small device he’d hidden in his fist.

  It would have killed him. At the last minute, I seized a strange, compact stick from his hand, sparks from the powder burning through my glove. Too late to snuff out the fuse—the sparks would ignite the explosive in the next second. I threw the thing as hard as I could to the other side of the room and dove for the floor.

  The ensuing explosion roared like cannon fire. A sheet of fire raced up one of the walls, and bricks and pieces of plaster burst outward to rain down over us. The lackeys began climbing to their feet, shaking their heads from the noise, coughing in the smoke. One grabbed a rug and started beating at the fire.

  The door had burst open, Brewster and the second guard dashing inside in alarm. Through the smoke and confusion, I saw Ridgley get competently to his feet and slip out of the room.

  I tried to yell, but only succeeded in drawing in a lungful of foul smoke. I scrambled to my feet, using Brewster as a lever, and ran after Ridgley.

  I never felt my bad knee as I sprinted into the hall, taking a breath of relatively cleaner air. Ridgley was on the stairs, moving quickly
but quietly, not panicking, not drawing attention to himself. The butler was coming out of the backstairs below, looking up in concern. I saw Ridgley remove another small object from inside his waistband.

  “Get back!” I shouted at the butler, then I leapt over the landing’s railing and onto the stairs, tackling Ridgley.

  I felt a sharp pain in my shoulder, and then I was unclear what happened after that. I remembered myself snarling in rage, my large fists balling, and me punching Ridgley over and over again. The animal in me, fearing for its life and enraged at that fear, was beating the life out of its hunter.

  “Lacey!” Grenville’s voice from above me cut through the fog. “He’s down. Don’t kill him, for God’s sake.”

  No, if I killed him, we’d never discover who hired him to make the device. I stilled my blows, the pain in my shoulder proving to be a slice from a small knife. The pain in my knee, which I’d ignored in my berserker fury, came back to me in a flare of agony.

  Brewster reached down and helped me to my feet, as I was too shaky to stand on my own. Grenville watched from the landing above, his gloved hands gripping the railing, his eyes dark in his sharp, pale face.

  Ridgley lay on the stairs, his face a bloody mess. He was still awake—barely—but the look he gave me was neutral, uncaring. No defeat, shame, or defiance.

  Denis emerged to stand at the top of the stairs near Grenville. His coat was askew and a small bruise darkened his cheek, but otherwise he looked unscathed. Grenville was breathing hard, but Denis’s chest barely rose and fell.

  Unlike Ridgley, who still showed no emotion, Denis’s eyes were filled with fury. “Search him again,” he snapped. “And then bring him back upstairs.”

  “Damn it,” Brewster said under his breath as he parted Ridgley’s coat. “We searched him. Thoroughly. I swear to you, Captain.”

  “Strip him,” Denis said from above. “Make damn sure he has nothing in his hands, in his mouth, or up his ass. Then bring him to me. In the dining room—my study is too full of smoke.”