A Regimental Murder (26 page)

Denis's eyes were ice cold. He was handing me
an answer, an important one. I had but to take it and know--and be
obligated further to this man I reviled.

I think I hated him more at that moment than
I had ever before.

In a swift movement, I jerked the paper from
his fingers and broke the seal.

I had once remarked that Grenville had wasted
half a sheet of expensive paper on a short letter. Denis had wasted
one on one line--it listed a name, the name of a house, and the
name of the county in which the house resided. Hertfordshire.

I stared at the words, dumbfounded. "Dear
God."

Kenneth Spencer had gone there. And Pomeroy
had sent no one to follow him, believing him to be traveling
nowhere important. John Spencer had said his brother had gone to
visit a school friend.

My pulse quickened. I looked from the paper
to Denis, who looked, very slightly, satisfied.

I did not ask whether the information was
accurate. I knew it was. Denis could uncover things with far more
efficiency than any Bow Street Runner or exploring officer during
the war.

He was holding out the second sheet of paper.
I barely saw it, my head was so filled with implications of this
new knowledge. One thing was certain--I had to go to Hertfordshire.
Now.

"This," Denis continued, "concerns another
matter entirely. It contains the direction of a lady called
Collette Auberge."

I stared at him blankly. The name meant
nothing to me.

He went on, "She used to call herself
Carlotta Lacey."

I stilled. Thoughts of Eggleston slid away
like water from my hand.

This was the real information he offered me.
The whereabouts of the woman who had been my wife--might still be
my wife. One fact crystallized, hardening into facets I could
touch, could cut myself on.

She still lived.

All I had to do was take that paper, open it,
and discover where she was.

"You bastard," I whispered.

He said nothing.

My hand trembled. I clenched it. I looked up
at him, met his cold eyes.

"You are misinformed," I said, forcing my
voice to be light. "I no longer require that information."

His eyes flickered the tiniest bit. In
surprise? I felt a small amount of satisfaction.
Not what you
expected, was it?

Denis wanted me to crawl, even with greatest
reluctance, but I would not.

He sat still for a second longer. Then he
gave a faint shrug and slid the unbroken paper back into his
pocket. "I will keep it safe for you," he said. "When you require
it, you have only to ask."

Of course. If nothing else, he had learned
how important the information was to me. He had a card he could
hold until needed.

A few months ago, I had formed a half-crazed
plan, borne of frustrated anger, to kill him. Even if I hanged for
it. Later, I had realized how foolish I had been. Now, I
wondered.

Perhaps he was right. I was dangerous. I was
someone he did not control, might never control, and he did not
like that.

He returned both hands to his cane. "Then
good day to you, Captain," he said.

As though his minions had heard his cue, the
door opened, and I was ushered out.

*** *** ***

My emotions churned and tumbled as I returned
home, packed my few belongings, and sent a note to Grenville.
We
must away at once. Lacey.

I knew the cryptic lines would catch his
attention more speedily than an explanatory letter. It was
uncharitable of me, but I took pleasure in summoning him the way he
often peremptorily summoned me.

As I packed my shaving gear, Marianne
wandered in. "Leaving again, Lacey?"

I looked up, ready with an irritated quip,
but I saw her smile. She was goading me. "Yes," I answered
shortly.

She wandered to my writing table. "An
interesting journey? With Mr. Grenville, perhaps?"

"Not far. And yes, with Grenville."

I supposed she'd come to filch paper or ink,
but under my nose, she opened my writing box, extracted a letter,
and began to read.

The letter was one of Grenville's. I
recognized the seal, a stylized "G" in red wax. I contemplated
snatching it from her, then decided there was no harm. Grenville
and I did not discuss dark secrets after all. I continued to pack,
doing my best to ignore her.

"He is quite fond of you," she remarked after
a time.

"Grenville? I would hardly say that."

"Perhaps he fancies you."

I looked up. I expected to find her smiling
at me, teasing me with barbs to hurt, but she was still studying
the letter. Her eyes were tight. "No," I said. "He does not." I had
seen enough of the world to know when a man preferred the company
of another man to ladies, and Grenville had showed no sign of
it.

"I see." She folded the letter.

"Do not toy with him, Marianne," I said. "He
does not deserve that."

She dropped the paper back into the box. "Do
you know, Lacey, if you were not so proud, you could get much from
him. From what I hear, he has vast wealth, houses all over England,
business interests in France and America. He could at least set you
up in a house with servants to wait on you."

I fastened the leathers on my kit and hoisted
it to my shoulder. "Yes, but I am that proud. So I stay here." At
the door, I looked back at her. "You may have my bread and coffee
in the mornings. I have already paid Mrs. Beltan for them."

A ghost of her usual smile lit her face. "How
kind you are," she said in a mocking tone. "But do not worry about
me, Lacey. I can take care of myself."

With this lofty statement, she brushed past
me and made her way back upstairs.

I ate a half-loaf in Mrs. Beltan's bake shop,
then went to the end of Grimpen Lane to await Grenville, reasoning
he'd either send his carriage or Bartholomew with a message.

I found Colonel Brandon there instead. He was
striding toward me down Russel Street, his own carriage halted
among the press of wagons and carts. As usual these days, he exuded
anger. He emanated violence in his every step, as though he just
stopped himself drawing a weapon on me.

"Where is she?" he began once he was within
earshot. "I know you have her, devil take you." His ice blue eyes
were bloodshot, his mouth white. "Where have you hidden my
wife?"

His voice climbed. Passersby stopped to
stare.

I kept my own voice low. "I have hidden her
nowhere. She does as she pleases."

His hands balled to fists, stretching his
expensive gloves. "A man called Allandale paid me a visit. He
thought it would interest me that one Captain Lacey had summoned my
wife from a boardinghouse in Greenwich like a servant." He glared
at me in fury.

Damn Allandale. I remembered giving the order
for Leland to find Louisa and bring her back. Allandale must still
have been in the house then. I imagined him gleefully relating the
tale to Brandon. "Louisa?" I asked, incredulous. "Do you believe
she would scuttle to me just because I called?"

"What I believe is that you knew where my
wife was all along and you fetched her back to London at your
convenience."

I lost my temper. "I asked her to look after
a friend who is ill."

"But you knew. You
knew
." He stepped
close to me. "I will kill you for this."

"At least you are no longer pretending you
want reconciliation," I snarled.

"That was for Louisa's sake. You have
forfeited any reconciliation with me."

"Thank God for that."

His eyes blazed. "I will have you up before a
magistrate. If you are not hanged for the abduction and rape of my
wife, I will shoot you myself."

If I'd had a pistol in my possession, I would
have already potted him with it. "You idiot, do you realize that
any move you make against me will ruin her? If you disgrace her, I
will certainly find a way to kill you."

"Do not use her reputation to hide behind.
Adultery is a foul crime and I will sink you for it."

I laughed humorlessly. "Lower than you have
already sunk me? Ruining my life was not already good enough for
you?"

His face and neck went brick red. "You took
her from me. You must pay for that."

"You drove her away, you stupid fool. How
much did they pay you to testify against Westin? What did they
promise in exchange?"

His breathed hoarsely. "Why the
hell
can you not attend to your own affairs?"

We had collected quite a gathering now.
Street girls stopped, hands on hips, to watch us. Mrs. Beltan had
left her bakery. Mrs. Carfax and her companion slid by at the edge
of the crowd.

"Because you drag me into yours," I answered
him. "She is furious with you over Colonel Westin. Why the devil
were Breckenridge's lies more important to you than your wife's
good opinion?"

"You understand nothing."

"No, I do not. Were she mine, I would move
the sun and the moon to please her. You seem to think you can do
any idiotic thing you like and she will simply understand. No
matter how slow-witted you are."

"She is
my
wife. Mine!"

"And that gives you leave to hurt her?" I was
nearly dancing in rage now myself. "Know this. Whatever you
believe, I care greatly for her honor. I would do nothing, ever, to
disgrace her, even if that means not kicking you as I'd like to.
Her honor is more precious to me than anything else in the world.
Do you understand me?"

"So," he said, his voice shaking. "You choose
between her honor and mine."

"Exactly, sir. And hers will ever win."

"Then for God's sake, why not tell me where
she is?"

I looked him in the eye. "Because she asked
me not to."

He stared at me for a long moment, then his
lips pulled back in a fearsome snarl. "Damn you-- "

He got no further, because Grenville's
carriage and its fine matched grays on that moment stopped beside
us.

Bartholomew hopped down from his perch,
opened the door, and extended the stairs. Grenville leaned forward,
his eyes alight. "Well, I am here."

"Where are you going?" Brandon barked. He
blocked my way to the carriage. "Are you going to her?"

I gave him an irritated look. "Did you hear
anything I've just said to you? No. I am leaving London on other
business."

But he had a mad light in his eyes. "But you
will go to her sometime. I will not let you out of my sight until
you do."

"Oh for God's sake, get out of my way. I am
in a hurry."

Bartholomew straightened from unfastening the
stairs. At any moment he'd offer his cheerful assistance to remove
Brandon from my path, just as he had with Denis's thug.

I could not let that happen. I suddenly
remembered Louisa's words--
He was a great man, full of fire and
able to inspire that fire in others.

And he had been. I still saw it in him. His
heart had been broken, partly by me, partly by Louisa, and he was
bewildered and hurt. In any event, I could not let him simply be
moved aside on the street by the towering Bartholomew.

"Get into the coach," I said.

Brandon blinked at me. "Pardon?"

"I said, get into the coach. If you must dog
my footsteps, we may as well make room for you."

Grenville's well-bred brows rose, but he
voiced no objection. He must have sensed that even touching the
tension between Brandon and me might shatter the very air.

Brandon fixed his gaze on me for a long,
furious moment, then he flung himself up and into the waiting
carriage.

*** *** ***

Along the road north through Hatfield, I told
Grenville--and Brandon--about Denis's information and Pomeroy's
report that Kenneth Spencer had headed to Hertfordshire, the same
place Eggleston had gone to ground with his lover.

The road we traveled was, fortunately for us,
rather dry this day. July had segued to August, with its still warm
days but cooler nights. The heat wave, I hoped, had broken.

This road marked the route that eloping
couples took to Gretna Green, in Scotland, where they could quickly
marry. I had eloped with my young wife, but we had not had to
travel the long way to Scotland. The man now sitting next to me had
managed to obtain a special license for us. That license had
allowed us to marry at once, without calling the banns in the
parish church, thus preventing my father from standing up and
voicing his most strenuous and foul-worded objections. If he had
not managed to find impediments to our marriage, he would have
created them. As it was, I had been of age, my wife's family had
not objected--their daughter had been, in fact, marrying up--and
I'd had the license in hand. My father had raged and roared, but
the deed had been done.

Colonel Brandon now glanced at the paper I'd
handed Grenville, and read the words with great disgust.
"Eggleston's lover is a man?"

"Yes," Grenville mused. "And a famous one at
that. Surprising. I had thought he was Breckenridge's toady."

"I would not put much past the team of
Eggleston and Breckenridge," I said.

"Well, we shall see when we arrive."
Grenville returned the paper to me, then pulled out a lawn
handkerchief and dabbed his lips. "Forgive me, gentlemen," he said.
"I am afraid-- "

The coachman was able to halt and Bartholomew
able to lift his master out just in time. Poor Grenville rushed
into the trees to heave out whatever had been in his stomach.
Brandon watched the procedure in great puzzlement but, to my
relief, said nothing.

We reached our destination, a house east of
Welwyn, at seven o'clock. The waning sun silhouetted a rambling
brick cottage covered with climbing roses. It was a quaint little
house, one entirely out of keeping with Eggleston. But it was
remote, well off the road and five miles from the nearest
village.