The Sudbury School Murders (19 page)

I did not answer. I was thinking rapidly,
remembering one other man who had rambled on over a pint that he
would soon make his fortune and leave the drudgery of the Sudbury
School behind. Bloody hell.

"Is something amiss, Captain?" Denis asked,
his sharp gaze on me.

I met his appraising glance but did not
answer. I was not certain of my speculation, and the last thing I
wanted was for Denis to send his minions to fetch Simon Fletcher.
Fletcher's pondering might mean nothing and might not be connected
to Middleton's at all. I would prefer to question him myself,
rather than let Denis get his clutches on the poor man.

"I'd rather you shared your information,
Captain," Denis said, a warning note in his voice.

"I have no information. Not yet. Only
ideas."

"I want this murderer found and punished,
Captain--quickly. I do not have time for your scruples."

"And I am not looking for the murderer in
order to please you," I returned. "I wish to clear a young man who
I believe is not responsible. Whether you are pleased by it does
not concern me."

Denis looked annoyed, but he was used to my
temper by now. "Very well, Captain, I know you enjoy pursuing
things in your own fashion. But I want the identity of this
murderer. Surely we both want that."

"Yes," I admitted. "I will give it to you
when I know it for certain."

He gave me a cool look but nodded. He did not
trust me entirely, but he did trust my thoroughness.

He folded his hands on his desk, the
interview apparently over. With Denis, one did not make pleasant
small talk to end one's visit. The visit simply ended.

But I had one more question, one more reason
I had decided to visit James Denis today. It was a question I was
reluctant to ask, because the knowledge would pain me, but I had
finally screwed up my courage to ask it.

"Last year," I began slowly, "you told me you
knew the whereabouts of a lady who once called herself Carlotta
Lacey."

A flicker of surprise darted through his blue
eyes. He must have been wondering when I'd return to that. "Yes. If
you want her direction, you know that you have but to ask."

I sat in silence a moment. The room was
quiet, ironically, almost pleasantly so. The fire warmed the air
despite the rain that beat at the windows. The other men watched me
carefully, the only sound the faint whisper of clothing as they
shifted their stances.

I wanted to ask, but I knew what would happen
if I did. During the affair of Hanover Square and again during the
affair of the regimental colonel, Denis had helped me solve the
crimes by handing me facts I had lacked. He had let it be known
that by doing me those favors, he expected me to be ready when he
called in favors of his own. In addition, not a month ago, he had
paid a note of hand I had owed, ensuring that I would be still more
obligated to him. In this way, he had warned me, he planned to
prevent me from crusading against him, since having had me beaten
had not had much effect.

He had offered the information about my wife
last summer with the same understanding--his knowledge for my
obligation. And obligation to James Denis was not to be taken
lightly. He used people from all walks of life and all over Europe
to help him in his crimes, to procure things, to find things out
for him, to let him wield quiet power. The men he hired stole for
him, murdered for him, spied for him. I wondered very much what he
would expect me to do, and exactly what he would do when I
refused.

When I could trust myself to speak again, I
asked, "Is she well?"

"Yes," he answered, studying me.

I believed him. Denis' networks could
discover details about any person or any thing. He would doubtless
know not only where my estranged wife lived, but with whom and
where she walked and what she ate for breakfast.

He went on. "My sources tell me that your
wife and daughter are well cared for."

I started to nod, then I went still as my
mind registered his entire answer. "My daughter," I said.

Denis had told me of Carlotta last summer,
but he had omitted, whether deliberately or because he did not
think it important, that he also had knowledge of my daughter,
Gabriella.

"Yes," Denis said. "She is a very pretty
young woman, from what is reported to me."

I closed my eyes. I remembered Gabriella as a
tiny mite with hair as golden as the Spanish sunshine. Carlotta had
taken her away from me. I'd tried to go after them both, tried to
find them, ready to drag my wife home so that I would not lose my
daughter.

But I had not been able to find them. I'd
heard no trace of them, though I'd tried, until Denis had presented
me with his information last summer.

Now I learned that Denis knew where to find
them both.

Gabriella would be seventeen now, a young
lady, and she would not remember me.

Denis said something to one of the lackeys in
the room. I could not hear the words. I opened my eyes to find the
pugilist who'd told us about Middleton lifting me to my feet.

The man helped me down the stairs, more or
less pressed me out of the front door, and closed it behind me. The
interview was finished.

I found myself in greatcoat and hat with my
walking stick in my hand, standing in the dark pouring rain in
Curzon Street.

*** *** ***

How long I stood there, I do not know, but at
last, I blindly crossed the road and began trudging up South Audley
Street in the direction of Grosvenor Square.

My hands were cold as ice, but my heart
pounded. I could think nothing, feel nothing. I could only walk,
and shiver, and be stone cold inside.

Gabriella was alive. She lived with her
mother in France. I could barely register the fact.

Grenville's house lay on Grosvenor Street,
beyond Grosvenor Square with its elegant garden in the center. I
should have turned onto Grosvenor Street on the east side of the
square, but I somehow walked past it and found myself on Brook
Street. I continued straight to the doorstep of Colonel and Mrs.
Brandon before I stopped.

I had come here instinctively, seeking
comfort, but now I hesitated. I eyed the polished door knocker,
which gave me a distorted view of my nose, but made no move to
knock.

I knew that Louisa would readily lend me
comfort, but I'd get none from her husband, were he in the house.
In fact, Brandon would likely say something acerbic, and in my
mood, I would strike him. Louisa was angry enough with me as it
was; I could imagine what she'd say if I bloodied her husband's
nose.

While I pondered what to do, the door opened,
and the Brandons' footman peered out at me.

"Good evening, sir," he said. "Mrs. Brandon
has requested that I admit you."

* * * * *

Chapter Thirteen

I was shown into the upstairs sitting room,
which was homey, low-ceilinged, and warm, unlike the grand rooms in
Grenville's house or the cold rooms in Denis'.

Louisa was there. She rose and came to greet
me, her lemon-scented perfume soothing me as she kissed my
cheek.

"Gabriel, how delightful to see you. I looked
out of the window and spied you gazing at the door as though you'd
bore a hole in it with your eyes. Why did you not knock?"

"I thought -- " I had to stop. I had been
clenching my jaw so tightly that I could barely speak.

She quickly gestured me to an armchair set an
ottoman before it. I sat senselessly, letting my arms go limp.

"What is it, Gabriel? Let me send for some
coffee, or would you prefer port?"

Coffee. Coffee at least was warm, and I was
so cold inside.

I must have indicated such, because she rang
for the footman and sent him off for some.

"You are very white," she said. "Please tell
me what has happened."

I just looked at her. Emotions spun inside me
so quickly that I could not put them into words.

Gabriella had been two years old when her
mother had taken her away. She had been walking sturdily for some
months, and she had learned to say my name. Her favorite game was
to stand on my boot and hold fast to my leg while I strode about
the camp. She would laugh and squeal while Carlotta fussed and
worried. I had been a fond, proud papa, taking the teasing of my
men with a smile and a shrug.

When I learned that Carlotta had left me, I
had at some level not been very surprised. But when I discovered
she had taken Gabriella with her, I had gone nearly mad with rage.
Gabriella was my child. By law, she belonged to me, not her mother.
I could have gone after Carlotta, wrested the little girl away and
taken her back, and Carlotta could have done nothing to stop
me.

I had tried to find them, but I believed in
my heart that they were better off without me. I followed the drum,
and life was harsh.

But I had not known, from that day to this,
whether my daughter had lived or died.

The footman carried in the coffee, set it
down, and quietly withdrew. Louisa made no move to serve it.

I managed to say, "Gabriella." My eyes burned
and my throat ached.

Louisa's eyes widened. "Gabriella? What about
Gabriella?"

I said nothing. Tears spilled silently to my
cheeks.

Louisa sat on the ottoman in a rustle of
silk. She took my hands. "Gabriel, please tell me."

I swallowed, wet my lips. "She is in
France."

Then I broke down completely. I must have
been a horrible sight, a large man, hunched into the chair,
weeping. Louisa gathered me to her, stroked my hair, let me
cry.

When my sobs wound down, she bade me tell her
everything. I explained as coherently as I could what Denis had
said.

"He knows where they are," I said, trying to
clear my throat. "I could ask him. I could find them again." If I
paid Denis' price for the information, he could send for them or
send me to them. I could have it all back.

As though she knew my thoughts, Louisa took
my hands again. "What will you do, Gabriel?" she asked.

"I do not know. How can I know what to
do?"

She did not want me to sell myself to Denis.
I saw that in her eyes, felt it in the pressure of her hands.

"What would you do, Louisa?" I countered.
"Suppose it were your husband, what would you do?"

A grim light entered her eyes. "Mr. Denis has
no right to do this to you. I will speak to him, tell him what I
think of him."

I grew alarmed. "No, Louisa. He already knows
how dear you are to me. I do not want him threatening you."

"I do not fear his threats."

"But you ought to. You--all of my
friends--are right. I do not take him seriously enough. I have been
a bloody fool concerning him."

She went silent. We watched each other; she
troubled, me quiet, my face still wet. The coffee was growing cold,
and neither of us moved to drink it.

Our vigil was broken by the noisy arrival of
Colonel Brandon.

Louisa released my hands and rose as her
husband entered the room. I got to my feet as well, mopping my face
with my handkerchief.

Brandon had once been my greatest friend and
my mentor. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a handsome face
and chill blue eyes. He'd once had fire and drive, and I'd admired
him more than any other man I'd ever met.

That admiration had soured along the way, and
now we regarded one another with tight suspicion. As usual, Louisa
tried to diffuse the tension.

"Gabriel has come to visit," she said.

Brandon gave me a cold once-over. "That is
obvious. Did you lose your employment already, Gabriel?"

I held onto my temper. "I had business in
London. It is nearly concluded."

He gave me a bellicose stare. "Good."

I briefly reflected that Brandon and Rutledge
would get along famously.
No
, I thought the next moment.
Brandon is a man of feeling who hides behind sharp words.
Rutledge has no feeling at all.

"You will stay for supper of course,
Gabriel." Louisa gave me one of her stern looks, willing me to
obey.

The last thing I wanted was to sit through a
supper with Colonel Brandon, listening to his barely veiled insults
and questions that were intended to put my back up. He was annoyed
to have found me in his private sitting room alone with his wife,
and he did not bother to hide it.

"Forgive me, Louisa," I said, never taking my
eyes from Brandon. "I would like to rest in order to start early
tomorrow for Berkshire. If you need me, I will be staying the night
at Grenville's house."

Brandon gave me a look that told me he did
not think much of a man who took advantage of his friends. I
resisted telling him to kiss the devil's hindquarters and politely
took my leave of Louisa.

I walked home. No, not strictly home,
Grenville's home. I did not have one.

For an Englishman to not have a home was a
terrible thing. Everyone needed connection to a place, however
loathsome it might be. I was adrift, rather like Sebastian's family
who roamed up and down the canals with no clear goal in sight.

I reached Grenville's house to learn that
Anton had prepared supper for me. I distressed him by merely
pushing it about the plate and dragging myself to bed.

I woke in the night with a raging fever.

I do not know whether the fever was brought
on by my distress over my daughter, my walking about in the pouring
rain, or my exhaustion from the business at Sudbury and my journey
to London. Probably all combined to make my throat raw, my skin
burning, and my limbs weak.

Bartholomew the dutiful arrived with a tonic
and cool water, then he pulled the covers over me and made to douse
the light.

Fevered sleep claimed me quickly. I thought
that I managed to tell Bartholomew to send a message to
Grenville--"Tell him to ask Fletcher about canals," I said, or
thought I said.