A Body in Berkeley Square Read online

  I stopped. "Between?"

  "I am not blind. I know you're not courting her, and yet . . . "

  She left it hanging. My face heated as I touched the handle of the walking stick Lady Breckenridge had given me. "We are friends," I said. But I had kissed her lips on more than one occasion, and she had helped me when I'd needed it. I had not liked her when I'd first met her, over a billiards game in a sunny room in Kent. I'd found her abrupt, abrasive, and overly forward. "Perhaps more than friends," I finished.

  "She had a wretched marriage to Breckenridge," Lady Aline said, a rather unnecessary statement. I had met Lord Breckenridge and knew exactly what kind of man he'd been. "Marriage to him would have killed a woman with a lesser strength than Donata's."

  "I have no desire to make her wretched," I said.

  That was the truth. On the other hand, I had not the means to marry her, either. My own wife, I'd discovered, was still alive, and in France, with my daughter. I had been given her exact whereabouts a few weeks ago, and I had been contemplating traveling across the Channel to find her.

  I would go sooner or later, but I was having difficulty steeling myself to meet her again. The only thing that drove me to do it was the thought of seeing my daughter again. Gabriella would now be seventeen.

  Even if I came to some arrangement with my wife, even if Grenville helped me with a divorce or annulment, I'd have little to offer Lady Breckenridge. I was a poor man, though I was a gentleman born. Lady Breckenridge marrying me would be a sad misalliance for her.

  "And I have no desire to see her wretched either," Lady Aline said. "But you treat her kindly, and she is grateful for that."

  I raised my brows. "She said so?" I could not imagine Lady Breckenridge expressing such a tender thought.

  "Of course not," Lady Aline said. "She does not need to. But I've known her since she was in leading strings. Her mother is a great friend of mine."

  "I am pleased she has such an ally in you. But you haven't answered my question. To whom did Lady Breckenridge speak this evening?"

  Lady Aline gave me a smile. "Not to Colonel Brandon and Imogene Harper. Donata spoke to me and to Lady Gillis--although she does not like Lady Gillis very much. She finds her too washed out and tiresome. She danced much, of course. She always does. She even danced with Mr. Derwent, who asked her out of painful politeness. She seemed most amused."

  I imagined she had. Leland Derwent was the epitome of innocence, and Lady Breckenridge had a rather worldly outlook. I hoped she had not shocked Leland too much.

  I studied the head of my walking stick, which was engraved with the inscription Captain G. Lacey, 1817. "Now, we come to the event of Turner's death. Take me to that and tell me what happened, exactly."

  "I remember very precisely that I was talking to Lady Gillis. We both had seen a patterned silk at Madame Mouchand's and admired it. I was explaining that it would look fine on her, but not me, because I am too stout to carry it off. All at once, we heard a horrible scream. It pierced the air, cutting over the music. Everyone stopped, of course, even the musicians, as we looked for the disturbance. And there was Imogene Harper, near the stairs with the anteroom door open behind her, screaming frantically."

  "Did you see Colonel Brandon? Was he near her?"

  "No. At that moment, I saw him nowhere in the room. He did reappear, however, when I made my way to Mrs. Harper. The colonel came from behind me and shoved his way through. We reached her at about the same time."

  "What did he say?"

  "Nothing very much. In general, men are useless in a crisis. Except Grenville. He very sensibly took Mrs. Harper by the hand and led her to a seat and called for brandy. Then he entered the room with Lord Gillis. The rest of the guests could only gape. I stayed with Louisa, who took it very well, until Lord Gillis sent for Bow Street. Then she nearly swooned. Louisa believes her husband truly did kill Mr. Turner, you see."

  I recalled the resigned look in Louisa's eyes. "Pomeroy obviously thinks he did also. But is there anything that points concretely to Brandon having stabbed Turner? Two gentlemen can exchange sharp words without one murdering the other. Or if they do, they call each other out and make a formal show of it."

  "Ah, Lacey, the problem of it is, there were so many people in the ballroom. Who knows who entered that room with Mr. Turner, or who was there already when he entered it? Had he slipped inside for peace and quiet, or did he mean to meet someone? No one saw. We were concentrating and dancing and gossip and disparaging other ladies' gowns, you see. The usual thing."

  "One does not expect a member of the ton to be murdered at a ball," I agreed. "And yet, these are violent times."

  "The rioting, you mean?" Lady Aline asked.

  Since March, with the hanging of a seaman called John Cashman for the crime of getting drunk and stealing a few weapons, the people of London had rioted. Some protested the unjust killing of Cashman, some the fact that British soldiers, back from the war, often had no money, no employment, and no prospect of payment for the blood they'd given in battle. Others rioted simply because it focused their anger and disgust at something other than the tediousness of their lives.

  "Rioting, and the men who put down the riots," I said. "Murder in general. It is as though the war allowed us some measure of venting that side of man's nature, but now that avenue is gone."

  Lady Aline's plucked brows rose. "Surely the threat of Napoleon's invasion and the loss of ten thousand men at Waterloo is not better than a few riots."

  "No, of course not. Never mind. I am melancholy about this entire business."

  "As am I. Poor Louisa."

  She glanced at the closed door, behind which Louisa rested.

  "Is there anything more you can tell me?" I asked. "Anything else you might have noticed?"

  "I will think on it. I admit, Lacey, that I am rather stunned by it all. When Mr. Pomeroy arrived, he was inclined to believe that Mrs. Harper had killed the man. She may have. I don't know. But then Colonel Brandon stepped forward to protect her, and Pomeroy switched his attentions to him." She shook her head. "This will be scandal. Vicious scandal."

  "Perhaps Louisa would be better off somewhere other than London," I said.

  "Indeed. I could take her with me to Dorset. That is sufficiently distant, for now, I think."

  "She will refuse, of course."

  "I will persuade her. If nothing else, I'll feed her laudanum and drag her off while she sleeps."

  I smiled at the thought, but I knew Lady Aline was capable of doing just that.

  Lady Aline sighed. "Tonight Louisa came face to face with the idea that her husband might be in truth a very dreadful man."

  "Yes," I said. I was nagged by the feeling that Brandon's vice in this was mere pigheadedness, not evil. Something did not make sense. I, who should have been ready to believe the worst of Brandon, could not now that it had come to it.

  Behind the door, Louisa cried out in her sleep. I sprang to my feet, jolted by the heart-rending sound. She must have awakened herself, because we heard a muffled moan, and then the unmistakable sound of weeping.

  I was halfway to the door before Lady Aline stopped me. "Not you," she said sharply.

  I halted, my heart pounding. The need to comfort Louisa struck me hard.

  Lady Aline shook her head at me. Then, gathering her skirts, she strode past me to the door of Louisa's bedchamber and let herself inside.

  *** *** ***

  I quit the house. I could not bear to stay any longer, listening to Louisa cry and knowing I could not help her. I took a hackney coach across rainy London and arrived at my lodgings in Grimpen Lane, near Covent Garden, just as dawn broke the sky.

  Bartholomew waited in my rooms for me, awake and as fresh as though he'd slept all night, which he hadn't. He had warmed the sitting room and bedchamber, and he helped me to bed.

  I closed my eyes, but I could only see Louisa, pale and drawn, her gray eyes full of conviction that her husband had committed murder and adultery. More t
han that, I could feel Louisa's soft body against mine as she clung to me, needing me. I was not quite certain how I felt about that.

  I did doze a few times only to dream of Henry Turner's still, dead body and the sound of Imogene Harper's screams.

  Bartholomew woke me at ten that morning. Pomeroy had told me last night that Brandon would be examined by the Bow Street magistrate at eleven o'clock, and I intended to be there. I bathed my face and let Bartholomew shave me.

  "Do you think the colonel did it, sir?" Bartholomew asked as he scraped soap and whiskers from my chin.

  "I do not know, Bartholomew. He certainly was not very helpful."

  "Want me to come along, sir?"

  "No. I have the feeling that trying to keep Colonel Brandon out of Newgate will take much time. No need for you to waste your day in the magistrate's office."

  "Mind if I poke around a bit? Get chummy with Lord Gillis's servants, I mean. See if they witnessed the event?"

  He sounded eager, ready to begin the game of investigation.

  I told him to enjoy himself. Bartholomew could be a mine of information on what went on not only below stairs, but above stairs as well. He had certainly helped me solve crimes before, even getting himself shot during one adventure. The incident had not dampened his enthusiasm the slightest bit.

  Before I left my rooms, I wrote a short letter to Sir Montague Harris, the magistrate of the Whitehall Public Office, informing him of my thoughts on the death of Turner.

  Bartholomew agreed to post the letter for me, and I walked from the narrow cul-de-sac of Grimpen Lane to Russel Street. I turned left onto Russel Street and traversed the short distance to Bow Street, my knee barely bothering me this morning.

  The spring day was warm, and people thronged the lanes. Women with baskets over their arms and shawls against the damp threaded their way among the vendors, working men hurried about with deliveries or on errands, and middle-class women strolled arm-in-arm with their daughters looking into shops.

  Bow Street was crowded. Rumor of a murder in elegant Mayfair had reached the populace, and many waited for a glimpse of the murderer that Bow Street had apprehended. I had not looked at a newspaper yet, but I imagined their stories would be lurid. As time went on, every snippet of Brandon's life would be splashed across the pages of the Morning Herald.

  I let myself into the magistrate's house and asked one of the clerks for Pomeroy.

  "Ah, there you are, Captain," Pomeroy bellowed across the length of the house. He shouldered his way down the corridor, pressing aside the assorted pickpockets and prostitutes who'd been arrested during the night. "Come to see the colonel committed, have you?"

  * * * * *

  Chapter Four

  I became aware that every person in the vicinity turned to watch us. "He must be examined, first," I said.

  "Oh, aye, him and the witnesses. I called in Lord Gillis and Mr. Grenville. Lord Gillis because it was his house and he'd likely know what went on in it, and Mr. Grenville because he makes a decent witness. And he was first on the spot when it happened. I wanted to call Mrs. Harper, but the magistrate said wait until she's a bit less distressed." He shrugged. "He's the magistrate."

  I wanted very much to meet Mrs. Harper myself, but I agreed that traveling to Bow Street and enduring the scrutiny of last night's crop of prostitutes might be beyond her. "Lord Gillis is coming?" I asked.

  "Not the thing for an earl to come to the magistrate, Sir Nathaniel says," Pomeroy said, naming Bow Street's chief magistrate, Sir Nathaniel Conant. "Sir Nathaniel will go to him later today. But Mr. Grenville should be arriving at any time."

  Grenville liked to be in the thick of things. I knew he would not mind walking among the muck of Bow Street in his perfectly shined boots if he could indulge his curiosity. I would be happy to see him, though. He'd been on the spot, and he was quite good at noticing things out of the ordinary. A decent witness, as Pomeroy had called him.

  Grenville arrived as Pomeroy and I started for the stairs. His fine phaeton stopping in the street caused some commotion as those inside craned to look out windows at the most elegant horses and rig in town. Grenville leapt down and handed the reins to his tiger, a young man whose sole purpose in life was to look after Grenville's horses when he was not driving them.

  Grenville swept inside, removing his hat, and was instantly bombarded by a mass of humanity.

  "A farthing in me palm, milord. Wouldn't say no," an elderly man with few teeth breathed at him. "Spare a penny for an old man?"

  "Yer a fine one. Remember sweet Jane when she's done with the magistrate, won't you?"

  Grenville blushed but he sprinkled pennies among the others until Pomeroy lumbered forward and shouted, "Clear off. Let him through."

  "Good morning, Lacey," Grenville said with his usual politeness. We might be meeting at his club. "Mr. Pomeroy."

  Grenville looked as though he'd not slept much the night before. His face was impeccably shaved, but his cheeks were pasty white and dark smudges stained the hollows beneath his eyes.

  We did not speak further as Pomeroy took us up the stairs and to the room where the chief magistrate waited.

  Sir Nathaniel Conant, an elderly gentleman who'd presided over the Bow Street court for the last four years, sat behind a table upon which waited a sheaf of paper and a pen and ink. The room felt damp and smelled faintly of unwashed clothes, an inauspicious place to decide a man's fate.

  Colonel Brandon sat near Sir Nathaniel, but he got abruptly to his feet when he saw me.

  Brandon looked terrible. His usually crisp black hair was disheveled, although he'd made some attempt to smooth it. His chin was covered in black stubble, and his dark and elegant suit was rumpled and stained. He gazed at me with blue eyes that resembled cold winter skies and were just about as friendly.

  "Good, Pomeroy," Sir Nathaniel said. "We can begin. These are your witnesses?"

  "Mr. Grenville is." Pomeroy introduced him. "He was at the ball when the murder took place. This is Captain Lacey."

  Sir Nathaniel peered at me, his watery eyes taking more interest. "I have heard Sir Montague Harris speak of you. He regards you as intelligent. Why have you come? Are you also a witness?"

  "I was not at Lord Gillis's ball, no," I said. "But I know Colonel Brandon. He was my commander in the army."

  "Ah, a character witness. Sit down, if you please."

  "Sir Nathaniel," Brandon said stiffly. "I do not want Captain Lacey here."

  Sir Nathaniel looked surprised. "Do not be foolish, sir. At this point, you need all the friends you have. Sit."

  He pointed his pen at the chair Brandon had vacated. With another belligerent glare at me, Brandon resumed his seat.

  Colonel Aloysius Brandon was a handsome man. At forty-six, he had black hair with little gray, a square, handsome face, and an athletic physique that had not run to fat. I had often wondered why he seemed oblivious to the attentions women wished to bestow on him, although, as evidenced with this business, perhaps he was not so oblivious after all.

  I took a straight-backed chair next to Grenville. Pomeroy sprawled across a bench, and we waited for the procedure to begin.

  At least, I thought, as Sir Nathaniel scratched a few words on his papers, Brandon did not have to suffer the indignity of standing in the dock before the sitting magistrate downstairs, with thieves and prostitutes and other poor unfortunates awaiting their turn. Sir Nathaniel had obviously kept Colonel Brandon's standing in mind, as well as the fact that murder was a bit more serious than pickpocketing or laundry stealing.

  "Colonel Brandon," Sir Nathaniel began. "This is an examination, not a trial, in which I will determine whether you should be held in custody for trial for murder. Do you understand?"

  Silently, with an angry glint in his eye, Brandon nodded.

  "Excellent. Now, Mr. Pomeroy, please present the evidence that made you bring in this man for the murder of Mr. Henry Turner."

  Pomeroy climbed to his feet and plodded forward.
He took from his pocket a wad of cloth, and unwrapped the dagger that had killed Turner. He clunked the knife to the table.

  "This was plunged into the chest of Mr. Henry Turner, coroner says near to midnight last night," Pomeroy said. "The body was found at twelve o'clock, and witnesses saw the deceased alive and well at half past eleven, so there's not much doubt about the time of death. When I arrived, I asked who the knife belonged to. Colonel Brandon told me that the knife was his. His wife, Mrs. Brandon, said that she could not remember whether the colonel had such a knife, but he was pretty certain."

  "It is mine," Brandon said, tight-lipped. "I never denied that."

  Sir Nathaniel gave him a sharp glance then made a note. "Any other evidence?"

  "No, sir. I examined Colonel Brandon's gloves and found that they were clean. The colonel denied having killed Mr. Turner, and denied having gone into the anteroom where he was found at all. But a few witnesses, Mr. Grenville included, saw Mr. Turner and Colonel Brandon enter the room together at eleven o'clock. However, they emerged after about five minutes and went their separate ways. No one I can find remembers either Mr. Turner or Colonel Brandon entering the room after that, but Mr. Turner must have done, because there he was, dead, an hour later."

  "I must ask you, Colonel," Sir Nathaniel said, "why you lied to Mr. Pomeroy about entering the anteroom at all?"

  Brandon looked uncomfortable. "Because it was none of his affair. And it had nothing to do with Turner being killed."

  "That remains to be seen," Sir Nathaniel said. "Please tell me the nature of your conversation with Mr. Turner in the anteroom."

  Brandon sat up straighter. "I do not wish to."

  Sir Nathaniel raised his gray brows. "Colonel Brandon, you might well be tried for murder. Were I in your place, I would try my best to establish that my business with Mr. Turner had nothing to do with his death. Now, what did you discuss?"

  Brandon's neck went red. "I called him out."