Текст книги "The Thames River Murders"

Автор книги: Ashley Gardner

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Chapter Eighteen

I did not mask my astonishment well, and she laughed at me again.

I agreed to meet her so-famous father—my curiosity getting the better of me—and she took me up another flight of stairs to a bedchamber in the rear of the vast house.

This chamber was enormous. I remembered the first time I’d awakened in a bed in Grenville’s home, thinking of myself as a tiny speck in the middle of the ocean of the room. That bedchamber could easily fit into this one.

I’d expected the nautical and Far Eastern themes in the lower parts of the house to carry on here, but that was not the case. The bedroom had been furnished with fairly modern pieces—Sheraton and Hepplewhite predominated here. Unlike the walls in Donata’s house, which were pure Adam, a wallpaper from the eighteenth century, fading now, depicted ladies and gentlemen in powdered wigs and pointed shoes, taking their leisure in the country.

In the middle of this huge chamber, pulled from the wall, was a bed with heavy curtains around it. The curtains on the side facing away from the window were drawn back, while all the others were closed, presumably to keep away drafts.

Mrs. Bennett led me, without hesitation, to the bed.

Lying propped on pillows in the middle of it was an elderly man. He was a bit shrunken, but I could tell he’d once been tall and strong. The strength was evident in the hard blue eyes in his very wrinkled face. There I read anger that his body had weakened without his permission.

“Captain Lacey?” His voice was quiet, raspy, but I could hear that it once had boomed out down a long deck filled with scrambling sailors. “I am Captain Woolwich. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

He held out a hand. I shook it, finding his bare fingers smooth and nearly hairless, but his grip powerful.

Woolwich looked behind me at his daughter. “Run away, Margaret. We men wish to speak alone.”

Margaret, instead of being either offended or subdued, gave her father a sunny smile and left the room. The heels of her soft shoes kicked up the back hem of her dull gray gown as she went.

She closed the door carefully, as though not wishing to disturb her father with the click of the latch, and we heard her footfalls on the landing. Woolwich waited until her footsteps faded down the stairs before he waved me to sit in a chair drawn up to the bed.

“She’s a good girl, but a featherhead,” he growled. “Her mother was a spirited, intelligent creature, but Margaret has none of that in her. I would suspect my lady of a dalliance when I was away, but Margaret looks too much like my family. And I have no brothers my wife could have substituted for my attentions.” He gave a cough and cleared his throat. “Now then, Captain, why are you here? Please tell me you are after my worthless son-in-law.”

“I did come to speak to him, yes,” I began cautiously. “I take it he is out?”

“Yes, he goes to the Stock Exchange and pretends to understand all that goes on. Really, he is making certain my shares in all my investments have not lost any value. What has he done, Captain? Committed a crime? Have you come to take him to the magistrate?”

His blue eyes were bright with both cynicism and hope.

“What can you tell me about Mr. Bennett?” I asked.

“Ha, so you will not give me your purpose. All the same, I have read of you, and heard how you and Mr. Grenville work with the Runners to reveal blackguards and evil men. Now, here you are asking about Bennett. High time, too. He is the worst of blackguards, Captain. An oily rakehell, I’d judge him, though he goes to church of a Sunday and is a pious prig.”

“Where does he come from?” I settled in, happy to have my suspicions confirmed.

“Heaven knows. Oh, he speaks well enough—claims he went to a fine school and is now a scholar, and that is easily ascertained. But though he has the voice of a gentleman, there’s something wrong with him.”

“What about his family? Has no one inquired about them?”

“To be sure, I have. Mr. Bennett’s father was a respectable gentleman of Derbyshire, and none have anything bad to say about him. He died when his son—Andrew—was about sixteen. Andrew had a guardian then, an uncle, but the uncle more or less ignored him, and Andrew continued his schooling at Balliol, so he claims. Again, easily found out, so I believe him. When he came into his majority, Andrew took the money he inherited from his father, cut ties with his uncle—whom he claims was a cruel man—and set up on his own.”

“He married,” I said. “Twice before.”

“Oh, yes, he told us all about it. The tragic life of Andrew Bennett.”

“His first wife …” I prompted.

“Miss Judith Hartman. Lovely girl, he says. Father unreasonable.” Woolwich coughed into his leathery fist. “Father not a fool, I’d say. Poor Judith lost, never to be found again. Oh, well, there’s Miss Watson, with her large dowry. Father a nabob. Made Bennett several thousand pounds richer, then she took ill and died, ever so convenient, poor thing. Never knew what became of Miss Hartman. Either she came to her senses and fled far from his reach, or he killed her and buried her in the cellar.”

I flinched. Too close to the mark. “Miss Hartman has been found,” I said quietly. “I should say—she was found long ago, but no one knew who she was. I have brought to light that the body was that of Miss Judith Hartman. She was struck on the head and dropped into the river.”

Woolwich ceased moving. Breathing. He stared at me, his eyes burning in his wan face, his body motionless.

He didn’t breathe for so long that I became alarmed. I rose from my seat, took a silver flask from the bedside table and opened it. As I’d suspected, the scent of good brandy wafted out.

I held it to Woolwich’s nose. He gasped and began to cough.

The coughing wracked him, shook his body. His eyes watered. I decided I’d better fetch his daughter, but when I started for the bell, the old man wheezed, “No!”

I turned back. Woolwich grabbed the flask from me, upended it, and poured a quantity of brandy down his throat. He coughed for a few more seconds, then settled down and breathed easier.

“I knew it,” he whispered. “He’s a bloody murderer.”

“I unfortunately cannot swear to that,” I said. “There is nothing to say his was the hand that struck down Miss Hartman. That is why I came here—to speak to him, to find out all about him.”

“You doubt me?” Woolwich glared imperiously. Onboard ship, his word would have been law. He must have great difficulty ordering about a daughter who only gave him a fond look and obeyed because it suited her.

“I cannot in all good conscience send a man to the gallows if he is not guilty of murder,” I said. “Even if he is a reprobate. I must be certain.”

“Be certain of this, Captain. That man is wrong. He has turned my daughter’s head. She was very much what the dandy set called an ape-leader or on the shelf—so many terms for a useless spinster. Mr. Bennett courted her ardently and led her up the aisle two months after he met her. Long enough for the banns, but not much beyond. He insisted it be done properly. They did not have my blessing, but Margaret was of age, and so was he. Can a father stop two people in their thirties marrying when there is no impediment? He’ll come ’round, I hear her say often enough to Bennett. He is unctuous to me, never says a bad word around me. But what you tell me makes me greatly fear for my daughter.”

I shared his worry. I pictured Gabriella as Judith—romantic, swept off her feet, then beaten down and discarded when the hoped-for wealth from the marriage did not come. The icy dread in my heart matched what must have been in Hartman’s, and now Woolwich’s.

“I understand,” I said. “I have a daughter myself.”

Woolwich heaved himself from his pillows, still clutching the brandy. He seized my hand with his empty one. “Then please, Captain, I beg of you. Do whatever you can to remove that man from my house, and my daughter’s life.”

His clasp held the fierce strength that had once pervaded his body. He must have led his men by force of personality alone.

“I will do what I can,” I said.

Woolwich’s fingers bit down. “No. You rid me of Bennett, or do not come back. I don’t have the luxury of hope.”

He was compelling. Ship’s captains, at least in the Royal Navy, could be horrible martinets who let their crews and all aboard starve while they feasted, or they were forceful men who ensured that anyone under their command was well looked after. Woolwich struck me as the second sort, but one who brooked no fools.

I needed to speak to Bennett, assess for myself what sort of man he was and whether he’d killed Judith, but I found myself making a rash promise.

“I will ensure that he leaves you and your daughter alone,” I told him. “You have my word on it.”

Woolwich continued to grip my hand as he looked into my eyes. He seemed to be satisfied by what he saw, because he finally released me and sank back, relieved.

“I have heard you are a man of honor,” he said, his voice weakening. “I have little to do these days but read every newspaper that comes my way, so do not be surprised that I know exactly who you are. I know that you cut the face of a man in Brooks’s—you claim for cheating, but I have other ideas. You also lit into a gentleman of the ton with your fists for abducting young women, and left him bleeding. I hope you are of the same mettle and haven’t become soft through your marriage. The gentleman I’ve read about is the one who needs to help me.”

“I am that gentleman,” I said with conviction. “As much as my friends despair of me.”

“Good.” Woolwich took another long drink of brandy, then his hand moved fretfully on the covers. “Send my daughter back to me. She is not astute, but she is kindly. Even pretends to like the tales of my voyages.”

“I believe she is quite proud of you,” I said. “Good day to you, sir, and I thank you for your candor.”

“Just take that libertine out of my house,” Woolwich said. “Before he murders me and then Margaret. Viper to my bosom.”

He trailed off into mutters, finished with me. I took my leave, descending the stairs and instructing the footman at the bottom to send Margaret up to the old man.

I also gave the footman my card. “Please tell Mr. Bennett to call upon me at seven this evening,” I said. “In Grosvenor Street. The home of Mr. Grenville.”

The footman looked suitably impressed, as he did with the coins I pressed into his hand. “Yes, sir,” he babbled. “Thank you, sir. I’ll fetch you a hackney, sir.”

***

I’d decided to invite Bennett to Grenville’s for several reasons.

First, I did not want him in South Audley Street anywhere near Gabriella. He might see the obvious wealth of the house and get ideas.

I also did not want him in Grimpen Lane, because I had the feeling that Bennett was a snob. He’d be more likely to rush to speak to me if I gave him Grenville’s address.

I would have to warn Grenville, of course.

Brewster turned up when the hackney did. Before Brewster could climb onto it for our ride through the streets, I pulled him aside.

“Can you arrange to have this house watched?” I asked. “I fear for the inhabitants inside.”

Brewster glanced at the columned façade and gave me a doubtful look. “As I have told you, Captain, I don’t work for you. I can’t tell my colleagues who to watch and where to go. His nibs wouldn’t stand for it.”

“No,” I said. “But you can hire others, whom you trust. Paid for by me.” My allowance should be put to some good.

Brewster had to think about this. “I’d still want to ask Mr. Denis. He’s already put out with me.”

“He is more put out with me, but I am used to it. Even better would be to slip someone into the house, to pretend to be a footman or some such, tell me what happens, and guard the elderly man and his daughter. From everyone, including the daughter’s husband.”

Brewster rubbed his upper lip. “Happens I might know a lad. He’s a real footman, haughty and all. Bit of a thief, though.”

“I will make it worth his while to keep his hands off the silver,” I said testily. “Have your footman tell Captain Woolwich I sent him. I imagine Woolwich still controls who works for the household and who does not.”

“All right, then.” Brewster nodded, a little more at ease. “Where are you off to?”

“To find a horse,” I said.

I’d love to have swung myself up into the carriage on that note and left in dramatic exit, but my knee chose to collapse. Brewster got me inside, conveyed the direction I wanted to the coachman, and slammed the door, looking amused.

***

When I arrived at the South Audley Street house, Bartholomew was waiting for me outside. He had news.

“One Irish hunter, red, with two white stockings and a star,” he said triumphantly as he helped me from the carriage. Then he calmed. “Two, actually. Very well matched, but in different stables from different sires and dams. Fancy that.”

“Never mind their history,” I said, somewhat waspishly. “Where did you find them?”

My leg hurt, and I was ready to consign Bennett to the mercy of Brewster and his fists.

Brewster could persuade the man to move on if anyone could. I’d be no better than Denis if I employed him so, but at the moment, I did not care.

“One in Hyde Park, for hire,” Bartholomew said, ignoring my bad mood. “The other in Grosvenor Mews. Matthias thought it sounded familiar. It’s a gelding what belongs to one of Mr. Grenville’s neighbors.”

Chapter Nineteen

“What neighbor?” I asked, nonplussed.

“Viscount Compton, an elderly gentleman. He loves this horse. Calls it Irish Red. Very original.”

I’d met Compton a time or two at Grenville’s clubs. “It was not an elderly viscount galloping toward us in the Row,” I said.

“No, indeed. Which is why I believe that it was the one for hire in Hyde Park. Stands to reason.”

“All right, then. Who hired it?”

“Well.” Bartholomew rubbed his chin. Behind him, the hackney driver jolted his coach back into the stream of carts, carriages, and people. “The head groom there, he wouldn’t say.” Bartholomew spoke over the noise of the street. “Says a man should be able to take a horse out without everyone asking about it. I told him what had happened, and he told me that there was no possibility any gent what hired this horse tried to knock young Peter to the ground. That we were mistaken in the mount.”

I trusted Peter’s description. He was in love with all things equine, and noticed everything about them.

“I will have a chat with the head groom,” I said. “Try to loosen his tongue a bit.” I was feeling murderous today.

“However,” Bartholomew said firmly. “I did hang about and talked with the lads who do the mucking. Two of them told me what head groom didn’t want them to, that this precise horse had gone missing for a couple of days, and then turned up, sweet as you please, this morning.”

“Damnation.”

My enemy then, had planned well. He’d know I’d try to discover the identity of the rider. What better way to cover it up than to steal the horse? He risked being caught or seen, of course, but apparently, he hadn’t been. If he were not associated with the horse in any way, how would I ever discover who he was?

He’d either sneaked the horse back early this morning, or the horse had gotten away from him and found its way home.

“I will speak to the groom anyway,” I said. “He might know more than he is letting on.”

“True,” Bartholomew said. “If he were paid well, he might lend out the horse and stay silent.”

“Gabriella’s come-out is in a few days,” I said. “I want to ensure no mischief is done to her by this person who wishes to harm me.”

Bartholomew looked worried. “We’ll all keep an eye out, Captain. And I know you’ll solve it by then.”

I could not share his confidence. I entered the house, which was flowing with its usual efficiency, now that Donata was awake and directing things.

I sought Donata in her dressing room as she readied to make calls. Jacinthe scowled as she tugged Donata’s bodice straight, her lip curled, which meant she’d lost an argument with my wife.

“Stay in,” I told Donata. “I had another letter from our anonymous friend.” I took it from my pocket and handed it to her.

“Dear me,” Donata said after she read it. “What on earth can he hope to gain by pretending you are a fraud? Colonel Brandon has known you all these years. All he has to do is proclaim you are who you are, and the rumor will die. Brandon is a respectable colonel, from an old family, well connected, much admired, never mind his bad temper and slow thinking. There is no threat.”

“I have reasoned this, which only makes me more fearful,” I answered. “If this is a madman, to what lengths might he go? And so I repeat, stay in this afternoon.”

“Nonsense. I have many visits to make, more ladies to butter up, so that they will praise Gabriella to the skies and make her a success.”

“About that,” I began. “We should put off the ball as well.”

Donata jerked out of Jacinthe’s hold to round on me. “Now you have run mad. We cannot possibly put it off. I cannot imagine a greater difficulty than canceling every plan Aline and I have made for the last sixmonth. I can imagine her colorful language on the subject. Not that I would dare tell her—I would send you into that lion’s den. I assure you no one will be at the ball that has not been scrutinized a hundred times by the pair of us. Invitations are extremely limited. Those eliminated because their sons are libertines are in an uproar. Those who are invited are preening themselves that they were selected. The lady patronesses at Almack’s are not as rigid in their criteria as we have been.”

“I believe you,” I said. “But, you recall that last year, a man abducted my daughter and hid her in a ruined cellar in order to enjoy her when he was ready. He was part of your precious haut ton, and no one knew. How many highly selective come-outs had he been to? A good many, I’d think. You cannot ensure Gabriella’s safety. The ball won’t even be held here, so I can’t simply lock her into her bedchamber if things begin to go wrong.”

“You know why we chose Aline’s house. Much larger and finer than this one.”

“Pare down your guest list even further, and have it here if you will not cancel.”

“Gabriel.” Donata put her hand on my arm. “What is the matter with you? Shall we bolt the doors and cower inside because a fool writes ridiculous letters? Yes, I was upset that Peter was attacked, which is why he stays in the nursery until you catch who is doing this. But he is a little boy. Shall the rest of us quiver in terror every time we put our nose out of the door? Do not let this man determine your life, Gabriel. Not that I noticed you staying home this morning yourself. Off you went, as soon as it was light. This, after railing at me for sleeping—safely—in your rooms in Grimpen Lane.”

“Bloody hell, Donata.”

“Back to swearing. You enjoy that.”

“It is one thing to never go out for fear of what might happen,” I said, trying to rein in my temper. “But this man has threatened us directly, tried violence against your son. I must ask—what is the matter with you?”

“My dear Gabriel, I have received more threats against me than I can count. From ladies certain I am carrying on affairs with their husbands. From gentlemen incensed I will not carry on affairs with them. From ladies angry at me for not inviting them or their daughters to important musicales. From musicians and poets not talented enough to merit my sponsorship. I could write out a long list. Angry and threatening letters, anonymous and signed, are a part of life in the Upper Ten Thousand. One does not let the writers know that they are in any way successful, or one will never have peace.”

“Have any of them sent riders to knock your son to the ground?” I demanded.

“Lady Mary Trent tried to set my gown on fire once—I was wearing it at the time. So yes, violence abounds in the English upper classes. All these silly rules we follow are attempts to contain it.”

“All the same,” I said in a hard voice. “I do not wish you to go out today.”

“You are uncommonly stubborn, Gabriel.”

“When it comes to you, yes, I am. Have you ever done as you are told?”

“On rare occasion. Very well, I will submit to your wishes, and Jacinthe’s, that I stay meekly at home and embroider. But we cannot cancel Gabriella’s ball. That will hang on her for the rest of her life.”

“Not if she goes back to France and quietly marries a French gentleman farmer,” I said. “She knows that life. Is used to it.” My heart wrenched even as I said the words. An English husband would have Gabriella stay in England, with me.

“You have no appreciation for my efforts, or Aline’s. Gentlemen gad about all day with no idea how hard the delicate and weaker sex works. You would be exhausted in a half hour.”

“I have no doubt,” I said. “Very well—you and Aline will win with the come-out ball. But I will make sure that Gabriella is very well guarded. By me, and men more able-bodied than me. Tell Aline to expect extra footmen in her ranks.”

Donata tossed down the reticule she’d snatched up. It clattered among her combs and brushes. “Do not tell me you will insinuate that awful Brewster into Aline’s house. Will Mr. Denis provide the rest?”

“That awful Brewster has saved my skin more than once. He and his cohorts are handy with their fists, and not worried about from what walk of life the men they pummel come. They go, or Gabriella does not.”

“You are very aggravating, my husband. I think you do not believe I am worried for her. Aline knows to take every precaution, as do I. We have managed to throw dozens of balls over the years without violence at any of them.”

“Even so,” I said. “Those are my conditions.”

Donata made a noise of exasperation. “Very well. I will tell Aline to expect ruffians to invade her house but not to be alarmed. Any anger she has about it, I shall direct to you.”

“I will be honored,” I said, with a small bow.

“Then please go away, Gabriel. I must change my clothes again, and sulk.”

As long as she stayed in the house, she could do as she pleased. I caught her hand, drew her to me, and kissed her cheek. “Thank you.”

“Yes, all right.” Donata frowned at me, but I saw the softening in her eyes.

I left her and went to my study to write letters—one to Denis and another to Grenville.

***

Donata, true to her word, forwent her calls to stay in and write her own letters. She could be as persuasive on paper, she claimed, as she could in person. Having received letters from her myself, I believed her.

She was adamant about going out later that evening, however, as she had invitations she could not possibly turn down without awkwardness, she claimed. After another heated discussion, I told her I’d accompany her. While supper balls did not move me to paroxysms of joy, I would tolerate one to keep my eye on her.

At seven, however, I had an appointment to keep with Grenville.

To preserve peace in my marriage, I asked Donata to accompany me. I rather think she’d have come anyway, had I not.

Donata dressed herself in a subdued gown of fawn sprigged with red flowers, covering her shoulders with a light shawl. Hagen drove us in the carriage the short distance to Grosvenor Street.

I gazed at number 12, three doors down from Grenville. This was the house of Viscount Compton, who owned the Irish hunter Bartholomew had found.

Though I was certain the horse stolen from Hyde Park had been the one the culprit rode, I couldn’t help looking the house over. Viscount Compton’s abode was no different on the outside than Grenville’s, even more plain, I’d say. And why the man or anyone in his household would have a grudge against me, I could not tell.

We arrived at Grenville’s punctually at seven. Mr. Bennett must have been very eager to meet the famous Lucius Grenville, because he was already there.

Matthias shot me a long look as he led us up the stairs to Grenville’s front sitting room—the one Grenville used for the unwashed masses, not his very private sanctum higher up in the house.

Matthias drew himself up to his full height as he opened the door to the sitting room. He became the haughtiest of haughty footmen as he announced:

“Captain and Mrs. Gabriel Lacey.”

Grenville, dressed in his most severe black frock coat and trousers, and his most achingly white waistcoat and cravat, came forward to greet us.

“Lady Donata, how lovely you are.” He took her hands and kissed her cheek. “And Lacey. Well met.” He formally shook my hand.

A far cry from the Grenville in a dressing gown over shirtsleeves at the breakfast table. I concluded from his crisp suit and precise formality that he sincerely disliked Mr. Andrew Bennett.

That gentleman came forward, an eager smile on his face.

He was not what I expected. Devorah Hartman and Captain Woolwich had painted a picture of a groveling, crafty young rake who won the hearts of ladies and killed them for their money. I’d imagined handsomeness in a too-fulsome way, perhaps with the dark eyes and knowing look of a stage villain.

What I found was a young man heading for middle age, a little bit portly but still straight-backed and tall, with a soft, innocuous face and friendly brown eyes. He looked less the wily villain and more the hero’s best friend. He’d be Horatio, not Hamlet.

He bowed to Donata, suitably awed by her lofty status, then to me. “Well met, Captain,” he said, holding out his hand. “My father-in-law told me you had some news for me.”

Mr. Bennett’s handshake was firm, but not too much so, and not too soft either. I wondered if he practiced it.

Mr. Bennett withdrew, retaining the look of an interested puppy. “Mr. Grenville would not impart it,” he said. “He insisted you tell me yourself.”

“I thought it best,” Grenville said smoothly.

I understood. Though Grenville would be curious to know Mr. Bennett’s reaction, he did not want to be alone with him when the reaction occurred.

Grenville motioned for us to take a seat. With careful politeness, he led Donata to a chair and settled her, then sat in the one next to her. I preferred to remain standing, so Bennett did as well.

“What is it, Captain?” Bennett asked. “You are alarming me.”

“I am afraid,” I began, “that I have discovered what happened to your first wife, Judith Hartman.”

Bennett stopped. The soft-eyed look deserted him for a second, his face losing color. “What?” he asked. “Tell me the worst.”

I wondered a moment if the worst would mean her being found alive.

“She was discovered in the River Thames,” I said. “Had been killed and discarded there perhaps fifteen years gone now. What is left of her was fished out ten years ago and stored in a cellar. Mr. Grenville, once we discovered her identity, arranged to have her sent back to her father, for burial.”

As I spoke, Bennett had grown more and more pale. At last, his face resembled nothing less than the white of ghostly fog, his cheeks taking on a sheen of perspiration.

Bennett drew a quick, short breath as my speech ended, then his eyes rolled back into his head and he dropped to a heap on the floor.