Rosemary Stevens (7 page)

The lieutenant looked at me. “How? Bow Street thinks they have Theobald Jacombe’s murderer. They aren’t even looking for anyone else, I’d wager.”

“Please do not use that term. Wagering is what got you into this mess,” I reminded him. “Instead, tell me what happened last night.”

“As you may have seen, my grandfather came to see me at Vauxhall. He’d learned about the duel, don’t ask me how. He read me a lecture right in front of Molly on the mistakes I was making. He insulted her and me.”

I remembered the old man’s disdain for his grandson. “And then?”

“I took Molly to get something to eat, but the supper boxes were crowded. Instead, we went behind the Cascade where I thought we could be private. We don’t often get to be alone, you know.”

“I understand.”

The lieutenant drew a deep breath. “There was no one around except the drunken operator of the Cascade. I kept Molly in the shadows away from view. She tried to persuade me to withdraw from the duel. Of course, I wasn’t going to agree to that, so I kissed her.”

“Er, a useful tactic,” I murmured.

He gave a half smile. “Yes.” He rubbed his square jaw. “Then everything seemed to happen at once. We heard a popping noise. A figure darted past us in the darkness. I couldn’t tell whether it was a man or a woman.”

“Are you certain you could not say whether it was a man or a woman?”

He shook his head. “Between the darkness and the quick way the figure went by, it was impossible.”

“Very well.”

“I started to lead Molly to the front of the Cascade, but then our attention was caught by the sight of a body in the back of the waterfall. I remember thinking to myself, who is that, and what has happened? Anxious to remove us from the situation, I turned Molly away from the scene, only to step on something hard in the grass. The gun. I picked it up without thinking.”

He looked to me with an imploring expression on his angular features. I said, “I probably would have done the same thing in your situation. One does not like to see a pistol lying about. Rather unseemly.”

The lieutenant’s face cleared. “The gun was warm to the touch. I told Molly we should turn it over to one of the constables, but then, from nowhere, Mr. Lavender was on me. And some other fellow, finely dressed, was there as well.”

“That would have been my valet, Robinson,” I told him grimly.

“Your valet?” the lieutenant asked in surprise.

“The world is full of unbelievable coincidences. You do not remember anything else? Especially about the figure you saw run past you?”

The young man shook his head. “I’ve tried. It’s hopeless. Everything was so dark. It was but a mere ghost of a human.”

I suppressed a sigh. There was no doubt in my mind that Nevill spoke the truth. His account of the night’s events matched Molly’s if I needed any further evidence of his innocence. They had not had time to compare their stories. I felt deeply that the young soldier’s honour was unquestionable. Besides, he reminded me a bit of myself at that age.

“What happened next, when you were brought to the Bow Street office?” I asked.

“Not much. I was told I would be held on suspicion of murdering Theobald Jacombe. My commander in the army released me from my duties so that Bow Street could bring me here.”

This last was said with such an air of defeat, I felt a wave of pity for the lieutenant. Not even his commanding officer had stopped to question Bow Street or defend the soldier’s reputation. “Your immediate discomfort has been eased a bit, but we must get you out of here. What about your grandfather? Can you appeal to him? Surely he could use his influence to have you released.”

“I can’t ask him.”

“Why? Do not tell me your pride is standing in the way.”

“He wouldn’t help me anyway. He neither likes me nor approves of me.”

“That cannot be so.”

“It is.”

I heard the sound of the guard unlocking the door. “Give me his direction. I shall go to him.”

Mr. Nevill kept a set of meager rooms in South Audley Street. Upon my arrival, the old man opened the door himself. I wondered at his lack of a manservant.

“Who did you say you are?” he asked, his face pinched in concentration.

“Beau Brummell, a friend of your grandson’s.”

The door creaked open on its hinges. The old man, wrapped in a heavy brocade robe over his clothes, motioned with one gnarled hand for me to enter. “This is about Nicky, eh? Sit down in that chair where I can see you. My eyes are not what they used to be.”

I did as he asked, taking in the sparse furnishings, the lack of ornamentation on the walls. Mr. Nevill was known to be a man of wealth. Apparently, he disliked parting with a shilling of it.

“Mr. Nevill, are you aware that your grandson is being held at King’s Bench Prison on suspicion of murdering Theobald Jacombe?”

“I said I could not see well. I did not say I was deaf and dumb,” he chided me in his raspy voice.

I began to comprehend why the young lieutenant felt he would get no help from his grandfather. “Sir, the boy is innocent; as I’m sure you will agree.”

“I am not agreeing to anything at the moment. The boy has too much feeling in him. Passion will be a man’s downfall, you know.”

How I wished for a glass of wine. “The lieutenant loves Molly, that is true. But he is also a man of honour who would never resort to cold-blooded murder. He was to fight a duel.”

The old man snorted, then succumbed to a fit of coughing. “Just like his father, he is. Throwing himself away on a heartless flirt, a lightskirt to boot. You would think the boy would have learned, but he has not.”

“What, er, happened to his father?”

Mr. Nevill’s face seemed to crumple at the mention of his son. “Harry fell victim to the scheming ways of a jade named Arabella. She was a merchant’s daughter, out for conquests. My Harry was helpless when she turned her calculating gaze on him. Thought she could get her hands on my money. He married her against my wishes. I settled some money on him, but told him there would be no more. She went through what I had given him, and the fortune he made in the East India Company, then eventually took off for the Continent with one of her lovers.”

“Leaving Harry with a son, I take it.”

He nodded, a miserable expression on his face. “Nicky was fourteen. Within a year of Arabella’s leaving, Harry drank himself to death over her. Passions, too many passions will kill a man one way or another. Men should be strong, above such things. Now Nicky is repeating his father’s mistake.”

I thought about how the lieutenant had lost his father when he was fifteen, the same age as I had lost mine. “But, sir, you cannot know that Molly will play him false.”

“Bah! Of course she will. One only has to look at her.”

Look at a wholesome, pretty girl of seventeen years and think her a lightskirt?

“She might not have a chance to prove herself faithful. Unless someone steps forward to assist the lieutenant, he will be tried for Theobald Jacombe’s murder. He might end up with his neck in a noose.” That should get the old man’s attention.

“He will go through the proper English court system. They will not convict him. There were no witnesses who saw the actual killing.”

I sat appalled at this callous acceptance of his grandson’s future of a trial where his life would be at stake. I looked into Mr. Nevill’s cloudy eyes. “But, sir, will you not step forward in his defense? Your support right now is vital. All London is crying for justice in Jacombe’s murder. Unless his own grandfather defends him, sees that he is released on bail into your charge, what chance does he have?”

“No, I shall not say a word on his behalf nor expend a shilling. He defied me with that hoyden, Molly. Now he must suffer the consequences,” was the stubborn response.

“You do not believe for a minute that he pulled the trigger, do you?”

The old man’s mouth worked. “It does not matter what I believe.”

I rose, tension in every muscle of my body. Mr. Nevill’s cold view of his grandson’s predicament chilled me to the bone. That he should so reject the young soldier was incomprehensible to me.

Yet again I was thrown back in time to my relationship with my own unemotional father. I could feel his disapproval making me feel smaller and smaller. Mr. Nevill had the same lack of compassion for his grandson that my father had had for me. Though it was true Mr. Nevill did not believe the young man would be convicted.

I wanted to tell Mr. Nevill exactly how I felt about his heartless treatment of the young soldier, but I could not close the door on questioning him again if need be. Instead, I thanked him for his time and took my leave.

 Walking back to Bruton Street in the sunlight, I felt a strong measure of pity for the lieutenant. His father had killed himself over a woman. His grandfather was punishing him for the sins of his father and the possibility that he might commit the same folly.

I was not happy when I entered my house. Sounds of a squealing pig met my ears when put my walking stick in a silver container near the door.

Robinson appeared from his quarters near the kitchens. The expression on his face was thunderous. But I had neither the time nor the inclination to listen to his complaints.

 “Robinson, have you thought any more about last night’s events?”

He accepted my hat and gloves. “Yes, sir, I have. I am sorry to tell you that nothing new has come to my mind. Of course, I cannot think properly with that pig in the house.”

“Are you certain you saw no one else behind that Cascade?”

“That I am sure of. It was terribly dark, sir. No, I cannot say that I saw anyone other than the soldier, his ladyfriend, and the drunken operator of the Cascade.”

“I am certain Bow Street questioned the operator. If he saw anyone, I would have heard about it, I expect. Still, perhaps I shall pay a call on Miss Lavender and see if her father has dropped any word.”

“Is there any hope for the lieutenant?” Robinson asked.

“Not when even his grandfather refuses to lift a hand to help him. I shall have to create hope by finding out who else wished to see Theobald Jacombe dead.”

“In the meantime, sir, a missive arrived from the Prince of Wales.”

“Oh? Let me have it.”

Robinson moved toward a table in the hall and picked up a crested, folded piece of vellum and handed it to me. “Also, this latest addition of
The General Evening Post
just arrived. You might want to look at the front page.”

I took the newspaper from his hands. On the front page, the following appeared:

MURDER AT VAUXHALL PLEASURE GARDENS

Lieutenant Nicholas Nevill, aged 20, is being

held at King’s Bench Prison on suspicion of

murder in last night’s grisly death of the

highly respected and honoured Mr. Theobald

Jacombe, aged 42. Sources report that Lieutenant

Nevill had challenged Mr. Jacombe to a duel

after a card game at London’s notorious new

gaming club, Watier’s. Forced to defend his

honour, Mr. Jacombe was said to have agreed

to meet the lieutenant this morning. Instead,

at last evening’s gala event at Vauxhall Pleasure

Gardens, which was under the patronage of His

            Royal Highness the Prince Wales, Mr. Jacombe was

      shot through the heart. His dead body caught in the

      mechanism of the Cascade exhibition and stunned

      onlookers when its lifeless form appeared in the

      waterfall. Bow Street is said to have found Nevill

      behind the Cascade with a pistol in his hand. A witness

      also saw the Lieutenant in this telling position. Funeral

      services for Mr. Jacombe, who is survived by his wife,

      will take place Thursday, 9 July, at l0 of the clock at

      St. George’s Church, Hanover Square. It is expected that

      attendance will be high as Londoners come out to express

      their grief and outrage at this heinous crime.

“Good God, the lieutenant has already been tried and convicted in the public eye,” I said.

“Things look very dark,” replied Robinson.

I broke the seal on the Prince’s note. All it said was for me to present myself immediately at Carlton House.

Carlton House, Pall Mall, had been given by King George III to his son for his use as long as he kept up the house and gardens and paid the taxes.

You may recall my telling you about Prinny’s palace by the sea in Brighton during another of my adventures. If so, you know that Prinny loves to re-design and decorate buildings in the most costly of manners.

His current residence is certainly no exception. I barely had time to appreciate its beauty, no less nod a greeting to Petersham, Tallarico, and my friend Lord Perry, before Prinny motioned me into an ante-room furnished with expensive pieces from France.

“Brummell, what’s to be done in this situation with Jacombe’s death? All London is on its ear,” he said.

“Er, to be done, sir? What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. That soldier couldn’t have killed Jacombe. You agree with me, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then do something about it. I can’t have one of my troops hanged for a murder he didn’t commit.”

“It would not look good for you,” I said, but the Prince missed my sarcasm.

“No, it wouldn’t. Besides which, I don’t like that such a horrifying event took place during an evening where I was host. That wouldn’t look good for me either. Whoever did this is common, I tell you, no courageous soldier.”

“Yes, sir. I confess that I have begun a bit of an investigation of my own—”

“Capital! Exactly what I wanted to hear. Keep me informed of your progress.”

“The lieutenant is being held at King’s Bench Prison,” I said before he could move away. “Could you use your power to have him released until the trial?”

“Me? Zeus! I can’t get involved,” the Prince said.

Just then, the door to the room we were in opened. At first I thought a breeze had swung it forward. Then I realised this was a short-sighted view on my part. John, Count Boruwlaski, the dwarf, entered the room and tugged on the tails of Prinny’s coat, very like a child.