A Body in Berkeley Square (8 page)

I remembered. Colonel Brandon had decided one
day soon after Vitoria that he no longer wanted a wife who could
not give him children. He'd told Louisa he would find some way to
annul the marriage so that they could be parted without scandal.
Then he'd left camp for who knew where.

Louisa, her world crumbling around her, had
fled to my tent and told me the entire tale. I'd been furious at
Brandon and tried to comfort Louisa the best I could. Brandon had
returned the next morning to find Louisa sitting on my lap in a
camp chair, her head on my shoulder.

He'd assumed the worst.

Not long later, Brandon had sent me out with
false orders into a pocket of French soldiers, who had caught and
tortured me. I'd managed to escape and survive with the help of a
Spanish farmer's widow, who'd dragged me the long way back to
camp.

I remembered lying on the bunk of the
surgeon's tent, hideous pain leaking through the haze of laudanum,
my body sweating with fever and infection. When Louisa had come and
discovered what Brandon had done, she'd shouted at him long and
hard. I had lain in my stupor and laughed.

"I recall that you told him quite firmly what
you thought of him when you found out what he'd done to me," I
said.

"Oh, yes, I was furious. You might have died
because of him. I could have left Aloysius, then. I should
have."

"There was not much you could do, Louisa."
When a woman left her husband, she could only return to her family
or elope with another man--one was a recipe for shame, the other,
complete ruin.

"I know. But I remained his wife, in all
ways. I wanted to prove, I suppose, that I had not betrayed him. I
saw the good in him, still. I loved him." Louisa lifted her arms in
a limp gesture. "This is my reward."

"And it is decidedly odd," I said. "I am not
saying that your husband is guiltless in the matter of Mrs. Harper,
but the situation seems wrong somehow. I would think that if
Brandon were pursuing another woman, he would not be so bloody
obvious. He prides himself on being the perfect gentleman, the
perfect husband, the perfect officer."

Louisa gave me a tired look. "Well, he isn't,
is he?"

"But would he let the world see that? There
is something very wrong, Louisa. Can you tell me nothing more of
this Imogene Harper?"

"No, I cannot. When I dared ask him, Aloysius
grew angry and told me to mind my own damned business. In those
words. He has never been that harsh to me."

"No, he usually saves that for me. I ask your
leave, Louisa, to go through his desk and his papers. I want to
read what Mrs. Harper wrote, if he has not destroyed the letters.
She is key to this murder; perhaps she even killed Turner
herself."

"She never went into that anteroom. At least,
not until she found Mr. Turner. Believe me, Lacey, I had my eye on
her. The only time she disappeared from view was when she went into
private corners with my husband." She trailed off bitterly.

"And I am going to find out why she did," I
said.

Louisa stood rigidly, her face gray, her eyes
holding exhaustion. "I have resigned myself to the fact that
Aloysius was having an affair with her. You do not have to try to
prove that he was not."

I went silent a moment, then I said, "Do you
know, I believe I am the only person in London not happy to believe
in Brandon's guilt."

Her eyes flashed. "
Happy?
Do you
believe I am happy to know that my husband has been betraying
me?"

"Ready to believe his guilt, then. Perhaps I
used the wrong word. But it seems as though everyone wants him to
be guilty, including Brandon himself."

The muscles of Louisa's delicate neck were
tense, as though she strained to hold up her head. "You are kind to
try to give me hope."

"And I do wish that both you and your husband
would stop trying to assign me motives," I said in irritation. "I
am looking into this problem because it distresses you and because
I do not believe Brandon killed Turner. I believe he
could
have killed him, but I will be quite glad to find evidence to prove
otherwise."

Louisa sank to the sofa. "Perhaps I simply
want it to be over. I do not want to wait and wonder and hope that
you find something. I want it to be over, even if it means that I
lose him forever."

"Have you so little faith in me?"

"I know you, Gabriel. You believe a thing is
so, therefore it must be so. You stubbornly burrow through things
to prove yourself right, no matter who you hurt."

I stilled. "And I've hurt you?"

"No." She smiled a little. "But you are so
impetuous, and you will run afoul of the wrong people. It would
hurt me so to lose you. I never would have survived all these years
without you."

We looked at each other. I knew as well that
my life would have been much harsher without Louisa Brandon in
it.

I could have said something then that might
have changed everything between us. I think she wanted me to say
it, waited for me to say it. Perhaps I was foolish to keep my
silence. But I kept it.

"Louisa, I will do everything in my power to
help your husband. And you. I swear this."

A light went out of her eyes. Louisa looked
away from me, and then she nodded. "Ask Aloysius's valet for the
key to his desk. Tell him he has my permission to give it to
you."

"Thank you," I said quietly.

Louisa looked up at me again, but her eyes
held no hope. I bowed to her briefly and left her.

*** *** ***

I found Robbins, the harried valet, and
requested Brandon's key. He went off to find it, seeming relieved
to escape Lady Aline's strident demands. Louisa was always gentle
with her servants; Lady Aline must seem like an unexpected
hurricane.

"Lacey, my boy, I do wish you luck," Aline
said as she passed me on her way back to Louisa's sitting room. "If
you can find an answer to this murder, I will bow before you."

The thought of Lady Aline bowing her tall
bulk amused me somewhat. I told her I could only do my best, took
the key that Robbins brought running back, and let myself into
Brandon's private study.

I'd been in this room only a few times
before, because Brandon rarely invited me into it. He put up with
me in his dining room and drawing room at Louisa's request, but he
disliked me in the more private rooms of the house.

A screen of gold-leaf and ivory that he'd
obtained in Spain decorated one corner. I'd always wondered where
Brandon had found the screen, and if it had in fact been looted.
Wellington had declared looting to be a hanging offense. The
English army had gone to liberate the Spanish from French rule, not
to rob from them, he'd said. Brandon had claimed that he'd
purchased it, but his belligerence whenever he spoke of it always
aroused my suspicion.

The desk, a secretary with a closed bookcase,
stood near the screen. I sat down in the desk chair, put the key in
the lock, and pulled down the sloping cover that formed the base of
the desk. Two pieces of wood slid out of slots to support the
desk's top.

Inside I found neat ledgers and folded papers
and small drawers full of letters. None of the letters were from
Imogene Harper.

I searched the drawers and the ledgers, then
unfolded all the letters to see if another had been tucked between
their pages. I found nothing. I hadn't thought I would.

I remembered Grenville showing me a secretary
he'd purchased in France, a beautiful piece of golden satinwood
with rosewood inlay. Grenville's delight in it, however, was its
secret drawers. He'd made me try to discover the drawers myself,
while he'd hovered gleefully at my side, watching.

I had found two, but he'd showed me four
others that I'd missed.

I lifted the small drawers out of the middle
of Brandon's desk and felt the recesses behind them for catches. I
found one rather easily, which extruded a drawer from the left side
of the desk. Rather obvious, I thought. Many desks had such
drawers.

I found no letters in the drawer, only a
stray button. Perhaps Brandon had no use for secret drawers, and
perhaps he'd simply burned Mrs. Harper's letters.

I found a second secret drawer that again had
nothing inside it. I searched for the catches that Grenville's desk
had, but either I missed them entirely, or the designer of this
desk had given up after he'd created two.

I slid the main drawers back in place and was
about to shut the first secret drawer, when I noticed that its
bottom did not fit correctly. I picked up the button and found that
its shank just fit into the slight gap. I worked the button back
and forth, and suddenly, the entire bottom of the drawer lifted
away.

Three letters lay inside it.

I lifted unfolded each of them. Written in a
woman's hand, they were signed
Imogene Harper
.

The letters were not dated, but I made sense
of the timing as I read them. The first was hesitant, as though
Mrs. Harper had been timid about contacting Brandon after so many
years.

I learned your direction from Colonel
Singleton, whom my husband also knew during the Peninsular
campaign, and I make so bold to write to you. Perhaps I am the last
woman on earth from whom you wish to receive correspondence, but I
find it necessary. If you would speak to me, I will be riding in
Hyde Park at five o'clock on Wednesday next. I will wait near
Grosvenor Gate for you to come. I have need to see you, my dear A.
Please come.

She'd signed without any closure.

The second letter opened with relief.
How
glad I was to see you! You are a gentleman of honor, and I have
always known you to be. To see you riding to me, as tall and strong
and handsome as you were four years ago, brought pleasure to my
heart. I did not know how much I longed to see you again until that
moment. The friendship we shared returned to me, with a warmth I
will never forget. I hope that when we meet again on Saturday, I
will have good news for you. Until then, God bless you..

The tone of the third letter was quite
different.
My dear A. What shall you do? You refer to your wife,
but shall I suffer alone? If I must pay, then you must. We are both
guilty, and I cannot take the blame alone. He said he would be at
the Gillises' ball on Saturday night, and that he would ensure that
you were invited--with your wife. I have played upon my connections
of friendship and wheedled an invitation for myself from Lady
Gillis. We will meet there and decide what to do. He must not
reveal all. And if he does, he will reveal your sins as well as
mine. You know this. You must come.

This letter was signed simply,
Imogene.

Who was
he?
Henry Turner? Had he
threatened to reveal Mrs. Harper's affair with Brandon? In any
event, Brandon had betrayed his guilt at the Gillises' ball; he'd
not needed Turner to do it for him.

The letters read very much like those of a
woman wanting to rekindle an affair, then growing angry when
Brandon indicated he did not want the relationship to resume. The
threat in the last letter was blatant. Mrs. Harper refused to face
Turner alone. If she were to be exposed, she would expose Brandon
as well.

Had Mrs. Harper killed Turner before he could
go through with the blackmail? Mrs. Harper had gone into the
anteroom and found Turner's body. She'd gotten blood on her glove,
and according to Grenville, it was a minute or two before she
screamed. Time for her to snatch up the knife--which Brandon might
have left for her--stab him, then rush out and begin her fit. Her
horror at the blood on her glove had no doubt been real.

Was it that simple? That Brandon and Mrs.
Harper feared Turner's knowledge and so conspired to kill him?

Louisa had been right about one thing. Many
gentlemen took a mistress after they were married. It seemed almost
expected. Society marriages often occurred because two families
wanted to increase their power or wealth. A poor aristocrat married
a rich nabob's daughter; the daughter of an impoverished baron
married a wealthy merchant. Even better, wealthy nobility married
each other.

Once the nuptials were complete, the ladies
busied themselves setting up their nurseries and hosting parties,
and gentlemen adjourned to their clubs, horses, and mistresses.
Husband and wife might live very separate lives, seeing each other
only occasionally.

Brandon's marriage had been different. He'd
married Louisa by choice, not for gain. Brandon came from a wealthy
gentleman's family in Kent. Louisa's family had been as gently
born, but poorer. Her father had considered a cavalry captain with
a personal income to be a good catch for Louisa.

I understood perfectly well why Brandon had
married her. Louisa at twenty-two had been a beautiful woman. Not
only did she have golden hair and brilliant gray eyes, but she'd
had fire, an adventurous spirit coupled with grave intelligence
that would make her a fine life companion. I'd regretted from the
moment I'd met her that I'd not found her before Brandon had.

But until this business with Mrs. Harper, I
never believed that Brandon had sought another lady's bed. Now I
wondered. Mrs. Harper's husband had been killed at Vitoria. Shortly
after that, Brandon had declared his intention to end his marriage
with Louisa, because she could not give him children.

I wanted very much to meet Imogene Harper. I
wanted to know what sort of woman could draw Brandon from Louisa's
side.

I folded the letters together and tucked them
into my pocket. I carefully reassembled the drawer, dropped the
button back inside it, and slid the drawer into its recess.

I grimaced as I locked the desk. Brandon, as
usual, was not making things easy.

*** *** ***