A Death in Norfolk

Chapter Seven

Something stirred the fog beneath the large quantities of ale I'd consumed. A dress of virginal white, Lady Breckenridge touching it and frowning. "His cousin? You mean Miss Helena Quinn?"

"Aye. She eloped with a man, so they say. None have heard of her since. Young Mr. Quinn has taken it hard."

Well he might. The revelation sobered me a bit, and I rode out of the yard into the wind.

I was far gone in my cups, and how I reached Southwick Hall without sliding off that big horse, I never knew. Fortunately, he was a patient beast, a farm horse, and he knew the roads better than I did.

One of Lady Southwick's grooms got me dismounted. Bartholomew, anxiously waiting in the stable yard, took me upstairs to my chamber, but he left me there without helping me undress. I found out why when I let myself fall across the bed, still in my coat and boots.

I landed on something very soft and fine-smelling. She woke, and began to scold me.

In my exhaustion and inebriation, and to erase the picture of Ferguson with black blood clotted on what was left of his face, I gathered Donata to me and held her until I could breathe again.

I slept much later than I meant to, and when I awoke, Donata had gone. She'd left an indentation in mattress and pillows, but those had already grown cool with her absence. I snuggled into the nest she'd left, still half asleep.

I was pulled out of this pleasurable state by Bartholomew breezing into the room. "Awake then, are you, Captain? Lady Southwick's compliments, and she wishes to see you."

Not what I wanted to hear this early after a night of drinking. "Why?" I mumbled.

"Couldn't say, sir. Message was conveyed to me by the butler who said it was not my place to ask. I'll have you fixed in a trice, sir."

As he spoke, he banged about at the washstand. The scent of water steaming with mint came to me, along with the sound of Bartholomew stropping a razor against a long piece of leather.

I'd learned to succumb to his ministrations. First, because it saved argument; second, because Bartholomew was skilled. He'd learned how to take care of a gentleman from Gautier, Grenville's able manservant. Bartholomew could shave me without cutting me, would wrap a warm towel around my face to ease the razor's sting, and assist in my toilette without being too intrusive.

He had me shaved, bathed, and the ends trimmed from my unruly hair without taking too long and without rushing. Someday, a gentleman of means would catch on to how good a valet he was and snatch him away.

Bartholomew had even brought me a private repast, which I could barely touch, and mixed me the pick-me-up he'd learned from my landlady. My ability to think had returned by the time I reached the sitting room downstairs, and found that Lady Southwick had arranged a tete-a-tete.

She waited for me on a divan near the wide windows that looked out to her garden. The wind had blown away the clouds for now, and the wide Norfolk sky soared blue above the riotous flowers of the late summer garden.

I bowed to her. "My lady, I apologize. I have been a most cavalier guest. I faced several unexpected turns of events yesterday, which kept me from your hospitality."

Lady Southwick looked pleased. "A pretty speech. Lady Breckenridge has much praised your politeness."

As she smiled up at me, I was struck again by how similar she was to Donata. The two ladies had different coloring, but her high-waisted, dark green gown with cream stripes must have been created by the same dressmaker; her cream silk cap with three feathers could have been made by Donata's milliner.

Lady Southwick, however, looked at the world as though she expected and believed that it would behave exactly as she wanted it to. Lady Breckenridge looked at the same world and knew that it never would.

"Forgive me if I upset you," I said.

"Oh, you have not upset me. Lady Breckenridge is a bit put out with you, but you must expect that. Wives are always put out with husbands. I know I am constantly put out with mine."

I did not point out that I was not yet married to Donata, because for some reason, I did not wish to remind this lady of my unmarried state.

"The other guests are a bit chatty about you as well," she said. "The subject of your very country manners has come up time and again. Mr. Grenville speaks highly of you, however, so your manners will be overlooked. You can make things up to me if you like in our little game this afternoon. Partner me, and all will be forgiven."

"Game," I repeated.

Lady Southwick rose and twined her fingers around my arm. "Croquet. On the lawn. Now." She gave me a smile.

"I have many errands this afternoon," I said, not moving. Pressing ones. I needed to find people and finds things out, not tap a blasted ball around a green.

Her fingers sank deeper into my arm. "Now, Captain, you must show these Mayfair gentlemen that you've risen above your country upbringing. A polite game, with the ladies, will do this."

I knew that the gentlemen here didn't give a damn about me rising above my upbringing-which had been similar to theirs, in any case. But Lady Southwick was dragging me out the French windows to a little terrace that led to a lawn.

As we stepped outside, I saw Donata already walking on the grass. She had her hand on Grenville's arm and looked sublimely uninterested that I'd emerged from Lady Southwick's private sitting room with Lady Southwick, alone. Bless her.

"Ah, Lacey," Grenville said. "Good afternoon."

He wore his man-about-town look, the one that said he was weary with ennui but would endeavor to be polite.

Rafe Godwin wandered by on his way to the croquet green. Rafe lifted his quizzing glass and studied me through it, turned away, and made loud, piggy noises to his companion, who tittered.

Grenville glanced at Rafe's retreating back. "I might have to cut him," he said.

Lady Southwick's butler handed me a mallet. "If you cut every gentleman on my account, you'd have no one left to speak to," I said.

Because Lady Southwick had turned away to give instructions to her butler, Grenville dropped his persona for the barest instant. "What a relief that would be."

Lady Breckenridge patted his arm. "Nonsense. If you cut everyone, that would only make you the more popular. Human beings strive more to catch the attention of those who hate everyone than of those who like everyone. A strange thing, but I've observed it to be so."

I smiled at her, then leaned to Grenville and spoke in a low voice. "Can you get word to Bartholomew and Matthias? I'd like one of them at my house to keep Denis's men from tearing it up too much, and I'd like the other to have a look inside that windmill again. We might find something in the light of day that we missed last night."

"And this afternoon is so very bright," Donata said. "Do not worry, Gabriel. Placate Lady Southwick with this tedious game, and then make your escape."

I exchanged a look with Grenville, who had the impudence to grin at me. Lady Southwick returned at that moment, and we could speak no further.

"We are the blue team," Lady Southwick said. "Excellent. I hope that you are a good player, Captain. It's a guinea a wicket."

A guinea… I had forgotten that ladies and gentlemen of the ton could not do anything so simple as play a friendly lawn game without gambling like mad. Knocking balls about the grass could become deadly expensive.

Grenville looked unconcerned, and I knew he was prepared to spot me the cash, though he knew how such things grated on my pride. Very well, then, I decided as I shouldered my mallet and led Lady Southwick away. I would have to play to win.

The game commenced, the house party alternating between standing about gossiping and giving intense attention to play. Grenville played politely-that is, he showed he did not intend to best everybody in sight, while giving the impression that he could if he wished.

Donata had no such compunction. She ruthlessly knocked her ball into her opponents' at every opportunity, and reveled in driving their balls off the pitch. She did not spare me. When her red-striped ball clacked into my blue-striped one, she put her well-shod foot over her ball and plenty of muscle behind the stroke that smacked mine away. My ball galloped across the green and dropped into the marsh grasses that pushed against Lady Southwick's cultivated lawn.

"What say you, Gabriel?" Lady Breckenridge said, a sparkle in her dark blue eyes. "Five guineas on the game?"

"Of course," I said. "I always pay up my wagers."

Her smile grew satisfied. She referred to the wager we'd made the first day we'd met, when I'd played billiards with her in a sunny room, and she'd challenged me.

I had to search through the grass for my ball, while Donata went on to score double points behind me. I took the opportunity to coerce Reaves, the young vicar, into helping me look for the ball, and so into conversation.

"What became of the Quinns?" I asked him, "when you took the living? Dr. Quinn, you said, passed on. What about the rest of his family?"

Reaves blinked. "Devil if I know. No, a moment. I believe the wife lives in Blakeney with her sister-in-law. I know her nephew is still about."

"Terrance, yes. I spoke to him last night. What about the Quinns' daughter? Helena?"

"Couldn't say. She was gone before I arrived. Some scandal, I think, but I know little about it. You know what villagers are. Rattle on amongst themselves but close ranks against outsiders."

Reaves was certainly an outsider. He was a city man, probably had lived his entire life in the circle of Cambridge and London.

"I remember Helena," I said. "When I was a boy, she'd follow me about, wanting me to teach her to climb trees and so forth. I thought her a nuisance."

"Yes, well, apparently about-oh, ten years ago? — she up and ran off. Probably with someone her family did not approve of. Provincials can be quite close-minded. She's likely living in some cottage not far from here, teaching her own daughters not to run off with scoundrels."

Reaves bent to tap his ball, finished with gossip.

Ten years ago. Had Helena Quinn gained entrance to my father's house, changed her debutante's gown for traveling clothes, and then gone off with her unsuitable man? My father had still been alive then. I could not see him helping illicit young lovers, nor could I see him allowing anyone outside the family into my mother's sitting room.

Perhaps one of the Lacey maidservants had found the dress discarded by Helena after her flight and had put it into the sitting room for safekeeping, knowing no one would disturb it there. Said maidservant could always bundle it away later to sell.

But if so, why hadn't she, why had the gown been spread so neatly, almost reverently, across the chaise, and why had my father allowed it to remain there?

I renewed my intent to find Helena Quinn, or whoever had left the gown, and ask for the story. In spite of Donata trying to persuade me out of my fears of the discarded gown meaning something sinister, I could not shake the feeling.

I gained some respect from the house party by winning half the wickets, but Lady Breckenridge and Grenville won the game.

"That is five guineas you owe me, Gabriel," Lady Breckenridge said as we returned to the shade of the terrace. The butler passed among us with a tray of lemonade.

"And I will pay the debt," I said. "At the moment, I need to return a horse and make some inquiries."

"Lady Southwick has planned an outing for us, it seems," Grenville said, sipping lemonade. "She's going to cart us all down to Binham to stroll about the ruins of the priory. And have a picnic."

"I will have to join the house party there," I said. "Or perhaps I should excuse myself to Lady Southwick altogether and take rooms over the tavern at Parson's Point."

"Do not, Gabriel," Lady Breckenridge said severely. "I do not tell you this only because I'd never forgive you if you left me to deal with Lady Southwick alone, I tell it to you for your own good. I know that other matters are pulling at your attention, but they will accuse you of not being able to hold your own at a society house party. The story will be told and retold through the shooting season and on into spring. They'd make a laughingstock of you."

I hardly cared, but I knew Donata did. She had to live among these people, and she was drawing me into her world. She had once told me that she liked me because I did not behave as expected, but she took a large risk, socially, attaching herself to me.

"Then I will stay," I said. "But I must see about the horse, and I must make certain that the Lacey house remains in one piece."

"I will placate Lady Southwick for you," Donata said. "And continue my discreet inquiries about the gown."

"Ask Lady Southwick about Helena Quinn, and whatever scandal surrounds her."

Lady Breckenridge looked surprised. "You have a woman in mind already for the owner of the dress?"

"I might. She disappeared about the same time that the gown was made. Helena was the vicar's daughter; I imagine Lady Southwick knows the story, or at least the gist of it."

"Hmm." Lady Breckenridge took a sip of lemonade, made a face, and dumped the rest of the glass's contents into the rhododendrons. "I shall endeavor."

"What shall I do, Lacey?" Grenville asked.

"Look after Donata, for now," I said. "Especially on this jaunt to the priory, and stay on guard for yourself. Ferguson was killed in a brutal fashion by someone very strong. That someone is still at large. I'd rather not have him decide that you saw him and can identify him."

Grenville's exuberance dimmed. "Do you know, Lacey, when I found the man, I felt a very sharp pain in my chest-exactly where that knife went into me. I thought, for a split second, that the killer was there and had stabbed me to keep me silent. I swore I felt myself falling to the ground. But no, Matthias was next to me, holding me up, taking me outside. When I looked down, there was no knife in me, no blood. I even opened my waistcoat and stuck my hand inside my shirt to make sure I was whole. Is that not odd?"

Not at all. I woke in the night sometimes, thinking I hung upside down from a tree, my left leg a torn and shattered mess, while French soldiers laughed up at me. They'd enjoyed themselves swinging me like a pendulum.

"It is to be expected," I said.

"I make too much of it," Grenville said. He drew out his handkerchief and dabbed his face. "I've styled myself as a man not afraid to face danger, but I realize that before someone stabbed me in the dark, I'd never truly faced it. Stepping into that place last night, finding Ferguson there… Please tell no one how suddenly terrified I was."

Donata touched his arm. "You are among friends."

I said, "I am not astonished at your fear. What astonishes me is that you went into the place at all."

"Curiosity and arrogance. I had stout Matthias with me and no idea that violence lurked in the corner. I will take more care at the priory."

"Please do." I said. I kissed Donata's smooth cheek and left to make my excuses to Lady Southwick.

When I reached the stables, I discovered that the horse Buckley in Parson's Point had lent me had been returned to him by one of the under grooms. The head groom told me this, and also told me, looking very put out, that the horse I'd borrowed from Lady Southwick yesterday had not turned up.

I told the man I'd hunt for the horse and asked if anyone nearby would allow me to hire a horse for the day. Before he could answer, Grenville's coachman, Jackson, stepped up and said that Grenville had told him to keep the carriage ready for my use whenever I wanted it.

Because I did not much want to drag myself to the next village to try to find a horse for hire, I took up Jackson on the offer. Grenville had brought his landau, open for the warm weather, and I rolled off in this luxury.

I was anxious to reach my own home, but I was equally anxious to talk to Bartholomew, who'd gone to search the windmill. I directed Jackson to Easton's house, and we reached it in a short while.

Easton's household had definitely gone. One of Denis's pugilists came out of the house to open the carriage door for me. This particular man had helped me search for missing girls from Covent Garden earlier this year, and knew Jackson, who'd also helped with the search. He gave me a salute and stayed behind to speak to Jackson while I started to walk down the footpath toward the windmill.

Another man came out of the house before I could get far and told me Denis wished to speak to me. I did not want to see Denis; I'd come to the house to look at the windmill and to inquire whether Cooper had returned.

The man stood solidly in front of me, however, until I agreed to follow him back to the house and inside. He led me upstairs and ushered me into Brigadier Easton's study.

Denis had commandeered the desk. Easton's personal papers and trinkets had gone, replaced by Denis's usual thin stack of paper, one inkwell, and a pen tray. Denis had been writing but when I entered, he laid the pen in the pen tray and moved the paper aside.

"Captain," he greeted me. "What have you discovered?"

"Nothing," I said with some impatience. "I came to find out whether Cooper has returned."

"No." The word was succinct but conveyed Denis's unhappiness. "And I want you to make every effort you can to find him."

"I thought you wanted me to discover who killed Ferguson," I said. "Or do you think the tasks are one and the same?"

"No." Again the short sound, charged with meaning. "I have sent Ferguson's body back to his family. I did not like that I had to send him home dead. The surgeon I employ confirmed what I told you a coroner would, that Ferguson had been beaten, and that one of the blows certainly killed him." Denis twined his long fingers together. "My fear, Lacey, is that Cooper has been murdered as well. And I do not like to contemplate this idea."

"You are well and truly worried about him."

A long pause followed. Denis looked at me, but not at me, then he turned to the man who stood guard inside the room. "Leave us," he said.

I stilled, surprised. James Denis never let himself be alone in a room with anyone, especially not with me. The pugilist looked surprised as well, but he stifled any question and left the room without a word.

Denis stood up. He walked to the window, his back to me, and looked out to the sunny day. The tall windmill stood silently, arms still.

"I am worried," Denis said, his back still to me. "You need to find him, Lacey. If something has happened to Cooper, I am not certain I could bear it."