A Body in Berkeley Square (29 page)

"You know far too many things for comfort,
Donata."

"Gossip is popular entertainment. After you
told me about Grenville's little actress, I put two and two
together. There is little I do
not
know."

The thought unnerved me a bit. I descended
from the carriage into the rain and plied the doorknocker. The
haughty maid, Alicia, opened the door and looked me up and
down.

Lucius Grenville employed the best-trained
servants in London, even more so than Lady Gillis's elegant horde.
Alicia stolidly refused to admit me. I had to talk long and hard to
convince her that the matter was of utmost urgency.

She at last let me in but forbade me to move
past the front hall. She sent the footman Dickon upstairs with a
message for Grenville, then Alicia hovered nearby, as though not
trusting me not to dash up the stairs the instant her back was
turned.

After an appallingly long wait, a door opened
above, and I heard Grenville's footsteps on the stairs.

In the year or so that I'd known Grenville, I
had never seen him in dishabille. Even now he was in only relative
dishabille. He wore pantaloons and a lawn shirt covered with a silk
dressing gown, and his hair was a bit mussed. His expression was
wary and not a little annoyed.

"Lacey," he said in his cool man-about-town
voice. "I respect and admire you, but this is hardly the best time
for a visit."

"I realize that," I answered. "But I was on
my way to see Mrs. Bennington, and I hoped you would come with
me."

Grenville stopped his descent. "Mrs.
Bennington? Why?"

"Because I believe she is the key to this
murder. I thought you might want to be present."

Grenville came alert, all thoughts of privacy
forgotten. "Yes. Yes I do. I must dress. Wait here."

"Be quick, please. I do not want Mrs.
Bennington's dragon of a maid to refuse to admit me because I am
late for the appointment."

Without answering, Grenville turned and
dashed back up the stairs. The sound of a door banging
followed.

I waited while the clock ticked steadily in
the corner. I wished that Grenville could be the sort of gentleman
to simply snatch up a greatcoat and dash out the door, but no. He'd
once told me that if he were seen on the streets of London without
waistcoat and cravat and the proper footwear, the newspapers would
be filled with stories that he'd run mad. Not even to catch a
murderer would Grenville take chances with his reputation.

When the door banged again, I looked up in
anticipation, but the voice that sailed down to me was not
Grenville's.

"Lacey, what the devil do you think you're
doing?"

Marianne Simmons, in true dishabille in a
loose peignoir, her hair floating free, raced down the stairs to
me.

"Trying to discover a murderer," I said.

"You came here to snatch him away to visit
Mrs. Bennington
, of all people! Why, I'd like to know? Let
me come with you. I will claw her eyes out."

"No," I said firmly.

"Dear God, Lacey, why must you torment
me?"

"I want to question Mrs. Bennington about the
murder. I want Grenville there as well."

"And I suppose you will not tell me why?"

"No."

Marianne looked as though she might fly at me
on the moment, claws raised, but she stopped, her face taking on a
canny expression. "Did Mrs. Bennington do the murder? That would
suit me."

I looked past her at Grenville, who was at
last coming down the stairs. He had heard her. "Mrs. Bennington had
nothing to do with Turner's death," he said in a sharp voice. "I am
accompanying Lacey to prove it."

Marianne sent him a look of fury, but I saw
the hurt in her eyes. She dropped her gaze and turned away before
Grenville could spot it. "Alicia," she called to the prim maid.
"Come upstairs and dress me. I am going out."

Grenville's face set. Saying nothing, he
strode past Marianne and out of the house.

So great was Grenville's anger that he'd
climbed into the carriage before he realized that the coach
belonged to Lady Breckenridge, and that she was waiting inside.

He flushed. "Good evening, my lady."

"Mr. Grenville," Lady Breckenridge said. Her
eyes glinted with humor.

Grenville sent me an accusing stare. He was
angry, and he was embarrassed, but I could not wait upon the nicety
of his feelings.

As the carriage wound through the streets to
Cavendish Square, I showed Grenville the scrap of lace and
explained about the servants' passage at the Berkeley Square house
and my thoughts about it. As I talked, Grenville's expression
changed from frustrated anger to one that was worried and grim.

"If this is true, Lacey," he began. He broke
off, as though unable to complete the thought. "I never believed .
. ."

Grenville trailed off again, closed his
mouth, and looked away in uncomfortable silence.

The Bennington house in Cavendish Square was
quiet. We were admitted by a maid I'd not seen before, who
curtseyed to us and led us to a reception room to wait. Grenville
paced, moody and quiet, while Lady Breckenridge looked about her
with interest.

Mrs. Bennington's maid, Grady, entered the
room not long later and sent the three of us a look of
disapproval.

"My lady has decided she is not receiving
tonight," Grady said.

I had feared as much. "I do not wish to
disturb her for long." I took the scrap of lace from my pocket.
"Please give her this, and tell her Captain Lacey wishes to ask her
about it."

Grady frowned but when she saw what I held
out to her, paled. "She will know nothing about that."

"Take it to her, please."

Grady pressed her mouth closed. She snatched
the lace from my hand and marched swiftly from the room.

Grenville shot me a dark look. "Lacey, you
cannot mean that Claire Bennington committed this crime, can you? I
simply will not believe it."

"I do not know whether she committed it. That
is why I want to ask her questions."

Grenville paced again, his distress evident.
"She could not have killed Turner. She is not strong enough. She's
only a girl."

He seemed inordinately upset, more so than a
gentleman with simple concern for a young woman. Before I could
speak further, Grady returned. She did not look pleased but said we
could go up.

Grady led us to the sitting room in which
Mrs. Bennington had received me on my last visit. This time the
salmon-striped sofa and chairs were strewn with gowns, bonnets, and
shawls. I was reminded of Turner's rooms when the valet, Hazleton,
had emptied the cupboards in preparation for sending Turner's
things back to his father.

Grenville looked at the jumble in surprise.
"You are leaving London?"

Mrs. Bennington flinched and avoided his
gaze. "Grady, why did you let Mr. Grenville come here? I wanted
only Captain Lacey."

"I came to help you," Grenville said, anger
in his tone.

"We don't want your help," Grady
retorted.

Mrs. Bennington sank to a chair and put her
hand to her forehead. "I have such a headache. I do not want these
people. Send them away; I feel unwell."

"You see?" Grady said to Grenville. "You have
upset her again."

"I have done nothing of the sort. Claire,
Captain Lacey has come to ask you about the murder of Henry Turner.
I know you had nothing to do with it, and if you answer honestly, I
can make him take his questioning elsewhere."

I stared at Grenville in amazement. His face
was red, his gaze uncomfortable.

Mrs. Bennington's eyes swam with tears. "My
head. Grady, I need my draught."

Grady rushed to the cupboard and pulled out a
glass bottle full of dark liquid.

Lady Breckenridge, who had lifted a silk
shawl to admire it, suddenly laughed. "Good heavens, how dramatic
we are." She folded the shawl and replaced it on the chair. "We are
not on the stage, Mrs. Bennington. Captain Lacey only wishes to
know what became of that bit of lace you asked of me."

"Oh." Mrs. Bennington sat up, looking
relieved. "From your ballgown? You ought to have said. I gave it to
my husband."

"Your husband?" I asked. "What on earth
for?"

"Because he asked me to."

She seemed to think this a fine enough
reason. "Did it not occur to you to wonder why?" I asked.

"Not really."

"I think you do know why," I said. "I believe
that you know more than any of us about this matter."

She looked bewildered. "How could I?"

"You play the dupe well, Mrs. Bennington," I
said. "But I believe you are not one."

Mrs. Bennington gazed at me, stunned, then
the eyes that bewitched London audiences each night filled with
tears.

"Leave her be, Lacey," Grenville said.

"I cannot. She is key to this. I want Colonel
Brandon released, and I will do what I must to bring it about."

"Including browbeating a young woman?"

I stared at him. Grady had accused Grenville
of shouting at Mrs. Bennington and throwing his walking stick, but
now he bristled at me like a guard dog.

"Mrs. Bennington," I said, gentling my tone.
"Why did your husband ask you to obtain a piece of lace from Lady
Breckenridge?"

"I don't know. It was a game of some
sort."

"A wager?" I supplied.

Her brow cleared. "Yes, that was it. He
wagered that I could not obtain a piece of lace from a highborn
lady. Because I am so lowborn, you see."

"He said that?" Grenville asked, face
thunderous. "What the devil made you marry that lout? Do not tell
me you could not have the pick of gentlemen on the Continent."

"He was good to me," Mrs. Bennington said. "I
had debts--he paid them. He must be kind to do that."

Or he'd wanted something. Claire Bennington,
absorbed in herself and her life on stage, would not have realized
that.

"Is he kind to you?" I asked.

"I suppose he is." Mrs. Bennington pressed
delicate fingers to her temples. "Really, Captain, my head does
ache."

Grady, her face set, poured a thick liquid
into a small glass and pushed it at Mrs. Bennington.

Lady Breckenridge, still looking interested,
sat down amid a pile of velvet gowns. "So you handed over the scrap
of lace to your husband. When was that?"

"Oh, good heavens, I hardly remember." Mrs.
Bennington took the draught from Grady and drank it down. She
sighed in contentment when she handed the glass back, as though her
headache already had started to fade. "Before supper, certainly. My
husband escorted Lady Aline to the supper room. He'd told me to
obtain the scrap of lace from
her,
but I'd only had
opportunity to speak to Lady Breckenridge. Mr. Bennington was
annoyed, I remember, that I had not approached Lady Aline."

Who was large and strong and could have
driven a knife into Turner's heart were she cruel enough to do
so.

"Do you love your husband, Mrs. Bennington?"
I asked abruptly.

Her eyes widened. "Why ask that?"

"Because he is a murderer," I said. "And I
wondered if you would help me or be loyal to him."

* * * * *

Chapter Eighteen

Lady Breckenridge looked at me in complete
astonishment. "Mr. Bennington?" She grew thoughtful. "Yes, I
see."

Mrs. Bennington lowered her gaze. "I should
be loyal. He is my husband."

Grady broke in fiercely, "She's nothing to do
with it. I'll not see her in the dock for this."

"Nor will I," I said.

I tried to sound reassuring, but Grady moved
between me and her mistress. "She is innocent. She can't help what
that fiend of a husband does."

"I know," I said. "I imagine Mr. Bennington
used her from the moment he met her. He knew that as the husband of
a celebrated actress, he would be eclipsed by her, and he was
correct."

Grenville did not look terribly surprised by
my assessment, but he was not happy.

Lady Breckenridge's eyes sparkled with
interest. She was possibly the only person in the room not charged
with emotion.

"I can work out how he must have done it,"
she said. "He challenged Mrs. Bennington to obtain a bit of lace
from a lady. Which she did--from me. Mr. Bennington goes into the
anteroom at some time before supper, opens the door to the
servants' passage, and affixes the lace to the nail to mark the
door he needed. He does not want to use something of his own or his
wife's in case it is found.

"He makes an appointment to meet Turner in
the anteroom at midnight. Just before midnight, he slips out of the
ballroom and into one of the sitting rooms along the hall. He waits
until the servants' passage is empty, enters it, finds the door he
marked, and enters the anteroom, taking the bit of lace in with
him. He stabs Mr. Turner, eases him into the chair, and places the
lace in the pocket. He leaves Colonel Brandon's knife in the wound
and exits through the back passage just before Mrs. Harper enters."
She stopped and drew a breath. "Yes, I believe that explains
everything neatly."

"Though not how he obtained Brandon's knife,"
I said.

"Nor why Mr. Bennington should want to murder
Mr. Turner at all," Lady Breckenridge added, looking only at
me.

"I've made some guesses about that," I said.
"Both Turner and Bennington were on the Continent at the same time
and both recently returned to London. Perhaps Turner knew things
that Bennington did not want others to know. Turner seems to have
been good at finding guilty secrets. Perhaps he knew the things
that led Mr. Bennington to change his name. " I fixed my gaze on
Grady. "Do you know?"

Grady glanced at her mistress, who kept her
gaze fixed on her lap. Grady wet her thin lips and said,
"Bennington is a bad sort. But my lady, she was deep in debt--she
will
wager recklessly. That was not the first time she'd
been in deep."