The Necklace Affair Page 8

  Denis opened a drawer, drew out the necklace, and laid it on a velvet cloth on top of his desk.

  The diamonds glittered against the dark cloth, facets white and sharp blue in the candlelight. The center stone was the size of a robin's egg, perfectly cut from what I could see. The surrounding pieces, large diamonds encircled by smaller ones, were just as fine. I was no expert in jewels, but even the slowest person could see that this necklace was remarkable.

  "It could be yours, Captain, if you wish it."

  I lifted my eyes from it, entranced. "What on earth would I do with such a thing?"

  "Sell it, give it to your lady, restore it to de la Fontaine . . . Whatever you like."

  I sat back, my enchantment with the jewels gone. "For what price?"

  "You are a resourceful man, Captain. I could use you, as I've told you before. Pledge yourself to me, and the necklace is yours." His voice held nothing, no emotion, his face, even less.

  "You'd never believe I would agree to that, would you?" I asked.

  "Not really." He nearly smiled, as close to amused as I'd ever seen him. "But I thought it worth a try." Denis closed the cloth over the magnificent diamonds and slid them back inside the drawer.

  "That belongs to de la Fontaine," I said.

  "De la Fontaine does not have the resources to buy the necklace back from me, nor does he have much to offer me in kind. He has cut off all ties to anyone who might be useful to me, preferring to live quietly in middleclass London with his daughter and grandchildren. He at least has found contentment with his family."

  "Which is why you should return the necklace to him," I said in a hard voice. "He wishes to give it to his daughter."

  Denis pressed his palms flat on his desk. "You have a strong sense of fairness, Captain, which is why I continually attempt to recruit you. I have not said I would not give the necklace to de la Fontaine. His son-in-law has a political bent. He hopes to win a seat in the House of Commons as soon as he can. Perhaps I can help him with such a thing."

  Which meant that Denis would control that seat in Commons, and de la Fontaine's son-in-law would back any bill Denis wanted him to, vote the way Denis wanted him to--jump up and touch the ceiling whenever Denis wanted him to.

  "For once, could you not do something out of benevolence?" I asked. "Imagine what such a gesture would do for your credibility."

  Denis signaled to the pugilist at the door, who came forward. The interview was at an end. "I told you about the necklace as a courtesy, Captain. What I do with it is for me to decide. I imagine de la Fontaine will have it in the end."

  "Leave him alone," I said with heat. "He has lost everything. Let him die in peace."

  Denis's brows rose the slightest bit. "The Comte de la Fontaine used to be a great tyrant. He is one of the reasons the revolution in France began at all. He fled as soon as the tide began to turn, because he would have been among the first to the guillotine. The cry for his arrest had already gone out."

  "He lost his only son, in our war."

  "Fighting the republican bastards who drove him from his home," Denis said smoothly.

  "Perhaps." I stood up, finding myself next to the pugilist who'd halted beside my chair. "But he's had to live thirty years in poverty in the damp of London, and is now a poor relation to his rather thick English son-in-law. That is enough of a punishment for any man, do you not think?"

  Again, the look of near amusement. "As you say, Captain. I will keep you informed. Good day."

  *** *** ***

  I knew Denis wanted me to be grateful to him for bothering to tell me about the necklace at all. He also wanted to rub my face in the fact that he'd used everything I'd done in my investigation to further his own wealth and power.

  He might be right that de la Fontaine had possessed the same kind of arrogant ruthlessness that Denis himself had now. But the world turned, and it changed, and eventually all tyrants fell to become dust.

  I wrote to de la Fontaine, telling him that Denis had the necklace, and suggested he apply to a magistrate I knew who was not in Denis's network. I then wrote to the magistrate in question, informing Sir Montague Harris of all that had happened, though I kept silent on the roles Mrs. Dale and Lady Clifford had played in the necklace's loss. After all, they'd only disposed of an inexpensive copy.

  I had no way of knowing whether de la Fontaine would act against Denis or end up bargaining with him. Or perhaps drop the matter altogether.

  I somehow did not think he'd choose the last recourse, and I was correct. Several days later, Sir Montague replied to me, saying that he'd spoken to de la Fontaine, but that de la Fontaine had not wanted to prosecute either Denis or Lord Clifford.

  I received a letter from de la Fontaine himself soon after that. In it he thanked me for my assistance, told me that the necklace had been returned to him, and made a vague suggestion that perhaps we might share fine brandy again one day. Nothing more. Not until months later did I see his son-in-law stand for Parliament and be elected by a landslide. James Denis had won again.

  For now, I was finished with the business. I tied the last two threads of the affair the day after I received de la Fontaine's letter. The first came in the form of a note from Lady Breckenridge, calling in her favor and bidding me to attend her at her home.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Ten

  "Such a delight," Lady Breckenridge said. "Captain Lacey answers a summons. I hear from Grenville that you do not always comply."

  She'd received me in her sitting room, she wearing a deep blue afternoon dress, its decolletage trimmed with light blue ribbon woven through the darker cloth. The ribbon matched the bandeau in her hair and brought out the blue of her eyes.

  She did not invite me to sit down. We stood near the fireplace, the heat from the coals soaking into my bones. I leaned on the walking stick she'd given me, its handle warm under my palm.

  "I can be abominably rude at times," I said.

  Lady Breckenridge shrugged, her shrugs as smooth and practiced as Denis's own. "You do not rush to obey those who seek to command you. Your independence makes people puzzle over you."

  I gave her a wry smile. "They puzzle over why a poor nobody does not hasten to snatch from every hand."

  "Your behavior does give others something to talk about, Lacey."

  "Including you, my lady."

  Her gaze went cool. "I admit to the curiosity, but I choose very carefully to whom I speak about what."

  I believed her. "I beg your pardon," I said. "I was teasing and meant no censure. You have invited me here to call in your favor. Perhaps you should tell me what it is."

  She smiled. "Have done with it, you mean? I can imagine you wondering like mad what I would ask of you as you rode over from Covent Garden. But you may cease worrying. The task is very simple. I wish for you to meet my son."

  I blinked in surprise. I'd never met Lady Breckenridge's son, who would be about five by now. The young Viscount Breckenridge stayed with his grandmother in the country much of the time, so I had been told, tucked away with nannies and tutors and other caretakers.

  Lady Breckenridge seldom spoke of the boy, but observing her now, I realized that her silence was not because she had no affection for him. I saw in her the same thing I'd seen in Marianne during the Sudbury School problem--a woman who loved desperately and protected fiercely.

  I gave her another half bow. "I would be honored, my lady."

  "Very well, then." She turned from me in a brush of faint perfume and tugged on a bell pull. When the ever-efficient Barnstable glided in, she said, "Tell Nanny to bring Peter downstairs."

  "You mean you wish me to meet him now?" I asked. "He is here?"

  Barnstable had already disappeared to carry out his lady's wishes. "Before you can change your mind," she said. "Shall we?"

  She slid her hand into the crook of my arm and more or less forced me to guide her out of the room.

  The staircase hall of Lady Breckenridge's house was plastered in
pale colors, with niches holding vases of hothouse flowers. Paintings from centuries past hung on the walls--originals, not copies. Wide stairs with a polished railing ran up into the dim recesses of the house.

  I heard a door shut high above us. In a few moments, two people came down the stairs: a tall, slender woman in neat black, and a small lad for whom the black-clad nanny slowed her steps.

  The boy's suit was a miniature of what Grenville would wear, down to the pantaloons and well-shined pumps. However, Viscount Breckenridge would never attain Grenville's taut slimness. He had a sturdiness that spoke of developing muscle, and in a dozen or so years, he would attain the large, powerful build of his father.

  The lad stopped a few stairs above me and stared with undisguised curiosity. I was in my regimentals, my braid neatly fastened, my unruly hair somewhat tamed, my boots as polished as Bartholomew could make them. I saw the lad take note of my height, the breadth of my shoulders, my bearing, my uniform.

  "This is Peter," Lady Breckenridge said, a note of pride in her voice. "Peter, this is Captain Lacey, my friend I have mentioned."

  Peter was inclined to do nothing but stare, but at a surreptitious nudge from his nanny, he bowed correctly. "How do you do?" he asked.

  He was far too polite for a lad of five. He ought to be tearing up and down the stairs and shouting at the top of his voice. But perhaps he'd been persuaded to be on his best behavior for me--either that or I'd stunned the lad.

  I made a formal bow. "How do you do, Your Lordship."

  I'd never been one to seek the company of children, except for my daughter, but I decided that a brief smile was called for. Young Viscount Breckenridge grinned back at me then quickly hid it.

  A pang bit my heart. My daughter and I had exchanged such covert smiles when we were supposed to be formal and serious, knowing we'd both be scolded if caught. I missed her with an ache that had never subsided.

  "Do you ride?" I found myself asking the boy.

  "Yes, sir." The small voice held a scoff, as though I were an idiot for asking. He was a lordship after all, born to horse and hound.

  "Perhaps your mother will allow you to ride with me in the park sometime. I have some modest skill."

  "Will you show me how to ride like a cavalryman?" The scorn vanished, and Peter sounded like a normal, eager boy.

  I glanced at Lady Breckenridge, but she looked in no way dismayed. She went to Peter and took his hands. "If you are good, darling. Now give me a kiss good night."

  Peter obeyed, and I was pleased to see that he kissed his mother with affection. There was no strain between Lady Breckenridge and her son.

  Introductions over, Peter was taken his slow way back upstairs with nanny. He glanced back down at me over the banisters but did nothing so undignified as wave. I gave him another friendly nod, and he continued climbing, seeking his nursery once more.

  I turned to Lady Breckenridge. "Have I fulfilled my obligation?"

  The smile she gave me eased the some of the hurt in my heart, enough to make me believe that the pain could be assuaged a bit were I often enough in her presence.

  "Excellently well, Captain," Lady Breckenridge said. She touched my arm again, her fingers warm.

  I dared lift her hand to my lips. "I am pleased to hear it, my lady," I said.

  *** *** ***

  The last thread of the necklace affair was tied when I accepted Grenville's invitation to dine at Watier's that night. Watier's, famous for food provided by chefs of the Prince Regent, offered the deepest gaming in London. Games of macao and whist relieved gentlemen of their fortunes in one room, while the dining room provided excellent cuisine with which to ease the sting.

  Grenville was in full dress that evening, which meant that he wore a suit so tailored to his figure that he might have been poured into it. Pantaloons that emphasized his muscular calves were buttoned at the ankle above fine leather pumps. His quizzing glass hung on a fine gold chain, ever ready for scrutinizing the gauche.

  After we'd finished our excellent meal and looked in on the games room, I was dismayed to see Lord Clifford making so bold as to approach us. A few of the dandies looked up with interest when Clifford walked to Grenville and put a hand on his shoulder.

  Grenville glanced disdainfully at the large hand on his immaculate frock coat, but Clifford did not notice the censure. He let go only after he'd turned Grenville away from the crowd.

  "I want to thank you, Grenville," Lord Clifford said.

  "Do you?" Grenville's voice was icy. "Whatever for?"

  "For agreeing to stay out of my business. Decent of you."

  I suppressed my sudden urge to punch the man, but this time it was Grenville who took retribution. He stepped back one pace, lifted his quizzing glass, and studied Clifford through it.

  "Let me see," Grenville said. "You stole an extremely valuable necklace from a wretched French emigre who was trying to remove his family from the dangers of France. A necklace you later sold--probably for a fraction of its worth--to cover your debts, whatever they were, giving your wife a copy so she wouldn't guess what you'd done. Then, when the false necklace goes missing and Lady Clifford seeks our help, you harass and browbeat her so much that she attempts to take her own life. All the while betraying her with her closest friend and companion, the only comfort she has. I'd say there was not much decent in the entire business."

  Clifford flushed. "I told you, Grenville, what goes on in a man's household has nothing to do with you."

  "Oh, but it has. Your wife reached out to me and Captain Lacey, because she had nowhere else to turn. And you may be correct that your household is your business, but the fact remains that you stole the diamonds from de la Fontaine in the first place. Not very sporting of you. In fact, one might call that a crime."

  "Fontaine was hated among the French," Clifford said. "They'd applaud me."

  "Ah, you are a latter-day Robin Hood, stealing from the corrupt rich to give to the . . . well, to yourself. And then to sell them and drape your wife in paste diamonds. Dear me." Grenville shook his head.

  We had the attention of much of the room. Though we spoke in low voices, Grenville's attitude of derision spoke volumes.

  "I had to sell them," Clifford said. "I'd promised Derwent a large sum for his damned reforms and then had some bad luck at games. I sold the necklace to pay my debts and not leave Derwent standing. Would have made me a laughingstock. Nothing else to be done."

  "You might have explained to your wife," I said. "You ought to have trusted her with the truth."

  "Damn it, Lacey, you've met my wife. You know what she is. She would never be able to keep her damn fool mouth shut. She'd blab all to her blasted companion, upon whom she's much too dependent. A wife should know who is master, after all."

  So, he'd taken Mrs. Dale to his bed to keep Lady Clifford under his thumb. A man who ruled his household by manipulation, lies, and fear. How was he better than a French aristocrat who'd made a hundred peasants labor for him?

  He wasn't. De la Fontaine had risked all and given up everything to take his children out of danger. Even after it had been safe for him to return home, de la Fontaine had stayed in his reduced circumstances to be with his one remaining child and his grandchildren.

  Grenville's look turned to one of unfeigned disgust. He sniffed, lowered his quizzing glass, adjusted his gloves, and said, "I believe, Lord Clifford, that I will have to disapprove of you."

  "What the devil does that mean? Why should I care whether you approve or disapprove of anything I do?"

  Lord Clifford did not realize his danger, but I knew quite well what Grenville meant. Clifford might be an earl, but such was the power of Lucius Grenville in the fashionable world that if he wanted a man to be cut, that man would be cut. One can be an earl, I could imagine Lady Breckenridge saying in her clear, acerbic tones, and still be invited nowhere.

  Grenville did not wait. There, in the very crowded gaming rooms of Watier's, with one movement of his slim shoulders, with one
spin on his immaculate heels, Grenville turned his back on Lord Clifford, and ruined him.

  END

  Please continue reading for a preview of Captain Lacey's next adventure

  A Body in Berkeley Square

  By Ashley Gardner

  Book 5 of the Captain Lacey Regency Mystery series

  * * * * *

  Chapter One

  At two o'clock in the morning on the fifth of April, 1817, I stood in an elegant bedchamber in Berkeley Square and looked down at the dead body of Mr. Henry Turner.

  Mr. Turner was in his twenties. He had brown hair arranged in fashionable, drooping curls and wore a black suit with an ivory and silver waistcoat, elegant pantaloons, and dancing slippers. An emerald stickpin glittered in his cravat, and his collar points were exceedingly high.

  Only a slight red gash marred the waistcoat where a knife had gone in to stop his life. Except for the waxen paleness of his face, Mr. Turner might be asleep.

  "And he died where?" I asked.

  "In a little anteroom off the ballroom downstairs," Milton Pomeroy, my former sergeant, now a Bow Street Runner said. "Right in the middle of a fancy ball with the creme de la creme. Lord Gillis had him brought up here, so the guests would not be disturbed by a dead body, so he said."

  Lord Gillis was an earl who lived in this opulent mansion on Berkeley Square. Tonight he had hosted a ball attended by the top of society, including Lucius Grenville, Lady Breckenridge, Lady Jersey, and the Duke of Wellington.