Murder in Grosvenor Square (32 page)

Lord Percy finished bitterly. “And Mr. Mackay played us against each other. Bloody man.”

“Leland kicked up a fuss about the cheating he saw at the Nines,” I continued, “and he and Travers were taken away. You faded into the woodwork, Saunders, distancing yourself from them, which I am certain was not the way to make friends with Mr. Travers.”

“Possibly not,” Lord Percy said. “But I was a bit terrified at the moment, and I would have made it up to him.”

I went on. “Leland and Gareth were dragged to Mr. Forge, who owned the Nines, and given to his toughs to frighten them then toss them out.” Everyone listened to me now, including Mrs. Travers, wondering where I was leading them. “They took a hired coach to the Bull and Hen in Seven Dials, where Gareth had made an appointment to meet Mackay. Leland does not remember what the appointment was about, and he might have known nothing about the book itself, but he was not pleased that Gareth wanted to cease being dependent on him and Sir Gideon for his living. From what I understand, he and Leland argued about it quite a bit.”

“I don’t believe you,” Mrs. Travers said indignantly. “It must have been Leland who put the idea of selling the book into Gareth’s head.”

I sent her a severe look. “I do not know why you are so angry at the Derwent family, but I and everyone else believe you read them wrong. You are simply annoyed that Gareth was about to take the only thing the Travers had that was worth any money, sell it, and keep the funds for himself. Gareth was not an unkind young man, however. I imagine he’d have shared the proceeds with his father.”

“I doubt it,” Mrs. Travers said in a hard voice.

“You wrong him. But let me continue. Mackay did not make the meeting with Gareth at the Bull, for what reason, I do not know. Perhaps he was so busy setting up buyers for this very expensive book that he was late. Or had other irons in the fire—I have heard he served several masters. When he was late, Leland persuaded Gareth away. They walked from the Bull and Hen to find a hackney stand to hire a coach home.”

“This is all fascinating, Captain,” Lawrence broke in. “But what does it mean?”

“It means they were followed. Gareth had the book with him, or so the killer thought. Perhaps he’d already handed it to Mackay and was waiting for payment; who knows? Gareth and Leland were followed, and when they reached a likely spot—Seven Dials is full of them—they were attacked.”

“So, it was a robbery?” Lawrence asked. He watched me with the most interest, his eyes clear and shrewd.

“It was. The killer had hired a man called Draper and his friends to set upon Leland and Gareth, beat them, and steal the book. Possibly also to arrange them so they’d be found in a position that left the world in no doubt of their relationship with each other. But men like Draper are not very subtle. They struck too hard, killing Gareth and nearly killing Leland. They dragged the bodies into the passage, quickly searching them. I believe they were interrupted, or heard Mackay coming, or some such. For whatever reason, they retreated. I am not certain of all the details.”

Percy touched his lips again with his delicate handkerchief. “Then what happened to the book?”

“I believe Mackay found it on Gareth—or else, as I say, he might already have had it. Or Draper missed it, or they were interrupted, or Draper was not asked to search the bodies for a book. Draper half stripped Leland and tossed his clothes aside, where they were found by a destitute man of the area. Draper likely pocketed Leland’s money and watch, because the destitute man found nothing in the coat and waistcoat. Imagine Mackay’s shock when, hurrying late toward the Bull and Hen, he finds the two lads lying in their own blood, looking as though they’d been engaging in buggery and killed by someone such an act enraged.

“Leland, who was just sensible enough to speak, begged Mackay to run to me for help. Mackay, while he was a thief, a cheat, and possibly a blackmailer, had enough compassion to obey. After all, he had the book, he’d not struck the lads down, and he was truly horrified by the crime, at least he was when he found me. I’m certain that fear for his own skin was a part of it. He returned here with instructions to tell Marianne to send for Grenville. In the commotion, he slid the book into my bookshelf, knowing he could return when the rooms were empty and take it. But the killers were still out there, and he had no idea if they’d try to beat and rob him. He decided to lie low until things settled, and then retrieve the book.”

“A risk,” Lawrence pointed out. “You might have found it.”

“I spend most of my time in South Audley Street these days,” I said. “News of my wedding to Lady Breckenridge has been in all the newspapers. I believe Mackay returned for the book when I was at my new home and Marianne out. When he didn’t find it, it must have been a great blow to him. But I have the reputation for being an honorable man. Mackay no doubt assumed I’d taken the book to Sir Gideon or Leland, two honest men who would be certain to return it to Reverend Travers.”

“And did you?” Lawrence asked, watching me with intensity. “Take it to Sir Gideon?”

“I did not, but Mackay could not have known that. He went to the Derwents’, slipping in through the front door during an unguarded moment or up through the scullery. He enters covertly to search—if he is found he can pretend he came to inquire about Leland. The killer, who had followed him, gained entrance through the kitchens, where food was being handed out, discovered Mackay in the drawing room and struck him down. However, the book was nowhere to be found, and the killer realizes that perhaps Sir Gideon never had it. Which meant I might still have it. The killer had to depart or chance being caught, and left either via the kitchen or the front door when it was unattended.”

“This Mr. Draper again?” Lawrence asked.

I shook my head. “Upon reflection I do not believe Draper killed Mackay. Draper is distinctive, and I believe Sir Gideon’s household would have noticed him. The staff are well paid and careful about protecting their unworldly employers. No, this killer was unremarkable, able to blend in with the downtrodden poor come for charity. I imagine you were once downtrodden yourself, Mrs. Travers. The thought of all that money simply walking away from your grasp was too much to bear.”

Chapter Thirty-One

Mrs. Travers’s mouth opened to reveal her fairly even teeth. “I have no idea what the devil you mean.”

“Good Lord,” Lawrence said, with a mock start. “Such language. And you a vicar’s wife.”

I went on, ignoring Lawrence. “I mean that you entered the Derwents’ house in Grosvenor Square,” I said to Mrs. Travers, while Grenville surreptitiously stepped between her and the door. “You went there to find the book. If anyone saw you in the family’s private rooms, like Mackay, you had an excuse to be there—you would have come to look in on your stepson’s dear friend Leland. You found Mackay there. Whether you argued with him or demanded he hand you the book, you lost your temper. The poker was at hand. And so, he died.”

Mrs. Travers stared at me, her blue eyes wide. “You assume much.”

“When I came to you and told you Gareth was dead, you were surprised,” I said. “Genuinely, I imagine. Your shock was real. You had hired Draper to rob Gareth and Leland, not murder them. But you discovered with Mackay, did you not, that it is easier to kill than one might think. One moment, the person is alive. The next … Nothing.”

The distress in Mrs. Travers’s eyes told me I had the right of it. She had never intended death. She’d wanted the book, and the money it would bring. That was all.

Still, she tried. “You don’t know,” she said swiftly. “You were not there. You can know nothing.”

I lost my sympathy for her. “You killed your husband’s son, and Leland might die. Likewise, you murdered Mackay, who was only interested in the same thing you were—the damned book.”

“Which is mine, by rights,” Lord Percy broke in, still angry. “Have this woman arrested, do, Lacey. I’ll take the book and go.”

“The devil you will, old boy,” Lawrence said. “As I say, I’ve already made a payment for it.”

“If you want it, you can give me what I gave Mackay,” Lord Percy said heatedly. “Fifteen hundred pounds.”

Mrs. Travers’s mouth hung open. “
Fifteen hundred?
You are lying, sir. Gareth did not have that money. Mr. Mackay never had so much either.”

She condemned herself. She couldn’t have known what Mackay had if she hadn’t had him followed or searched him after she’d killed him.

Saunders flashed her a dangerous look, not used to impertinence from the lower classes. “I will have the book, or the money for it, madam.”

“I haven’t got the money,” Mrs. Travers said desperately.

“No, you never got anything for it,” I said, cutting over them. “All that death and violence, and you still have neither the book nor the price of it.”

Mrs. Travers glared at me again for a long moment, then her hauteur vanished. “Bleedin’ upstart,” she shouted, her cultured voice giving way to the long vowels of South London. “Trumped up, worthless piece of dung, friend to bloody mollies.”

She came at me, the same rage in her eyes Mackay must have seen when she’d lifted the poker and gone for him. She had no weapon now; she only lunged at me, her fingers curved, ready to gouge out my eyes.

She found herself held back by the strong arms of Brewster. Mrs. Travers struggled, trying to reach me. “You’re a liar,” she spat.

“Your ruffian for hire, Mr. Draper, is even now in the hands of Bow Street,” I told her. “I imagine Pomeroy or Spendlove are promising to spare him the noose if he tells who hired him.”

Mrs. Travers hesitated at my words, then she screamed and renewed her efforts to attack me.

Lord Percy stepped away from her, his handkerchief at his mouth. “Good heavens,” he said. “What a varlet.”

Lawrence only regarded her with disapproval. “I thought it was too good to be true. Do compose yourself, woman. You’ve lost. The bloody mollies, as you call them, have defeated you.”

*

I had summoned Spendlove and Pomeroy to be on hand to arrest the culprit when identified, to prevent Denis meting out justice of his own. The fact that Mrs. Travers was a woman would not deter him from taking his vengeance for the death of one of his agents.

Pomeroy came through the door first, with his cheerfulness that had struck fear into the hearts of many a criminal. “Mrs. Travers, I arrest you in the king’s name for willful murder against your stepson Gareth Travers and the man called Nelson Mackay. Come along with me now, won’t you?”

“It were an accident,” she shouted, tears starting from her eyes. “I was only trying to get him to
listen
.” She fought again, but Brewster held her hard. “It should have been Leland that was killed, not our Gareth. That family made a bloody sodomite out of him. I will tell everyone what the Derwents are, and
Leland
will hang. Unnatural acts are against the law, and they will pay for corrupting him.”

“That’s as may be,” Pomeroy said in his good-natured way. “But first, I need you to come with us to the magistrate. You can turn her loose now, sir. I have her.”

Brewster, at a nod from me, relinquished his prisoner to Pomeroy. He watched Pomeroy take the woman out, she quivering with fury and terror, Brewster’s dismissive look saying all. He thought her a fool, and well he might. Of everyone interested in the book, only Brewster had managed to actually get hold of the thing.

Spendlove remained, his light blue gaze sweeping the room. Lord Percy turned away, as though he did not wish to be recognized. Henry Lawrence remained straight-backed and unashamed. Grenville and I presented a solid wall between Spendlove and the priceless book behind us, and Brewster blocked Spendlove’s way to the bedchamber.

“This will be an interesting trial,” Spendlove said. “A woman killing her stepson for the sake of a valuable book that could keep the family fed. And the stepson a sodomite. The jury’s sympathy might be with her, if they believe her.”

I acknowledged this with a nod. “Possibly.”

“Might help if the book never turned up,” Spendlove said. “If the jury thinks she simply had a bee in her bonnet, we might have our conviction.”

“True,” I conceded.

Spendlove knew damn well I had the book. I also wagered he knew exactly who was in my bedchamber, listening to every word.

Spendlove settled his tall hat on his head. “Pomeroy will thank you for the arrest,” he said, “but next time you have a killer, Captain, just bring her to Bow Street and never mind the dramatics.”

“She might not have confessed to you,” I said without rancor. “And I needed the satisfaction of hearing it myself. Gareth Travers was my friend.”

Spendlove fixed me with a hard stare. “I waste my breath pointing out that you take too much on yourself.” He gave Grenville, Percy, and Lawrence a nod. “Gentlemen.”

He cast one more look at Brewster and the closed bedchamber door, and then finally turned and walked out.

None of us spoke until we heard him bang the door at the bottom of the steps, then his steady footfalls on the cobbles outside.

“Well,” Lord Percy said. He brought out a tiny, round snuffbox, opened it, inhaled a pinch, and politely offered some to Grenville, who just as politely declined. Percy tucked the box away and sneezed into his handkerchief. “I’ll take the book now and go,” he said, wiping his nose. “Do not worry, I will keep it under lock and key. I already have a place in my cabinet arranged for it.”

“Have you been in the same room with us all, my dear?” Lawrence asked. “I equally have paid for this book.”

“Which belongs to Gareth’s father,” I said firmly. “He’s lost his son and is about to lose his wife. Must he lose his treasure, as well?”

Lord Percy blinked. “But I paid for it, man.”

Grenville came forward. “I am certain we can all come to some arrangement,” he said smoothly. “You know I have some manuscripts in my collection that interest you both. Call round, and we’ll discuss things.”

Percy’s eyes narrowed, but he must have read in my face how angry I was. He studied me, studied Grenville, with the silent Brewster hovering, and understood his options.