Rosemary Stevens (9 page)

“It was a love match. They have been married for eighteen years. Lady Venetia is in quite a state since her husband’s murder. I came directly to her as soon as the Duke told me Mr. Jacombe had been killed over by the Cascade, and I have stayed here ever since.”

“That is good of you, Freddie. I take it Mrs. Jacombe is completely overset by her husband’s death.”

“Indeed, George. She has always been of a delicate constitution. This has her all to pieces. Her physician, Doctor Trusdale, is attending her.”

“That bad, is it?”

“Dreadful, really. I have not seen Lady Venetia ever so distressed, as I expect is normal given the circumstances. We only just got her to take some broth this morning, George.”

At that moment, a greyhound pranced into the room.

“Oh, dear,” Freddie exclaimed. “I do not know what Gabriel can be doing downstairs. Come on,” she called to the dog.

The greyhound looked at her worshipfully, as all dogs are prone to do.

Some humans as well. Ahem.

“Will you be at the Perrys’ house this evening, Freddie? A dinner party would not be inappropriate.”

About to exit the room with the dog, Freddie glanced at me over her shoulder. “I do not think so. Lady Venetia needs me.”

I reluctantly took my leave, mulling over the fact that Mr. Jacombe had married above his station in life. If it had been a love match, had the love on Mr. Jacombe’s part been of Lady Venetia’s rank?

Not until the following day at St. George’s Church did I get my first glimpse of Mrs. Jacombe.

The church was crowded with people, but it was not difficult to pick out the widow. Her small, slim figure hardly seemed strong enough to hold up the yards of material of her heavy black silk dress and veil.

Still, she was quite beautiful with her dark hair, large hazel eyes, and small mouth, but there was an air of sadness about her that went beyond the accoutrements of mourning.

 Beside her, a tall, thin, dark-haired man with stern features guided her gently down the aisle to the front pew. I wondered if this was Doctor Trusdale, her physician. Freddie and the Duke accompanied them.

“Don’t stand there gaping, George, come and sit with me. James is home with a putrid throat,” a gruff voice spoke.

I turned to see my good friend, the Marchioness of Salisbury, at my side. A tiny but sturdy lady in her fifties, the marchioness is known for her unladylike skills on the hunting field. She is outspoken, blunt, and was Prinny’s mistress when he was twenty and she was past thirty.

I executed a bow. “My lady, you are most kind.”

“No, I’m not. I just want someone to gossip with about all these people, and you’ll do. Have you ever seen the like over a plain mister?”

“All the world seems to be here,” I answered as we seated ourselves.

The service was long. Many of Mr. Jacombe’s government cronies spoke at length of his good qualities and fine skills in making Bow Street what it was today. Even Earl Spencer stood up and said a few words on behalf of his friend.

Next to me, I could tell Lady Salisbury was fidgeting in her seat like a girl of ten summers.

When it was over, she said, “How boring this Jacombe man sounds. I didn’t know him myself, but James said that since he couldn’t attend, I should come in his place. Something about respect for Earl Spencer. Hmpf. Is it true what’s going around regarding a duel?”

“Yes. Mr. Jacombe the Pious was cheating at cards in my club the night he was murdered.”

Lady Salisbury’s face lit up. “Oh, tell me everything.”

“I wish I knew everything, my lady. This Mr. Jacombe is so very highly regarded, yet I know he tried to slip a king of diamonds into a deck of cards in play with a young soldier.”

“Nevill?”

“You have been following the newspapers.”

“Who hasn’t, George? This is the biggest scandal London’s seen since Prinny tried to divorce his wife.”

“Yes, it was Nevill. I believed his accusation that Jacombe had been cheating, yet I tried to keep matters from escalating to the point of a duel. I failed when the situation became more personal, so I determined to be the lieutenant’s second.”

“You’re an honourable man, George, I’ll give you that.”

“My lady, the happiness you bring me by saying so—”

“Hah,” she barked. “What else do you know?”

“Not much, other than that the lieutenant is innocent.”

“Is he? Then Bow Street is preparing a case to hang the wrong man.”

“Indeed. If only I knew more about Jacombe. Perhaps I could find an enemy who wanted to see him dead. Everyone here seems so genuinely grieved over his passing.”

Almost to mock my words, at that moment a trill of laughter sounded from an expensively dressed brunette on the arm of the Earl of Fogingham, or “Foggie” as he is known, due to his love of drink and the perpetual drunken haze he lives in.

“That’s Mrs. Roucliffe, a popular courtesan,” Lady Salisbury informed me. “Trust Foggie to bring her to St. George’s.

“You shock me. Ladies of your rank are not supposed to know such women exist.”

“What a lot of rubbish! You just said you wanted to know more about Jacombe.” Lady Salisbury inclined her head toward Mrs. Roucliffe. “There would be a place to start. Word is Jacombe tried to set her up as his mistress.”

“No, Mr. Jacombe with a mistress?”

“Why not? She’s isn’t a stunning beauty, but men like her. She must be good at her trade.”

I smiled at this frank remark. “Lady Salisbury, will you marry me?”

She smiled back. “You may call on me when James is six feet under.”

I confess I felt inappropriately lighthearted at that moment until I perceived that Miss Lavender, accompanied by her father, stood toward the back of the church.

Then I frowned. Even from a distance, I could tell Miss Lavender was upset.

I escorted Lady Salisbury to the door, and observed Mrs. Hargrove, the Jacombe housekeeper, sitting quietly without a trace of emotion on her face in the last pew.

I then doubled back to see Miss Lavender. I noted that Mr. Nevill was slowly making his way to the door. I wanted to speak to him, so I made my conversation with Miss Lavender brief. “A sad day, it seems,” I said.

“A great loss to Bow Street,” came Mr. Lavender’s reply.

Miss Lavender had that faraway look on her face, her skin almost translucent in the light of the church. Her gaze was fixed on the coffin draped in black at the front of the aisle near the pulpit.

“Miss Lavender,” I said, “I must speak with someone now, but I wonder if I might take you and Lionel to Gunter’s for ices later.”

She dragged her gaze to me. “That would be nice.”

“Shall we say two hours’ time? I shall bring a hackney coach to the Haven of Hope and collect you and the boy.”

Mr. Lavender glared at me, his bushy brows coming together to form one hairy line of disapproval above his eyes. As usual in my presence.

Ever independent, Miss Lavender ignored him and said, “I should like that. Thank you.”

I hastened away before Mr. Lavender could bellow a word and before old Mr. Nevill could leave the premises. As it was, I caught up with the latter outside where a jumble of carriages and sedan-chairs awaited their masters.

“Mr. Nevill, may I have a word with you?”

Mr. Nevill looked at me with his cloudy eyes squinted against the sunlight. “Oh, it is Mr. Brummell, is it? What do you want?”

Not the best of beginnings. I decided to charge right in. “I understand that you and your son were involved in a banking adventure with the late Mr. Jacombe. One that went seriously awry and almost cost you everything.”

I thought the old man would have an apoplexy right there. “How did you find out about that?” he demanded.

He himself had just confirmed what Molly said, but it would not do to let him know that. “Old scandals live on, you know.”

“I told my son, Harry, not to get involved in that bank deal. But he was driven by his insatiable wife to make more and more money. He bought stock in a bank partially owned by Jacombe. They lent a great amount of money to the Prince and never got repaid.”

I could believe that. Prinny was not one to look back when it came to money. “Your son had stock in that bank and was liable for the bank’s debts.”

“Of course he was. That is the way it works, you know.”

“And the debts were called in?”

“Yes, they were, more’s the pity. Stockholders had to come up with the money. I paid Harry’s portion to prevent him and his family from being ruined and sent to debtor’s prison.”

“That was good of you. And Mr. Jacombe?”

“Jacombe had already sold his stock by the time the debts were called in. The way his crafty lawyers had written the whole thing, no one could touch him.”

“Did Jacombe know that the stock in the bank was worthless when he sold it to your son?”

The old man narrowed his eyes at me. “I am not sorry the bastard is dead if that is what you are getting at.”

“So why did you come here today?”

“I always enjoy a good funeral, and the next one may be my own.”

So saying, the cantankerous Mr. Nevill limped away on his cane, a footman rushing to guide his master to an ancient coach.

Did Mr. Nevill hate Jacombe enough over that banking deal to kill him all these years later? That did not make sense. I could more easily see him killing Jacombe to protect his grandson.

If he did kill him, perhaps he did so because he felt the end of his life was near and wanted to revenge himself and spare his grandson a duel before he died. Did he plan to turn himself in to Bow Street at some point? Was he allowing his grandson to be accused in the meantime as some sort of punishment for defying him? How cruel that would be.

And at what point would he step in and rescue the soldier from a hanging death?

Gunter’s confectionery is best known for its delicious ices. The shop is also one of the few places a single lady can meet a gentleman without causing damage to her reputation.

I procured three strawberry ices and sat down with Miss Lavender and Lionel at a small table near the window overlooking Berkeley Square. The boy’s eyes widened at the sight of the strawberry treat placed in front of him.

Miss Lavender picked up her spoon, but instead of eating, she addressed me. “What have you found out about Jacombe? Anything that might help us clear the lieutenant’s name?”

“Mr. Jacombe’s halo is beginning to look a bit tarnished,” I remarked. “It seems he was not above shady business dealings.”

Miss Lavender looked at me intently. “What do you mean?”

“He sold worthless bank stock to the lieutenant’s father.”

“That only makes the lieutenant look worse, doesn’t it?” she asked, distress touching her words. “Wouldn’t this be more motive for the lieutenant to kill Jacombe?”

“Not necessarily,” I pointed out. “His grandfather is the one who bailed his son out of trouble. Old Mr. Nevill took a loss financially. He would actually be the one with more motive for revenge, especially when you consider that he is extremely tight-fisted with his money.”

Lionel finished his ice and looked longingly at his plate.

“Would you like more?” I asked him.

The grin on his face gave me my answer. I signalled for another ice.

Lionel said, “I found out somethin’ about that Jacombe fella’.”

Both Miss Lavender and I turned startled gazes on the boy.

Miss Lavender said, “What did you find out?”

“Promise you won’t get mad at me,” he implored.

“Lionel, tell us at once what you learned,” Miss Lavender said. “This is a serious situation. An innocent man has been accused of murder.”

“I ‘ad to do something with that foppish idiot Fairingdale pointin’ at me and sayin’ I might ‘ave delivered some note to Jacombe.”

“No one believes you did, Lionel,” I said. “I am certain Bow Street is not even following up on the fact that a boy delivered a note.”

“Mr. Brummell’s right, Lionel,” Miss Lavender said. “Bow Street knows there were hundreds of boys there that night. It would be impossible to find out which one the killer used to deliver the message.”

I nodded. “Even if there were witnesses, they are sure to disagree. You have nothing to worry about.”

Lionel shrugged. “Well, then, anyways, sometimes I slips out to see some o’ my old friends down in Seven Dials. That’s ‘ow I found out what I did.”

Miss Lavender bristled at the mention of the notorious slums. “You know I don’t like you going there.”

Lionel ducked his head. “But iffen I’m to be a Bow Street Runner, I’ll be going there and to worse.”

Miss Lavender drew a deep breath. There was no arguing with this logic.

Lionel continued. “Anyhow, I asked round about Jacombe. Seems it’s known that Jacombe was the man with money in a bear-baitin’ show.”

“That’s despicable!” Miss Lavender cried. “Those poor dogs used to agitate the pitiful bears to fight. The whole thing is cruel.”

“I have never been one to enjoy the sport myself,” I said, remembering the one time I had been witness to a bear-baiting.

The entire episode had struck me as uncivilized. I suppose I have a soft spot when it comes to animals, you know, especially when it comes to one particular Siamese cat.

Lionel received his second ice. Before he dug in, he said, “I think Jacombe made lots of money off the bear-baitin’ scheme. It’s said ‘e ‘ad a partner, some physician or such.”

Doctor Trusdale? I wondered. Out loud I said, “I think Mr. Jacombe’s character was not what everyone believes it to be, in fact—”

I interrupted myself at that moment. For Mrs. Roucliffe, the courtesan, who, according to Lady Salisbury, Mr. Jacombe had been trying to set up as his mistress, had just walked into the shop. All eyes turned to her.

Again, it was not that she had an exceptionally pretty face. Rather, there was something in the way she carried herself. She had a confident, seductive walk. Also, she wore a striking cherry-and-white-striped gown, cut very low across the bosom, revealing a great deal of flesh.

“Er, will you excuse me for a moment, please?” I said.