A Body in Berkeley Square (12 page)

"If I discover anything, I will tell you," I
promised. "I agree that he should not keep you in the dark about
Mrs. Bennington."

"Well, thank you for that anyway."

"I cannot blame him if he grows exasperated
with you. You are a most exasperating woman."

"He has power," she said. "I have none. I am
only getting back a little of my own."

The door banged open. I leapt to my feet,
and so did Marianne, both of us expecting the return of the
Frenchman. But it was only Bartholomew, balancing a covered dish
and two tankards. He caught sight of me, and his jaw sagged.

I sprang forward and rescued the plate. "Do
not drop my dinner, Bartholomew, for heaven's sake. I am hungry." I
put the platter safely on a table and took the tankards from
him.

"Good Lord, sir." He looked me up and down
then glanced at Marianne. "Did she have a go at you?"

Marianne looked affronted. "Of course not,
you lummox."

I quickly told Bartholomew about the
Frenchman. Bartholomew, growing excited, wanted nothing more than
to dash out and scour the city for him then and there.

I stopped him. "He did not find what he came
to find, so he will no doubt show himself again. He has a
distinctive appearance. We will find him."

I did not say so, but I had the feeling that
Imogene Harper would know good and well who this Frenchman was. If
he'd stolen her letters to Brandon, he must have had good reason to
do so. He could be her friend or a lover--even her husband. Mrs.
Harper had left the Peninsula four years ago, after all, and had
only recently come to London. She could have done many things
during that time.

"Do run to Bow Street," I told Bartholomew
as I uncovered the beefsteak he'd brought me. "Tell Pomeroy to
watch out for a lean Frenchman with close-cropped hair. The man may
next try to search Mrs. Harper's rooms, or Turner's, or even
Turner's father's house in Epsom."

"Of course, sir." Bartholomew's eyes were
animated. He tugged his forelock and ran off, leaving me with
Marianne and a quickly cooling dinner.

*** *** ***

I shared the beefsteak with Marianne. Never
one to forgo a free meal, she ate but did so in silence. We did not
mention Grenville or Mrs. Bennington again.

Marianne departed before Bartholomew
returned. She did not tell me where she was going, and I did not
ask. She was angry and worried, and somehow, I did not blame
her.

Marianne was correct when she said that
Grenville could wash his hands of me whenever he wished and that I
could do nothing against him. But I did not care. The threat of
losing his patronage would not hold my tongue if he had been
betraying Marianne. I had seen men change mistresses before, but I
felt protective of Marianne, perhaps because I knew how vulnerable
she truly was, despite her hard-nosed approach to life.

I finished my meal and, as it was nearing
four o'clock, remembered my promise to call upon Lady
Breckenridge.

I looked at myself in the dusky mirror above
my washstand and winced. The left side of my face was puffed and
bruised, and a cut creased my right cheekbone. My lip had split,
and dried blood stained my chin. I was sore and stiff, and my knee
felt as though it were wrapped in bands of fire.

I was in no fit state to visit a lady. I
soaked a handkerchief in water and continued to clean my face. It
was a slow, tricky business, every touch stinging.

I made myself ready for the visit anyway. I
very much wanted to put together the pieces of Turner's murder
before Brandon could be tried. When the wheels of justice turned,
they turned swiftly. Brandon's trial could come up before a week
was out, and only days after that, he could be hanged or
transported. Louisa would be shamed and disgraced, and likely
abandoned by everyone she knew, excluding myself and Lady
Aline.

I refused to let Brandon bring that sorrow
upon his wife. I would find the killer and release Brandon, whether
he liked it or not.

My other reason for resolving to visit Lady
Breckenridge as planned was that I simply wanted to see her.

Since our first discordant meeting in Kent,
Lady Breckenridge and I had become friends of a sort. She had
helped me during the affair of the Glass House and the problem of
Lady Clifford's necklace, and she'd had given me a new walking
stick when my old one had been lost.

She'd taken to inviting me
to gatherings at which she launched musicians or poets into society
and made it clear that I could add her to my list of afternoon
calls. I rarely made calls, but since my return from Berkshire I
had several times sat in her drawing room sipping tea while other
members of the
ton
stared at me and wondered why I'd turned up.

I bade Bartholomew accompany me back to
Mayfair, and we made our way to South Audley Street and Lady
Breckenridge's home. I used Bartholomew as a scout to discover
whether Lady Breckenridge had received anyone else that afternoon.
If she had guests in her drawing room, I would take my battered
face away.

Bartholomew returned with the news that the
lady was alone. Relieved, I descended from the hackney coach and
went inside.

Lady Breckenridge's butler, Barnstable,
looked at me in shock. "Sir?"

I gave him a smile that pulled at my sore
face. "Will I frighten her ladyship, do you think?"

"No, sir." He continued to stare at me. "Her
ladyship is made of stern stuff. I have just the thing to put on
those bruises, sir. Take them down in no time."

Barnstable, it seemed, had remedies for
everything. He had, a few months ago, treated my sore knee with hot
towels and a penetrating ointment, which he'd graciously sent home
with me. I'd begun to believe in Barnstable and his remedies.

One of Lady Breckenridge's footmen, looking
no less dismayed at my state than the butler, led me up the stairs.
He did not take me to the drawing room, but led me up another
flight to Lady Breckenridge's private rooms. When he opened a door
and ushered me inside, I realized I'd been shown to her
boudoir.

Lady Breckenridge's entire house was very
modern, and this room was no exception. A Roman couch faced the
fireplace, and windows were elegantly draped in light green silk to
complement the cream-colored walls. Thick carpet under my boots
warmed the room.

Lady Breckenridge entered only a few moments
after the footman left me. Today she wore a peignoir of gold silk
and had threaded a wide, ivory-colored bandeau through her dark
hair. When she saw my bruised face, her reaction was
predictable.

"Good God," she said, stopping on the
threshold.

"Forgive me," I said. "I decided to
participate in a boxing match before making my calls today."

She came all the way into the room and
closed the door behind her, but her expression did not alter. "Whom
did you anger this time, Gabriel?"

"A Frenchman searching for something he
could not find."

Lady Breckenridge raised her brows, and I
explained the incident. As I spoke, Barnstable bustled in with a
steaming bowl on a tray. He politely waited until I finished then
bade me to sit on the Roman couch.

I did so and stretched my aching leg to the
fire. Barnstable dipped a cloth in the liquid and touched it to my
face. It hurt like fury and at the same time soothed.

"You ought to be a physician, Barnstable," I
said.

"Indeed, no, sir." He sounded affronted.

Lady Breckenridge watched the proceeding
without speaking. She wandered to a small rosewood table, pulled a
black cigarillo from a box, and lit it with a candle.

"Are you certain this robbery was connected
with Turner's death?" she asked as thin smoke wreathed her
face.

"I am certain of nothing." I inhaled the
heady-smelling steam that Barnstable waved beneath my nose. "If he
were a mere robber, he would have taken the snuffboxes, which were
costly. But he held on to the letters he found in my pocket."

"Why would a Frenchman be interested in
letters written by Mrs. Harper?"

"That I do not know. I do not know
anything." Colonel Brandon was being uncommonly stubborn, I had
only vague accounts of what had happened at the ball, and both
Louisa and Mrs. Harper had convinced themselves that Brandon had
murdered Turner.

"If your line of thinking is that Mrs.
Harper stabbed Turner before she screamed, you will be wrong," Lady
Breckenridge said, breaking my thoughts. "She did not. At least,
not then."

"How do you know?"

She took a pull of the cigarillo. "Because I
saw her. When Mrs. Harper went into the anteroom at twelve, she
left the door ajar. I could look right in and observe her."

I sat up straight, pressing Barnstable's
hand aside. "Why did you not say so?"

"I did not have the chance. Your Mr. Pomeroy
turned his attention to Colonel Brandon very quickly, and I had not
the time to explain."

Yes, Pomeroy could fix on one purpose and
ignore everything else in his path.

"Tell me what Mrs. Harper did," I said as
Barnstable calmly returned to patting my bruises and cuts.

"I saw her bend over Turner, then she gave a
little start. I suppose that's when she realized he was dead, but
of course I had no idea yet that he'd been killed. She moved her
hands over him or inside his coat, I could not see exactly. Then
she straightened up. She looked at her glove, which was red with
blood. She recoiled from it, and that was when she began to
scream."

"If you could not see exactly, how do you
know she did not press the knife into Turner's chest when she bent
over him?"

"Because I did not see a knife in her hand
when she went in, nor did I notice her picking one up from the
desk. She went nowhere else in the room. Besides, she would have
had to put quite a bit of strength behind the blow, would she not?
She did not raise her arm or strike out, and in any event, it's
likely Turner would have seen her and fought her. Unless Turner
were drunk and senseless." Lady Breckenridge shook her head. "No, I
do not believe Mrs. Harper stabbed him. It was as though she
searched him for something--love letters perhaps? Although I cannot
imagine her writing love letters to Turner. But supposing he had
letters from her to someone else?"

She was a perceptive woman. "Perhaps," I
said cautiously.

Lady Breckenridge glanced at her butler.
"Barnstable, will you leave us?"

Barnstable rose and handed me the linen pad.
"Of course, my lady. Keep that pressed to the wound, sir. It will
take the ill from it."

I promised I would see to it. Barnstable
bowed and took himself from the room, closing the door behind him
with every show of deference.

"He looked a bit disappointed," I said.

"Of course he is. He is as interested in
this business as I am. But he will not listen at the door. He
considers that beneath him."

I gave her a smile. "I am certain that my
man, Bartholomew, will tell him all he wants to know below
stairs."

"I sent him away so that we might speak
frankly. Because your colonel was arrested for the crime, I assume
that Mrs. Harper was looking for letters she had written to Colonel
Brandon, or that he had written to her. This would explain their
mutual antagonism toward Mr. Turner."

"You guess well," I said.

She sank to the sofa next
to me, crossing her legs in a graceful move. "You must remember
that I was there last night. I observed the very strange behavior
of Colonel Brandon and Imogene Harper. Did they forget how much
the
ton
gossips?
Believe me, today the polite world is grateful to Lord Gillis for
providing them with something new to discuss. We were growing tired
of who would race what horse at the Derby and what an appalling
frock Lady Jersey wore last Thursday. Mind you, it would be much
more interesting if Colonel Brandon were one of us, but it will
have to do."

She spoke with her usual acid tones, but I
took no offense. She was directing her sarcasm at her own circle,
not Colonel Brandon.

I removed the linen pad
from my face, defying Barnstable's instructions, and laid it across
my knee. The warmth of it felt good there. "And what is the
ton
saying
today?"

"I will know more about
which way gossip is directed when I go out, but I have already
received several notes from my acquaintances regarding the matter.
Lady Seville, a girlhood acquaintance who attended the ball, is
terribly excited at having been at a gathering where something
actually
happened,
even something so low as murder. Lord Gillis is to blame, she
says, for having so many military men among his acquaintance. They
are violent, she believes, and do not always have the right
connections. Lady Seville puts much store on pedigree."

"Colonel Brandon comes from a fine
family."

"But not a peerage." She emphasized her
words with a jab of the cigarillo. "And that is the only thing that
counts with Lady Seville. She is a horrible snob. She would approve
of you, however."

I looked at her in surprise then glanced at
my threadbare trousers, made worse by my scuffle with the
Frenchman. "Would she? Why?"

"Because you have pedigree of the right
sort. Your family is older and more connected than your
colonel's."

"I would be interested to learn how you know
all this."

Lady Breckenridge took another pull from the
cigarillo then laid it on the edge of the table. "You are not the
only person who likes to investigate things. Your family was quite
important during the time of Charles the Second, I discovered. They
were given land, and even offered a title, one declined by your
proud ancestor. Later a Lacey married a peeress, rendering you
quite respectable."