A Body in Berkeley Square (31 page)

"You are correct about one thing," I said.
"You have no honor."

"Oh, come now, Captain. Where would that
legacy have gone? George Worth told me he had no heir that he knew
of, unless his man of business could find some fellow living in the
wilds of America or some such place. Or the solicitors simply would
have discovered a way to divide it amongst themselves. Why should
all that money go to waste? I put it to excellent use, and besides,
I saved Claire Bennington, the great actress, from debtors' prison.
Don't pretend that Henry Turner threatened to reveal my secret
because he was virtuous. The oily little tick wanted to bleed me
dry."

"Of money you obtained by killing
another."

He laughed softly. "I suppose that you are
oozing honor, and in the army threw yourself in front of bullets to
save others?"

"Not quite," I said. "But I did pull others
out of the way of bullets."

"All for pittance. You are a poor man,
Captain. You always have been. What can you understand of a man's
need for wealth and comfort?"

"Grenville is the wealthiest man I've ever
met," I said. "He loves his comfort, and yet he has much generosity
and charity."

"Ah, well. Blame it on my birth. My father
was a poor man who blew out his brains when he lost his little all
on a horse. He left a son buried in a school with no one to care
for him. Pity me."

"I pity your wife. And even Turner, although,
by all accounts, he was not a pleasant person."

"He was not. I did the world a favor, my dear
fellow."

I stood up, my patience at an end. "Had you
killed him in a duel, I might understand. But you deliberately
endangered Colonel Brandon and Mrs. Harper, both of whom were
innocent--who were as much victims of Turner's blackmailing as you.
You tried to implicate Lady Breckenridge, although that, to her
good luck, came to nothing."

"Well, I could hardly continue to enjoy my
legacy if I owned up to murder, could I? And besides, Colonel
Brandon and Mrs. Harper are not innocent. They were carrying on a
frightfully sordid affair, and so let themselves come under
Turner's power."

I did not correct him about that. "The fact
remains that Colonel Brandon is in prison for a murder he did not
commit. You used his knife--where did you get it? Did you pick his
pocket, or did you have your wife do that for you too?"

"I had no need of such trickery. The knife
was lying there, plain as day, on the writing table. I had my own
in my pocket, but how much better to use another man's? I had no
idea at the time that it belonged to the good colonel."

"I intend to let the good colonel out of
prison one way or another, even if I have to drag you by the neck
to Bow Street myself."

At last, uneasiness flickered in his eyes.
"You are a man of determination."

"I owe Colonel Brandon much. I will not see
him die for your crime. And you, if you have spoken the truth
today, are long overdue for paying."

He continued to watch me. "Think of my wife,
Captain. Claire cannot be left alone for a moment. She is one of
the stupidest women alive, even if she is brilliant behind the
footlights. What will become of her?"

I thought of Grenville. "She will be cared
for. Quite well, in fact. She no longer needs you."

"Oh, dear. Never tell me some gentleman is
waiting in the wings to sweep her off--if you will pardon the
pun."

"I am fortunate to have friends, Mr.
Bennington. One of them is a Bow Street Runner."

As if on cue, Pomeroy entered the room.

At the sight of tall, jovial Pomeroy,
anticipating a reward for the conviction of Henry Turner's
murderer, Bennington's face drained of color. "Oh, God."

"A most illuminating conversation, Captain,"
Pomeroy boomed. "Criminals, especially the clever ones, do like to
talk. Mr. Bennington, or Mr. Worth--or whatever you would like to
be called--I arrest you in the King's name for the murder of Henry
Turner. Shall you come with me and speak to the magistrate? Since
you like to talk, you'll be able to tell your story all over again.
I am looking forward to it, sir."

* * * * *

Chapter Nineteen

I wanted the matter to conclude simply, by
the magistrates letting Brandon out of his prison room and putting
Bennington into it.

But of course, that could not be done.
Pomeroy took Bennington to Bow Street, where he would wait until
the next morning for Sir Nathaniel to examine him. Pomeroy was
gleeful, certain that the conversation both he and Grenville had
overheard, plus the explanation of how Bennington had managed to
kill Turner with no one seeing him, would get Pomeroy his hoped for
conviction and the reward offered by Turner's father.

Lady Breckenridge had been delighted to
observe us emerging from the hotel with Bennington. Pomeroy and his
patrollers took Bennington away with them, and Lady Breckenridge
offered to have her coachman drop me and Grenville in Grosvenor
Street before she went home. She demanded the full tale on the way,
and Grenville gave it to her. I felt strangely reluctant to
speak.

Grenville descended first when we reached his
house. As I prepared to follow, Lady Breckenridge stopped me with a
hand on my arm.

"I thank you for not shunting me aside,
Gabriel. That was most fascinating."

"You ought to curb your fascination for
sordid business," I said, but I smiled at her. A fainting flower
she was not. Past experience had shown that I had not the patience
for a fainting flower.

"Nonsense," she said briskly. "It was just
the thing. Life in Mayfair is deadly dull, you know. The same
people at the same soirees and balls and garden parties, talking of
the same things, day after day. You and your investigations are
refreshing."

"I am pleased that I entertain you."

"Do not tease me. I know that you like my
interest. When you have finished all you need to finish, Gabriel,
pay a call on me. I would be glad to receive you."

Her tone was light, but I sensed caution
behind it. She was still not certain where we stood, and somewhere
inside her existed the young woman who'd been bruised by her
unhappy marriage.

I bowed. "I would be most happy to call on
you."

She gave me a nod as though she did not care
one way or the other, but her eyes as she turned away told me she
was pleased.

I stepped down, and Lady Breckenridge told
her coachman to drive on. I followed Grenville into his warm and
splendid house.

Grenville invited me to supper, but I
declined. "I have many things to do this night," I said. "I must go
to Louisa and tell her what has happened."

"You are right. Mrs. Brandon should not
suffer another minute."

I hesitated. "Tell Marianne about Mrs.
Bennington. She deserves to know."

"Claire does not know yet," Grenville said,
his eyes quiet. "Her mother wrote me a few weeks ago, from Austria.
She told me that she was very ill, dying, and that Claire was mine.
I had not heard from Anna for twenty years, and now she will likely
not last twenty days," he finished sadly.

"And you believe her?"

"I do now. I asked Claire when she was born,
and the dates correspond exactly with my time with Anna Baumgarten.
She was an opera singer I met in Austria, when I was so very young.
Our affair did not last long, and I never saw her again. I knew
she'd left the stage, but no more than that. Anna never told me of
Claire, and in her letter, she admitted she'd not been certain
who'd sired Claire at the time. I believe that--Anna was older than
me and obviously more experienced. Then, later, she feared I'd take
Claire away from her. Not an illogical fear. I probably would have.
I also got Claire to tell me that her mother had encouraged her to
change her surname to Bennington, the better to please English
audiences. Always astute, was Anna."

"Not to throw cold water," I said, "but you
are very rich, and your Anna could simply claim that you are
Claire's father, so that someone wealthy would look after her."

"I know." Grenville gave me a smile. "When
one has a great deal of money, there are those who feel it is
natural that you should share it with them. But Claire is mine, I
am certain of it."

"Are you sure you don't simply wish to be
certain?"

"Of course I wish it. I admit that I was
astonishingly pleased when I learned I had a daughter. Claire is
beautiful and gifted, and she drives me to distraction. But I knew
she was mine the moment I looked at her." His smile blossomed to a
grin. "The poor woman has inherited the Grenville nose."

*** *** ***

Louisa was still awake when I arrived in
Brook Street, but Lady Aline was not with her. Louisa explained,
when she received me, that she had sent Lady Aline home.

"She has been very kind to me. But I wanted
to be alone." She sighed. "It is difficult to keep up my spirits to
please her."

"You will not have to do so much longer," I
said.

We sat in her yellow room, a fire on the
hearth chasing away the gloom of the night, while I told her about
Bennington and his arrest. In the morning, I said, I would ask Sir
Nathaniel officially to dismiss the murder charge against Brandon
and let him come home.

"You did this for me," Louisa whispered when
I finished my tale. "Why? Why are you so impossibly good to me,
Gabriel?"

I took her hand, which was too cold, her
fingers too thin. "There have been times in my life when you were
strong for me. I wanted to be strong for you, this once."

"I have not been strong at all. You say he is
truly innocent of this?"

"Your husband did not kill Henry Turner. I
knew from the beginning that the crime was all wrong for him. Nor
is Imogene Harper his lover."

Louisa lifted her head. "But she was. On the
Peninsula, she was, however briefly."

"I know. I'm sorry. I am not certain I will
forgive him that."

"I will." When I looked surprised, Louisa
said, "Aloysius is my husband, Gabriel. We have weathered much
together. We will weather this, too."

"You love the idiot."

"Yes. I always have." She touched my cheek.
"And I love you too."

"A fact that warms my heart." I kissed her
forehead then let her go. "I hope that our friendship may weather
all this as well."

"It will. I will not be ungrateful and shun
you simply because I am embarrassed."

"Good." I paused. The cheerful room had grown
more cheerful still, and in a few moments, I would not be able to
bear it. "What did you do with the paper, Louisa?" I asked.

She stilled. "Paper?"

"The one Brandon told you to fetch from the
Gillises'."

Her cheeks darkened. "Must you know
everything?"

"It is a dangerous document to have."

"I know that. But the greatest danger
Aloysius fears is from you."

I held on to my temper. "Does he truly
believe I would betray him? After all this? Please give it to me,
Louisa. Unless you have already destroyed it."

She rose, agitated, and I rose with her. "I
have not. How did you know I had it?"

"Because there is no one else in the world
Brandon would have entrusted it to. I toyed with the idea that he'd
given it to Mrs. Harper, but she did not have it, which was why she
went to search Turner's rooms. Brandon probably meant to hide it
and fetch it the next day, never dreaming he'd be bound over for
trial.
He
knew that he did not commit the murder, and he
expected everyone else to take him at his word. You read French," I
finished. "You must know what the document is."

Louisa wouldn't look at me. "Yes."

"You went to see Brandon after I'd admonished
you to, did you not?"

She finally met my gaze. "I did. And he told
me an extraordinary tale. He bared his soul to me. He must have
been quite desperate to do that. Aloysius hates to appear weak,
especially to a woman--most especially to his wife."

"He craves your respect."

"Yes, well, he told me where the paper was,
told me to hide it, and begged me, for God's sake, not to give it
to you."

"I already know his secrets. Louisa, please,
will you trust me and let me have it? No one in the world but you
and I and he will know of it."

She looked skeptical. "What about Mrs.
Harper?"

"Mrs. Harper should bless her luck that
Brandon decided to help her at all. I will send word to her that it
is all over and tell her to return to Scotland."

"Good," Louisa said. She was still pale, but
her eyes began to sparkle with their usual fervor. "I will forgive
Aloysius, because he can be so easily led into mischief. But Mrs.
Harper is another matter. She had no bloody business pinching my
husband."

I smiled. "I am pleased to see that you will
not simply be walked on."

"Indeed no. I expect Aloysius to be quite
kind to me for a very long time." Louisa placed her hand on my arm.
"Thank you, Gabriel. Drink your coffee, and I will fetch the
paper."

*** *** ***

An hour later found me at Newgate prison with
the incriminating letter tucked into my pocket. The turnkey was
reluctant to let me in at this late hour, but he was easily
bribed.

I found Brandon still dressed, sitting on his
bed with his head in his hands. He looked up when I was ushered in
and sprang to his feet. "What are you doing here?"

I waited until the turnkey shut the door,
waited again until I heard his footsteps retreat.

"I came to tell you that you will soon be
free," I said. "I found the man responsible for Henry Turner's
death."

Brandon stared at me in shock. "But . .
."

"Had you convinced yourself I never would?
Mr. Bennington was arrested this evening. I hoped you could be
released at once, but magistrates do things in their own time."