A Body in Berkeley Square

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 descend 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?"

"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."

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?"